Joel x F!Reader - No use of Y/N, no physical description. Post-outbreak, canon typical violence, eventual smut and fluff.
Years ago I wrote a short bit about coming across Joel in the rain, and reaching out to him for help. It never went anywhere, but I recently had a burst of inspiration to finish it. So, a one-shot with Joel and reader, with drama, angst and eventual smut, I hope you enjoy!
Extra love for @lady-bess for whipping up a beautiful banner!
It’d been raining all day and the clouds still looked heavy as the afternoon moved into evening. You shivered in your wet clothes, the thin windbreaker jacket you wore had been soaked through for hours, and everything on your body was wet from the rain. But you pushed forward, putting one foot in front of the other, feeling the wet socks squish in your trainers. Stopping here was not an option, you might as well just give up and die if you tried to survive a night in the cold rain.
The goal was a small cluster of cabins down by a lake. You’d seen them from a rise earlier in the day, and you’d been walking in their general direction for an hour now, hoping you’d make it before nightfall. As the trees thinned out, and the remains of a broken fence came into view, you breathed a sigh of relief.
The cabins were strewn across the shores of the small lake, a holiday resort before the outbreak. Now they were in various states of disrepair, dilapidated and crumbling. Most of them had broken roofs, or crumbling walls, but a few, those more protected from the elements, seemed to have fared better.
There was always a risk of infected, but you were banking on them having wandered away from this area by now. And hopefully the cabins were remote enough not to have attracted other people, fear made you tread carefully over the wet ground towards them. But you were unarmed, had no supplies, and knew you were dead if you didn't find shelter and food soon, so, biting back your fear, you moved closer.
As quietly as you could, you made your way towards one of the more sturdy looking cabins. The roof was whole, the shutters closed, and as far as you could see, the walls were intact. Wary of infected or other humans, you gingerly put your foot on the first step up to the porch.
The broken screen door of the cabin swung open, a shotgun barrel pointed at your chest.
“Back up,” a man growled, his body and face hidden in the shadow of the cabin, only his hands on the gun visible.
Your breath hitched in fright, and you stumbled back a few steps, putting your hands up.
“Pl..pl..please,” you stuttered, from fear and cold, “I’m just looking for shelter.”
“Go find it somewhere else,” the man snarled, and motioned to the forest with his gun.
“Pl..please, I can’t,” you whimpered, “I need shelter.”
“I should shoot you right now, you’re shaking like you’re about to turn into a runner any second,” the man lifted his shotgun and aimed down the barrel at your chest.
“I’m-I’m not infected,” you said through chattering teeth, “I’m cold. I’m soaked, and I’ve walked for four days without anything but water."
You put out your hand at the man and held it as steady as possible, “Please” you sobbed, your shoulders heaving under a ragged breath.
“Try one of the other cabins,” the man finally relented, “I checked them when I arrived, they’re empty.”
“Please, do you have any food to spare?”
You wrapped your arms tight around your body as the man started to retreat through the door.
“No,” he growled, closing the broken screen door.
You drew a deep breath, clenching your hands into fists, wrapping your arms tighter.
“I’ll have sex with you," you pressed out, "if you give me food.”
The man behind the screen door pushed it open again, and stepped out onto the porch, into the fading light, with an angry look.
“Do I look like the kind of man who buys sex with food?” he snarled at you, “Trade something else.”
“Does it look like I have anything else to trade?” you spat back at him, gesturing at yourself, “I lost my supplies and my group a week ago, I have nothing but the clothes I stand in. I’m starving, and if you have food to spare, then all I have to trade is sex.”
You glared at each other for a few seconds before you seemed to falter and shrink.
“I’ll go, I’ll go to one of the other cabins. I’ll leave at first light, you won’t see me again," you said, your voice defeated, as you started moving towards the next cabin.
The man watched you go, silently cursing under his breath.
“Wait,” he called after you, “wait there.” He stepped inside the door frame and reached for something just out of sight and came back out, “Here, have this.” He tossed a can of peaches that you caught with a surprised look.
You grabbed the tab and pulled it open, eagerly drinking the sweet juice that spilled out.
“Take it easy, take it easy,” the man called to you, “You’ll make yourself sick if you haven’t eaten in that long.”
You took the can from your mouth and wiped it with the back of your hand as you looked up at him.
“Thank you,” you said.
“Yeah, just don’t go turning in the night and make me waste that can on you.”
The man closed the screen door again, and you heard him close the front door too, something heavy sliding in place behind it.
You scooped up half a peach from the can, and made your way to the cabin next door, pushing your way past the front door that stood slightly ajar. As the man had said, it was empty, only a few pieces of half rotted furniture remained. With a sigh you sank down on the floor in the most sheltered corner of the living room.
Joel woke the next morning, looking around the unfamiliar cabin and the gear tucked in behind his head. He hadn’t planned on stopping here, but the rain had been relentless, and made it hard to hear anyone approaching on the trail he’d been on. He’d been through these cabins before, looted anything of use, and now they were just a convenient stop for shelter, tucked away out of sight from the trail a mile away.
The rain had stopped overnight but the low light filtering through the window shutters signalled that the sky was still overcast. Pushing himself up with a groan, he stretched his aching back, and picked up his gun. Before anything else he needed to check on the woman from last night, to see if she’d moved on or turned infected.
Hitching up his backpack, he carefully opened the door and peered out through the screen door. The world outside was quiet in the dim morning light, water dripping from the roof, and the trees surrounding the cabins. Silently he stepped out onto the porch and surveyed the surrounding area before walking down the stairs and moving over to the next cabin a short distance away.
The shutters on this one weren't closed, Joel knows they’re hanging slightly ajar because he was the one to pry them off the first time he was here, looking for a way into the locked cabin. Now he moved closer to the window, edging up to it so that he could peer into the gloom of the room. In the furthermost corner he saw you curled up, knees drawn to your chest, and arms wrapped around your legs. The windbreaker is spread out over one of the pieces of furniture, a puddle of water underneath it.
Joel watched you for a few minutes, trying to discern if you were still alive or not. Your face was drawn, pinched even as you slept, and he couldn’t tell if you're breathing or not.
Hiding himself from view, he peered through a crack in the shutter hanging on the side, and lightly tapped the window pane. You didn't move, and he tapped it again, a little bit harder. Your eyes flew open, and you stared towards the window. For a minute or more, you didn't move, and Joel held his breath, getting ready to take you out. But then you started to get to your feet. The movements were smooth, a little stiff, but not the jittery cramps of the infected. You still watched the window warily as you grabbed the windbreaker and tied it around your waist before you hunched down and retied your boots.
Joel watched you rub your hands along your arms, trying to bring warmth to them, as you looked around the living room. You really had no supplies, there was no bag, no weapon, and Joel cursed himself silently as he realised what he was about to do.
"Should’ve just fucking left right away," he mumbled to himself.
“Come outside,” he called, and you jumped, crying out and stumbling back against the wall, “Don’t be scared, I’m the guy from last night, I’m not going to hurt you.”
Joel walked around the cabin to the front door and tapped on it before stepping off the porch again. He pointedly hung his shotgun on his back and waited. He noticed the empty can of peaches sitting on the stairs, full of rainwater.
After a few minutes you cautiously peeked out through the door, only your nose showing.
“C’mon, you obviously didn’t turn in the night and I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said again, trying to sound reassuring.
You stepped out further through the door, and stood at the top of the stairs, looking around with apprehension. In the daylight Joel could see the bags under your eyes, the skin dull and lifeless, starting to take on the complexion of the many starving, or near starving, people he’d seen in the QZ. You licked your chapped lips, and as you wrapped your arms around yourself again he saw a shiver run through your frame as the breeze hit your sweater.
Joel pulled his backpack off and opened the top flap, pulling out a hoodie. It was his spare and was pretty worn, but it was dry and warm. He held it out to you.
“Here, take this for now, it’s dry and I can see that you’re still freezing.”
“Why?” you asked, not moving from the porch.
“Just take it, I’m not asking you for anything,” Joel took a few steps towards you and shoved the hoodie into your hands, and you baulked back from him but grabbed the hoodie.
Joel stepped back again, to his backpack, and pulled out a granola bar, and threw it to you as well.
“And eat this, you look like you’re about to keel over at any second.”
You slowly picked up the granola bar from where it had landed on the porch without taking your eyes off him, and retreated back into the cabin. He could hear you move around, and after a few minutes you came out again with his hoodie on, chewing on the bar. Picking up the peach can, you sipped on the water collected inside, and Joel realised you'd put it out on purpose last night.
Smart.
You were drowning in his hoodie, it reached half way down your thighs, and you’d rolled the arms up. You gave him a cautious look from the porch, “Thank you."
“You’re welcome,” Joel replied, and you stared at each other for a few seconds. Joel was uncertain about what he should do next. He didn’t really want to leave his spare hoodie with you, but now that he’d given it to you he could hardly ask for it back straight away. But he was also reluctant to offer you to come with him on the next part of his journey to Bill and Frank’s.
"I'm heading to a small settlement a few hours away," he said, reluctantly making up his mind, "And then back to the Boston QZ. I'll take you there."
"Why?" you asked again, and he sighed.
"Because I'm not a complete ass hole, and now you're wearing my hoodie, and I'd like it back at some point."
You still looked apprehensive, so he put out his hand to you.
"I promise, I'm not going to hurt you, but you can walk away now if you want to."
It took a few more moments, but then you stepped off the porch and took his hand, giving it a brief shake. You knew you had very little choice, on your own it was a miracle that you'd survived this long, and without him, you'd most likely be dead sooner rather than later.
When his rough fingers closed around yours, they were warm and dry, and it lingered on your hand after you'd let go. It had been weeks since you'd been properly warm, and more months than you cared to remember, since you'd felt touch of another human that wasn't hostile.
"Thanks," you said, tucking your hands into the sleeves of his hoodie to keep the warmth, "I'm-"
"Don't tell me," he cut you off, "I'm taking you to Boston QZ, I don't want to know more than that."
"O-oh ok," you nodded, but he'd already turned and was walking away between the derelict cabins.
"Stay close, make as little noise as possible, and if you see infected, run."
"Won't they catch us?" you asked, falling in line behind him.
"Maybe, but they don't run faster than humans, so running and hiding is always the best choice if you can't kill them all."
"Can't you shoot them?" you asked, and he threw a look back at you.
"And attract every infected nearby? That's a sure fire way of getting yourself killed."
"Oh…"
He didn't say anything more, and you followed him in silence as he entered the woods, back towards the trail you'd come on.
The woods weren't quiet, but your companion, or escort, was. Birds were singing around you, and there was a steady drip from the trees after last night's rain. The walking, and the hoodie, warmed you up, and after a while not even the wet feeling in your shoes bothered you too much. It felt safe walking behind this broad backed man with his shotgun slung over his shoulder, a knife in his belt, and a world of supplies in the heavy back pack. He looked dangerous, and you hadn't doubted his threat last night. But for now at least, he was on your side, and it made you feel safer. And the warmth of his hand still lingered like a phantom touch on your skin as you buried your nose into the soft fabric of the well worn hoodie and inhaled his scent.
Another two hours in, and the morning sun broke through the clouds, lifting your spirits even more. Your stomach grumbled though, loudly, and he turned around and glanced over his shoulder at you.
"Sorry," you whispered, but he slowed his step and came alongside you.
"We'll be at the settlement in about an hour, and I know they'll feed you. Can you hold out until then?"
You nodded, "Yeah, what's another hour after four days?"
His eyes scanned the surrounding countryside as the woods thinned out and the road came out into empty fields, but seeing no threat, he looked back at you.
"What happened?" he asked, digging into a side pocket of his backpack and producing a small parcel. Waiting for your answer, he unfolded it and handed you a slice of dried meat.
You took it gratefully and ripped a chunk from it, chewing to make the tough beef soften as you considered how much to tell this stranger. Deciding it wouldn't make any difference what he knew, everyone was dead anyway, you shrugged.
"You know Richmond? Small settlement with people who left the Albany QZ."
He nodded, "Yeah, I heard it was run by Fireflies."
"It was, but raiders attacked about six months ago and took over, made a base. They killed anyone who resisted, the rest of us were made to work for them. Myself and three others managed to run away when they used us to dig a new field outside the town fences."
"How?"
"Infected are useful sometimes," you said, giving him a crooked smile, "A couple of them attacked, and in the chaos we slipped away. But one of the men, Jerry, got bit and tried hiding it, so Amir had to kill him the first night. Lisa broke her ankle when she tried running from Jerry, so we had to leave her behind. I'm pretty sure she'd been bit too though. And then Amir just left the third night, I don't know why," you shrugged, "He had the second watch and when I woke up he was gone. Maybe the raiders got him. Maybe he turned back."
"How far back was this?" he asked, and you had to pause and think.
"We left Richmond six days ago, I think I covered ten, maybe fifteen miles per day? Less when I ran out of food."
He nodded, doing the calculations in his head, "Seventy, maybe seventy-five miles then. We should be out of their range, unless they're really fucking determined to get you back."
You scoffed, chewing on the meat again, "Hardly. Me dead in the forest was their preferred outcome. I was on field duty because I pissed off the wrong guy."
Joel glanced over at you again with raised eyebrows, in your half starved, pitiful state, you didn't look like someone who'd mouth off against a raider.
"What did you do?" he asked, and you shrugged.
"I may have pointed out that he was hung like a baby carrot and two peas…."
Joel chuckled, "Smart move."
"Yeah, not my brightest moment…but it felt good at the time."
You bit off another piece of jerky and chewed it while he scanned the surroundings again.
"It almost got me killed though," you said, as an after thought, "And no-"
"Quiet."
His voice was low, and you froze mid-sentence, snapping your mouth shut. Up ahead was a cluster of trees, and from them you now heard the tell tale sound of a clicker. Joel grabbed your arm and pulled you to the side with a firm hand, his eyes never leaving the trees. Stepping into the ditch on the side of the road, he signalled for you to crouch down and stay out of sight. Doing as he said, you ducked down low into the long grass.
"Stay here," he mouthed, and you nodded.
Staying low, he stepped up out of the ditch, and you watched him disappear over the edge as he took the shotgun from his shoulder.
Birds were still chirping in the sky above you as you waited, a couple of sparrows taking up their interrupted song nearby in the long grass. Straining your ears, you tried to hear the clicker, or the man's footsteps, but all you heard were the birds. You didn't even know his name yet, and he'd saved your life last night, probably twice by giving you some food and pointing you towards shelter. And here you were, hiding in the long grass while he risked his life. You guessed he wasn't doing this for you, more likely that he didn't want random clickers where he usually walked. But still, he could die in the next few moments, and you didn't even know his name.
In the distance you heard the sounds of the clicker, that whining, raspy sound they made as they stumbled blind through the world. You wondered how the man would handle the clicker, especially if he didn't want to use the gun. Close combat with them was dangerous, maybe he just wanted to make sure there was only one, and then come back so that you could avoid it. Nervously you tried to peer over the edge of the ditch, trying to see anything. The long grass swayed and obstructed your view, but a flicker of movement caught your eye. Suddenly you realised that the birds had gone silent around you.
Holding your breath without realising, you slowly pushed upwards. Just up ahead, moving towards the cluster of trees, was another infected, a stalker. It was crouched down in the long grass, almost hidden from view as it moved with quick, sly movements.
Cursing under your breath, you carefully climbed up the side of the ditch. Were you really about to risk your life for this guy you didn't even know?
The stalker was creeping along in front of you, and its slow movements meant it hadn't spotted the man yet, but if he made any noise killing the clicker, it would go for him in an instant. And the worst thing about stalkers was that people usually didn't see them coming.
The grass was still wet from the rain of the past few days, and it muffled your footsteps as you crept along behind it. It slipped into the small forest, and you hurried your step to not lose it. There was an old abandoned house, the roof half collapsed, and a barn among the trees, overgrown and covered in vines, and you saw the stalker slip in through a broken first floor window of the house, and out of sight.
"Fuck," you breathed, stopping, unsure what to do. There was no sign of your companion or the clicker, and you couldn't hear anything either. Going into the house after the stalker was out of the question, too many places for it to hide and ambush you. But you needed to see what was going on, and warn the man.
Looking around you spotted a storage building up against the house, just low enough for you to climb onto and then shimmy up onto the roof of the house. An infected could certainly climb that too, but as long as you were quiet, you'd be able to see without being seen.
You were holding your breath again as you carefully made your way towards the storage building, trying to watch both your back, the window where the stalker had disappeared, and keep an eye out for anyone, or anything, coming around the corner. Stepping onto the door handle, you pulled yourself up, biting into your lips as you tried to move as quietly and quickly as possible. You were a sitting duck with your legs dangling over the edge, and when the rubber of your sneakers scuffed against the shingles, you froze in place.
Nothing moved, the birds in the trees above you were back at their chirping, and you took that as a good sign. Gingerly you stepped across the small storage roof and grabbed the next ledge. This one was easier, you climbed up, rolled onto your back, and waited a few moments.
All silent.
Carefully getting to your feet, you crouched down and moved over the roof, praying the rest of it wouldn't collapse under you as it took your weight. The chimney that stood in the middle looked stable enough, and you slowly made your way over to it as you tried to spot your unknown companion in the yard beneath. When a shriek suddenly went up, cutting through the air, you nearly lost your balance, and you grabbed the chimney, heart pounding. From the barn across the yard came the sound of something breaking, and the door flew open, the man stumbling out. He took a few steps, and then bent forward, hands on knees as he drew a deep breath.
Relief flooded you as you saw him, but you didn't dare call out to him. Instead you shuffled forward on the sloping roof, waving your hands over your head.
"Up here!" you hissed, "Up here!"
He must've heard something, because he straightened up and grabbed the shotgun off his shoulder as you waved again. It flew up and aimed at you, but he dropped it again as you waved a second time.
"Stalker! Stalker!" you mouthed, pointing down at the house beneath you, "In. The. House!"
He understood you this time, and levelled the gun at the front door. Moving slowly forward, he disappeared from view under the eaves. On your hands and knees you crawled towards the broken edge of the roof. There was no sign of the stalker as you looked down over the half rotted away second floor, a crumbling staircase leading down to the first floor. There was a slight squeak from below, but you couldn't see who'd, or what, had made the noise. Shuffling around the edge, you changed your position, and you spotted your companion, his back against you. He was moving towards the half closed kitchen door, gun raised, and just as he pushed it open, you heard the scuffling of the stalker across the floor beneath you. It was straight under you, but the man hadn't heard it, he was slowly walking towards the kitchen, and the stalker was quickly moving towards the stairs.
You opened your mouth to warn him, and then it all happened too fast.
A second stalker flew out from the kitchen, straight at the man, and the gun went off, the shot going wide as the stalker barrelled at him. They tumbled to the floor, and the first stalker reached the stairs as you jumped without thinking. The thump of your feet landing on the landing sent a shockwave through your knees, but you managed to stay upright as the stalker whipped around to face you. You could only see its head and shoulders above the ledge of the landing, but the fungus growing out of its head and neck seemed to reach out for you as the infected stared at you for a beat.
Somewhere a second gun shot rang out, and the stalker launched itself at you. You kicked out, pushing it back to avoid the snapping mouth, and it came at you again. It grabbed your hoodie, pulling itself closer, and you narrowly missed the teeth as it went for your neck. Desperately you tried to kick it again, it was much stronger than its slight shape would suggest, and you could feel your own strength failing, the grotesque, contorted face coming closer to your own with each second.
Suddenly it was yanked back, pulled off you, and as you scrambled away, the man, your companion, threw it to the floor and bashed the butt of the shotgun through its head, once, then twice, until it lay still.
The next few minutes were a haze. He pulled you to your feet, dragging you from the house and back outside. Your hands were shaking, your whole body was trembling as his hand held hard onto your wrist, tugging you along. Stumbling, you almost fell, but he pulled you up, and got you moving again.
It could've been just a few minutes, or it could've been an hour, you weren't sure when he finally stopped and set you down on a log hidden among thick bushes. You blinked a couple of times as shrugged out of his jacket and ran his hands over his forearms and neck.
"Take it off," he ordered you, and you had to shake your head a few times before the words sank in. He was already pulling at the hoodie, helping you out of it as you realised what he was doing.
"I-I think I'm ok," you mumbled, but he didn't stop. Tossing the hoodie to the side, he grabbed your hands and pushed up your sleeves, turning your arm in his big hands. His hands were dry, and warm, and your hazy mind couldn't stop thinking about how they were still dry while you were soaked in cold sweat.
He dropped your arms and put his hand on your neck, tilting your head back as his fingers ran across your skin. It made you tingle, the touch leaving trails across your neck, and it felt good, which was such a strange thought to have right now. You snorted out, a half choked giggle, and he let go of your neck.
"What's so funny?" he asked, staring down at you with a deep frown between his brown eyes, and it made you laugh again.
"We almost died," you said, another giggle bubbling up, "And all I can think about is how good your hands feel."
His eye brows flew up into his hair line at that, and he looked at you like you were out of your mind.
"Maybe it's the shock, or no food," you said, tampering down another bout of laughter, drawing a deep breath, "But it's been a long while since someone touched me, and I guess…near death and everything…"
He didn't reply for a moment, just looked down at you as his jaw ticked, something strained in his eyes.
"We need to move," he said eventually, picking up his hoodie and handing it back to you, "Got another hour to go."
A man with a big beard came down the street towards you as you finally reached a small town surrounded by a tall chain wire fence. Your companion punched in a code to the gate, making sure you didn't see it, and let you through as the other man waited half a block away, a rifle slung over his shoulder.
You watched him with trepidation as you followed your companion up to him.
"Who's this? You didn't say anything about bringing company," the man said, "I thought we had clear rules about this kind of thing, Joel."
"I know, Bill," he replied, "I'm taking her to Boston QZ tomorrow, we just need to crash here tonight. I'll pay you extra for your trouble."
"It ain't about the trade, I don't allow strangers here, and you know it."
The man, Bill, looked like he was ready to turn you away, and your companion, who you now knew was called Joel, sighed.
"She's starving and-"
"Hello, Joel, good to see you!"
A second man was jogging down the street, wearing running gear, and clearly sweating from his exercise. He stopped next to Bill, and held out his hand to you with a friendly smile.
"Hi, I'm Frank. It's so nice to see a new face around this pla-"
"She's not staying," Bill cut off, "Joel knows the rules."
"What rules? He's never brought anyone else. What's saying he can't bring someone he trusts?"
Frank was still smiling at you, and you gave him a small smile back from behind Joel's back. It felt safer to stay there while the other guy, Bill, was glaring at both you and Joel.
"You look hungry and tired," Frank said, ignoring Bill's open mouth, as if the decision had already been made, "C'mon inside, we've got hot water and I bet you'd love a shower."
You glanced up at Joel, who nodded, "Go with Frank, I'll explain to Bill."
Frank beamed at Joel, and waved you forward, "C'mon then."
As you followed him into the house, you heard Joel's voice behind you.
"She's unarmed, and half-starved, Bill. But she still took on a stalker to save me…"
The rest was lost as the front door closed behind you, and Frank put his hand on your shoulder, leading you towards a staircase.
"There's a guest bedroom upstairs, it's en suite. Take as much time as you want, we've got plenty of hot water, and there's soap and shampoo in there too. I'll get you some clean clothes and put them on the bed for you."
"Th-thanks," you stuttered as he opened the door to a bedroom with flowery wallpaper.
"Don't say anything, I've been where you are, and Bill saved me. I'm just paying it forward," he smiled, "Now, come downstairs when you're ready, and we’ll get some food ready for you both.”
With that, he left you to it, and you had to pause for a minute to take in your situation. The room was so well kept it looked untouched by the outbreak, as if you'd stepped back in time to a normal afternoon without cordyceps and infected. Somewhere nearby a door opened and closed, and you heard voices moving through the house, Frank calling for Bill, asking where the boxes with women's clothes were.
Stepping into the en suite, you locked the door, and peeled off your clothes before turning on the shower. It was impossible to not moan when the hot water hit your body. It felt like years of grime and sweat rinsed down the drain as you scrubbed your skin and hair. When your skin tingled from all the scrubbing, and you finally felt clean, you just stood under the stream of hot water, relishing the feel of normalcy.
A knock on the shower room door pulled you back to reality, and you grabbed a towel, turning off the water.
Joel cleared his throat outside the door, and knocked again.
"Sorry, I'm just checking on you, you've been a while."
His voice was low, and he cleared his throat again as you fumbled with the lock.
"I lost track of time," you apologised, opening the door, and Joel stepped back, his eyes drifting down over the towel you'd wrapped around yourself, before snapping back up. You could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, clearing his throat a third time.
"Just wanted to make sure you were alright," he said, "Frank said he's put out clothes for you, and dinner is ready in five."
"Thanks," you replied, leaning against the door frame as you wiped water from your face, "The shower was amazing, I feel human again."
Joel nodded, and shifted his weight from one foot to another, his hands twitching by his side.
"I…I never said thank you," he finally said, "For saving my life. And risking your own."
"Oh…" you felt your cheeks heat up as you shrugged, feigning indifference, "I-I mean…you saved me, and I kinda need you alive…?"
He barked a laugh, almost startling you as he chuckled, "Yeah…I guess, but you tried taking on a stalker, that's one hell of a risk."
"I didn't really think about that, in the moment, if I'm honest," you replied, "I kinda just…jumped."
"You're crazy," Joel smiled, his features softening as he looked at you, "Thanks for saving my ass."
You smiled back at him, and the moment seemed to freeze, only his eyes moved as they drifted down to your lips, and your skin burned under his lingering gaze.
"You should put some clothes on," he finally said, his voice a low whisper as his eyes dragged across your still damp skin, coming up to meet your eyes again.
You nodded, your voice stuck in your throat, and Joel backed away, turning to the bedroom door.
It took you a few moments to gather yourself after he'd left, a long exhale escaping you as you walked back into the bathroom to dry off.
There was a full selection of clothes on the bed, courtesy of Frank, and you had to wonder where they were all from. Jeans, skirts, dresses, t-shirts, cute tops, hoodies, even clean underwear and socks, it was all there. Putting on jeans, and a t-shirt, you tied a hoodie around your waist, and made your way downstairs in search of the kitchen.
The other man, Bill, was standing at the foot of the stairs, looking at you as you came down, and something told you he was standing guard. Joel appeared behind him in the doorway, his hair damp now, and in a fresh shirt. He must've taken a much quicker shower than you.
"Dinner's ready," Bill told both of you, and held out his hand, pointing you towards a set of double doors.
Joel gestured for you to walk in first, putting himself between you and Bill, and you were relieved when you saw Frank already sitting at the head of a dining table with a bright smile.
"There you are! Come on, sit down here, and Bill will bring out the food," he said, waving you towards a chair next to him. Joel sat down opposite you.
"I forgot to say, you're welcome to take any clothes you might need, and we've got spare back packs you can have too. Seeing as you seem to have turned up with nothing but the clothes on your back," Frank said, pouring water for everyone.
"Thank you," you said, "You're really generous, and the shower was incredible, it felt so good."
"I know what you mean," Frank smiled, "When I first came here I hadn't showered or eaten in days. That first shower was the best I've ever had."
A door at the end of the room swung open, and Bill walked in, carrying two plates that he set down on the table, one for you and one for Joel.
"It's just stew," he said, "But it'll give you some energy back. And there's bread."
"I made it," Frank beamed, holding out a basket filled with soft looking rolls, and you gratefully took one. Frank immediately put a second one on your plate, "Eat slow, but make sure you fill up properly. The food in the QZ isn't that great."
"I know," you replied, wrinkling your nose as you tore open the roll and inhaled the rich smell of the stew, "I was at the Albany QZ for years, the food was always terrible no matter how hard we tried to grow crops. Not even the Fireflies could get the food production up and running properly."
Further down the table Bill scoffed. He'd brought in two new plates, one for Frank and one for himself, and had just sat down opposite Frank.
"Fireflies are only good for blowing things up," he said, "Feeding people is another thing."
"I've lived in a regular QZ, and then with the Fireflies, and then we were taken over by raiders. The Fireflies at least tried to make things better," you objected, "Beats living in a QZ or with raiders any day."
Bill opened his mouth to say something, but Frank cut him off.
"This stew is really good, Bill. Did you use the spices Joel brought last time?"
Bill nodded, and Frank smiled at you, "Bill's a great chef, but it's getting harder to get hold of spices, especially the stuff we can't grow ourselves. Joel is a great smuggler though."
You glanced over at Joel who was staring down at his stew, fork in hand, and Frank continued on.
"So, tell us about yourself. But only what you feel comfortable sharing of course. If you're anything like Joel I'm guessing you don't share much," he grinned the last part at Joel, who seemed to grunt, and then looked over at you.
It struck you that it was strange how much the passage of time, a shower, and good food, could change your view of a man. When he'd first stepped out onto the porch of the cabin last night, staring at you from behind his shotgun, you'd been too petrified to notice what he looked like. He was just another large, threatening man. When you offered your body to him in exchange for food, you'd only hoped he wouldn't be violent. But now, when you were warm, fed, and safe, he had a magnetic pull on you. His eyes were dark as they looked at you over the edge of his wine glass, dwarfed by his thick fingers, and the memory of how he'd dragged his gaze over your body earlier made your cheeks heat up. You hadn't minded then, and you didn't mind now. It had been a very long time since you were close enough to someone, safe enough, to even consider the feelings that were slowly spreading through your warm limbs, pooling in your core with a promising heat.
Frank kept the conversation going while you all ate, and you tried to be polite and answer his questions, Joel added a few things, and Bill only replied when Frank said something to him. By the end of the meal he pushed back his chair and said he was doing his security round, and Joel stood up, offering to join him.
The two men disappeared through the front door while you helped Frank clear the table. As you brought the plates into the kitchen, he grabbed them from you, and pointed up the stairs.
"Go to bed, you look like you need a good night's sleep. And don't worry about getting up early tomorrow. I'll talk Joel into letting you stay here another day or two before you head over to Boston."
"Thank you, Frank," you replied, "I'm so grateful, I don't even know what to say, you've been so kind to me."
"Oh, don't say anything," he shook his head, "Just happy to help and to see a new face. We don't get many visitors out here as I'm sure you can imagine. Sleep well."
"Thank you, sleep well too."
You left Frank in the kitchen and made your way upstairs to the bedroom at the end of the landing, the same one you'd had your shower in. There was a soft t-shirt in the pile of clothes that you pulled on to sleep in, brushing your teeth in the bathroom, wondering how the hell Bill and Frank still had real toothpaste. The minty flavour burned your gums but left your teeth feeling cleaner than in a long time.
Pushing back the covers, you crawled into bed and let out a long sigh of contentment. A real bed, a real pillow, and soft sheets…you groaned with pleasure as you burrowed deep into the mattress. This day had really started in a very shitty way, but had turned around, with a few hiccups along the way. You shuddered at the thought of the stalker trying to get to you, pushing the thought to the back of your mind. Just another traumatic memory to ignore in this nightmare world.
But it hadn't been all bad. Joel was an unexpected, and pleasant, new development. And he seemed to have got over his initial suspicion of you, he even seemed protective now. Your mind returned to his eyes on you over dinner, lingering on your lips as they closed around the rim of your glass. His fingers had danced across the rim of his own as you met his gaze, letting your tongue catch a drop in the corner of your mouth as his eyes darkened.
Falling back against the pillow, you drew another deep breath. How far could you take this? Would he want to get that close? You had no qualms about it, it had been a long time, and with a soft bed and full belly, your other needs were starting to wake up. Everything could end tomorrow, so if there was an attractive man who wanted to share your bed tonight, you wouldn't discourage him.
A low knock on your door pulled you from your thoughts, and you sat up.
"Come in," you called, keeping your voice low too.
There was only a small bedside light on in the room, but Joel was holding a candle when he pushed the door open, and it lit up his features.
"Did I wake you?" he asked, "Can I come in?"
"Yeah, come in, I wasn't sleeping," you told him, and he softly closed the door behind him, but he remained by the door.
"I wanted to say good night," he said, and you noticed that he was out of his boots, bare feet on the carpet, a t-shirt stretching tight over his broad shoulders as his empty hand rubbed over his strong thighs. He was dressed for bed, his hair unruly as if he'd pulled his shirt over his head, and then yanked it back down.
"Sit down," you told him, making room on the bed, and you hoped he would take the invitation for what it was, "I wanted to thank you, you saved my life, and you brought me here. And I'm pretty sure you knew Bill wouldn't like it."
He shook his head, but he didn't really mean "no", just an uncomfortable shake as he made his way to your bed and sat down, putting the candle on the bed side table.
"We don't need to talk about it," he said, "It's done, and I wanted to say something else."
He pinned you with those dark eyes again, and your breath caught in your throat as he leaned forward, his leg pressing against yours as he took up more space on your bed.
"You said my hands felt good when I touched you…and I can't stop thinking about how soft your skin was..."
His voice was low, a whisper of roughness in the silent room, as he dropped his head closer to yours.
"I'll leave right now, if you want. But if you want me to stay…
He let the question hang between the two of you for a beat, and you felt the need for him to touch you rush through your limbs at break neck speed, making your hands tremble as you reached for him.
"Stay," you mumbled, pulling him backwards with you without a second thought. And he let out a deep groan as his arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you up the bed, dropping you in the middle.
"I was hoping you'd say that," he mumbled,
He was on his arms above you, filling your field of vision completely as he dragged his gaze down over your body. His hand followed, slipping down over your chest, down over the hem of your t-shirt, and then he reached your skin, sliding his rough fingers over the inside of your thigh, pushing it open under him. The touch made you let out a moan, heat filling your body as you pulled him closer, pulling him down over you. There was no hesitancy now, he was here, offering you exactly what you wanted. And when he slotted himself between your legs, the evidence of his need was hard against your core as he rolled his hips, both of you moaning into the dimly lit room.
He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as he rolled his hips again, "You feel so good, so soft."
Heavy, and thick, he dragged against your underwear, and you could feel how wet he was making you. Each roll of his hips caught on the bundle of nerves at the apex of your sex, and the friction made you cant your hips, chasing his hard length. Groaning again, he kissed your neck, his tongue licking over your heated skin, scraping with his teeth as he pushed your legs wider underneath him.
"Take off your clothes," you mumbled, tugging at his t-shirt. His fingers were still digging into your soft thigh, and you wanted to feel more of him. The warmth of his hands on your body made you feel light headed with need.
He pushed up a little, and tugged your shirt over your head in one smooth motion, lifting your arms over your head in the process. Tossing it to the side, he impatiently pulled his own shirt over his head and dropped down over you again. The heat of his body was intoxicating, feeling him cover every part of you with his heavy weight.
"Condoms are hard to come by these days," he said, "but I'll do whatever you're comfortable with."
Wrapping your hands around his wide shoulders, you hooked your legs around his hips, making him roll his hard on against you again. He groaned as you smiled up at him.
"I want you to fuck me, just don't come inside me, and we're good," you replied with a smile, his eyes darkening as you spoke.
"God, you'll kill me," he mumbled, "Do you know how long it's been? I might not make a very good impression…"
"You already feel so good, your body feels so good on mine, Joel," you told him, groaning as he ran his hand over your torso, cupping your breast with his calloused fingers.
He grunted in reply, dipping his head down to your neck, scraping his teeth over your skin.
"Gonna make you feel even better," he whispered, slipping his hand further down, pushing past the edge of your underwear, thick fingers sliding into your slick heat. You whined as he teased your opening, his thumb finding your clit, dragging over it, and lighting a fire through your body.
"More…" you breathed, "More, please, Joel."
Above you he pushed himself up, off your body, and you looked up at him, protesting at the loss of his body.
"Patience, woman," he growled, reaching down and pulling your underwear off you, tugging them down your legs before he pulled down his own boxers.
You inhaled sharply as his hard cock bobbed free, thick and flushed red between his strong thighs. But he only gave you a moment to admire it, he knelt down and grabbed your thighs, pulling you towards himself as he came down on his elbows, his face between your legs.
"I'm going to make you come on my face before I fuck you," he informed you, "But keep your voice down, Bill hears everything."
Nodding, you bit your bottom lip as you watched his dark eyes trail over your sex, his hands pulling you open, leaning closer, his breath ghosting over your swollen folds. He tested your opening, a finger circling through the wetness, letting it slip in, pushing as he felt your body contract as you moaned.
"Relax," he hummed, and you felt him kiss your clit, a feather light touch, "I'll give you everything you need."
His tongue dragged across it as he pushed his finger in further, the scrape of his beard across your sensitive skin a sweet contrast to the electricity that was shooting from your core. Keeping silent was becoming difficult, you clapped your hand over your mouth as he pushed a second finger inside you, whining into your palm. The force of your climax was already beginning to build, and he could feel it, curling his fingers, pulling them out as your body tried to keep them tight. When he pushed them in again, he closed his mouth over your clit, smiling into your flesh as he heard your gasp.
"You're so tight, sweetheart," he mumbled, moving above you, his fingers pushing deep, fucking you harder, "So tight and wet, so fucking needy for someone to make you come."
You nodded, reaching for him and tangling your fingers in his hair, "Please…Joel…Joel," you whispered, your voice breathless, and he smiled, lowering his mouth to your clit again.
"Come for me, honey, and I'll fuck you until you come again on my cock," he promised, "So fucking wet, you're just dripping down my hand, and you taste so good, so sweet, my girl."
He was rambling, lost in the feel of you, the taste of you, and as he closed his mouth over your clit again, his tongue circled it in tight movements, his fingers picking up speed as he fucked you on them.
You had to slap your hand over your mouth again, your body bowing up from the bed as it all came crashing down, stars exploding behind your lids as the climax hit. Joel felt it, and dragged his fingers through your cunt as you shook under him, his tongue never stopping its tight circles. You were panting through your nose, fingers tight in his hair, keeping him between your legs until it began to ebb away. A long deep breath escaped you, and you felt your body relax, sinking down into the bed, your hands shaking as you let go of Joel's curls.
Above you, Joel pulled his fingers from your sopping wet sex, and crawled up your body, leaving sticky, warm kisses on your skin, nipping at one nipple, and sucking hard on the other one. You could feel his cock against your thigh, hard and leaking. Joel moved, his hand disappearing between his legs as he grabbed it, and slid it through the slick mess between your thighs. The tip caught against your sensitive clit, and you both hissed.
"Let me fuck you," he muttered, his mouth against your ear as he held himself up over you on his elbow, "I need to feel that tight cunt squeeze me, pull me in, you feel so fucking good, sweetheart."
The firm head of his cock dragged through your sex again, the head against your opening, and Joel groaned, a deep growl from his throat, his eyes black as he looked down at you.
Nodding, you reached down and closed your hand around the hard length, helping him push it in, "Fuck me hard, Joel, I want to feel it tomorrow."
With a strained grunt, he drove forward, sinking deep in one smooth stroke, groaning as he bottomed out inside of you. Grabbing behind your knee, he pushed your leg up, opening you up for him as he buried himself against your neck. His hips snapped, picking up speed fast, jolting your body under him as you hooked your feet around his broad back, spreading yourself wide for him. He panted into your ear, and strangled moans mixed with filth poured from him as you felt the coarse curls around his cock graze your clit with every deep stroke.
"Sweetheart…so good, you feel so fucking good," he groaned, "So tight for me, this tight fucking cunt, she'd taking me so well…I want to fill you up, fuck you so full…"
His words turned to panted grunts, his speed picking up as you felt your body contract around his thick length, each snap of his hips driving him deep inside until your world shrank to the way his heavy body was pushing you into the mattress, his broad shoulders over you, his mouth moaning in your ear, the heat of his thick cock buried inside you.
"Joel…" you cried out, much too loud, but he was past caring. He could feel your cunt squeezing him as your body began to shake. Your teeth bit into his shoulder, and he slammed his cock deep inside over and over, pulled in by your legs and your arms wrapped around him, fucking you through the waves of pleasure as you came around him a second time.
He had to bite his lip to stave off his own release, he could feel it coming, "Let go, let go," he moaned, pushing you away as he wrenched himself from the tight grip of your cunt, grabbing hold of his cock.
It took only a stroke, staring down at your swollen folds, your clit wet from his mouth and your juices, and he came with a deep groan. Falling forward on his hand, he milked himself, covering your thighs and mound with ropes of pearly white cum, gasping for air as his own climax hit.
"Fuck…" he groaned, his hand still stroking his aching cock, softer now, as he watched the last drops fall onto your skin. He couldn't stay upright, collapsing onto you, he felt your arms come around his shoulders again as you pulled him in.
You drew a deep breath, Joel's body heavy on top of your own, warm, solid and real. It felt better than you ever could've imagined, and your body was slowly relaxing, sinking deep into the soft bed. He mumbled something above you, and pushed himself off, but you didn't have the energy to protest. There was movement somewhere in the room and then he came back to the bed, you felt him wipe your body with something soft and damp.
"I made a mess," he muttered, tossing the towel on the floor and looking down at you. You saw his shape between your half closed lids, and held out your hand to him.
"What are you doing? Come back to bed," you mumbled.
"Wasn't sure if you wanted me to stay," he replied, and the tone of uncertainty in his voice made you open your eyes properly and look up at him where he stood. He'd pulled on his boxers and was standing next to the bed with a frown, his left hand twitching as he looked at you.
"I want you to stay, and take off those boxers. We're not done, I just need to sleep first."
You heard him chuckle, and the sound of his boxers sliding off again as you closed your eyes. The bed dipped down next to you.
"Scoot up then," he said, and you shifted over as he pulled the covers over you both. His chest was warm and solid under your head as his arm came up to curl around your shoulders, and you felt his fingers caress your cheek.
"Sleep well," he mumbled, pressing his lips to your forehead.
The End
A/N - I hope you enjoyed this little smutty one shot! I seldom write for Joel but it's always fun to do. Long before Pedro played him, he held such a special place in my heart!
And if you enjoyed this story, please consider reblogging to spread the word. Reblogging is the only way our works get spread on Tumblr, so a simple reblog is veyr important to us all! Thank you! ❤️❤️❤️
I love love loooooooved every word of this!!! the way these two got each other’s backs on their way to lincoln was so sweet AND THEY’RE SO HOT TOGETHER!!! (thinking about joel in sweats is giving me heart palpitations, in a good way) 😩🥵❤️🔥
I’m so happy you planted the mental image of joel in sweats in my brain babes, this made my day!! 😩🔥 thank YOUUUU for sharing your joel and your immense talent with all of us!! 😍🥰😘
Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)
Summary: The little blue house on Goldenrod Lane is a fresh start for you and your son Layne. The handsome single dad across the street just happens to start showing up, fixing all the broken things in your life, and maybe even your heart.
Warnings: no outbreak au, takes place in the early 2000's, alternating pov, slow burn, eventual smut, ten year age gap (joel is 36, reader is 26), pining, yearning, joel's dad sarah, indie music, 90's grunge, toddler named after layne staley, new beginnings
Chapters will have individual warnings.
Masterlist | Series Playlist
Chapter 1 - Coming August 1
—-
Please follow @whocaresposted and turn on updates to be alerted when a new chapter drops!
Summary: "Thank you for coming back for me, Joel."
"Always, darlin'... Always. Forever, my pretty girl."
Before the world fell apart, Joel Miller was just a man hopelessly, head over heels in love with his wife.
You're supposed to be resting up before heading back home to Sarah, but Joel has other ideas. Between getting caught in the hotel elevator, forced orgasms against the vanity, and Joel dirty talking you into complete submission, your honeymoon ends with you barely able to walk. A pre-outbreak two part shot with heavy smut, filthy, disgusting talk from Joel, rough possession, and sweet morning fluff.
first part here
Word count for this chapter: 8,355
Content & Warnings
Rating: Explicit (18+)
Tropes: Pre-Outbreak AU, Established Marriage, Husband Joel Miller, Domestic Fluff & Heavy Smut, Honeymoon Suite, Tequila & Drunk Sex.
Main tags: Joel Miller, Joel Miller x Reader, Pre-Outbreak Joel Miller, Husband Joel Miller, Protective Joel Miller, Possessive Joel Miller, Filthy Joel Miller, Domestic Fluff, Tequila Shots, Balcony Sex, Elevator Sex, Vanity Sex, Double Penetration, Anal Play, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Breeding Talk, Teen Sarah Miller
PART TWO
Your POV
When your eyes fluttered open the next morning, the bright Texas sun was already cutting long, brilliant bars of gold across the white duvet. Your head gave a small, dull throb, a gentle reminder of the tequila, but it was instantly eclipsed by the warmth pressed against your back.
You slowly turned over, mindful not to wake the heavy, solid man sleeping beside you.
Joel was out cold. His face was relaxed, all the sharp lines of worry, heavy work stress, and tension completely gone, leaving him looking spent and peacefully asleep. His dark, silver touched hair was a wild, messy mop against the white pillow, his thick stubble dusting a jawline that took your breath away every single day. You just lay there in the quiet room, watching him breathe, your chest aching with a love so heavy it felt like a miracle.
You were so unbelievably, incredibly lucky. You were Joel Miller’s wife.
You leaned in carefully, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the tip of his nose. He let out a low, sleepy grunt in his sleep, his brow giving a tiny twitch, but he didn't wake.
Smiling to yourself, you gently slid out from beneath the heavy blankets, your feet hitting the cool floor as you tiptoed into the bathroom. You turned the shower on, letting the space fill with a thick cloud of warm steam.
As the hot water washed over your skin, your mind drifted between the perfection of last night and the quiet ache in your chest for your home. You missed Sarah so much, missed her witty, sarcastic morning commentary over cereal and her sharp banter. You knew Tommy and Maria had her completely covered, but you made a mental note to call soon. Sarah might’ve not been yours by blood but she might has well been. She was your child through and through.
After washing your hair and rinsing off, you turned off the water and wrapped a towel around yourself. You stood in front of the vanity, staring at your reflection while you debated your options. You could put on regular clothes, stay totally naked, or... you could put on the brand new lingerie you’d bought specifically for last night, which you’d completely bypassed in your rush to tear each other's clothes off.
You decided on the lingerie.
You reached into your overnight bag and pulled it out. Calling it ‘clothes’ was a stretch, it was a sheer, intricate web of white lace and tiny silk strings that hardly left a single thing to the imagination.
And it was an absolute, nightmare puzzle to get into.
For twenty minutes, you stood in that bathroom flipping it, turning it inside out, accidentally putting your leg through the armhole, and nearly ripping the delicate lace in frustration. You were muttering a steady stream of curses under your breath, on the verge of giving up and just throwing on a t-shirt, before you finally managed to align all the straps properly.
You stood back, looking at yourself in the mirror. You felt a tiny bit embarrassed and a little cringe, but the second you pictured Joel’s dark eyes locking onto you, the embarrassment melted straight into a slow, wicked heat. He was going to completely lose his mind.
You clicked the bathroom door open and tiptoed silently back into the bedroom.
Joel hadn't moved an inch. He was spread flat out on his back, his broad chest rising and falling in a deep, steady rhythm, the sheets kicked down around his hips, leaving his torso completely exposed to the morning light.
Perfect.
You padded quietly over to the edge of the mattress. You carefully lifted one leg, crawling up the bed with zero noise, and gently straddled his lap.
The heat radiating off his body hit you instantly, and delicious wetness was already starting to pool in your center as you aligned yourself over his thighs. You leaned your weight forward, resting your palms flat on his chest, and slowly, heavily ground down against his half hard cock through his boxers.
Joel let out a low groan, his head shifting back against the pillows. His eyes flicked open just a fraction, dark and heavy with sleep, before his lids fluttered shut again. He thought he was still dreaming.
Then your hips rolled, grinding your core hard and flat against his growing length.
Joel’s eyes shot wide open. His pupils dilated, his mouth literally gaping open as his eyes raked down your body, taking in the sight of you hovering over him in a web of white lace and tiny, thin silk strings.
A soft, breathless giggle escaped your lips at his expression, your cheeks flushing a hot crimson.
"What?" you asked innocently.
Joel was flat out struck mute. He tried to speak, his throat working as he stuttered for words that completely failed him. "I—you—what the..."
You didn't let him finish. You leaned forward, resting your palms flat against his chest again and ground your hips down again in a slow, heavy drag.
His cock went instantly, fully hard beneath you, straining against the thin cotton of his boxers. The sudden, rigid friction hitting your center made a sharp, helpless whimper slip past your teeth.
"What... what is this?" Joel rasped out.
"You don't like it?" you teased softly, biting your lower lip as you tilted your pelvis again.
Joel let out a long groan that vibrated through his ribs. "Fuck... I fucking love it, sweetheart'," he growled.
Before you could even blink, his large hands clamped hard over your hips. In one smooth move, Joel flipped your entire body over onto your back.
He didn't rush. He pushed himself up onto his knees, hovering directly between your open legs, your thighs draped comfortably over his broad knees. His dark, hooded eyes burned as he slowly looked you up and down, his gaze swimming with a potent, intoxicating mix of raw hunger and absolute, unshielded love.
He reached out, and gently traced his knuckles over the white lace covering your stomach, the light friction making goosebumps erupt across your skin. His palms slid up, cupping the weight of your breasts through the thin fabric, his thumbs barely brushing over your stiffened nipples.
You let out a small, breathless moan, your back arching off the mattress at the feather light touch.
Joel chuckled softly, a low, deep rumble of satisfaction in his chest. His hands slid down your sides, past your waist, until his thumb slipped beneath the edge of the lace strap and pressed lightly against your swollen clit.
He let out another low groan, feeling the thick, hot slick already coating you. "Fuck... you're already soaking for me, hmm? Just sitting on me for two seconds?"
"Joel... mmgh," was all you could moan in response, your hips giving an involuntary, desperate little twitch against his thumb.
"Look at you," Joel rumbled deeply, his gaze locking dead into yours as he used his other hand to pull his boxers down his thighs, kicking them off his ankles until his thick, heavy length sprang free, long and fully hard against the morning light. "My beautiful, sexy fucking wife."
He reached down, his fingers spreading your drenched lips wide, and lined his head up with your entrance. He didn't slam into you this time. He took a long, steadying breath, his chest heaving, and slowly pushed himself inside.
He slid in inch by agonizing inch, stretching you until he was buried to the very hilt, his hips resting flush against your ass.
A long, shuddering gasp slipped from your lips, your eyes rolling back as you clamped tight around him. Joel let out a deep sigh against your mouth, leaning down to rest his weight on his forearms, trapping your head between his shoulders as he began a slow pace.
He pulled almost all the way out, then slid back in with a deep, gliding stroke that hit every single sensitive nerve inside you.
"God..." Joel whispered hoarsely into your lips, his mouth taking yours in a slow, sweet, and bruisingly deep kiss. "Y’feel so goddamn good... so tight for me..."
"Joel," you whimpered into his mouth, your hands scrambling up his back, your fingers digging into the firm muscles of his shoulders as you met his slow, grounding rhythm. "Mmph... you’re so deep.."
"I know, darlin'," he murmured, trailing his mouth down your jawline to suck a slow, lingering mark into your neck. "I want to be as deep inside you as I can get. I want you to feel every single inch of me."
He kept the slow, loving pace for a few excruciatingly sweet minutes, filling you completely, making sure every inch of your body was completely awake and feeling him. But as your slick began to loudly slap against his thighs, the sweet, gentle friction started turning hot and desperate.
Joel’s breathing grew heavier, more ragged. His jaw clenched tight, a dark, possessive heat taking over his features as his grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging into your hips.
"Fuck, sweetheart... I can't keep going slow," he rasped out. "You're squeezing me so fuckin’ tight..."
"Don't go slow," you panted out, your chest heaving, your hands pulling his head down.
"Fuck me, Joel. Harder."
Joel’s dark eyes snapped wide, a mean, dimpled smirk covering his face. "Yeah? Y’want it hard, pretty girl?"
He didn't wait for an answer. Joel pulled all the way back until just his tip was catching your entrance, then slammed his hips forward with a hard, punishing thrust that made the bedframe creak against the wall.
A loud scream tore out of your throat, instantly melting into a deep, filthy moan as he picked up the pace, fucking you fast, hard, and relentless, his hips slamming against your backside with a loud, wet, and filthy rhythm that filled the entire room.
"Goddamn, look at you in this little white outfit," Joel growled, his voice a dirty, raspy rumble as he reached down, fisting his hand into the thin lace straps over your hips to anchor you while he railed into you. "Wearing this slutty little lace for me... you bought this just to drive me fuckin’ insane, didn't you?"
"Joel... ah! Yes! Fuck, Joel!" you whimpered, your head digging back against the pillows, your whole body shaking under the impact of his heavy, ruthless thrusts.
"Such a filthy little girl," Joel rasped, leaning down to bite lightly at your collarbone, his hot breath scorching your skin as he drove deep into your sweet spot over and over and over again. "Taking my cock so good... so fucking wet for your husband... tell me whose pussy this is."
"Yours!" you shrieked out, your fingers raking down his back, leaving red marks across his skin as you began to spasm around him. "It's yours, Joel.. Yours!"
"That's right, baby girl," Joel growled, his pace turning wild and sloppy as he felt your core clenching tight around him. "It's mine... all fucking mine. I love you so goddamn much, darlin'... I'm gonna fill this sweet little pussy up..."
“Joel! Fuck… fuck I’m close baby…” you wept out, completely overwhelmed by the intense, filthy friction of his hips and the filthy way he was speaking to you.
Joel let out a loud groan, slamming his hips forward one last, brutal time, burying his root as deep as physically possible inside your pulsing core. You seized hard around him in a violent, explosive climax, and Joel locked rigid above you as he spilled deep, heavy, hot ropes of his spend, filling you completely while you held onto each other.
Joel pulled out slowly, a long, heavy exhale shuddering out of his chest as he collapsed sideways onto the mattress beside you. His chest was slick with sweat, his chest heaving up and down in deep, ragged rasps as his eyes stared up at the ceiling, completely spent.
A loose, giddy smile took over your face. You rolled onto your side, propping your head up on your hand, and leaned over him. You pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the tip of his nose. Then you moved to his flushed cheek, then his stubbled chin, and then to his warm, bruised lips, pecking him over and over again in a relentless, sweet assault.
Joel tried to hold his stern face for all of three seconds before a rich, booming laugh burst out of his chest. His long arm shot out, hooking around your waist, and hauled your entire body over his chest, wrapping his arms tight around your back to trap you against his heart.
"Stop it, pretty girl," Joel rumbled, his deep voice thick with laughter as he buried his face into your hair, pressing a hard kiss to the crown of your head.
"God, I love you so fuckin’ much. You're gonna drive me into an early grave."
"I love you more, old man," you giggled, resting your chin on his chest and looking up into those deep lines cutting into his cheeks.
The rest of the morning melted into a sweet, unhurried blur. We finally dragged ourselves out of bed around eleven, sitting side by side on the edge of the mattress with the phone on speaker while we called Tommy and Maria’s house. The second Tommy answered, the background sound of TV and music hit the line. Sarah grabbed the phone, her voice immediately dripping with sarcasm.
"Well, well, look who decided to remember they have a daughter," Sarah chimed in dryly through the speaker. "I was beginning to think you two ran off to Mexico or got eaten by wild animals. Uncle Tommy’s makin’ pancake art and it’s deeply concerning, so please tell me you're coming home soon."
"Watch your mouth, kiddo," Joel rumbled with a wide, fond grin, his thumb tracing slow circles over your knee as he talked to his daughter. "We'll be back tomorrow mornin’. You being good for your aunt and uncle?"
"I am an angel dad, as always. Aunt Maria agrees," Sarah teased, though you could hear the warmth and relief in her voice. "Hurry back, okay? I miss you guys."
Hearing her sweet, sharp voice soothed the gentle ache in your chests, and knowing she was safe and happy with Tommy and Maria allowed you both to completely relax into your bubble.
After hanging up, you showered together, which took twice as long as it should have because Joel couldn't keep his hands to himself under the warm water, washing your hair with a beautiful care that left you completely turned to mush.
By two, you finally stepped out of the hotel into the warm Texas sun, holding hands like a pair of teenagers. You walked down to a small, quiet cafe tucked away on a side street, sitting at an outdoor table under a colorful umbrella.
"So, Mrs. Miller," Joel rumbled, leaning his elbows on the table and looking at you through his dark lashes as he took a sip of his iced tea. "How does it feel? Being stuck with me for the rest of your life?"
You took a bite of your food, chewing slowly while you pretended to ponder the question, tilting your head.
"Honestly? It's a huge burden, Joel. You take up the whole bed, you steal the blankets, and you're ridiculously demanding."
Joel’s jaw dropped slightly, a lazy smirk cutting across his face, as he crossed his arms over his chest.
"Oh, really? I'm demandin’?"
"Extremely, yes." you deadpanned, holding back a laugh.
"Just this morning, a grown man was begging me for mercy. It was honestly embarrassing."
Joel let out a loud, rich bark of laughter, shaking his head as he reached across the small table to firmly grab your hand, squeezing your fingers tight. "You are a little brat.. Good thing I like a challenge."
After lunch, you drove out to the quiet stretch of the lake shore just outside of town, kicking off your shoes to walk barefoot along the damp sand. The afternoon sun was warm, carrying a gentle breeze that swept your hair across your face. Joel walked beside you, his long, heavy arm draped securely over your shoulders, keeping you tucked flush against his side while his fingers lightly played with the strap of your sundress.
You joked, teased each other about old memories, and argued playfully over who was going to be the stricter parent as Sarah navigated her high school years.
"I'm telling you right now, darlin'," Joel said, stopping on the sand and turning you to face him, his hands resting on your hips. "If she brings a boy home, I'm sittin' on the porch with my gun."
"You are not doing that to our daughter, Joel!" you laughed, swatting his broad chest. "You're going to embarrass her to death!"
"She's a Miller," Joel rumbled deeply, a tender, beautiful smile breaking across his features as he looked down into your eyes, his thumbs gently wiping a stray strand of hair off your cheek. "She'll handle it. Just like I handled you."
"You didn't handle me, Joel," you whispered softly, stepping closer until there wasn't an inch of air between you, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I let you win."
Joel let out a low, breathless chuckle, his eyes melting like warm honey, with an unshielded, eternal devotion that left you breathless. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his palms catching the heat of your cheeks as the water lapped softly against the shore.
"Yeah, darlin'," Joel murmured against your lips, his voice a thick, sweet scratch. "You sure did. And it's the best damn thing that ever happened to me."
His lips met yours in a kiss that started slow and deep, the kind that tasted like the sweet tea you’d shared at lunch and the salt on the afternoon air. Joel’s hands cupped the back of your head, his thumbs gently stroking your jawline as he pulled you flush against his chest.
You leaned into him completely, your fingers tangling deep into the dark hair at the nape of his neck. The rhythm of his mouth grew hungrier, deeper, driving every thought out of your mind until you were both completely out of breath.
When he finally pulled back just a fraction, his forehead rested against yours, both of you panting in the quiet breeze. His dark eyes were hooded, heavy, and burning with that intense, unshielded devotion that always made your pulse sprint.
"Jesus, sweetheart," Joel panted softly, a breathless chuckle rumbling through his chest. "If you keep looking at me like that, we ain’t gonna make it back to the truck."
You let out a soft, giddy laugh, your cheeks flushing a pretty pink as you swatted his chest. "Come on, big guy. Put your boots back on. I’m starving."
You kicked the damp sand off your feet, slipped your shoes back on, and held hands the whole walk back to the truck.
By seven, after heading back to the hotel to change into something a little nicer, you in a floral sundress and Joel looking ridiculously handsome in a crisp, dark button down shirt, you walked into a cozy, upscale steakhouse downtown.
The restaurant was dimly lit with warm, golden lanterns, the low hum of acoustic guitar floating over the quiet chatter of the room. Sitting across from him in the leather booth, Joel’s eyes hardly left your face. His hand rested over yours on the white tablecloth, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles over your knuckles while you shared a bottle of red wine and ordered two massive ribeyes.
"You're staring, Mr. Miller," you teased, taking a sip from your glass and looking at him through your lashes.
Joel just gave you that slow, lazy smirk, those deep lines cutting beautifully into his dark stubble.
"Can't help it, Mrs. Miller. Just enjoying the view. I still can't get over the fact that you're sitting across from me and you're actually my wife."
"You better get used to it," you smiled, leaning across the small table. "You're stuck with me for the next seventy years."
"Best life sentence I could've ever asked for," he rumbled deeply, bringing your hand up to his lips to press a slow, lingering kiss to your knuckles.
After you finished dinner, entirely stuffed and floating on a sweet, contented buzz, you walked down the brick sidewalk toward a little local ice cream shop on the corner.
"I'm telling you, Joel, strawberry is superior," you declared as you walked out onto the street, holding a waffle cone in one hand while your other arm was locked around his elbow.
Joel looked down at his own cup of dark chocolate with a scoff, shaking his head.
"Strawberry is for kids, babe. Chocolate is a classic. Y’got no taste."
"Oh, really?" You stopped on the sidewalk, stepping in front of him with a mischievous grin.
"Let me taste yours then."
Joel raised an eyebrow, a dangerous little spark lighting up his eyes. Before he could answer, you leaned up on your tippy toes, scooped a tiny bit of chocolate off his spoon, and licked it off your lips.
Then, you reached out with your index finger, lightly dabbing a speck of pink strawberry ice cream onto his top lip.
Joel didn't even blink. He let out a low growl from the bottom of his chest, reached out, and caught your waist, pulling your body flush against his. He leaned down and instantly captured your mouth, his tongue sweeping past your lips to steal the sweet strawberry flavor right off your tongue in a wet, possessive kiss right there under the warm streetlights.
A sharp gasp escaped your throat into his mouth, your core instantly pulsing with a familiar, aching heat.
When Joel finally pulled back, his mouth was glistening, a victorious, wicked smirk cut across his handsome face. "Yeah. Strawberry's not bad," he rumbled against your ear. "Now let's get back to the room before I eat you right here on the sidewalk."
Your heart did a flip against your ribs. You giggled softly, your face burning crimson as you grabbed his hand, and you practically jogged the two blocks back to the hotel, ready to lock the rest of the world out all over again.
The heavy glass doors of the hotel lobby swung open, a rush of cool air conditioned air washing over you. You were still giggling, holding Joel’s hand tightly as you crossed the marble floor, when the soft glow of the hotel bar caught your eye. You stopped dead in your tracks, tugging on his arm.
"Joel, look! The bar’s still open!" You pointed toward the dimly lit lounge, a grin taking over your face. "We should definitely go have a couple drinks before we head upstairs."
Joel looked over at the bar, then down at you, his eyes glittered with amusement. "Sure thing, Mrs. Miller. Whatever you want."
You stumbled over to a high top table in the corner, both of you already riding a sweet, heavy buzz. You ordered a round of tequilas, then another, your voices carrying over the quiet hum of the lounge as you laughed entirely too loud at your own jokes. You were leaning across the small table, your cheeks burning pink, your eyes watering from laughing so hard at a story he was telling about Tommy.
"Hold that thought, pretty girl," Joel rumbled, pushing his chair back as he stood up. "I’ll be right back. Goin’ to the restroom."
"Okay," you nodded happily, watching his broad back as he walked across the room.
The second the door to the men's room clicked shut behind him, a terrible, hilarious idea popped into your head. You bit your lower lip to stifle a giggle, scrambling out of your chair. Your legs were slightly wobbly, your head swimming, you were most definitely, maybe a little drunk.
You quickly navigated your way across the lounge to the far opposite corner, tucking yourself behind a decorative tall plant near the wall.
A minute later, the restroom door opened and Joel stepped out.
You watched him, biting your hand to keep from laughing out loud. He walked back to your table, stopped dead, and stared at the empty chairs. A sudden, sharp flash of panic crossed his rugged features as his dark eyes rapidly scanned the room, his jaw clenching tight as he looked around.
Then, his gaze hit your corner.
The panic instantly melted away, replaced by a slow, deep smirk. He didn't say a word. He just locked his eyes dead onto yours and began stalking across the floor toward you like a predator.
He stopped right in front of your tiny hiding spot, leaning one broad shoulder against the wall, towering over you. He looked you up and down, a lazy, charming smile tugging at his lips.
"Excuse me, ma'am," Joel rumbled, his voice dropping into a smooth, sultry drawl you’d never heard him use before. "Can I buy you a drink? A gorgeous girl like you shouldn't be sittin’ alone in a corner."
You caught on instantly, a wicked grin breaking across your face as you leaned back against the wall, crossing your arms and looking up at him through your lashes.
"Sorry, sir," you purred, tilting your head. "I’m married."
Joel’s dark eyes darkened, raking down the front of your sundress, taking in every curve before meeting your gaze again.
"Happily?" he asked softly, a dangerous little spark dancing in his eyes.
A massive, helpless smile broke across your face, your heart doing a flip against your ribs. "Yes. Very happily."
"Good to know," Joel growled.
Before you could even blink, his large hand shot out, grabbing your waist and hauling your body into his chest. He smashed his mouth against yours in a kiss that took the breath from your lungs. He didn't even break the lock of your lips as he spun you around and began dragging you toward the elevator, his arm wrapped around your back like a vise.
The metal doors opened, and he shoved you inside, hitting the button for your floor before slamming you hard against the mirrored back wall.
The door shut you in, and Joel went completely insane.
"Joel—" you gasped into his mouth, but he didn't give you a single second to speak.
His tongue drove deep past your teeth, claiming your mouth with a raw hunger that made your knees buckle. He hoisted the hem of your sundress up over your thighs, his large, warm hand sliding right up the smooth skin of your leg. Without missing a beat, he hooked two fingers past the lace of your panties, driving them into your soaking core.
"Oh, god!" you whimpered loudly, your head slamming back against the mirror.
"Shhh... keep it down, be a good girl f’me," Joel rasped against your throat, his thumb pressing hard against your clit while his fingers pumped inside you in a fast, relentless rhythm.
It was entirely too much. The alcohol, the intense friction, his heavy weight pinning you to the glass, it completely short circuited your brain. You were gripping his shoulders, your hips bucking helplessly against his hand, your mouth open in silent, breathless gasps as a massive orgasm rushed straight up your spine.
You were right on the razor-sharp edge, about to violently explode—
*Ding.*
The elevator buzzed sharply, the digital light flashing as the car slowed to a halt.
You separated with lightning speed. Joel yanked his hand out from your dress, smoothing your hem down with one hand while grabbing your waist to steady your trembling body with the other. Both of you were heaving, your chests rising and falling in deep, frantic gasps, your face burning an absolute, blinding shade of crimson.
The doors slid wide open.
Standing in the hallway was an older woman with silver hair, holding a small purse. She looked at Joel, then looked at your disheveled hair and flushed face, and slowly raised a single eyebrow.
"Newlyweds, I presume?" she muttered, a tiny smirk touching her lips.
A sudden, uncontrollable burst of laughter erupted out of your throat, and you buried your burning face into Joel’s shoulder, your whole body shaking.
Joel let out a breathless, embarrassed chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as his face flushed dark red. "Yes, ma'am. Sorry about that..."
The woman let out a warm, rich laugh, stepping into the elevator and pressing her floor. "Don't apologize, young man," she smiled, her eyes twinkling with fond memories. "My husband and I were the exact same way... oh, so many years ago. Enjoy every second of it."
She stepped off at the very next stop, wishing you a good night as the doors slid shut behind her.
The second the doors sealed you in again, the quiet control snapped.
Joel let out a low growl, stepping straight back into your space. He grabbed your face in both of his hands and smashed his mouth back against yours. His tongue slid deeply against yours, tasting of tequila, and you honestly felt like you could cum right then and there, just from his tongue down your throat and his large, heavy hands roaming up your back, squeezing your ass through your dress.
The elevator reached your floor. The doors opened, but Joel didn't even bother to look up.
His mouth never left yours for a single second.
Keeping his lips locked to yours, he wrapped his solid arms around your waist and walked you backward out of the elevator, your bare feet stumbling over the hallway carpet. You blindly, clumsily navigated the wall until his hand fumbled with the hotel key card, jamming it into the slot. The lock clicked green, and Joel kicked the heavy door wide open, dragging you straight inside into the dark.
The door slammed shut behind you with a loud, final thud, locking out the rest of the world and plunging the hotel room into deep, warm shadow.
Joel didn't give you a single second to draw a breath.
His hands clamped over the sides of your jaw, tipping your head back as his mouth crushed down on yours with a brutal, ravenous hunger. His thick tongue pushed deep past your teeth, tasting of tequila and sweet ice cream. You moaned loudly into his throat, your hands frantically scrambling up his chest to tear at the buttons of his crisp dress shirt.
"Fuckin’ eager, aren't you, baby?" Joel growled against your lips.
He didn't help you with the buttons, he just grabbed both sides of his shirt and ripped it wide open, popping three buttons off the fabric. They clattered uselessly across the hard foyer floor. In two seconds flat, he ripped his shirt off his shoulders, kicking his shoes off before his hands slid down to the hem of your dress.
He didn't bother pulling it over your head. He hooked his fingers into the neckline and yanked down, pulling the soft cotton down your arms until it fell in a crumpled heap at your ankles.
You stood there in the foyer, completely bare except for your soaking lace panties and your heels.
Joel’s eyes dilated until they were pure pitch. His chest was heaving, his shoulders slick with a light sheen of sweat as his gaze raked up and down your body like a man starved.
“Look at you," Joel growled, stepping into your space until his chest was pressed against your nipples, instantly sending a shock of electricity to your core. "Standing in the doorway looking like this f’me..."
"Joel... please," you whimpered out, your knuckles digging into his shoulders as you tried to lift one leg to hook around his hip.
"No," he growled softly, a mean, possessive smirk cutting into his dark stubble. "Not yet."
Before you could even process his words, Joel dropped straight to his knees.
He grabbed the sides of your hips with a brutal grip, pulling you to his face. He didn't even use his hands to pull your panties down, he sank his teeth into the damp lace right at your groin, tearing the fabric aside with his mouth, exposing your swollen, drenched slit to the cool air.
"God, you’re so fuckin’ sweet, darlin'," Joel rasped into your wet, his hot breath blooming over your clit and making your whole body tremble. "Goddamn soaked for me."
He opened his mouth and drove his thick, flat tongue up your slit from your clit to your entrance, taking a long, deep taste of your slick.
A high, shameless shriek tore out of your throat, echoing off the high ceilings. Your knees buckled completely, but Joel’s large hands locked around the meat of your ass, pinning you upright against his mouth.
He went completely insane. He lapped at your wet folds like a dying man, his tongue working in fast, ruthless strokes, swirling over your clit before clamping his lips down and sucking hard on your sensitive center.
"Joel! Joel, fuck!" you wept out, your hands plunging deep into his wild hair, your knuckles pulling hard as your hips bucked uncontrollably against his face.
"Yeah, take it," Joel muffled against you, his throat making deep, needy noises as he swallowed your juices. "Give me all of it, darlin'..."
You were right on the edge, your inner walls clenching hard, ready to explode—
And then Joel stilled his tongue completely.
He pulled his head back just an inch, his lips glistening wet with your slick, his eyes hooded as he looked up your body, watching you writhe in sheer agony.
"Joel... please!" you sobbed out, your body shaking with desperate, unsatisfied need. "Don't stop! I was right there!"
Joel let out a low, dark chuckle, his thumb reaching out to press firmly against your swollen, throbbing clit, holding the pressure without giving you the friction you needed. "You don't get to come yet, pretty girl," he growled softly, his voice a gravelly rumble.
"Haven't earned it.. I want you begging for it."
He stood up, towering over you. He reached down, unbuckling his belt, and shoving his pants and boxers down his legs until his massive, throbbing cock sprang free, long, thick, and flushed a dark, heavy crimson, the tip shining with a heavy bead of precum.
You fell to your knees instantly, your chest heaving as you looked up at his cock.
"Get to work, Mrs. Miller," Joel commanded, his voice dripping with dark authority as his hand found the back of your hair. "Make your husband feel good."
You didn't waste a second. You wrapped your hand around his thick root, opened your mouth wide, and slid the fat head of his cock onto your tongue. You swirled your tongue around his ridge, gathering his precum, before hollowing your cheeks and taking his cock deep into your throat.
Joel let out a deep, agonizing groan that vibrated through him, his hips giving a subtle, helpless twitch forward.
"Fuckin’, holy shit..." he rasped out, his knuckles tightening in your hair as he started a slow, steady rhythm, driving his thick length in and out of your mouth. "Such a good little slut for me... taking every fucking inch..."
You took him all the way to his base, your nose burying into his hair, your throat stretching around his thick cock. You spat heavily on his shaft, using your hand to pump some of his length, sucking his head every time you pulled back.
You reached down, cupping his heavy sack with your free hand, sucking him gently while your hand kept a brutal, slick rhythm on the rest of his cock.
Joel’s head snapped back against the wall, a harsh, ragged gasp tearing out of his lungs. "Christ... Jesus Christ! Stop... stop!"
He yanked your head back by your hair, pulling his cock out of your wet mouth with a heavy pop.
He was breathing hard, his eyes burning with absolute madness. He grabbed your wrist, hauling you up off the floor, and dragged you into the main bedroom. He didn't even make it to the bed,he slammed you stomach first down over the wooden vanity desk near the window, your breasts flattening against the cool polished wood.
He grabbed your hips, pulling your ass back and up into the air, bending you at a sharp angle.
"Look at yourself in the mirror," Joel growled in your ear, his broad chest pressing hot against your back as his hands spread your ass cheeks wide open.
You looked up into the vanity mirror. Your hair was a wild, messy mop, your chest flushed red, your bare ass lifted high in the air while Joel hovered behind you, completely naked, his massive cock resting hot and heavy right against your wet slit.
"You see that?" Joel rasped, his hand sliding down to squeeze your thigh. "That's my wife. Bent over like a fucking dog, waiting to get claimed."
He didn't give you time to process. He notched his fat head at your entrance and slammed straight into you in one brutal, relentless stroke that buried his full length to his pubic bone.
A deafening, broken scream tore out of your throat, echoing off the glass window.
Joel didn't hold back. He set a fast, punishing rhythm, sliding almost all the way out before railing back into you with hard, filthy strokes that made the wooden desk screech against the floorboards. The loud, wet slap of his hips against your ass cheeks filled the quiet room.
"Fuck! Joel! Oh god, Joel!" you shrieked out, your fingers clawing at the edges of the wooden desk as your body absorbed every heavy, brutal impact.
"Yeah? You like getting fucked like this, darlin'?" Joel growled, his voice a filthy, guttural mess as his hand came flying down, landing a hard, stinging smack right across your ass.
Your pussy instantly clamped down around his cock, your back arching violently. "Yes! Yes! Please, Joel!"
"You're so fucki’ tight... so goddamn wet, all this f’me?" Joel grunted, his pace turning sloppy and relentless.
As he kept pounding into your wet pussy, his free hand reached down between your thighs. His thumb found your clit, rubbing it in fast, brutal circles, while his index finger, slick with your own juices and precum, slid slowly, torturously back toward your tight, untouched second hole.
Your eyes shot wide open in the mirror as you felt his thick digit press firmly against your ass.
"J-Joel..." you gasped, your breath catching in your throat.
"Stay still, princess," Joel growled darkly into your ear, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he slowly worked his finger past your tight muscle, pushing his digit into your ass while his cock kept railing deep into your pussy.
The double penetration hit you like a wave of pure, filthy ecstasy.
"Oh my god! Joel! Fuck! Fuck!" you screamed out, your head laying against the wood as his finger stretched your ass while his massive cock stretched your pussy.
"That's it, take all of me," Joel growled, his finger pumping in and out of your ass in sync with the brutal, punishing thrusts of his cock inside you.
"Dirty little girl... getting both your holes played with by your husband... you like that, hmm? Tell me you like it.."
"I love it! I love it, Joel! I'm gonna cum! Please let me cum!" you wept out, completely unraveled, your body shaking in violent, uncontrollable spasms.
"Do it then.. so desperate.. poor needy baby." Joel roared, his fingers working your clit and your ass simultaneously as his hips slammed into you with terrifying strength.
"Take my cock and come, baby… fuck!"
The string snapped completely. A long, shattered shriek tore out of your lungs as your pussy exploded in a violent orgasm. You clamped down on his cock in brutal, agonizing contractions, your body completely collapsing flat against the wooden desk as your legs gave out.
Joel didn't stop. He kept fucking you straight through your climax, riding out your waves, his growls turning into deep, guttural moans as he drove deeper and deeper into your soaking core.
He pulled his finger out of your ass and his cock out of your pussy, spinning your limp, shaking body around on the desk. He grabbed your knees, hooking them over his broad shoulders, and dragged your hips to the edge of the wood.
He looked down at you, your eyes rolled back, your chest heaving, your pussy weeping slick down your thighs, and his face twisted into pure possessiveness.
He didn't line up to fuck you. He leaned down, burying his face straight back into your soaking, swollen center, taking a long, deep lick of your fresh orgasm mixed with your slick and his own spit.
"I.. it’s too much..." you whimpered out, your hands trying to push his head away as your clit throbbed.
"Joel, please... it hurts, it's too much..."
He didn't care. He held your thighs locked over his shoulders and kept licking, flicking his tongue directly over your clit, driving you into a second, agonizing, forced orgasm.
"Joel! Fuck… oh!" you shrieked, your back arching off the desk as another wave of pleasure slammed through your nervous system, leaving you sobbing and panting for air.
He pulled back, his lips and chin completely drenched, a dark, victorious smirk on his face.
"You're mine, darlin'," Joel rasped out, his voice thick. "Every fuckin’ inch of you is mine."
He grabbed your waist, lifting your shaking body off the desk, and carried you over to the bed. He threw you onto the mattress, instantly pinning your hands above your head with one massive palm, hovering between your open legs.
He looked down into your eyes, his dark gaze swimming with tears of pure devotion and heavy, lethal hunger.
"Look at me," Joel commanded hoarsely, his breath hitting your face.
You looked up into the eyes of the man you loved more than life itself.
"I love you," Joel whispered, his voice cracking as he lined his head back up with your entrance. "I'm gonna fill you so deep you'll never forget who you belong to."
He slammed back inside you, burying his full length to the hilt in one smooth, deep, agonizing thrust.
A long, beautiful moan escaped your lips, your hands breaking free from his grip to wrap tightly around his neck, pulling his face down to yours. You kissed, dirty, wet, messy, and deep, your tongues tangling together as Joel established a fast, relentless pace, his hips pounding into yours, filling the entire room with the sound of your love and your heat.
"Put a baby in me, Joel..." you whimpered into his mouth, shocking even yourself, your hips bucking up to meet every single thrust. "Fill me up... make me yours forever..."
"Jesus Christ..." Joel groaned out, his whole body shuddering above you as his pace turned frantic, his thrusts reaching deep into the very back of your womb. "Oh fuck.. darlin' I’m not gonna last.."
"Cum for me Joel, fill me up.."
Joel let out a moan and slammed his hips forward one final, brutal time, driving his root as deep as physically possible inside you.
His entire body locked rigid as his balls pulled tight, spilling wave after wave of thick, hot, heavy spend straight into your deepest depths. Your inner walls seized around his pulsing shaft in a third, explosive, endless orgasm, your bodies locked together, shaking, weeping, and holding onto each other as if the world was ending around you.
You lay there in the quiet room for a long time after, Joel still buried deep inside you, his chest heaving against yours, his face buried in your neck, whispering endlessly into your skin how much he loved you, how you were his whole world, his wife, his forever.
You didn't even move apart, Joel just kept his heavy arm wrapped around your waist, his face buried deep in your neck, his cock still inside you as he carried you to the bed, pulling you closer, his even, deep breaths lulling you into a heavy, dreamless sleep.
When the warm morning sun finally crept past the balcony curtains, your eyes fluttered open. The second you tried to shift your legs under the duvet, a sharp ache flared across your lower back, your thighs, your… well, everywhere. You winced out loud, letting out a soft, involuntary hiss through your teeth.
Joel’s eyes snapped open. All the heavy sleep vanished from his dark gaze, replaced by immediate, wide eyed concern as his hand smoothed over your hip.
"Darlin'?" he rasped out, his voice thick and scratchy. He sat up slightly, hovering over you, his brows furrowing deep. "Hey... you okay, baby? Was I.. did I hurt you? Was I too rough last night?"
A soft, breathless giggle bubbled out of your chest despite the soreness. You reached up, your hand cupping his jaw to pull his head down, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to his worried, pouty lips.
"Yeah, Mr. Miller," you whispered against his mouth, a tender smile breaking across your face. "You were definitely rough... and I fucking loved every single second of it."
Joel let out a long, heavy breath of relief, the tension draining out of his shoulders as a dimpled, sleepy smirk cut into his stubble. "Don't scare me like that, pretty girl."
"We should get going," you murmured softly, running your fingers through his wild dark hair. "Sarah's waiting for us."
Packing took twice as long as it should have, mostly because Joel refused to let you lift a finger or stand on your sore legs for too long. In the shower, he took sweet, reverent care of you, washing your hair with steady hands, rinsing the soap from your skin, and murmuring endless soft declarations of “I love you... god, I love you so much” into your wet shoulder.
By noon, you checked out of the hotel and walked out into the warm Texas heat. Joel loaded your bags into the back of the truck, opened the passenger door for you like he always did, and you hit the open highway toward home.
The ride back was pure, quiet magic. The windows were cracked just enough to let the warm country breeze sweep through the cab, the radio softly playing in the background. Your feet were resting up on the dash, your voice humming and singing along to the country songs floating through the speakers. Joel drove with one hand on the wheel, his other heavy, warm palm resting flat over your thigh, his thumb endlessly rubbing sweet, comforting circles into your skin. Every few minutes, he’d glance over at you, his eyes filled with a quiet, unshakeable peace.
When the truck finally pulled up the gravel driveway of your house, the quiet shattered into pure joy.
The second you stepped out, Tommy and Maria greeted you on the porch with warm hugs, but Sarah stole the entire show. She came walking down the wooden steps with a smirk on her face, crossing her arms before giving Joel a tight, firm hug and throwing her arm around your waist. We spent an hour sitting on the porch with Tommy and Maria, drinking sweet tea and catching up while Sarah teased her father mercilessly about his hair and his driving, but the quiet pull of being home as a family was right there.
After saying goodbye to Tommy and Maria, the three of you headed inside, and the house fell into a quiet, sacred stillness.
You changed into one of Joel’s worn out t-shirts and crawled into bed. A moment later, the mattress dipped under his heavy weight. Joel clicked off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into the soft, blue glow of the moonlight filtering through the window, and pulled you back flush against his chest.
You rolled around in his arms, turning to face him.
Joel was looking down at you, his eyes catching the pale moonlight, his long arm anchored securely around your waist. The room was silent except for the quiet rhythm of your breathing.
Suddenly, a wave of emotion, so thick, so raw, and so overwhelming it physically ached in your chest, slammed into your throat. Hot, quiet tears instantly welled up in your eyes, spilling over your lashes and tracking down your cheeks before you could even stop them.
Joel’s posture went rigid. Panic flashed across his face as he sat up, his big hands cupping both sides of your face, his thumbs frantically wiping the tears away.
"Darlin'? Hey.. hey, baby, what's wrong?" he asked frantically, his voice trembling with worry. "What hurts? Are you okay? Talk to me, sweet girl..."
You didn't answer right away. You just looked up at him, at his dark, beautiful eyes, the sharp line of his jaw, the man who worked his fingers to the bone, who carried the world on his broad shoulders, just to build this quiet life here with you and Sarah... your husband.
You shook your head slowly, letting out a soft, watery sob that turned into a quiet, tearful smile.
You reached up, your hand trembling slightly as your palm rested flat against his warm, stubbled cheek, your thumb gently tracing his cheekbone. You held his gaze, your heart breaking and putting itself back together all at once.
"Thank you for coming back for me, Joel," you whispered softly, your voice cracking with every drop of love you had in your soul.
Joel froze.
The panic in his dark eyes melted away, replaced by a look of such profound, agonizing devotion that tears welled up in his own eyes. His jaw twitched, a heavy, shaky breath escaping his chest as he leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours.
"Always, darlin'," Joel choked out, his voice a thick, tear stained rasp against your lips as he pulled you so tight against his heart you couldn't tell where he ended and you began. "Always... forever, my pretty girl."
Authors note: Hi! I hope y’all liked like two part Joel fic! I also post on AO3, my user is ForgetAshley. I have a finished Javier Peña fic and am working on a Din Djarin one, soon will be starting dbf Joel miller!
summary: All Joel Miller wanted was a cake from you, the town baker. All you wanted in return were a few items and to have a drink with him. Now, you’re naked in your bedroom, sitting on his face, getting eaten out like you’re the first real meal he’s had in years.
“Then ask me for what you really want.”
“You wanna come in and fuck me?”
“Only if you’ll let me take you out on a date tomorrow. I don’t do that casual, fuck buddy shit. You’re either mine, or nothin’ at all.”
pairing: Joel Miller/f!reader
rating: E (18+!!! No y/n, porn with some plot, explicit smut, Possessive Joel Miller, big-juicy-legal age gap, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, oral sex (f & m receiving), face sitting, woman on top, rough sex (arms pinned behind back, face shoved against bed), begging, dirty talk (so much), praise (a ton), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, breast worship, aftercare, reader is a lil bratty, feelings, pregnancy mention, Good Parent Joel Miller, sneaking around)
word count: 13.3k+
a/n: Hi! I missed Joel a lot, and as soon as he traded Legos for a cake, my ass was typing out this fic idea. I hope you enjoy my horny fever dream! Note: Halican Drops is a fake band. Sarah wears their band t-shirt in the first episode. I headcanon that they sound like Joan Jett & the Blackhearts. Title from "long story short" by Taylor Swift. Shoutout to @devineconjuring for betaing!
Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!
Part 2 - Masterlist
It’s a Tuesday in Spring, the sun due to set in the coming hour. The temperatures outside have begun to warm up, melting some of the snow high in the mountains. You’d already completed your shifts for the day in the community kitchen, assisting with making breakfast and preparing for lunch and dinner, which a majority of Jackson ate in the mess hall—you didn’t, instead opting to enjoy your food in the comfort of your apartment. With your evening meal finished and your dishes washed, you’re sitting on the couch in your living room listening to the soft tune of Nirvana playing on your record player—a new addition to your collection, their MTV Unplugged in New York album from ‘94—while darning the holes in all of your socks. There are two piles on the coffee table in front of you, one for the hole-y and the other for the now holeless.
A knock on your front door has you pausing, your eyebrows furrowing. You’re not expecting anyone tonight, as indicated by the oversized David Bowie concert t-shirt, lack of bra, and black leggings you’re wearing. “Coming!” you announce, leaning forward to set the sock and yarn on the tabletop before getting up and walking the short distance to the door. Turning the doorknob, you crack it open enough to see who’s there. To your surprise, it’s that handsome older gentleman who arrived in town a couple of months ago, whom you haven’t had the opportunity to introduce yourself to, but have definitely ogled. How could you not with how his flannels always hugged his broad shoulders and how good his jeans made his ass look. You take in what he’s wearing today—a red flannel shirt with dark denim on his bottom half. Your eyes meet his. “Can I help you?” you ask.
He gives you a sheepish smile that’s honestly adorable on such a rugged face. “I’m sorry for botherin’ you, ma’am. My name is Joel. Joel Miller, Tommy’s brother? I’ve been in Jackson a little while now, and I was told you’re the person to talk to if I’m in need of a cake.”
“Oh!” You open your door wider. “Yes, that’s me!” Quickly, you give him your name and offer your hand for him to shake, noticing immediately how much bigger his is when it practically engulfs your smaller one. It has your mind wandering, wondering what it’d feel like on other parts of your body. That thought heats your skin, and you feel a little disappointed when he lets go. “What kind of cake are you needing?”
“A birthday cake.”
“For your wife, or girlfriend?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “For my dau—kid,” he catches himself.
You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms over your chest, and you see his split-second glance at your breasts. You smile. “For your kid, who’s not your daughter.”
He sighs, his hands going to his hips. “It’s… complicated.”
“You adopt her?”
“Yeah.”
It was pretty common for people to take in orphaned children, especially here in town. As sad as it was, there have been instances of kids losing their parents or guardians on their way to Jackson who still managed to make it to the town’s walls, or who were found by patrols and brought in. Luckily, there was an abundance of couples and families willing to foster or adopt the children.
“How old is she turning?”
“Fifteen.”
“Got yourself a teen. How long has she been in your care?”
“Seven, eight months.”
“Ah, I understand the not-daughter thing now.” His kid is older, and their relationship is still relatively new. They’ve probably bonded but aren’t comfortable using father-daughter labels yet. “Just you and her?”
“Yeah.”
He’s single. That’s good to know.
“It’s sweet that you want her to have a cake for her birthday.”
He smiles fondly. “It’s her first.”
Handsome, polite, and loves his adopted child as if she were his own? He’s perfect, and it’s surprising no one has taken him off the market yet. Maybe you should shoot your shot. There aren’t a lot of guys like him in Jackson, and it wouldn’t hurt to try.
“That’s even sweeter,” you reply. “What’s her name?”
“Ellie.”
“A great name—simple and lovely. The last cake I made was for this woman’s husband, named Reginald. Do you have any idea how fucking hard it is to spell out, ‘Happy Birthday, Reginald,’ on a cake the size of a small dinner plate?”
He looks amused. “Pretty hard?”
“Pretty fucking hard, Joel. I made it work, though, squishing the letters together. Do you have a preference if it’s chocolate or vanilla?”
“Uh, chocolate, I guess?”
“Okay, and when do you need it done by?”
“The day after tomorrow.”
“Short notice and chocolate—that’s gonna cost you extra.”
“That won’t be a problem. I used to be a smuggler. I can find somethin’ you’d want.” That’s how you’re paid, by bartering, goods, or favors.
“A smuggler, huh? If you don’t mind me asking, where are you from? Aside from Texas, I know Tommy’s a Texan.”
“Boston. The QZ out there.”
“Doing your smuggling, I assume?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not a chatty guy, are you?”
He huffs out a breath, looking down at his boots. “No, ma’am. I don’t have much to chat about.” His eyes land on yours again.
“That’s not true. You came all the way here from fucking Boston. You could tell me about your travels, Ellie, or hell, we could reminisce about the days before the world ended.”
He smiles, his weight shifting to one side. “Were you even alive back then?”
“I was.”
“You had to be young. A kid.”
“Yeah. Doesn’t mean I don’t remember the comic strips in the Sunday newspaper and how good fresh McDonald’s fries were.”
His eyebrows rise almost to his hairline. “Wow, I haven’t thought about McDonald’s in years.”
“What I’d give for some McNuggets and an apple pie.”
“Did you get some of the apple pie at dinner tonight?”
You smile. “I made the apple pie at dinner tonight.”
He matches your expression. “Did you? That tells me the cake is gonna be really fuckin’ good, then.”
The compliment makes you preen. “Thank you. My mom taught me how to bake before, you know.” The outbreak. “We had this old family recipe for peach pie that always won first place at the county fair.”
“If it was anythin’ like the pie tonight, I can see why.”
“Stop that,” you tease, waving away his words. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
His eyes dart away, clearing his throat. It must have been a while since he was last flirted with. He focuses on you again, changing the subject. “So, what kind of stuff do you want?”
“Ummm, let’s see. It’s her first cake, you’re a sweetheart, and I have all of the ingredients. How about records, movies, and booze?” Easy stuff for him to get. It’s basically the equivalent of a half-off discount. “Oh, and socks!” Yours have seen better days.
“Any records or movies? You’re not lookin’ for anythin’ specific?”
“Nope.” Any duplicates you receive, you’ll trade.
“What about alcohol?”
“I’m not picky. Whatever you have will do.” All that matters is that it’s safe to consume. Liquor is a hot commodity and a valuable bargaining tool.
“Okay.” He nods. “That’s not too bad. I appreciate you for bein’ so kind to me. I’ll have it all to you tomorrow.”
“Great! But there’s something else I want, too.”
His eyes narrow slightly, and he frowns. He thinks you’re trying to pull one over on him. “What else?”
“I’d like to have a drink with you.”
When every day could possibly be your last, there’s no point in playing coy. You’re going to go after what you want, unashamed.
Surprise shows on his face, clearly taken aback. “You want to have a drink with me…?” he says the words slowly, like he almost doesn’t believe them.
“Yes, I want to have a drink with you, Joel.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Why would a woman want to have a drink with you?”
He frowns. “It can’t be for the reason I’m thinkin’.”
“If you thought it’s to get to know you better because I’m interested in you, that is correct.”
That just makes him look confused. “Me? You know I’m old, right? Shit, I’m probably older than your parents.”
Your eyebrow lifts. “And? You’re an adult. I’m an adult. What does your age have to do with anything?”
His arms cross over his chest. “A lot, sweetheart. I don’t think you know what you’re askin’ for. I’m not a young buck anymore. I don’t have the energy of a boy your age. I’m old and broken. My fuckin’ ear doesn’t even work.” He points at the right one.
“So, you’ve got some wear and tear. I don’t care. I still want to have a drink with you. But hey, if you’re uncomfortable with that, then don’t worry about it. I’ll, of course, still make Ellie her cake for the stuff we agreed on.”
“It’s not that I’m uncomfortable. I’m flattered, really. I’m just havin’ a hard time understandin’ why you’re interested in someone as old as me. There’s gotta be guys closer to your age around here that’d love to have a drink with you. What I mean is you’re beautiful, and I know you can do a lot better than me.”
You smile. “You think I’m beautiful?”
“Yes.” He nods. “But that’s beside the point.”
“Have you thought that maybe I like that you’re so much older than me?”
He stands up straighter, his interest piqued. “You got a thing for older men?”
“Now you’re getting it. I do have standards, so it depends on the man in question. In your case, you check all my boxes.”
His expression shows his curiosity. “What are you lookin’ for?”
“Someone caring, pleasant to talk to, not creepy, easy on the eyes, can hold their own, and fifties preferred; I’m willing to dip into the late forties if I have to.”
“Why is fifties preferred?”
“You really wanna know?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Okay. Men your age are great in bed, it’s as simple as that.”
“What makes them great?”
“You wanna know for later?”
You’re rewarded with a flirty little smirk. “Maybe.”
His answer thrills you. “Maybe, huh? I’ve found them to be very generous, and they seem to care that I’m having a good time, too, which is fantastic. They’re also the only ones who’ve ever gone down on me. The guys my age are always in a rush and generally care more about themselves than me. It sucks. So, men in their fifties are my preference.”
The explanation has his dark eyes getting even darker. Now that he’s aware of the extent of your interest in him, there’s a palpable shift between you, and it becomes clear that the attraction is mutual.
“And you’re not seein’ anyone currently…?”
“No. I’m single and very available, especially to you. Now do you wanna come in for a drink?” you ask, the door squealing as you push it open even more.
There’s no hiding that he’s contemplating your offer; it’s there on his face, probably warring with himself over the morality of the situation, and you get it. Given the significant age difference, there are many things he could be worrying about, which he needs to weigh the pros and cons of. At least it’s reassuring that he seems to have a conscience. You’re just hoping he chooses to give in to his desires.
It’s seconds later that he’s made his decision.
“No use in fightin’ it,” he says under his breath.
Joel sends the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy when he takes a step toward you, his hand going up onto the doorframe above your head. He leans in close, your faces only an inch apart, and you gulp at the proximity. “Only a drink?” he rasps. “Is that really all you want, sweetheart?” His eyes keep jumping from your eyeline to your mouth like it’s taking a lot for him not to kiss you.
“No,” you breathe.
“No, it’s not. Tell the truth. What do you want?”
“You.”
Excitement burns low in your belly. You can’t believe this is actually happening. You figured he might be okay with having a drink with you, but this? This is definitely better.
“Then ask me for what you really want.”
“You wanna come in and fuck me?”
“Only if you’ll let me take you out on a date tomorrow. I don’t do that casual, fuck buddy shit. You’re either mine, or nothin’ at all.”
A shiver moves down your spine, your heart pounding so hard you think it might beat right out of your chest. From that declaration, and his confidence, you know he’s got a big dick. Better yet, you’re almost positive he knows how to use it, too.
“Yes, I’ll go out with you, but I’m not yours until you show me why I should be.”
He smirks. “Is that right?”
“Yep,” you answer. Your palm presses to the front of his jeans, over his hardening cock, which you’re happy to find is rather sizeable.
It delights you how his eyes close, and he groans, “Fuck.” When they open again, there’s only the tiniest sliver of brown circling his blown pupils. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”
“Not up for the challenge?”
Joel growls, his lips suddenly on yours, kissing you hard. A surprised sound leaves your throat, but you’re quick to kiss him back, matching his fervor as you grab fistfuls of his shirt, tugging him into your house. His large hand is on your ass, the other shoving your front door closed before its cupping your cheek. Neither of you wants the kiss to end, your mouths staying fused as you walk backward until you bump into the arm of your couch. This is when you spin him, getting him around to the front of the sofa. You break apart as you push him, Joel falling back onto the cushions with a heavy, breathless thump.
Dust floats in a patch of evening light behind him as you stand there, your pulse hammering in your rib cage, your lips tingling. This man with lines etched into his face, carving out the years of grit, survival, and untold grief—no one is lucky enough to make it as far as he has without losses—he’s looking up at you like you’re the first beautiful thing he’s seen in a long, long time.
It’s electric and heavy all at once, like standing on the edge of something dangerous and good. What are you to do but jump headfirst into the abyss that has the potential to ruin you for anyone else?
“You’re gorgeous,” he says, ending the silence. “C’mere, baby.” He holds out his arms to you, and you’re like a moth to a flame—drawn to him, crawling into his lap without another word. Straddling his thighs, you take his stubbled cheeks into your palms and kiss him once more. He moans into your mouth, his big hands grabbing onto your ass, encouraging you to grind against the straining length in his jeans, the friction to your clit stoking the arousal in your center.
It shouldn’t be a surprise that he’s not in a hurry to get you naked. He’s more interested in kissing you, delving his tongue between your lips to tangle with your own. It makes you assume he hasn’t been with a woman in quite a while, and he’s taking his time, luxuriating in your affections.
It goes on and on, until you hit a point where you need to come up for air, your mouth coming off of his to draw in a deep breath. He pants, kissing your chin and the underside of your jaw.
His hands go still. “Can I take your shirt off?” he asks, pulling back to look at your face. His lips are reddened and shiny from spit, his cheeks tinted in a pink flush.
You smile, your fingertips sliding through the hair above his ears. “Only if you take off yours, too.”
“Okay.”
He doesn’t waste time. Joel grips the hem of your t-shirt, tugging it up and off your raised arms, letting it fall onto the floor. Your fingers start unbuttoning his flannel, while his attention is on your bared breasts that he caresses, his thumbs sweeping across the soft skin, your nipples tightening.
The last button is undone. “Off,” you order, pushing open his shirt. He sighs at being interrupted, but he does as you say, sitting up in his seat, jostling you as he shrugs off his flannel, the garment meeting the same fate as your t-shirt.
There’s no time for you to admire the newly revealed skin; he’s zeroed in on your tits again, his hands squeezing them gently, weighing them in his palms. It’s hard not to laugh when he shoves his prickly face into the pillowy mounds and happily sighs. You’re not sure if he’s enjoying your softness again or if he’s a boob guy. Maybe it’s both. You are, however, pretty sure he’s in heaven, and good for him. He can have this moment. Your arms are around his neck, with your fingers pressed into the brown waves on his head.
He kisses along the side of your breast, and you’re gasping at him sucking your pebbled nipple into the warmth of his mouth. It sends a shock of pleasure straight to your clit, making you squirm in his lap. “Yes,” you moan as he swirls his tongue around the hard bud. He moves to give your other breast the same treatment, a shiver rolling through you when cold air hits the saliva left behind on your skin.
Wetness pools between your thighs, your cunt aching, pulsing with need. Joel pulls off your stiff nipple with an audible pop, lifting his head to meet your eyes, his gaze heavy, pupils blown. His voice dips into something rough and hungry. “If I’m not mistaken, you like your pussy eaten?”
“I love it.”
“Thank Christ, ‘cause I fuckin’ love eatin’ it, and it’s been too damn long since I’ve gotten a taste.”
His eagerness has heat sizzling in your veins. “Well, how about we change that?” You get up to stand in front of him. “Lose the boots.”
He smiles. “Yes, ma’am.” He grunts as he leans forward, quickly untying and taking off the worn leather boots that he puts neatly paired on the floor next to him. His socks look a lot better than yours—one of the perks of being a smuggler and knowing where to find things.
You stick out your hand to him. “Let’s go, handsome. We’re taking this to the bedroom.”
“I like the sound of that.” He accepts your palm, and you pull as he rises up onto his feet with a pained groan. “Will be better for my back.”
With Joel hot on your heels, you lead him out of the living room and through the kitchen to the hallway, down to the end where your bedroom is. Crawling onto your queen-size bed, he follows and has you squeaking in surprise when he roughly tugs your leggings off your lower half, causing you to fall onto your stomach. He easily manhandles you onto your back, giving you a glimpse of his strength. You find yourself lying there with your head cushioned on a pillow, Joel kneeling between your legs.
It catches you off guard how he looks down at you, as if he’s seeing something sacred. There’s awe there that he barely hides. Reverence. It takes your breath away that, once again, it’s written on his face that he thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a very, very long time.
His hands smooth up your thighs. “Today is my lucky day,” he murmurs, voice thick with want. “Just look at you.” He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down and off, tossing them to the floor. “Fuckin’ perfection laid out for me. Look at that pretty little pussy.” With two fingers, he spreads open your slick folds, his hot gaze locked on your cunt. “You’re gonna taste so fuckin’ good.” His tongue wets his lips like he’s imagining it. “I wanna fuckin’ drown in it.”
A sharp jolt of excitement shoots through your core, clenching hard with anticipation. You’re expecting him to dive in, tongue first. What you are not anticipating is Joel leaning up, wrapping an arm around your waist, and rolling you on top of him to have you straddle his stomach.
Your eyebrows pull together, blinking down at him with your hands on his chest. “I thought you were eating me out…?”
He smiles. “I am. Maybe not the way you’re expectin’, though. You ever ride someone’s face?”
Your stomach flips. “No?”
“Well, looks like today is your lucky day, too.” His biceps flex as he guides your hips up toward his head. “Get up here, baby.”
You grab the wooden headboard to steady yourself, your heart racing, nerves twisting in your gut. You want it—you want it so fucking bad, but your brain won’t stop worrying about the logistics. Or the potential body count of one extremely hot older man.
He gets you to settle over his face, your thighs bracketing his ears. “How do I do this without, you know, killing you?” you ask.
His voice is muffled beneath you. “Just sit on my face. All of your weight. I wanna feel it.”
He wants you to smother him with your pussy?
“Joel, babe, I like you, and I want to see where this goes, but that can’t happen if I suffocate you.”
“Suffocatin’ between your thighs would be the best way to leave this world.”
Considering the alternatives of getting bitten by infected or murdered by fellow humans, he isn’t wrong that dying while doing something you love is the best way to go out.
“That doesn’t reassure me.”
“It’d take more than your pussy to kill me. I can move you off if I have to, or I’ll tap your thigh twice.” He demonstrates. “So, quit your worryin’ and sit.”
“Bossy.”
He smacks your ass, the sharp sting making your cunt clench. He loses patience, gripping your thighs, yanking you down against his face. That worry you had about accidentally murdering Joel? It flies out the window, your brain short-circuiting at the heat of his mouth and the wet messy sound of his tongue plunging into your pussy. It’s instant, the pleasure cutting through you sharp as a knife, your head falling back, your knees buckling.
“Oh, fuck,” you moan, already starting to tremble.
It’s filthy and almost too much, but not enough all at once. His stubble scrapes your inner thighs, adding a bite to every glide of his wicked tongue, his groans vibrating against your sensitive skin. You’re floating, your heartbeat thumping in your ears. He licks up every drop you’re dripping like a man possessed, his nose bumping your swollen clit.
He’s going to make you come—arousal burns hot at the base of your spine, the knot in your belly winding tighter and tighter. You’re so lost in how fucking good it feels you don’t even realize you’re grinding down until Joel’s fingers grab your ass and rock you against his mouth, helping you move.
“That’s it,” he groans into your cunt. “Use me. Fuck my face, baby.”
And you do, your hips moving greedily now, chasing every lick of his tongue, unashamed. Your whole body burns, your pussy soaked, every nerve in your body lit up like the Fourth of July. Sweat drips down your spine and between your breasts.
You thought Joel was in heaven earlier with his face buried in your tits, but from the way he’s eating you out like it’s his last meal on earth and how he can’t seem to stop groaning against your cunt, this is his real heaven. He drags the flat of his tongue through your folds to wrap his lips around your throbbing clit, and when he sucks, he has to hold you still as you writhe, chanting his name over and over again, spiraling out of your mind in pleasure.
God, he really is going to ruin you for anyone else, isn’t he? It’s not like this is the first time you’ve been eaten out, either. But no one’s devoured you like this. He’s truly hungry for it—relentless. Slurping at your pussy like it’s his favorite meal.
“Don’t stop,” you whimper. “Don’t fucking stop. Your mouth—fuck—I love your mouth. It’s so good.” You don’t even know if he can hear you with your thighs clamped over his only good ear.
Maybe it was a mistake challenging him to show you why you should be his. He’s pulling out all the stops to convince you. You’re already unraveling, and this man has the audacity to snake his hand up to your breast and tweak your nipple. It forces a choked sound from your throat, and your vision blurs for a second.
He works you up, higher and higher, until you’re trembling over him, your thighs quaking, belly tight, heart hammering like it's trying to break free. You’re drenched, dripping onto his face, as he feasts on you like he’s starving.
“Fuck, Joel—” you gasp, but can’t even finish the thought.
You reach for his hand on your thigh, desperate for something to hold onto. He squeezes it, grounding you.
Joel moans into your cunt as if it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, dragging his tongue in slow, deliberate strokes that push you right to the edge. Then he sucks your clit deep into his mouth, and the world drops out from under you.
You scream. There’s no other word for it. You cry out like you’re shattering, hips jerking, cunt clenching so hard around nothing it aches. Your orgasm rips through you, hot and brutal, pleasure crashing over you in waves that leave you gasping and twitching.
Joel doesn’t stop; he doubles down.
He groans like he’s getting off on it, rutting his tongue against your pulsing clit and shoving it inside you to lick up your release. His stubble scratches your swollen lips, his fingers digging into your ass to keep you right where he wants you.
“That’s it,” he growls into your pussy between licks. “Give it to me. Fuckin’ soak my face, baby. I want it all.”
Sounds are spilling from you of their own accord—moans, cries, possible declarations of love for this guy you’ve known for less than two hours. You don’t know what you’re saying, you just know he’s wrecking you, and you never want it to end.
“Joel, Joel—oh fuck—I can’t—” He has you coming again. It builds until it spills over, dizzying and all-consuming. Your body goes taut for a heartbeat, and then you’re melting, euphoria searing through your veins, your thighs shaking uncontrollably around his head. This one isn’t as explosive as the last, but it’s deep, stealing your breath and making you feel like your soul just drifts out of you.
“Good girl,” his voice half-muffled by your cunt.
His tongue continues lapping lazily at your oversensitive clit until you’re flinching, overstimulated. Finally, he eases up, making a satisfied hum.
“You did so fuckin’ good for me,” he murmurs.
You’re numb with pleasure—boneless, floating. Joel’s strong hands slide up to your waist, carefully lifting you off his face. He settles you onto his chest for barely a moment before your legs give out, collapsing onto your back beside him in a spent, panting heap. Your arms and legs feel heavy, your body buzzing like a live wire.
Well, it still rings true that guys his age know what they’re doing in the bedroom. You have a theory on why that is, and it has to do with them being in their thirties before everything went to hell. They remember what it’s like to fuck in a time void of the uncertainty and fear of today. They remember what it’s like to be carefree and able to take their time in bed, unlike these days, where it’s hard to find somewhere safe enough to feel that relaxed.
Luckily, Jackson is one of those places. So here, in the safety of the town, they get to relive those years, and you’re more than happy to go down memory lane with them.
And somehow, with hardly any effort, Joel wants you to be his.
It’s embarrassing how giddy that makes you.
He can’t know he’s already sold you on a relationship with him. You want him to work for it, so you don’t come off as too easy.
The old springs in the mattress squeak as Joel shifts onto his side. His rough, calloused fingers stroke along your cheek. “You okay, sweetheart?” he softly asks. “Need a second?”
You nod slowly. “My arms are noodles, and my legs aren’t any better. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t walk if I tried.
“Yeah?” You can hear the smile in his voice. “It’s a good thing you don’t have anywhere to be.” There’s a pause. Without looking at him, you know he’s frowning now. “You don’t have plans, right? Tonight?”
Your eyes blink open, your head turning his way, smiling. The bottom half of his face is shiny with your juices, and he looks adorably worried with a crinkle between his eyebrows that you reach up to smooth with your thumb. “No plans. I was going to fix all the holes in my socks. Maybe patch up some other clothes. I’d much rather spend my evening with you, though.”
He smiles, grabbing your hand, kissing your knuckles. “Good. I’ve got nothin’ goin’ on, either. I just need to be home by midnight.”
“Because you, what? Turn back into a pumpkin after midnight?”
He gives you a flat look. “No, I don’t turn into a damn pumpkin. I’ve got a kid. I need to be home for her.”
“You have no idea how much it turns me on that you’re a good dad.”
Joel huffs in amusement, his eyes leaving yours. “I don’t know about bein’ a good dad, but she doesn’t seem to hate me, so I must be doin’ somethin’ right.”
“I mean, you’re getting her a birthday cake—her first birthday cake, might I add—and you were willing to pay whatever price it’d cost. Sounds very ‘good dad’ to me. That actually reminds me. Don’t worry about the shit we agreed on. We’re good. I’ll make the cake tomorrow. You could even come over and help me, if you wanted to.” That’d be such a cute date.
His gaze comes back to yours, his lips downturned. “I don’t want you doin’ it for free. I know that ingredients aren’t easy to come by, and you’re takin’ time out of your busy day.”
“Who said anything about free? Just so we’re clear, I normally do not make cakes in exchange for sexual favors, but this will be the only exception because you were that good—don’t let it go to your head.”
It’s too late, the smugness is already showing on his face, his dark eyes sparkling with a crooked grin. “I was that good, huh?” His head dips to place a soft kiss on your naked shoulder. “You gonna be mine now?”
“I don’t know. I think I need some more convincing.”
“More convincin’?” He lets go of your hand to rest his palm, warm and firm, on your thigh. “What will it take?”
“You know what I want.”
“Be a good girl and ask me for it.”
You suck in a breath, your cunt throbbing in beat with your heart. Oh, you like that.
Quickly, you compose yourself. “Ask for it? Or do you want me to beg for it?” Your tone shifts to something sultry. “Please, Joel. I need your cock. I’m aching for it. Fuck me. Fill me up. Ruin me—whatever you want. Just please, will you fuck me now?”
His fingers tighten on your leg, his voice deepening. “How do you want it?”
You smile. “How do you want me?”
“Flip over.”
“Take off your pants.” You glance down at the denim to see the impressive bulge at the front. “I’m not going to be the only one who’s naked.” Your gaze returns to his. “Go on. Get up and strip.”
He’s frowning. “And you were callin’ me bossy…” he mumbles.
“You got a problem with that, big guy?”
“No, ma’am.”
He moves to get off the bed and walks around to the end of it. You sit up on your elbows to watch with interest as he undoes his belt and unbuttons his jeans. He doesn’t drag it out, shoving both his pants and boxer briefs down his legs and peeling off his socks, before standing to his full height for you to take him in, his hands on his hips.
The first thing that catches your attention is his dick bobbing between his legs. He’s mouth-wateringly thick, with a decent length that, at the thought of how it’d feel inside you, has you rubbing your thighs together to quell the sudden ache. The tip is flushed an angry red, with beads of precum smeared to make it shine in the light of your bedside lamp.
“Keep starin’ at it like that, and you’re gonna start droolin’.”
Your eyes rise to his amused ones. “Who says I’m not already?”
He’s smirking. “That mouth’s gonna get you in trouble.”
You smile. “Is that a threat, handsome?”
“It’s a fact.”
“I love this foreplay. You’re cute.”
His eyebrow lifts. “I’m cute?”
“Yes, you’re cute, and so fucking hot.” Your attention returns to his body. Naked, the broadness of his shoulders and the tininess of his waist are more pronounced. “You’re in amazing shape.”
“You think so?”
“I’d fuck you, even with the wear and tear.” You wink at him.
Speaking of wear and tear, his body is littered with scars, some old, having silvered long ago, and others newer. There’s one low on his abdomen that catches your eye, and you need to get a closer look at it, scrambling onto your hands and knees, crawling over on shaky limbs to kneel in front of him. It’s relatively big, jagged—a quick patch job by someone inexperienced or in a hurry—and red, which means he’s only had it a handful of months. The injury must’ve happened on his trek to Jackson from Boston.
What’s fascinating about it is that a wound of its caliber should’ve killed him while traveling across the country. If it weren’t the blood loss that got him, the risk for infection in those conditions would’ve been insane. Your hand moves of its own volition, pressing your fingertips to the warm, raised skin—you gasp when he abruptly snatches your palm, your chin lifting to meet his eyes.
“Sorry,” you apologize immediately.
“Shit.” He lets go, looking startled by what he’d done out of instinct. “No, I’m sorry.” His eyes dart away, sighing. “I haven’t been touched like this in a long fuckin’ time.”
“Let’s change that.”
He meets your gaze as you grab his waist for support and lean in to kiss the scar softly. He swears under his breath, his thighs tensing. “Jesus,” he rasps. You keep your eyes on his, kissing down through his happy trail to your destination between his legs. “You’re gonna fuckin’ ruin me.”
He must’ve showered earlier after working his assigned job for the day. The scent of crushed thyme clings to his skin, sharp and earthy with just a hint of mint that’s grounding and fresh.
When your fingers wrap around his cock, Joel’s head falls back as he groans loudly. He’s hot in your palm, his shaft hard as steel and velvety smooth as you slowly pump him.
“God, you have a pretty dick,” you tell him.
He stares down at you again, and you love how he looks at you, as if you’re a reward and not just a good time, how he looks at you like you mean something. “Yeah?” he says the word in question. His big hand caresses your face, stroking his thumb over the apple of your cheek. “You want it to ruin that perfect little pussy?”
“Yes, after this—” Dipping your head, you take his cock into your mouth, engulfing as much as you can until he’s hitting the back of your throat. There’s only a second for you to enjoy the heaviness of him on your tongue before he’s pulling you off of him.
“No,” he hisses. “None of that, sweetheart.” He grips the base of his shaft, giving it a squeeze to calm himself.
Frowning, you look up at him. “Why not?”
“Because if you keep goin’, I’m gonna blow before I even get inside you. I told you, it’s been a long fuckin’ time since I’ve been with someone.”
His reason makes you smile. “And you want to fuck me instead of coming down my throat.”
“And I want to fuck you instead of comin’ down your throat.”
Why is that romantic to you? Maybe because there aren’t a lot of guys who’d turn down a blow job so you can get off together.
“Hands and knees?” you ask, “Or on my stomach?”
A grin tugs at the corner of his lips. “That’s my girl. Hands and knees, baby.”
You don’t have to be told twice—turning in place, you shuffle up the mattress, settling on your hands and knees in the center of the bed. It’s instinctive how you arch your back, your ass lifted, and thighs parted. It’s a pose that feels both vulnerable and powerful, knowing exactly what kind of view you’re giving him.
You glance back over your shoulder. “You coming, big guy?” It makes you grin, finding him distracted by the display you’re putting on. You wiggle your ass to get his attention. “You gonna get up here?”
That snaps him from his reverie. His tone lowers, rough with desire, “Yes.” The mattress dips behind you as he climbs on, getting close enough that you can feel the heat of his body. Your head falls forward as his large, calloused palm slides up your spine, heavy and possessive, to squeeze the back of your neck. “Look at you,” he says, sounding awed. “My good girl with her ass up and her needy little pussy drippin’ for me. I’ve never felt so fuckin’ lucky.” His hands move to smooth over the curves of your backside before he grabs handfuls of the meaty globes hard enough that it borders on painful. “You’re perfect—you’re so fuckin’ perfect. But you know what else you are?”
You hear him spit onto his fingers, slicking up his cock before he slides it through your wet folds to get it even wetter. Then he’s pressing the fat tip against your aching entrance, teasing it, your breath catching in your throat.
“What?” you whisper.
“Mine.”
He drives into you, sheathing himself in one hard thrust that knocks the air from your lungs, your body jerking forward from the impact.
A guttural groan rumbles from Joel’s chest, his hands gripping your hips even tighter, holding you in place. He’s stretching you to your limit, filling you so completely that it’s hard to think, your fingers curling into the blankets.
You’ve never been more thankful for foreplay, that he took the time to get you ready to take him. He feels massive inside you, and so fucking good, pressing against all of the right spots. At the thought of how it’s going to feel when he’s pounding into you, your cunt clenches around him.
“Don’t,” he says through gritted teeth. “Don’t move.”
It’s clear he wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t been with anyone in quite some time. With his breaths turning ragged and his hips twitching from holding himself back, the man is fighting for his life not to come. Enough time passes that you’ve grown used to his dick, or as used to it as you can get with how big it is. What matters is that it’s not as overwhelming as it initially seemed.
You look back at Joel, catching him with his eyes squeezed shut, jaw tight, and sweat glistening on his brow.
“Need a minute?” you ask.
He cracks his eyes open. “You’re so fuckin’ tight and warm.”
“You’re just big.”
“Am I?” He smirks.
You roll your eyes. “I’ve stroked your ego enough today. And hey, if you finish early, no shame. My pussy has that effect on some men.”
From your previous dalliances with older men, if they hadn’t fucked in a while, the first round usually went fast, something they expected so they’d get you off beforehand. After that, they could go for as long as you wanted.
His eyes narrow. “Are you callin’ me old?”
You grin. “All I’m saying is you might not have the stamina you once had, and that’s totally cool.”
He moves faster than you expect, gasping when he shoves your shoulders down, forcing your chest to the mattress, with your spine arched and ass up. In the blink of an eye, he’s got your arms pinned behind your back, his large hand easily wrapped around both of your wrists, holding them there in one rough fist.
“I told you that mouth of yours was gonna get you in trouble,” he mutters, angling his hips.
He pulls out of you halfway and slams back in, the force stuttering your breath.
One thing you’ve learned about Joel is you shouldn’t challenge him unless you want to be fucked within an inch of your life, as was happening right now. There’s no teasing, no slow buildup—he sets up a punishing pace from the start, the new angle absolutely devastating with his cock hitting something so divine inside you you’re seeing stars.
“Joel, fuck—” you cry out. “Oh, fuck.”
It feels like he’s taking you apart piece by piece, coming undone by how he’s filling and fucking you, how he owns you. He wasn’t wrong when he said you were his. He could have you any way he wants, and right now, he’s proving why he gets that honor.
“You’re gonna feel me tomorrow,” he grits out between thrusts. “Every time you move, you’ll remember who this pussy belongs to.”
His grip tightens on your wrists, using your arms as leverage, dragging you back onto his cock with every thrust. Each stroke is deeper than the last, your cunt greedy for every inch of him. You can’t think, you can’t breathe, you’re completely at his mercy as another orgasm starts to take shape in your core.
Finding out that not only is he handsome, polite, and a good father but that he also fucks, has made you determined to lock him down and make him yours.
He has you gasping now, your knees shaking hard enough you’re worried they’ll give out. Joel’s rhythm is brutal and unforgiving, his cock hitting so deep you swear you can feel him in your guts. Every push and pull of his hips is working you higher and higher. You’re so fucked out of your mind that all you can focus on are the sensations: his thick cock hammering into you, the burn in your thighs, the strain in your arms, the sweat coating your face and back, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.
The pressure in your belly builds, your body trembling.
He says something above you that you don’t make out, smacking your ass to get your attention. The sting has you sucking in a breath, your pussy clamping down on him.
“Answer me,” he orders. “Is this what you wanted? You wanted to be fucked like this?”
“Y-yes,” you choke out. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
“I’m not stoppin’ until you beg me to, and you say you’re mine.”
Noise echoes off your bedroom walls. The old bedframe creaks under you, the worn bedsprings squealing with each thrust, skin slapping skin, the wet suck of your used cunt, moans, and ragged breaths—a symphony of debauchery.
All you can do is take it, your back bowed, arms pinned, getting shoved forward into the sheets every time he fucks into you. He’s worked you up to the point that the coil in your belly is close to snapping, you just need—
Joel gives you another taste of his strength, pulling you up against his chest with little effort. His pace doesn’t wane, his cock working in and out of you, holding you close with an arm over your chest and another across your stomach.
His lips press to the shell of your ear, feeling his hot, panting breath. “I know you’re close,” he rasps. “Can feel you squeezin’ me. Say it. Tell me you’re mine and I’ll let you come.”
You grab onto his arm that’s locked against your breasts, nodding your head frantically. “I’m yours, Joel,” you gasp. “I’m fucking yours. I’ll always be yours. Please, let me come. Please.”
His hand on your stomach goes to the apex of your thighs, pinching your clit. You mewl, jerking in his hold.
“This pussy is mine, too, isn’t it?” he asks.
“Yes, it’s yours. Your pussy, your girl, I’m all yours, only yours. Please, Joel. Please, let me come.”
“Good girl.” He kisses behind your ear. “Come for me. Let me have it.”
A cry rips from your throat as he circles your clit, his other hand on your breast rolling your nipple between his fingers, his cock still pounding into you. It’s everything you need, setting you off and over the edge. The coil snaps, pleasure crashing through your body, sobbing his name over and over again, your nails digging into the skin of his forearm to tether you to earth. Your cunt spasms around him, clenching down on him hard enough it slows him to a stop.
He groans in your ear. “That’s it.” His grip tightens around you. “That’s my fuckin’ girl. Come for me, baby.”
You collapse against him, boneless. It’s Joel’s arm wrapped around your middle that holds you steady through the aftershocks when all you want to do is fall forward onto the mattress and rest your eyes. Your breaths are coming out ragged, your heart hammering so hard it feels like you’ve outrun a horde of infected.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, then another to the side of your neck. His free hand rubbing comforting circles on your hip.
You don’t speak. You’re not even sure you could if you wanted to.
You’re still clutching his arm, and he doesn’t pull out; he stays nestled inside you, keeping you full after ruining you in the best way. Having him so close and surrounding you is the only thing that grounds you, the room quieting as you catch your breath.
He waits a beat for you to come down before he asks, “Still with me, sweetheart?”
You reach up behind you to thread your fingers into his sweat-damp hair, letting out a shaky exhale. “Yes.”
He nuzzles the crook of your neck. “I didn’t go too hard?”
The softness is wholly unexpected. He’s holding you like you’re something precious, pressing reverent kisses to your skin and quietly checking in. It makes you like him even more and evokes a certain feeling that tightens your chest with emotion. Is it tenderness? Or is it that he’s treating you like more than a warm body to fuck? Maybe it’s both. Whatever it is, the ache you feel behind your ribs is almost as overwhelming as the orgasms he’s coaxed from you.
“No. I can take it,” you answer.
He hums in agreement and kisses a spot below your ear. “You took it really fuckin’ well.”
You smile. “You dished it out really fuckin’ well.”
“You got anythin’ to say about my stamina?”
The question makes you snort. “I apologize for doubting your stamina. To be honest, I’m a little shocked that you haven’t come yet.”
“Almost did, when you came. Took a whole helluva lot not to.”
“Well, color me impressed, old man.”
He pinches your hip, and you giggle. “Call me that again, and I’ll make sure you can’t walk for a week.”
“Is that a promise?”
“That fuckin’ mouth of yours.”
“You love it.”
He sighs. “Do you wanna stop or keep goin’?”
His arm is wrapped around your middle. He’s still hot and hard inside you, keeping you deliciously stretched. Obviously, you want to keep going, but there’s something you want to do for him.
“Oh, I’m gonna get you off.”
You untangle his arms from your body and crawl forward, his cock slipping out of you with an obscene wet sound that has you sucking in a breath and Joel groaning. You get up onto your knees and shuffle in place to look at him.
“Sit down,” you order, and point at the spot beside you on the bed. He raises an eyebrow, and you roll your eyes. “Do you want to come with my tits in your face or not?”
That gets his cute little ass moving up the bed. He pauses when he’s next to you, his hands framing your face as he gives you a kiss that leaves you a little dizzy when he breaks away. He snags your four pillows, using them to cushion his back against the headboard, his legs sprawled out, arms folded behind his head, watching you with hungry eyes.
He looks at home in your bed as if he’s been here hundreds of times and not only once.
And god, is he a sight to behold. A rosy pink flush rising from his chest to his cheeks, his hair tousled, skin gleaming from perspiration, and between his legs, his thick cock slick with your come and still rock hard.
You straddle his hips. “Boob guy?”
The second they’re within reach, he’s cupping them in his large palms.
He huffs, amused, crookedly smiling. “What makes you think that?”
“Hmmm, let’s see. You checked them out at the door, buried your face in them on the couch, and you couldn’t keep your hands off them while you were literally being smothered by my pussy, and fucking me six ways to Sunday.”
Joel’s chuckle turns into a choked ‘fuck’ when you guide his cock back inside you, slowly sinking down his shaft inch by inch. He shuts his eyes for a moment, his jaw flexing. You loop your arms around his neck, bottoming out, and fuck, he feels even deeper like this.
“You got me,” his voice sounds strained. “Fuckin’ love them.” His head dips to flick your nipple with his tongue, then kisses the curve, giving the other the same treatment. He sits back to meet your gaze. “Fuckin’ love how pretty you look sittin’ on my dick, too. You gonna ride me, baby?”
Leaning forward, you kiss the line of his stubbled jaw to whisper in his left ear. “I’m gonna ride you into the sunset, handsome—and you get free rein of my tits.”
He grabs your chin, moving your face in front of his to crush his lips against yours, kissing you needily. His tongue plunders your mouth as you start moving on his lap, slow circles at first, savoring how his cock drags along your walls. Joel lets out the tiniest whimper, his palms skimming down to grip your ass. He kisses the underside of your jaw and down your neck, sucking hard on your pulse point—you gasp, your fingers pushing into the mess of waves at the back of his head.
“You’re too fuckin’ good to me,” he says with his lips on your throat.
“You deserve it,” you breathe.
He isn’t going to last very long with how he’s throbbing inside you, so thick and desperate. You’re pretty sure that if you bounce on his dick with your breasts in his face and talk dirty to him, you can get him off in under two minutes. Hell, maybe you could do it in one. You decide to make it a challenge for yourself.
Planting your knees into the mattress, you grip his shoulders for leverage and start moving with purpose. You rise until only the tip of him remains, then slam back down, in quick succession, again and again and again. It’s hard and fast, clenching around him on the upstroke to make it even better.
He groans under you, fingers clawing into your ass like he’s hanging on for dear life. You pry them off as you continue working yourself up and down, putting his big hands on your tits.
“Fuck, baby,” his words come out ragged, his eyes glued to your chest.
“You like that?” you pant. “Your cock buried so fucking deep inside me while you play with my tits?”
“Yes.”
He teases your stiff nipples with calloused thumbs, and he can’t help himself, leaning in to seal his mouth over one pebbled peak. He greedily sucks, the pleasure sparking through you, stuttering your rhythm for a moment. You keep going and are ready for it when he moves to your other breast, his tongue swirling around the hard bud.
You sound breathless. “You’re close, aren’t you?”
He doesn’t want to let your nipple go, so he hums his affirmative that vibrates against your skin.
It’s slippery between your legs, his dick sliding easily in and out of your pussy. You speed up, becoming just as ruthless as he was, using him like he used you, fucking him at the same punishing pace. Your thighs collide with his in a sharp, wet smack that echoes off the walls, the bed creaking loudly. Your nipple pops out of his mouth, and he grabs your ass again for something to hold onto. “Gonna fuckin’ kill me,” he groans. He looks up at you, his eyes wild and glazed over. There’s no mistaking he’s absolutely wrecked and barely holding it together.
It makes you smile seeing him so undone. “Can’t take it, baby?”
“I can—fuck,” he gasps, his eyes squeezing closed for a split second. He swallows hard. “Fuckin’ ruin me.”
“With pleasure.” You ignore how your thighs burn and the bedframe squeaks. He’s your focus, he’s all that matters. You watch his face as you ride him, how it contorts when you bear down on him. You memorize every detail, every sound, every little thing that makes him tick and fall apart. His attention is back on your heaving breasts. “I want you to come inside me,” you tell him through panted breaths. “I want you to fill me up, make me drip. I wanna feel every last drop inside me. Can you do that for me, handsome? Can I have your come? Please, Joel?”
His glassy eyes snap to yours, and that’s all it takes.
It’s game over.
He surprises you when he sits up just enough to grab you with one arm around your back, the other cradling your head, dragging you down into a kiss as he comes. It’s desperate and messy, his lips crashing into yours, a groan rumbling from his chest, swallowing the whimper you make as you feel his cock thicken and jerk, the pulsing heat flooding your depths. Each spurt makes your cunt clamp down around him on reflex. He holds you there, locked in the kiss as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go, his whole body beneath you trembling. You roll your hips, slower than before, grinding, drawing out every last wave for him to give you everything he’s got.
Then—
CRACK.
The ancient bedframe finally gives out.
With a deafening groan of protest and a sharp snap, the entire mattress drops six inches on one side, sending you both lurching sideways with surprised gasps. You’re straddling him, leaning a little to the left, Joel breathless and stunned under you. You look at the current state of your bed, then at him, somehow still balls-deep inside you, his hair a mess, his pretty face dazed, and cheeks flushed.
“You broke my fucking bed.”
His expression switches from shocked to offended, his eyebrows cinching together. “Excuse me, I broke your bed? Baby, you were ridin’ me like a fuckin’ mechanical bull.”
“After you fucked me into the mattress. Either way, it’s your fault. No one has ever broken my bed before.”
“No one has ever fucked you like me before.” He looks smug about it, too.
“Touché.” Your attention turns to the bed again, frowning. “Fuck, I’m gonna have to sleep with my mattress on the floor. With making the cake and working, I won’t be able to fix this for a few days.”
“I’ll fix it tomorrow.”
You look at him. “You don’t have to. It’s fine. I can probably get one of the handymen to do it when I’m free.” There are a handful of knowledgeable men who help fix things around town—Tommy is one of them.
“I said, I’ll fix it tomorrow. You don’t need a handyman when I used to be a fuckin’ contractor.”
That has you perking up. “A contractor?”
“Yeah.” He takes a moment to get comfortable, keeping you atop him while he scoots down the lopsided bed and arranges your pillows to prop up his head and shoulders. “C’mere,” he says, pulling you down to lie half on top of him, his softened cock slipping out of you. Your ear is pressed over his heart, hearing the steady beat, his arm around you with his hand on your hip.
“It’s sexy that you used to be a contractor,” you say. Your palm is resting on his stomach, and he covers it with his free hand. “I’m just going to make the assumption that was back when you were in Texas, and since it gets pretty hot there, did you work with your shirt off often…?”
He’s amused. “Yes. Especially in the summer.” He’s drawing imaginary shapes on your hip.
“What I’d pay to see that.”
“Well, you’re makin’ the cake for free—”
“Not free,” you interrupt, lifting your head to look at him, resting your chin on his pec. “I’m making the cake in exchange for you eating my pussy like a champ.”
He huffs, meeting your gaze. “Now you are, but before, the shit we agreed on for you to make the cake was nothin’. It would’ve taken me no time at all to get, so you were makin’ it for free.”
“More like half-off to non-smugglers.”
“Then you need to re-evaluate what your skills are worth ‘cause you’re sellin’ yourself short.”
“You are very sweet, but I promise the deal I made you was only for you. A chocolate cake with basically a day’s notice? Come on, I’d want some good shit for that. Coffee, painkillers, antibiotics, ammunition, a firearm—what I asked you to get wouldn’t even pay for the chocolate, let alone a whole cake.”
He’s frowning, his finger pausing on your skin. “Then why would you agree to so little from me?”
You smile. “A weakness for single older dads.”
“You got a lot of those around here?”
“Nope,” you pop the ‘p.’ “You’re a rare breed, and the reason why, if I’m yours, then you are mine. I do not share.”
“I don’t either.”
“Perfect.”
“Glad we got that out of the way. Can we go back to talkin’ about me bein’ a contractor?”
“A sexy, shirtless contractor?”
“Yes. What I was goin’ to say before you interrupted me is that you were so kind about the cake, that if you wanted, I can fix your bed without a shirt on.”
“Can that be standard when you fix anything around my apartment?”
He smiles. “If that’s what you want.”
“Oh, I want it. Also, may I make the request that the bed be extra-reinforced? We will be testing it out when you’re done.”
“Is that right?”
“Yep.”
“You’re gonna fuckin’ wear me out with how much you want my cock.”
“Your mouth, too. I’d also like to see what your fingers are like.”
“Jesus Christ.” His fingertip starts making shapes on your hip again. “I wanna know more about you than just what you like in bed. How long have you lived in Jackson?”
“Seven years.”
“You got any family?”
“Biological? No. Lost my parents and little sisters when I was about twelve. Typical tragic backstory where I was the lone survivor. You know the bartender, Seth?”
“Yeah.”
“He and his wife found me and raised me with their kids. I was an adult by the time they decided to come out this way, and they told me I was old enough to make my own choice on whether I’d follow them or not. Obviously, I did. They may not be my blood relatives, but they’re still my aunt and uncle, which took me some years to label them as such. It’s hard when you remember your family, and they could never replace my parents. Was Ellie close with her mom and dad?”
He frowns. “She didn’t have parents, or at least ones she knew. She was raised by FEDRA in Boston. I don’t think that girl knows what it’s like to be loved by a parent, or anyone, for that matter.”
“From what you’ve told me, I think you’re doing a great job of showing her what it’s like to have a loving father, or a loving parent in general. The cake was a great idea. It’s so sweet and thoughtful. Do you have a present for her?”
“Before I come over here tomorrow night to take care of your bed and have that drink with you, I’ll be spendin’ my day fixin’ up a guitar for her.” He’s fondly smiling. “I finished gettin’ all the parts I needed today—even traded your uncle for a piece of bone I’ll use for the saddle—”
“I know nothing about guitars. What’s the saddle?”
“But you know what one looks like, right? An acoustic guitar?”
You picture one in your head. “Yes.”
“Okay, so you know the part near the bottom of the body where the strings are anchored? Where they’re pinned in?”
“Yes.”
“That’s the bridge. The saddle sits on the bridge. It’s usually made of bone or plastic and holds the strings up at the right height and helps them stay in tune when you play.”
“I think I know what you’re talking about.”
“Good. So, got the bone, new strings, and I’ll clean and shine the rest of the metal parts. She has a thing for moths, and I’m gonna try my damndest to carve one into the fretboard—that’s the guitar neck with all the metal frets and dots to guide your fingers when you’re playin’? I’m gonna put it right at the top below the headstock, where the turning pegs are.”
“I can’t believe you don’t think you’re a good dad. The lengths you go to for this child. She’s really lucky to have you.”
“Maybe.”
“She is. Do you play?”
“Since I was about half her age.”
“You’ll have to play me something sometime.”
“I will, but don’t ask me to sing. I’m fuckin’ awful at it.”
“I have a hard time believing that. Is that your only hobby?”
“No. I also do woodworkin’.”
“Like wooden figurines?”
“Yeah.”
“You gonna make me one?”
“What’s your favorite animal?”
“Ummm—” You have to think about it for a second. “Maybe otters? I think it’s cute when they hold hands while sleeping.”
“I’ll make you a pair of otters then.”
You smile. “Just like that, you’re gonna woodwork me a couple of tchotchkes?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Gives me somethin’ to do when I’m home from work, and Ellie’s out bein’ a kid.”
“If you ever want some company, I’d be happy to hang out with you while you do your thing. I’ll also watch movies with you, go horseback riding, and you could even help me make cakes.” You suddenly feel unsure of yourself. “Unless you’re not interested in any of that and you’re just looking for an exclusive sex partner.”
“I told you I don’t do fuck buddies or casual shit.”
“So, you want to date me?”
“If you’ll have me.” He lifts your hand from his belly to kiss your knuckles. “I’d understand if you didn’t want people knowin’. though.”
Your eyebrows furrow. “Why wouldn’t I want people to know I’m dating you?”
“Because I’m old.”
“Once again, I do not give a fuck that you are—how old are you?”
He takes a deep breath and says on the exhale, “Fifty-six.”
“Once again, I do not give a fuck that you are fifty-six. You’re hot and sweet, and I’d want everyone to know you’re mine.”
He smiles. “Yeah?”
“Yes. There’s just one little thing we need to figure out.”
“What’s that?”
“How long do you wait until you tell Ellie?”
“After her birthday. Maybe in a week or two to see how things go between us.”
“Solid plan.” You lean up and peck him on the lips.
“What about you? You got any hobbies?”
“Mostly baking. I also collect records and love watching movies.”
“When I go out again, I’ll find you more records and movies.”
“That’s sweet of you, but you don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. I do have a question.”
“I’ll hopefully have an answer.”
“I know you like sex—”
“Love,” you correct. “Love sex very much.”
“Yes, I know you love sex very much, and you said you weren’t seein’ anyone. Do I need to worry about any former, uh, paramours?”
“Wanting to fight you for my bed?”
“Yes…”
“No. The few guys in town are all married now, and there are a couple of traders who stop by every once in a while who’ll be disappointed, but they won’t step on your toes.”
“I know it’s none of my business, but why didn’t any of the men here wanna marry you…?”
“Oh. I guess we should probably discuss this now, rather than having me blindside you down the road. I’d like to have a family one day, and they were all done with babies and raising kids. They married women closer to their own age who felt the same way. So, if that’s a dealbreaker, you need to let me know now.”
He’s quiet as he thinks about what you’ve said. Nerves swirl in your belly. You’re hoping and praying this isn’t the end.
“I had a daughter,” he finally tells you. “Sarah. She was my pride and joy, my everythin’. She died in my arms twenty years ago on the night of the outbreak. It broke me. I was a shell of a man from that point on, and then Ellie came into my life. I was hired to transport her across the country, but things, uh, didn’t work out when I got her to her destination. So I brought her here to Jackson, where we’d be close to Tommy, and she’d get to have a somewhat normal life as a kid.
“For twenty years, I swore to myself I’d never bring another child into this godawful world.” At his admission, your heart plummets. “Was really fuckin’ careful when I’d fuck to limit the risk as much as possible, too, which meant I never finished inside my partner. I never had the desire to, or would ever humor the idea.”
Now, you’re confused. “If you’re so anti-creampies, why is your come dripping out of me as we speak?”
He smiles and caresses your cheek with a gun-calloused palm. “Because in all of my fifty-six years on this planet, the happiest I’ve ever been is when I’m a dad. I fuckin’ love bein’ a father, and I know I’m too old to even be thinkin’ about babies, but if it happened? I wouldn’t be upset about it. I’d welcome it.”
He’s perfect, and you’ve never wanted a man more.
“I know we’ve only known each other for less than a day, but marry me.” Joel chuckles. “I’m serious. Make me your wife. I will fuck your brains out, have as many babies as you want, bake you delicious things, and treat Ellie like she’s my own kid. You’re everything and more that I want in a partner, and I think we’d be good together.”
His thumb strokes over the apple of your cheek. “I’m flattered by your offer, sweetheart. I truly am, and have half a mind to accept it, but marriage isn’t somethin’ you rush into. I know most everyone does these days with how uncertain everythin’ is, but I’d like to take my time to court you properly before we decide to get married.”
You sigh. “If you insist.” You glance up at the clock on your bedside table; the red numbers show it’s after ten p.m. Your gaze returns to his. “We’ve got less than two hours before you need to head home, Cinderella. Would you be up for another, softer, maybe sensual round—I’m thinking missionary—then we can shower, you can help me get my mattress onto the floor, and take off? Or do you want to shower, help me get my mattress onto the floor, and hang out in the living room, watching a movie or something until you need to leave?”
“Another round, we shower, we leave your bed alone, and you come home with me instead of sleepin’ on the floor.”
“To your house, where Ellie is…?”
“I’ll sneak you in. She spends most of her time in her room anyway. She won’t know you’re there.”
“If you want to hold off on her knowing about me, I don’t think this is a good idea.”
You don’t know how he does it. One minute, you’re lying half on top of him, and the next, he’s got you beneath him on your back, his hips cradled by your thighs. He kisses your clavicle, saying into your skin, “It’ll be fine.” His lips trail up your throat, making you shiver when he sucks on your pulse point, his cock hardening against your core. “Come home with me.” Joel continues his journey, laving kisses along the underside of your jaw to nip at your chin. He hovers his face over yours, searching your eyes. “Will you?”
“Only if you’re sure.”
“Quit your worryin’. I told you, it’ll be fine. She’ll have no idea.”
“Okay, then. I’ll go with you.”
He smiles. “Good girl.”
Joel wasn’t kidding about sneaking you into his house. That’s how you find yourself freshly fucked, showered, and clothed, creeping up a dark staircase behind him and into a hallway, where he signals for you to stay because Ellie’s door is open. He walks over to her doorway, leaning in it like he’s done it a hundred times before, the light shining on his face showing that fond smile he always has when he talks about her.
“Hey, kiddo.”
“Hey, Joel.”
“You have a good day?”
“Scooping horse shit?” You have to hold in your laugh. “Not really, but afterward, Jesse and I went to Dina’s to watch a movie.”
Jesse and Dina are good kids.
“What movie?”
“Star Wars. The first two, but I wasn't really paying attention. We were too busy joking around and trying to throw popcorn into each other’s mouths.”
“What’d you do after that?”
“We went and had dinner. Did you get some of the apple pie? It was really fucking good. I think the peach cobbler is still my favorite, though.”
You also made the peach cobbler. Ellie has good taste. It’s your favorite, too.
“Yeah?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“Well, hopefully it’ll come ‘round again soon.”
Once traders come through with more peaches, you’ll be able to. It’s adorable watching him interact with her and seeing how much he clearly loves her.
“I sure hope so. How was your day?”
“Good. They had me out patrollin’, and I went through some houses to see if I could find anythin’ good. Did you get the tapes I left on your desk?”
“I did! I listened to the Backstreet Guys, or whatever the fuck they’re called—people used to like that shit?”
Is she talking about the Backstreet Boys?
Joel chuckles. “Sarah loved them.”
“She usually has great taste in music,” Ellie replies, “but I’m not sure about this one.”
“Well, I’ll tell you right now, NSYNC is similar—” She is talking about the Backstreet Boys, and how very ‘good dad’ of Joel to be familiar with the music his child loves. “—but I think you’ll enjoy the Halican Drops albums. That was Sarah’s favorite band. I’ve been lookin’ forever to find you their music, and I hit the jackpot today when I came across a kid’s room that hadn’t been picked clean.”
“Oh, sweet. I’ll listen to them before bed. Thanks, Joel.”
“You’re welcome, kiddo. Don’t stay up too late. You gotta be up early to scoop more horse shit.”
She groans. “God, I fucking hope not. Can you ask Tommy to assign me to anything else? Like anything else.”
His voice softens. “Yeah, I’ll do that in the mornin’. Night, Ellie.”
“Night, Joel.”
He pulls her door closed and waits ten seconds, then motions for you to come to him. He grabs your hand when you’re within reach and leads you further down the hall to his room at the end, where he opens the door and flips on the light. He ushers you in, closing the door and locking it behind you.
The first thing you notice is that it smells like him—crushed thyme, gun oil, and something uniquely Joel, mixed with the scent of freshly cut wood. Then you take in the area, the paintings that depict cowboys, his woodworking workstation, what you assume is Ellie’s future guitar leaning against it, another one hanging on his wall, and further in the room, a third you think is the one he actually plays. The piece of bone he got from your uncle is sitting atop the worktable, along with little metal parts and his tools.
“I like your room,” you tell him. “It’s cozy.” He’s got a comfy-looking accent chair you could imagine him reading in and a desk by the door with a drawing of a moth on top of it—what he plans to carve into Ellie’s guitar.
He spins you to face him. “Thanks.” He grabs the hem of your shirt and pulls it up off your arms, followed by your sports bra. “You’re my first guest.”
He grunts, crouching down in front of you. Joel gets his fingers under the waistband of your leggings and underwear, tugging them down. You hold onto his shoulders for balance as you step out of them, and he removes your socks, leaving you completely nude.
“Is that why you were adamant about me coming over tonight? So you could finally christen your bed?”
He stands back up, one of his knees popping. “No.” Joel kisses you, and you hold his scruffy cheeks as he works open the buttons of his flannel. He shrugs it off and unbuckles his belt, his lips leaving yours to get his jeans undone and shoved down, followed by his boxer briefs.
“When I said ‘christen your bed,’ I meant have sex in it for the first time. Why are we naked if we’re not gonna fuck?”
All of his clothes are on the floor, including his socks, and instead of answering your question, he straightens and captures your lips once more, his hands gripping your waist. He kisses you as he walks you backward toward his neatly made bed, and when you’re beside it, he breaks away to pull back the blankets.
“Get in.” It’s not a suggestion, and you do as he says, getting under the sheets and turning on your side, propping your head up with your arm to watch what he’s doing.
“The lack of clothes and kissing is giving me mixed signals.”
“What do you mean?” he asks on his way to turn off the overhead light.
“When I’m naked with someone and we’re making out, that’s the lead-up to fucking.”
The room goes dark, save for the moonlight slipping through the closed blinds, offering some illumination as he returns, going around the bed and crawling in on the other side. You turn over to look at him as he gets to the middle of the bed. “C’mere.” He reaches toward you, and you scoot like he asks until he’s able to pull you up against the solid warmth of his front. He curls around you, one arm draped over your waist, the other under your head, his large palm resting gently on your spine. “Have you ever slept with someone?” he asks.
You blink up at him in the dark, quietly replying, “We literally just fucked twice.”
“No.” He brushes his thumb lightly over your back. “Not sex. I mean, have you ever just fallen asleep with someone?”
The question has your breath catching a little, but not from arousal. No, this is something completely different. It’s warmer. Sweeter, and it makes your chest ache for some reason.
Your mouth opens to reply, but no words come out immediately.
It has you thinking back, really thinking back. Sure, you had nights where men stayed over. Nights when you were tangled in sweaty sheets with someone who’d be gone by morning. But this? Naked and held? No rush. No expectations. Just simple, quiet skin-on-skin closeness?
“No,” you finally admit. “Never.”
Joel hums a contented sound in his throat. He kisses the top of your head, his facial hair lightly scratching your forehead. “I hope you like it, sweetheart,” he murmurs.
You lie there, stunned. You assumed he asked you here for the same reason men before him invited you into their beds—to fuck, and maybe some post-sex cuddling before your clothes are back on and the mood fades.
But Joel doesn’t just want you. He wants you with him, here like this, in a way that feels much more intimate than sex. He doesn’t just wreck you with his body; it’s the way he chooses you when he doesn’t have to, how he holds you like you matter, like you’re his. With him, you’re not being used, you’re being kept.
That dawning realization sinks in, curling around something tender behind your ribs.
Your voice is small when you whisper, “You didn’t want me here for sex, did you?”
“No,” he answers. “I wanted you here ‘cause I’ll sleep better with you next to me.”
Your throat tightens, staring into the dark, feeling a little overwhelmed because you don’t know what to do with all of this affection settling over you.
“Oh.”
Joel chuckles, pulling you in tighter, tucking your head under his chin. “Yeah. Oh.” The room goes quiet, then he adds, “Also, don’t want you breakin’ my bed.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” he laughs into your hair. “You ride like a fuckin’ hellcat. That old frame of yours didn’t stand a chance.”
His statement has your mouth dropping open, a mix of offense and flattery.
“That’s rude and slanderous because we both agreed you broke the bed.”
“We agreed on no such thing. Tomorrow, I will even show you proof that you rode me into the sunset and your bed straight into the ground by where it snapped.” He kisses the top of your head again. “Gotta reinforce both our beds before I let you do that again. I think your couch could take the abuse, though, so that’s an option.”
He has you biting back a smile. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You wanna marry me.”
“I’m not so sure I do now.”
“You do.”
“Maybe.”
“Six months.”
“Six months, what?”
“If we’re still together in six months, I’ll marry you.”
Your heart rate increases. “Really?”
“Yes. Now, get some sleep.”
Part 2 - Masterlist
Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know!
❝ I know it won't work, but make it ache, make it hurt. Keep me a secret, choose someone else, I'm still hanging off the buckle on your belt. ❞ — “Buckle” by Florence and the Machine
Dbf!Joel Miller/Fem!Reader. No outbreak AU. Tags: Age gap (reader is 20, Joel is mid-to-late-forties), daddy kink, spanking, fingering, unprotected pinv sex, sneaking around, overstimulation. Rated E for explicit sexual content. 2.3k words.
In which Joel Miller shows you exactly how he feels about you.
☆ joel masterlist ⋆˚꩜｡ main masterlist ✘ nothing hurts like you do (joel series)
It's a sticky night in Austin, Jurassic humidity sweltering in the air, even after sundown. Fireflies have started to flutter around the high reeds of the overgrown grass in your backyard, stars winking in the night sky. A fire pit roars a few feet from the grill, smoking with burnt hot dogs. Marlboros overfill the ashtray not five yards from where you're sitting on your old tire swing, trying not to stare at Joel Miller.
Joel fucking Miller.
He's your favorite mistake to make again, and again, and again. It started the summer after you graduated college with small touches, stolen glances, and long nights of babysitting his daughter, Sarah for extra cash. Your dad bought Miller Construction and expanded it with Joel, and from then on, the friendship blossomed. You came back from school to find the only person your dad talked about more than you was Joel.
Joel, who changed your tire when you got a flat, and your dad was out of town. Joel, who holds every door for you, even at your own house. Joel, who tried so hard not to cross the line until you crossed it for him one fateful summer night. You tripped into his mouth, honest, but the moment your lips touched, it felt inevitable and so, so right.
The two of you have been promising "the last time" since the first time. That promise, of course, is a slippery slope meant to be broken, like when he said "just the tip" before sinking balls deep into your cunt, bending you over the kitchen counter, hand over your mouth so as not to wake Sarah.
What started as a hurried quickie in his kitchen turned into heated late-night phone calls, your fingers buried in your pussy as he talked you through an orgasm in that honeyed rasp of his. It became almost-dates in a bar far out of town, your panties in his glovebox after riding him in his truck, sinks rattling as he pounded into you in the bar bathroom, fingering you in dark corners next to the pool table. You've worn his Stetson on your head, felt the bite of his belt buckle on the inside of your thigh. You've slept in his bed on nights Sarah went to a friend's. You have your own loofah and body wash stashed under his bathroom sink.
Hell, one week before this party, Joel was eight inches deep when you told him you loved him in the heat of the moment, and you ran out on him like a spooked fawn in the woods. But he hadn't tried to call, and you didn't want to reach out, afraid the spell was broken, and it really would be the last time.
And now he's got a woman with him. Theresa, one of the only women on the crew who's always had the hots for Joel. You clocked that right away when you brought your dad lunch one afternoon on the job site and caught her faking incompetence to get Joel's help. Most of the time, all she does is answer the phone and stare at his ass in his Wranglers.
You hate her for it, for her age-appropriate affection, even if he's never returned it before now. She watches him with a hand on his arm, laughing and pawing at him. You try not to stew as he smiles back at her, eyes crinkling at the corners. His salt and pepper hair gleams in the moonlight, and his amber eyes are like Tennessee whiskey, warm when they pierce you.
You look away first, crossing the yard slowly, with languid stretches of your legs in your cutoff shorts, before you bend over in front of the ice chest, giving him a nice, long look at your ass. You come back up with a Bud Light, taking off the cap with your teeth and spitting it onto the pavement.
"You want another beer, Mr. Miller?" you ask, batting your eyelashes at him with faux innocence. His beer is nearly out, sweating in his fist, but he doesn't move for another. The muscles in his hand tighten around the neck.
"I'll take you home if you want to have another," Tess says, eager to help. "You know, if you can't drive yourself."
"One beer won't do me in," Joel replies. "Sure, kiddo, I'll take another."
Oh, you could throttle him. Kiddo? Who does he think he is?
You pass him a beer, this time, lifting the hem of your shirt a little too high to twist the cap off. You see a muscle tick under his stubble as he clenches his jaw, taking it from you.
"Thanks," he grunts.
"You're welcome, sir," you say, holding his eyes for a beat before stomping into the air-conditioned house, having had your dose of the summer heat.
You live in the basement in an apartment of sorts that your dad and Joel built for you, so you can save money while working through a master's degree in social work. You take the stairs two at a time, shutting your bedroom door behind you, but not locking it. You're baiting him, just to see if he'll bite.
You should know by now that Joel is all teeth.
He storms in ten minutes later, the lock clicking behind him as he slams the door shut. You're sitting on the small sofa in front of the TV, drinking your beer and feigning innocence, stretched out like a cat.
"Yes?" you ask.
His eyes are stone as he crosses the room, planting his feet in front of the TV you weren't watching. "You think you're being cute, all that 'yes, sir' and 'Mr. Miller' crap? The hell are you playin' at? Throwin' a fit after ignoring me all week, making me think I hurt you or somethin'."
"Ignoring you? You never called me!"
Joel doesn't blink, doesn't miss a beat. "I wanted to respect your space. You ran out on me like I spooked ya, didn't even put your panties back on. And now you're glaring at me across the yard like I'm s'posed to know what I did. Was I too rough with you? You're a big girl, ain't you? Use your words."
Use your words, he's told you, when he's had you spread out on his bed like a feast, pussy fluttering around nothing, folds slick with need. Normally, he says it when he wants you to beg. Too bad you're too pissed off for that.
"I was embarrassed," you admit.
"Now we're gettin' somewhere," Joel says. "About what?"
"About what I said."
"What? When we were makin' love?"
Your breath hitches in your throat, catching on your teeth before making it out of your mouth. Making love? Is that what it was? You never stopped to consider it as anything more than sex, his midlife crisis to your quarter one.
"I know I ain't good at this stuff. Words are more your thing, college girl, but I, uh, don't want you to think you gotta be embarrassed for saying what you're feeling if you're feeling it." He leans in, bracing an arm on the couch behind your head, his other hand caressing your face.
"Tess was flirting with you," you say, and it feels so silly, so immature as it comes out of your mouth.
"And?" he demands.
"And..."
"What? You're jealous?" Joel presses.
You close your eyes, heat blooming down your neck as shame fills you. You nod.
"She knows I'm seeing someone," he continues. "Was giving me a hard time about not bringing her to the party tonight. Everyone's dying to meet my girl."
This new revelation is enough to make you spin your wheels, confusion etched across your features. "You... talk about me?"
He nods. "Every now and again. Tommy's got a big mouth, let it slip that I've been happier lately. Your dad never mentioned my mystery girlfriend? Makes me wonder if he knows."
"Girlfriend?" you echo, voice small.
He chuckles. "What the hell else would you be, baby girl?"
"I don't know—"
"Been lost for you since the moment I saw you," he says, then your name comes next, all soft and sweet. "And I've been a little hurt that you left before I could respond."
"I'm sorry." It's all you can say, with your brain short-circuiting.
"You wanna know what I would'a said?"
You nod.
He holds your chin, thumb smoothing across your lip as he makes searing eye contact, locked on you, pupils dilated, stare molten. "I'm in love with you, too, baby girl, and keeping you a secret is just about killing me, but if that's what it takes to have you, so be it."
"You never asked me to be your... girlfriend," you explain, pitifully.
Joel chuckles. "Back in my day, doin' what we've been doin' was enough to make it clear. You're mine, and I'm yours."
"Old man," you tease.
"You done sulking now?" Joel asks, an eyebrow raised.
You lift your chin, a silent yes.
He sighs, smoothing your hair behind your ear. "Naughty little thing, bending over in front of me, actin' like you want a spanking."
"Maybe I do," you confess.
He groans, grip tightening in your hair. "Your daddy's right outside."
You shake your head. "Last I checked, my daddy is right here."
His hand sinks low, cupping your cunt through your shorts. He gives your pussy a light spank, laughing at the way you moan.
"Should take you across my knee for the way you were acting."
"Please," you whimper.
"Please?" he taunts.
"Please, Daddy," you finish sheepishly.
He sits down on the couch, legs spread, pulling his belt through the loops slowly. "Shorts off."
Your hands shake as you undo them, sliding them down your legs. The cotton between your legs is almost translucent with want, your wetness gathering there.
"Those too," he barks.
Your panties hit the floor before you climb over his lap, settling across his knee as he instructed. He doesn't hit you with the belt. Instead, he puts it between your teeth, instructing you to bite.
"Gotta keep you quiet, baby," he says, smoothing a calloused palm across your ass cheek. "Next time, I'll have you count."
His hand cracks hard on your butt. You yelp in surprise, biting down on the leather as instructed. He comes down again, harder this time, sending a sting through the globes of your ass when he spanks you. When he hits you a third time, you gush, and he notices, gathering your slick with his fingers.
"All this for me?" he teases. "Maybe I'll take the edge off, since you've been taking it so good."
He shoves his fingers inside you then, curling them to reach that gummy spot that sends shivers down your spine, pleasure rippling through you. He hits you again, twice more, before switching cheeks. All the while, he scissors his fingers inside your plush heat, working you to the edge.
When he smacks your ass the sixth time, you come hard, gushing around his fingers, but he keeps finger-fucking you, hitting your ass again. You're writhing, body putty in his hands as he slaps you again and again, spanking your ass raw and punishing your cunt with pleasure to match the pain.
As you reach spanking number ten, you come again, and Joel makes sure to ride it out, waiting until the last aftershock to pull his fingers from your pussy. Your ass is sore, and your clit is swollen and puffy, walls fluttering, tears stinging your eyes. He pulls the belt out of your mouth, a string of spit coming with it.
"Can't take anymore," you whisper.
"You will," he promises. "You can take it, baby. You sore?"
You nod.
"Daddy will make it better," Joel coos. "All you gotta do is be a good girl and sit on my cock, yeah? I'll stuff you real good, show my sweet baby how much I love her."
He frees himself from the zipper of his jeans, his thick, hard length smacking against his belly as he guides you onto him.
You feel every ridge splitting you apart as you sink down. You take him so deep he can feel the bulge in your lower belly as he guides you up and down, impaling you on his cock. His kisses are deep and slow as he lazily fucks you, drawing your clit across him with every stroke to create the perfect friction.
He's in your ear as he ruts into you, hips rising to meet yours. "Takin' it so well, baby. You always do. Daddy's good girl, made to take my cock. I can feel you getting close. The way you're squeezing me. Just let go. I gotcha. I gotcha."
"I love you," you pant into his mouth. "Love you so much, Joel."
"Love you, too, baby girl," he assures you. "Come for me. Come all over my cock."
You unravel at his command, and he's close behind you, spurting thick ropes of his cum into your waiting pussy, painting your insides white. You gasp for air, trembling as he eases you off of him. As you recover, he spends his time redressing you, kissing your forehead, your cheek. He's so tender in the afterglow of sex, his love in every gesture, even as he pulls his pants back up, spent and satisfied.
"Wish I could stay and hold you longer," he murmurs.
You nod. "You have to go back out there."
Joel sighs. "After, I'll come find ya. Maybe you can come over." He glances over his shoulder at the locked door.
"We'll tell him soon," you decide.
"Alright," Joel agrees. "Soon."
He kisses you one final time before turning to leave, and before he goes, you catch a glimpse of the indentation of your teeth in the leather of his belt.
Joel Miller x fem!reader
part 1 | part 2
summary: When your mother asks you to take Joel to a family wedding, you start opening up to him in ways you haven't with anybody else.
word count: 24k
warnings: dbf!Joel, control kink, decision making kink (?), age gap (20s & 50s), praise kink, asphyxiation, unprotected p in v, Joel calls reader kid or kiddo, edging, orgasm denial, orgasm control, reader works out her family issues on Joel's cock, Joel is very understanding and sweet, Joel is something of a fatherfigure and had a relationship to reader when she was a child, I need to be shot, reader presents herself in a feminine way (wears a dress and makeup), reader has a tattoo (not described), description of reader's family, reader drinks alcohol
note: this is what happens when my cousin announces she's getting married! It's been stewing in my drafts since February, I am very proud of it. Inspired by a scene from Fleabag — you’ll understand why. Enjoy reading, and tell me what you think if you'd like. Keeps me motivated and makes me smile
Your mother should be crowned queen of awkward, bad ideas. And this one surely takes the cake.
"I’m going alone, Mom, it’s not the nineteen-thirties."
"It’s a wedding, darling, who will you dance with?"
You scoff – if you know one thing, it’s that you certainly will not be dancing in front of people, not without the sufficient amount of alcohol.
"Are you gonna ask aunt Ruth the same thing just cause she divorced uncle–."
"You don’t have to be such a smart-ass," she interrupted, "Joel would be going alone otherwise, and this way you both get to have someone there with you! I think he’s been lonely ever since Sarah moved out."
And what’s that got to do with me?, you want to ask, but your mother is right. Your next door neighbor has been sulking all summer, drinking beer on the porch and staring at the driveway as if that will make his daughter magically reappear. Sometimes when you get home in the evening you chat with him for a few minutes. You like Joel – he has the same aversion to smalltalk as you do, so the conversation isn’t superficial. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s pushing his late 50s.
"It wouldn’t be a real date, honey, I’d never set you up with him," you mother starts again, and you sigh. "I just think it’d cheer him up to spend time with someone who isn’t your father."
You almost ask your mother to go with him if it’s so important to her, but of all the guests there he’s probably the easiest to talk to. Not one to make a fuss, Joel Miller. You could just sit quietly next to each other, and if he’s your partner you doubt there’ll be much dancing. Maybe you could convince him to tell any other man who asks you to dance to fuck off. It would make your evening much more enjoyable than pressing your sweating body against the friend of a distant cousin and awkwardly swaying to some romantic pop song from 2009 with your parents watching. It’s a mystery to you why Joel is going at all – it’s not like it’s someone in his family who’s getting married. Your mother mentioned something about the groom and Joel having worked together on a job, but you weren’t paying attention much, as it was before she was trying to pimp you out to a guy basically triple your age.
"I’ll talk to him about it," you concede, and she smiles, clearly taking your answer as success already. You’re not as sure Joel will be thrilled about this idea, can almost hear his grumpy response: you even old enough to stay up past 9 pm? Still, maybe it will get your mother off your back if you at least try to convince him.
***
So you knock on Joel’s door, a tray of cookies your mother made for him in your slightly sweaty hands. You know he’ll find the idea absurd, and you’re not looking forward to being teased for proposing it.
"Hey, kid," Joel drawls when he opens the door, an easy smile tugging on his lips.
"Hi," you answer, pushing the tray towards him, "Mom made these and wanted you to have some."
"Geez, she thinks I don’t eat now that Sarah’s in Boston."
You get the inkling your mother isn’t entirely wrong about that, you haven’t seen Joel do his usual run for groceries in weeks. He probably eats steak every day, no vegetables. The thought almost makes you grin. Joel takes the tray from you and raises an eyebrow.
"You wanna come in?"
"Yeah, I’m definitely eating those," you say, nodding towards his cookies. He scoffs good-naturedly and kicks the door open further with his foot.
"No way, I’m not givin’ these away. Your mother’s bakin’ is sublime."
"Think of it as payment."
He snorts.
"What for?"
"Bringing them over."
Joel shoots you a look that clearly says stop whinin’, you live across the street, but doesn’t answer, just leads you to his kitchen and gets out milk and two glasses. He pushes one over to you, and you dunk one of your mother’s chocolate chip cookies in the milk, watching Joel do the same thing. You eat quietly for a moment, just enjoying the sugar melting into your tongues.
"Mom wants you to take me to my cousin’s wedding," you say once you’ve swallowed your first bite. Joel looks like he has dough stuck in his throat, and when he starts coughing you briefly wonder if you’d be able to perform the Heimlich maneuver on a man of Joel’s size, but he recovers quickly, and gulps down some milk.
"Why?" he asks, voice hoarse. You could lie, but Joel would know – you’ve never been able to hide stuff from him. He knew you were smoking behind his garage when you were seventeen, recognized the boys you snuck in and out of your bedroom window. He never told on you, though.
"She thinks we’re both loners."
Joel scoffs, and takes another bite of his cookie. You shrug.
"I told her it’s a bad idea. She said we needed a dance partner."
You’re grinning, the idea of Joel in a suit and dancing more than absurd. The most you’ve seen him do is tap his foot while listening to his classic rock radio station in his garage.
"I don’t dance," he answers, his brows furrowing.
"Neither do I."
He looks at you inquiringly, and you raise your eyebrows.
"What?"
"You’re what, twenty-one and you don’t dance? Aren’t you supposed to be spendin’ your weekends in clubs, makin’ all sorts of bad choices?"
"Okay, then, let me rephrase that: I don’t dance without at least four shots of tequila in my bloodstream and I doubt my parents would approve of me getting wasted at a family wedding."
Joel hums, as if to say fair point, and looks thoughtful for a second.
"You wanna go with someone else?"
The question is unexpected, you can’t help but answer it honestly.
"No."
Joel holds your eye contact, and you sigh.
"I’m not seeing anyone at the moment and my family is fucking insane, so I’m definitely not taking any of my friends."
That makes Joel chuckle, and for a brief moment you wonder what he thinks of your family.
"So let me take you, then. Wouldn’t have to waltz or nothin’."
No comment about your age, no teasing remarks about the boys Joel knows you see without your parents being aware of it.
"Why?"
Even to your own ears, your voice sounds suspicious. You lean on Joel’s kitchen island and stare up at him inquiringly. He doesn’t look away, not intimidated in the slightest.
"Your Dad’s been tryin’ to get me to ask out Loretta Henderson."
"What, and you’re not interested?"
You know Loretta, a nosy woman who knows all the gossip in the neighborhood. The thought of Joel going out with her makes you frown, he’s so much nicer than her.
"No," Joel just answers, but doesn’t offer much more. You sigh, and he cocks an eyebrow. "What, are you Loretta Henderson’s personal cupid now?"
"It’s not that," you say a little grumbly.
"What, then?"
His voice is uncharacteristically gentle, and you find yourself giving into his question before you can change your mind.
"I don’t wanna go to that stupid fucking wedding at all."
There, it’s out in the open, all your childish and petulant disdain for family events. Now he’ll demand explanations, say you’re silly, to grow up and make your parents happy.
"So don’t go."
You stare at him. He stares back, and after a couple of seconds the corners of his mouth lift in a brief, tentative smile.
"You don’t gotta go, kid, with me or with anyone. You’re an adult."
Sure, but it’s your cousin’s wedding. Who bails on something like that? Joel Miller, maybe. He’s not exactly known to be the life of every party, although you know he can stomach quite a few beers. The thought of him building a tolerance on his own makes your frown reappear.
"It’s not that simple," you answer, staring at the crumbs of cookie in what’s left of your milk. "My parents would kill me. Like, genuinely, they’d put an axe to my neck."
Joel chuckles and the sound feels warm in your ears.
"I highly doubt that. You wanna talk about why you’re skippin’ a free three course meal and unlimited drinks?"
"I’m not skipping anything," you argue, then sigh, and look at your hands. "I’m the second oldest after my cousin, and she’s got this great guy, and a degree, and probably twin babies who won’t ever cry on the way, and I…I just don’t think I can handle every single one of my aunts asking me why I’m still single."
Joel is watching you, and hums as if to say he understands, and before you change your mind, you keep rambling.
"I always gotta justify every decision I make to them, you know? Like when I started my first degree, and when I quit it, and when I cut my hair, and got a tattoo. It’s exhausting. I’m awful at decision-making on the best of days, but my whole extended family scrutinizing me makes it hell."
You know you’re being dramatic, that there’s people with worse problems than a distant family member’s snide comments about a tattoo. But still. Still, you don’t want to spend your precious free day defending the choices you struggled with making in the first place, choices you question yourself, day after day.
Joel looks thoughtful, and he contemplates your words for so long, you think he might not answer at all, but then he pushes the cookies over to you, as if to say you need these more than me.
"I was so young when I had Sarah," Joel says to your surprise, "and everybody had somethin’ to say about it. Kept askin’ me if I was sure about havin’ a kid at that age, while I was holdin’ her in my arms, as if I could’ve just gotten her receipt and returned her like a pair of jeans."
You’re not entirely certain, but you think this might not be the kind of thing Joel tells people easily. He sighs.
"Look, I know it’s exhaustin’ to always have to stand your ground, ’specially when it’s shaky even without people voicing their unwarranted opinions. If peace of mind is what ya want, I’d say definitely avoid them. But if you wanna stand up for yourself and tell them to mind their business, I’ll drive your getaway car."
It’s so very much like Joel to offer something like that – taking you to a wedding just so that you can leave it. You can’t help it, you smile. He smiles back, and it makes the crinkles around his eyes more prominent. It’s a good look on him.
"Alright," you say after a second, thinking that if all else fails, you’ll be able to explain all the family gossip to Joel – maybe the day doesn’t have to be all bad.
"Alright," Joel agrees, "what color dress are you wearin’? So I can match my tie."
You groan – partly because the image of Joel Miller in a suit and tie is, for some reason, devastating, and partly because the idea of picking a dress makes you want to scream.
"Fuck, Joel, they’re gonna hate whatever I wear anyway," you mutter, aware you’re making something big out of something small, that any girl would be happy to get to pick out a pretty dress for a wedding – you can see the judgmental looks already, though: too overdressed, too underdressed, too colorful, too conservative, too this and that.
When you look up, Joel is watching you, brows furrowed while he’s thinking. You kind of wish he’d just tell you to suck it up and stop whining.
"Want me to pick it?"
You stare at him. It’s an odd proposition, and the absurdity of the situation is catching up to you – Joel Miller asking to pick your dress for the wedding he’s taking you to, so that the decision won’t fall onto your shoulders. Flannel-wearing, denim-loving Joel, picking a dress he thinks is best suited for you and for the occasion, perhaps even one he would like to see you in. It makes your head spin. It’s strange, absurd, weird, but the idea is oddly soothing. Would you feel self-conscious under your family’s stares if you knew Joel liked the dress? If the choice wasn’t yours in the first place, would you still find a way to feel guilty about it?
"I do," you answer quietly. You know you’re treading in dangerous waters now. Something feels blurry about this conversation, and although you trust Joel not to have ulterior motives, you’re also aware you both know there’s something happening here beyond a choice of dress.
"Alright," Joel says again, just like that.
"Alright," you say. Just like that.
***
Joel takes you shopping, because in his own words he’s never had to buy a fancy dress for Sarah, so you hop onto the passenger seat of his Bronco and try to find a radio station with songs that aren’t several decades older than you, but Joel doesn’t seem to enjoy anything past the 80s, so you opt for a 60s station – Dusty Springfield coos into your ear as you watch Joel turn on the engine.
"My parents somehow don’t think this is strange," you say, and Joel shoots you a glance – you’re clearly implying they should.
"Do you?"
You hum, then shrug.
"I’ve never met a straight man who went shopping for dresses voluntarily. Is there a specific reason you’re not interested in Mrs. Henderson?"
Joel looks over at you with a raised eyebrow.
"Sarah says it’s not politically correct to joke about bein’ gay," he answers seriously, and you grin.
"Yeah, but it’s funny in this case. Poor Loretta, she’s so blissfully unaware of just how small her shot at going out with you is."
Joel shakes his head, but you can see his mouth twitching under his beard.
"Your teasin’ don’t affect me, sweetheart."
"Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, Miller."
"I have."
You gape at him, and an involuntary giggle leaves your mouth.
"You’re kidding."
Joel laughs, and runs a broad palm over his beard.
"I’m not. Had a friend called Bill who kissed me once. Hell, I must’ve been your age."
"What happened?" you ask impatiently, a broad smile on your face. Joel shrugs.
"Nothin’. Was a good kiss, but the beard sorta bothered me, so I told him I wasn’t interested like that and that he should ask out Frank. He was another friend of ours, ’n I knew he liked Bill. They’re married now, as far as I know."
It’s oddly sweet instead of funny, and you watch the scenery pass with a smile on your face.
"So why are you spending your Saturday at the mall with me instead of…I don’t know, tinkering with your car? Missing Sarah already?"
Joel looks over and smiles, and in that brief second something in your stomach flutters.
"I’m practically forcin’ you to go to that wedding, the least I can do is spare you the stress and get you your dress myself."
"Technically, you’re not sparing me much if you make me come with you because you don’t know shit about dresses."
Joel scowls and you grin.
"Technically, I could turn this car around right now and make you go in a jeans and t-shirt."
"Can’t make me do anything, Miller."
He doesn’t answer.
***
Turns out Joel’s idea of shopping is getting every single dress in the shop in your size, and making you try them all on. Although his intention was to relieve you of the decision, he’s sort of unhelpful – he tells you it looks real pretty every time you come out of the changing room, and when you can’t stifle a laugh after the fifth time, he clumsily tries to explain why – he likes the purply sort of color.
After around ten dresses, each a different color and style, you feel exhausted – you do like a few, but some have more cleavage than you usually wear, others might be too casual for a wedding, and you sit down on the little bench in the changing room while Joel puts the last dress back on the hanger.
"I changed my mind, Miller, I’m not going to the wedding," you groan. Joel leans against the wall of the changing room, the red dress you tried on last still in his hands.
"I’m no good at this," he says apologetically, "told you I’d help ya pick one and it’s still stressful, sweetheart, I’m sorry."
The nickname makes that flutter in your stomach reappear.
"No, it’s not your fault," you answer and play with the hem of the dark blue dress you’re currently wearing, "I just…I don’t wanna buy a dress cause they’ll like it."
Joel considers you for a couple of seconds.
"Which one would you get if your family wasn’t there?"
You sigh.
"But they are there, Joel–"
"Which one?"
His tone doesn’t allow any arguing, so you look at the dresses, chewing on the inside of your cheek. You liked a baby blue one, a black one, and a light pink one. You lift them up to show Joel, and he smiles.
"So get one of these," he says, as if it’s that easy.
"The blue one has too much cleavage–"
"You’re twenty-one, sweetheart, and you ain’t a nun."
It makes you chuckle, despite yourself.
"I think the baby pink one might be too close to white, you’re not supposed to wear white to somebody else’s wedding."
Joel snorts.
"’S your cousin colorblind?"
You groan, looking between the three dresses.
"Which one would you most like to wear in your own apartment, when you get dressed up just for yourself?"
You stare at Joel, heat rising in your cheeks, as if he caught you doing something you weren’t supposed to be doing.
"I’m a girl-Dad," he reminds you softly, and you have a sudden image of Sarah playing dress-up in front of Joel’s bedroom mirror in your mind. Again, that flutter in your stomach.
"This one," you say quietly, and lift the hanger of the light blue dress. Joel nods, takes the dresses from your hands, drapes the blue one over his forearm, and clutches the curtain of the changing room in his massive fist.
"I’m returnin’ these, you’re changin’ into your jeans again and then we’re gettin’ the blue one."
It’s more expensive than the black one, you want to say, but Joel closes the curtain without giving you the time to argue, and you hear his heavy footsteps as he makes his way out of the changing rooms. All of a sudden you have to smile – relief washes over you now that a decision is made.
When you walk out of the changing rooms in your jeans and t-shirt again, the dress you changed out of long forgotten on its hanger, you can see Joel at the checkout, handing the cashier something, and you practically run over to him.
"Absolutely not, Joel, you’re not payi–"
"Thank you," Joel says to the cashier, putting his card back into his worn leather wallet and looking at you, "It’s done. Quit whinin’ and take your new dress."
He hands you the bag with a smile, and although you feel guilty, there’s also a strange sort of comfort in knowing Joel payed for it. Sure, it’s yours, but in a way you’re giving the weight of your family’s reactions, good or bad, over to him.
"Thank you," you say softly, "you didn’t have to do that."
"I know," Joel just answers, "you got matchin’ shoes?"
***
The wedding is still a week away, when you get a message from Joel.
Are you driving to the wedding with your family, or with your date?
You smile, and consider his question for a second. You’re all spending the weekend in a hotel, arriving a day early, and knowing your parents, the packing and driving won’t be exactly peaceful. You don’t know what they will think if you tell them you’re going with Joel, but then you remember your mom asked you to spend time with him so he isn’t lonely. It’s the perfect excuse, and the idea of spending the hours with Joel in his Bronco rather than in the backseat of your parents’ car, trying hard to keep the peace between them while they’re stressed, makes you feel almost giddy.
With my date, you don’t know him tho ;)
You can practically hear Joel’s huff.
Smartass. I’ll pick you up at nine on Friday, don’t oversleep.
From then on you text Joel from time to time. You’re not sure why, but you like the way he responds to you. It never takes him long, even when he surely must be working, and the idea of him checking his phone at a construction site makes that flutter in your stomach reappear. You know it’s stupid, and although it’s not technically flirting, it’s also not innocent, but you tell yourself you’re only going to the wedding because your mother asked you to, so you might as well have a little fun while doing it. And anyway, Joel sure doesn’t seem to mind.
Picked a suit yet? Or r u going in a flannel?
Funny. Picked one that goes well with your dress.
Pic pls??
I’m working. Sorry, sweetheart.
The nickname feels somehow more solid in text than it does in conversation. It’s not a slip of the tongue, he took his time to type it out on his phone, probably with his forefinger, using his other hand to hold the phone.
When the wedding is a week away, your mother starts stress-baking, and asks you to bring Joel one half of the carrot cake she made. You think about asking her how one person is supposed to eat half a cake, but consider your chances of Joel sharing it with you higher if you keep your mouth shut.
When you knock on his door once again, it takes him a second to open the door. He’s drenched in sweat, his old shirt damp and his curls unruly.
"Oh, hey kid," he says with a surprised smile, his eyes flickering towards the cake. "What’s it this time, an uncle’s funeral?"
You snort, and he opens the door wider.
"Are you working out?"
"No," Joel say in a tone that suggests the idea is absurd, "I’m gardenin’."
You watch him lead the way to his kitchen, his broad back and thick arms making you feel a little squirmy. His answer suggests he doesn’t work out, and you wonder if he got so fit just from his job. You always figured contractors just managed the construction sites, but maybe Joel does the construction himself. You think you enjoy entertaining that thought a little too much.
"Can I see your suit?"
Joel glances at you, and you place the cake on his kitchen isle as he gets out two plates.
"No," he answers, a little gruff.
"It’s a common misconception, but it’s actually just the bride who shouldn’t show her outfit to her date," you tease, "the guests are allowed."
Joel scowls, and shakes his head.
"I don’t know anybody who talks back as much as you do."
"You might not know many smart people. I’m quick."
Despite himself, the corners of Joel’s mouth twitch into an amused smile, and he hands you a piece of cake.
"Come on, Joel, you got to see my dress, too," you try again, almost begging now.
"You’ll see it on Saturday."
"Why?"
Joel clears his throat, but you don’t let him off the hook, just chew your piece of cake in silence while you wait for him to answer.
"Cause it’s…it’s ridiculous. I’m not a suit guy."
He’s shy, you realize, maybe even insecure about it. You wonder if he fished out the last suit he wore from the back of his closet, probably still with 80s shoulder pads.
"Now I’ve got to see it," you decide, and when Joel sighs, you know you’ve won. He glares at you for multiple seconds, not breaking the eye contact. Then he shakes his head again, and leaves to get it.
When he returns, he hasn’t put the suit on like you hoped, but you’re relieved to find a classic black suit jacket and pants draped over his arm. You take it from him, holding the jacket up and nodding appreciatively.
"This is nice," you tell him honestly, "no flared pants or fringes."
Joel laughs, the sound traveling up your spine and settling in your chest.
"I’m not that old."
You grin, and hand him the suit back.
"You’ll look really handsome in it," you say softly, because you can tell the idea of wearing it makes him uncomfortable, and because it’s true. You like the way he looks even in his sweaty old t-shirt, but in a suit he’ll surely turn heads. He looks slightly embarrassed at your comment, and smoothes over a wrinkle in the fabric.
He mutters something under his breath and gently drapes the suit over the back of a dining chair. "Wish I could go in a pair of jeans."
It’s endearing, and you wonder if Joel is unaware of how attractive he is. He’s certainly not one to make a fuss about his looks.
"Well, you’d just embarrass me, cause some crazy guy picked and bought a real fancy dress for me. We have to match, sorry."
Your words have the desired effect, and Joel chuckles.
"It’s not too late to bail, though," you offer, "if you’re just coming cause of me."
Joel’s eyes don’t leave yours.
"Gettin’ cold feet?"
You shrug.
"Mine were never really warm. Yours?"
"Toasty," he says softly, eyes still on yours. All of a sudden is a little harder to swallow you mother’s carrot cake.
"You’re still nervous about goin’," Joel says, and it’s more an assessment than a question. You shrug again.
"Why?" he asks, " ’S not about the dress, I saw how happy you were when I made the decision for you."
Something about that sentences makes your stomach flutter again. Make them all for me, you want to say, and instead shove more cake into your mouth. You chew slowly to give yourself more time to sort out the words in your head.
"I just find these sorts of things exhausting," you explain, "I hate figuring out what’s socially appropriate, you know, how much to drink, what jokes to make, when to laugh, what to say and not say."
"I hope ya don’t take this the wrong way, sweetheart, but your family sounds like a piece of work."
You laugh, and watch Joel’s eyes get all crinkly with amusement at your reaction.
"They’re alright," you say honestly, "they’re normal. I’m just sensitive."
"They put that idea in your head?"
That shuts you up. It’s just a quick remark from Joel, but it hits home, and the smile freezes on your face.
"Sorry," Joel says quietly, "I’m sorry, that wasn’t my place–"
"No, don’t worry," you say quickly, "you’re right. They’re still normal, though. Usual amount of uptight and judgmental, I guess."
Joel watches you, and it seems like he’s thinking about something. When he speaks, his words are almost tentative.
"You can stick to me, if you want to. You can…ask me if you want a second opinion on what’s socially appropriate."
Your stomach swirls. You swallow and nod.
"I think that might be a relief," you say honestly, and try hard to ignore the pull of want in your stomach.
"Alright," Joel says, and as if it’s an inside joke by now, you answer.
"Alright."
***
He does pick you up at nine on Friday. You parents seemed slightly surprised Joel is taking you to the hotel in his car, but when you asked your mother what the point of going with him was if he still spent most of his time alone, she seemed convinced. You aren’t sure why you felt the need to convince her of anything in the first place, but you try not to think about it, when your doorbell rings. You spent the night at your parents’ place for convenience instead of in your apartment, so that Joel doesn’t have to drive the extra couple of miles. Your father opens the door before you can, and pats Joel’s shoulder.
"So, you’re taking my little girl to the wedding," he says, holding up one finger in a mock-scolding. Joel laughs, but you wonder if it sounds slightly strained. He meets your eye and nods in greeting. You nod back.
"Do you have your suitcase?" your father asks.
"Yeah, it’s right here."
You go to grab it, but Joel is quicker.
"I got it," he mutters, and you try hard not to stare at his arms bulging under the weight, not in front of your father.
"Careful, Miller, don’t be too much of a gentleman, or none of her collage boys will stand a chance," your Dad jokes.
"Oh, I won’t be," Joel drawls. You turn towards the door to hide your blush – you’re sure Joel didn’t mean anything by that comment, but that flutter in your stomach is stronger than ever, and you almost clench your thighs together. Joel doesn’t seem to notice anything, just carries your suitcase to the door.
"See you there, Dad," you say, "where’s Mom?"
"Rearranging the snack box," your Dad answers, "I’ll tell her you said bye. See you there kid, don’t let Joel drive like a lunatic."
Joel is about to quip something back, but you practically shove him out the door, your fingers digging into his biceps. He can barely tell your father goodbye before you close the door behind the two of you.
"Rearranging the snack box," you groan, "they’re so…so…so not chill."
Joel chuckles.
"I ain’t got a snack box, I thought we could make a stop at Burger King or somethin’."
"Finally," you answer, and open the trunk of his car so he can put your suitcase inside, "a man with sense."
***
"So, what do I gotta know about your family? Anyone I should avoid?"
You grin and turn up the radio a little.
"Don’t bring up vaccines with aunt Ingrid, in fact, just don’t bring them up at all. Steer clear of politics, unless you’re pro-life and think gay people shouldn’t get too close to kids, but if that is the case, steer clear of me."
Joel laughs.
"Got nothin’ to worry about, sweetheart. No politics or human rights, got it."
"Don’t ask uncle Jules if he has children. He does, but it’s…complicated."
"Who’s uncle Jules again?"
"My Dad’s brother. Bald guy with a beard. Don’t call him uncle, though."
"No callin’ people uncle, no questions about family, or politics. Geez, I’ll have to think of some conversation starter."
You chuckle and suddenly feel ridiculous for making such a fuss about attending a family wedding, when Joel is going to have to navigate dozens of people he’s never met before.
"I think showing up there with me as your date might be the starter for most conversations you’ll have," you say, not quite managing to keep the amusement out of your voice.
Joel clears his throat.
"Right, well, I’m sorta hopin’ they won’t dwell on that too much so as to not make things awkward."
"Oh, they’ll make things awkward," you answer, amusement evident in your voice, "but honestly, I think that’ll be the fun part. I wonder if aunt Susie will hit on you, she hits on everybody’s spouses."
Joel shoots you a glance.
"You were worried enough about a dress to consider not goin’ at all, but showin’ up with your Dad’s friend is the fun part?"
You admit, when he puts it like that, it sounds illogical.
"Those are two different things, though. They’ll judge my dress regardless of what I wear, I guarantee you someone will make a comment about it. If you hadn’t helped me, I’dve spent the night wondering if I should’ve gone with a different one."
"You don’t don’t think you should have gone with a different…date?"
You glance over at him.
"No," you say earnestly, "it was never a question of who to go with. I wasn’t gonna go with anyone else, had you said no."
"Right," Joel says, and changes lanes.
You’re quiet for a while, watching the scenery outside your window, but Joel seems to keep thinking about what you said.
"Why does it bother you so much? Whether they like your dress or not?"
You sigh, and he looks over at you briefly.
"You don’t gotta tell me, sweetheart, I was just wonderin’."
You pick at your fingernail.
"No, it’s alright. I guess I just…dislike not living up to expectations. I can deal with it if things are out of my hands, you know, but if my family is questioning my choices, I start to question them myself. It’s the difference between…being late because my flight was cancelled, and being late because I overslept. If it’s out of my control, it’s fine."
Joel hums, and it’s quiet again in his car. The radio is playing Mother’s Little Helper softly in the background.
"I think you’ve made solid choices," Joel says after a moment, "You don’t gotta…doubt yourself so much. I always got the feelin’ you knew what’s right for you, except for those boys I watched climb up and down your drainpipe at night."
You blush at the mention of your teenage hookups, but Joel chuckles. His words mean something to you, though you’re not sure how to tell him.
"Yeah, well, I’m good at overthinking," you say quietly, and Joel hums.
"Cause you’re smart. Dumb people don’t question themselves."
You smile.
"Thanks, Miller."
Joel switches lanes again, and nods.
"I mean it, kid, you’re doin’ just fine. ’N if you need help at the wedding, you come to me and ask for it."
"Alright," you say softly.
***
When you arrive, there is a blur of hugs and kisses and half-shouted greetings between aunts and nephews, cousins and grandmothers, fathers and sisters. Your family isn’t necessarily big, but they’re loud and restless, so you feel relieved when your parents pull you and Joel to the side right after you step out of the car.
"What took you so long?", you Dad asks, but keeps talking before you can tell him about the Burger King break due to a lack of a snack boxes in Joel’s car. "Anyway, we’ve got a problem. They didn’t know you guys aren’t really dating, so they gave you a double room instead of two single ones. We shouldn’t have put your names down together on the attendance list for the wedding, but I was thinking Joel and I can take one room, and you and your mom the other one!"
He’s clearly pleased with how he solved this dilemma, and it takes everything in you not to grit your teeth. You love your mother very much, but living in a single room with her is sure to drive you completely mad.
"Oh no," Joel says, "I don’t wanna cause any trouble. There’s a motel down the street, I’ll just get a room–"
"No way," you answer immediately, momentarily forgetting your parents, "you’re my support at this thing. You’re like my therapy dog. If anyone sleeps at that crappy motel, it’s me."
Joel actually snorts.
"Right, like I’d let ya. Place looked way too sleazy. You’re sleeping in the hotel your cousin booked, end of discussion."
"Fine," you answer, narrowing your eyes, "but so are you. You’re a guest, and I’m a good fucking host."
You hold his gaze, even when he shakes his head in something close to annoyance.
"You’re not the host, you’re a guest yourself. And anyway, it isn’t socially appropriate to decline someone who’s offerin’."
He’s telling you to give in, let him make the decision for you. In any other situation, that thought would get you all tingly.
"Well, I’m offering to share with you, so don’t decline," you say, crossing your arms in front of your body. It feels a little childish.
"Alright," Joel grumbles, sounding defeated, and looks at your father. "Your kid’s a piece of work."
Your parents watched your discussion quietly, and you can see mild distaste on their faces at how you talked to their friend, but for some reason it makes you want to grin. Usually it stresses you out when your parents aren’t satisfied with your behavior, but in this case it fills you with a strangely giddy feeling – if only they knew the sort of things you tell Joel about your family. It would turn those frowns into shouts.
"I’m sure we’ll find a solu–"
Joel’s quicker than your father, and waves him off with an easy hand.
"Ah it’s alright. Piece of work, but good company."
There’s an amused glint in his eyes and you frown at him, half contemplating kicking his shin.
"I’m a piece of work? You’re the one who–"
Your mother’s eyebrows furrow and you fall quiet. For some reason you don’t want to let on just how close you and Joel are these days. You don’t want your parents to see Joel doesn’t mind your bickering, that he does it, too, that it’s not harshness, but barely disguised tenderness underneath the irony. Joel’s eyes are on your face, but you don’t look at him.
"It’s only two nights anyway," you grumble, and Joel nods.
"That’s settled, then. I’ll get the suitcases."
***
You’re rooming with Joel Miller. For some reason you didn’t fully consider what that entailed while you were arguing about it with him – you’ll share a bathroom, possibly a bed. A blanket. You understand your mother’s frown now, it’s certainly strange for you and Joel to be so fine with this situation. You make a mental note to mention only doing this so Joel isn’t lonely to your mother.
"You sure you don’t mind?" Joel asks you when you step into the elevator – your room is on the third floor.
"Depends. Do you snore?"
Joel doesn’t answer, but after a second he shakes his head, though more to himself than as an answer to your question.
"If you’re uncomfortable with this, I really don’t mind staying at that motel," he continues, and you watch him play with the little button on the handle of his suitcase.
"I’m not uncomfortable," you answer, "are you?"
"No."
You don’t know what else to say, so you fall quiet again. Joel seems oddly conflicted, but you don’t blame him, he surely noticed your mother’s expression when you decided to share the room.
When you get there, Joel opens the door, lets you step in first, and you hoist your suitcase inside. It’s a light room, airy curtains, a big double bed that looks cozy. You’re relieved to see it’s big enough for things not to get awkward between Joel and you, and thankfully, there’s two blankets and pillows.
"Which side do you want?"
Joel’s voice is kind, like he really wants you to pick, and you smile.
"Window," you say, the decision coming easily for once. You didn’t consider which side Joel would prefer and picked the other one, you just chose the one you wanted because you were able to hear in Joel’s voice it’s what he wanted you to do.
"I’m gonna change and then I’ll have to say hi to my family," you say, and don’t manage to keep the annoyed tone out of your voice completely. Joel plops down on his side of the bed with a quiet grunt, and watches you.
"You’re not looking forward to the smalltalk," he says in that way of his that is less question and more statement. It spares you from having to answer, but you still sigh.
"No, not really. They’ll ask a million questions about my degree, it’s like nothing else interests them."
Joel’s eyes are still on you, as you open your suitcase and pull out different shirts and pairs of jeans, suddenly realizing you brought too many options.
"Wear that one," Joel says when you hold up and consider a shortsleeved blouse with a flowery pattern, "looks real pretty."
You take the blouse and grab your favorite jeans to change into, glad to finally change out of your sweatpants after the long drive.
"I’ll deflect the conversation when they start talking about your degree," Joel says, crossing his arms, "I’ll mention my age or somethin’."
It makes you laugh, because the idea is so absurd – that talking about your fifty-something year old date would be more comfortable than talking about university.
"Thanks," you say genuinely, "you’ll be the topic of conversation, by the way. Hope you don’t mind gossip."
Joel smiles an easy smile and shrugs.
"Ah, you heard your mother, I’m a loner. Gossip don’t affect me."
You know he’s not being honest – with his connection to the groom, any gossip about his controversially young date is sure to reach his colleagues’ ears, but you’re grateful for his support in this. He’s risking his own reputation just to make this event less dreadful for you. You smile at him, and slip into the bathroom to change.
***
You can see your family from a distance, sitting on some sort of terrace, and you can tell some of them are looking over at you, assessing yours and Joel’s form already. You groan, and tuck your blouse into your waistband.
"Don’t worry," Joel says quietly, "you look great. ’N I picked the blouse anyway, so it’s on me."
You nod, and Joel nudges your shoulder with his softly.
"Cheer up, kid. Won’t be awkward, I got you."
You believe him. You trust Joel to handle the smalltalk with your own family, which should make you feel pathetic and childish and weak, but it’s so easy to let him take the reins. He leads you over to them with a gentle hand on the small of your back and a polite smile on his lips.
"Hey guys," you say, waving awkwardly when you’ve reached the terrace, "this is Joel."
You’ve got to hand it to your family, they’re being polite. You can see their eyes move over Joel’s crowsfeet, his hand on your waist, his flannel shirt, and for a second you feel nervous, but Joel seems so at ease, the judgement pearling off of him like drops of water.
You hug people, Joel shakes hands, says hello in that gruffly charming manner of his, there’s names being exchanged, and during all of it he doesn’t leave your side. He keeps his left hand on your back, lets you know he’s there for you. It feels like a secret somehow, even though it’s not – but you’re tricking your family, and they have no idea what your relationship to Joel is really rooted in. They look at the two of you and see something intimate, sure, but they’ve got it all wrong. It’s intimate in a different way.
"So what do you do, Joel?" one of your aunts asks him, when you’ve sat down – Joel pulling out your chair for you.
"I’m a contractor," he says, and throws his arm around your shoulders. You want to grin when you watch a dozen pairs of eyes follow the movement. Under the table, you nudge Joel’s foot with your own and you swear the corner of his mouth twitches.
They ask him more questions, the sort of superficial things most people think will conjure up an accurate image of the person they’re asking, and you’re more than amused by how Joel deflects them easily with that southern charm, but without backing down. The entire time, his thumb draws circles on your shoulder. You welcome the touch – you know it’s partly to keep up the show of dating you, but nevertheless it’s soothing, real or not. You wonder what Joel gets out of this charade – you get to fool the people who regularly make you feel inferior, you get to have some sort of entertainment at an otherwise boring event, but Joel doesn’t. He seems at ease, though, talking to your uncle about his business, fingers toying with the collar of your blouse at the nape of your neck.
"And how did you two meet?"
Your aunt’s question is sickly sweet, her judgment barely disguised. Her outrage makes you want to laugh and yell at the same time, because it’s not your well-being she’s concerned with, it’s etiquette.
"Oh, I’m friends with her parents," Joel says easily, "known each other ages."
It takes everything in you not to snort at the way your aunts eyes widen, and you’re sure Joel’s cough is really a well disguised laugh.
"Yeah," you say once you’re sure you’ll be able to control your voice, "he taught me how to drive when I was sixteen."
After that, someone hastily changes the topic, and when no one is looking, you throw Joel a grin. He winks at you, and doesn’t take his arm off your shoulder when you lean a little closer to him.
***
"You guys going to the beach, or the city?"
Your father smiles at you, squinting against the sun, backpack already slung over his shoulder – your parents are clearly doing the latter. There’s still time before dinner, and your family decided to split into two groups – you’re not sure which one to join. You look up at Joel, and your eyes meet. He holds your gaze for two seconds, and you don’t need to say anything.
"The beach," Joel decides, looking at your father again. "Could both use a bit of nature after that drive."
You say goodbye to your parents and are grateful for the few moments alone with Joel before joining the others for a walk down the beach. It’s what you would have picked, if you had to, but Joel didn’t need you to pick. Just like with your blouse and dress, he made the decision for you, and even though they’re completely mundane choices, it seems to lift a weight off your shoulders. You can just exist around Joel.
"That okay with you?" he asks you now, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
"Yeah," you answer, "anything you pick’s okay with me."
It’s more honest than you necessarily wanted it to be, but you find it hard to care when Joel seems so tuned into you. He watches you, and nods.
"Do you think that’s strange?" you ask, all of a sudden worried he finds your need for a lack of autonomy revolting, or pitiful. Joel’s eyes are glued to yours, when you look up at him.
"No," he says softly, "I think you’ve been made to question yourself way too much. Creates stress and pressure I’ll gladly take away if I can."
There’s no judgement in his voice, just acknowledgement. You look at your shoes, then back at him again. You aren’t sure what to answer – you know it’s a strange conversation to be having with your parents’ friend. Before you can answer, Joel does it for you.
"Look, don’t overthink it. This weekend you don’t gotta worry about anythin’, alright? I’m takin’ the reins."
You probably shouldn’t find it as easy to accept this as you do, but then again you probably shouldn’t have brought a man more than twice your age to a family wedding, so you might as well go all in. Joel’s taking the strain. You can just nod and go along with it. For the first time in a long time, you feel oddly silent. Steady.
***
The beach is beautiful and you and Joel take off your shoes and socks to walk barefoot along the water. The steady sound of the waves and the salt in the air makes you feel calm. Your family is close by, walking in little groups, chatting and laughing. You’re enjoying just walking quietly with Joel, but after your conversation with him, you really wouldn’t mind talking to your family either – Joel understood what you were trying to tell him, and offered to take your worries and doubts away from you. There’s no responsibility weighing heavily on your shoulders, and suddenly it seems easy to show your religious aunts your tattoos, and even defend the degree you chose. Joel’s got your back. He’s got your choices, your decisions.
"You’re quiet," Joel tells you over the sound of the wind. You watch it mess up his hair.
"I feel quiet," you say, "in a good way."
Joel hums, and you’re reminded he’s a man of few words, too.
"What you said," you start, voice uncertain, "about them making me question myself. It’s not…they don’t mean any harm."
You watch your toes dig into the wet sand as you walk, soft, cold waves rolling over them in a steady rhythm.
"Yeah, no-one ever does."
You glance at Joel and back at your feet again.
"It’s just…I know I’ve been talking shit about them a lot, but I don’t want you to think they’re bad people or something."
Joel’s eyes are trained on a seagull landing on the sand close by when he answers.
"I don’t think that, I don’t even know ’em. Your parents are good people, and from what I’ve seen, they’re good parents, too."
You nod.
"Still, even if something is well-intentioned, doesn’t mean it can’t have negative repercussions."
You frown, thinking about his words, and Joel sighs.
"I don’t wanna criticize your folks, God knows I’ve made mistakes with Sarah. But I see you constantly tryin’, you know, always workin’ to please them. Even if it comes from a place of wantin’ the best for their kid, I don’t think it should be like that. Parents should be workin’ to make their kids proud, not the other way around."
His words punch the air from your lungs – his assessment of your relationship to your parents so perplexingly correct, you don’t know what to say. And then his immediate acknowledgment of what you feel in your heart, and don’t have the nerve or guts to voice. You feel your eyes begin to prick, and it’s not the sand or the salt. You swallow hard, feel Joel’s eyes on you.
"Hey now," he mutters, noticing your tears, "I didn’t mean to make that happen, darlin’."
The pet name seems to rip something open inside of you, and your tears start to spill silently, your face unmoving. Joel reaches out for your tentatively – the lines between what’s acceptable have blurred. It’s okay for him to put his arm around you to make fools of your family, but this feels different. You decide you don’t care anymore – you want to feel his warm body against your side, you want him to wipe the tears from your cheeks with his huge palms, you want to hear his voice whisper in your ear. Something about Joel Miller soothes an ache inside of you you didn’t even realize needed soothing at all, but now that you’re aware of it, you can’t help but give in completely.
His gentle palm on your arm is all you need, a clumsy but warm gesture of comfort, and you lean against him, your face against his collarbone. You know your family can see you, they’re close by, walking ahead or behind the two of you. You find you don’t mind – if anything, this will fuel the hoax of the two of you being together even more.
Joel is hesitant at first, but your tears seep into his pullover, and when you inhale shakily, he starts to stroke your back. You hear the sea, Joel’s heartbeat, someone laughing and screaming, possibly your cousins.
"I’m sorry kid," Joel says and rests his chin on the top of your head, "it’s alright. You’re alright."
"S-sorry," you mutter, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.
"Don’t gotta apologize. Did I hit a nerve?"
"Yeah," you answer quietly, not stepping back from Joel, just resting your face against his chest. You’ll take what he’s willing to give you, for as long as he is.
"I like it when you choose for me," you whisper after a minute. Although you’ve talked about it before, it feels different to admit this pressed against Joel’s big, warm body. "I really like it."
You feel Joel inhale and sigh, his hand still patting your back softly.
"I know, darlin’. I know."
"It’s weird."
"It’s unusual."
"You’re not, like…grossed out by me?"
Joel holds you a little more tightly.
"No, of course I’m not. Jesus, no. Why would you think that?"
You shrug, and Joel brushes the back of your head with his hand.
"You want me to make your decisions for you this weekend?"
He has been hinting towards that, inching closer to the realization, but he hadn’t put it quite that way before, and you feel something in your belly stir at the directness of his words.
"Yes," you whisper, "please."
You feel him nod, but he doesn’t say anything for a couple of seconds.
"I gotta know what that entails, kid. We gotta…have a conversation about this."
You don’t want to do that – you haven’t had to explain yourself to Joel this plainly before, he always seemed to just get it, even the things you don’t say.
"Tell me what that means to you," Joel asks you gently. It’s not phrased as a question – already he’s doing it so perfectly, not giving you the choice to decline answering, but deciding you will. It’s easy, this way. You inhale again, and close your eyes for your confession.
"I…I just…I want someone to tell me what to wear every morning. I want someone to tell me what to eat, what to like, what to hate, what to rage about. What to listen to, what band to like. What to buy tickets for. What to joke about, what to not joke about. I want someone to tell me what to believe in. Who to vote for and…and who to love and how to tell them. I think I just want someone to tell me how to live my life, Joel, because so far…I think I've been getting it wrong."
He’s quiet, and you think you’ve said too much, made it too weird, and for a split second you feel like running, but then Joel looks down at you, and brushes one stray tear away with his thumb.
"I want you to put on your socks and shoes, again," he says softly, and you feel relief wash over you in synch with the waves. "Can you do that for me?"
You nod, and bend down to get your socks, all the while feeling Joel’s eyes on you.
"Good," he says when you’re done, and gives you a small smile. Your head feels blissfully empty.
***
You catch up with your parents and the rest of your family before dinner, where they hover awkwardly just outside of the doors to the dining room in an old, renovated stable.
Joel keeps his steady hand on your waist, a sign of belonging to your distant family, inconspicuous to your parents, and a clear gesture of comfort to you. He looks handsome in his dark jeans and dark green knit pullover. You’re used to him wearing flip-flops and a grease-stained black tee, gardenhose in hand, but he cleans up nice. You feel your family’s eyes on the two of you as you approach and lean into Joel’s touch a little more.
"Heya," your Dad says with a smile, and immediately shows Joel a book he got in the city, something about cars you can’t be bothered to look at for longer than two seconds. Joel seems interested, though, and when you move to talk to one of your aunts, the hand on your waist tightens. You could easily go anyway, but his touch makes it clear he doesn’t want you to, so you stay, letting the car-talk wash over you, oddly at peace with everything. Joel throws you one look and his thumb starts tracing circles on your waist. It feels like a reward for doing as he said, and the thought makes you feel light-headed.
Eventually you all make your way to the dinner table, and Joel pulls out your chair for you, not sitting down until you’re seated. It makes your stomach flutter, and you can see your aunt watching him, apparently having noticed his good manners, too.
You flip open a menu, trying to decide on a drink – you’re not sure if it might not be too risky to start drinking alcohol this early in the evening, your tongue might become a little too lose, especially among this group. You look over at Joel, and when he notices, he subtly points to Cherry Coke on his own menu, tapping the word once, and you think he must remember you drinking the sticky-sweet stuff all summer as a teen. You give a small nod, to show him you understand, and flip the pages of your menu to look at the food.
"The salmon is supposed to be delicious," your mother is telling your father. She turns to Joel and you, and smiles.
"What are you two having?"
Before you can open your mouth, Joel closes his menu.
"The lamb chops," he answers simply, and when your eyes meet, it punches the air from your lungs. He looks proud, satisfied, like nothing pleases him more than to see you do as he says.
"Yeah," you say quietly, "lamb chops."
***
Dinner is perfectly nice, the lamb chops and your cherry coke are delicious, though you switch to wine after Joel asks you if you prefer red or white and then orders a glass for each of you. From time to time, he brushes your back with his hand when your parents aren’t looking, and even though you don’t get a minute to talk just between the two of you, you can tell he’s making an effort to be present and attentive.
Your younger cousins leave the table to play outside after a while, and you wish you had a few your own age to raid the bar with, as Joel seems to be stuck in a conversation about contracting with your uncle. You drain the last of your wine, your foot tapping rhythmically against the table leg, and you suddenly feel a hand just above your knee, effectively stopping your movement. Joel’s palm is huge as it burns a warm imprint into your skin, squeezing your leg slightly. It’s like a quiet acknowledgment of your restlessness, and enough for you to feel an odd calm wash over you. Joel seems to have realized you want to go to bed, or at least to leave the table and these boring, useless conversations. He also holds the power to decide whether you will or not, so you don’t have to worry about being rude at all. The ball is entirely in his court. You sigh in strange contentment and Joel’s thumb starts moving as a response, his eyes glued to your uncle’s face, nodding and answering whenever it’s appropriate.
After around a quarter of an hour, their conversation seems to fizzle out, and Joel glances down the table. Half the people have left, either to put the kids to bed, or to rest themselves after a long day of traveling. Joel’s eyes meet yours, warm and piercing, and he gets up from his chair, hand slipping from your thigh. Your uncle is talking to your parents now, and Joel waits a beat so as not to interrupt them.
"We’re goin’ to bed," he says when there’s a pause in their conversation, and you nod, getting up, too.
"Already?"
Your Dad sounds surprised.
"It’s eleven," you say, stifling a yawn, "and God knows Joel could use a bit of beauty sleep."
He scoffs and you grin, which makes your father chuckle and shake his head.
"Don’t let her give you hell, Miller. We can still switch rooms if this little union has turned sour."
It’s clearly a joke, but the idea of sleeping in a different room than Joel is distinctly unpleasant all of a sudden, so you chuckle.
"Don’t worry, Dad, still sickly sweet."
You hug your parents goodnight, and Joel promises your uncle to continue their talk the day after, and then, finally, he’s leading you back outside and towards the actual hotel building. His hand is a ghost on the small of your back, not quite touching, but guiding. You breathe in the cool evening air as you step outside and sigh. The change in temperature is more than welcome after the noise and buzz in your head.
"Alright?" Joel asks, voice quiet.
"Yes," you say, and suddenly feel shy about the decisions he made for you throughout the evening. "Sorry about…you don’t have to…I mean, I can just pick my own drinks and food tomorrow."
Joel is quiet for a second, but his hand doesn’t leave your back.
"Was it too much?"
You don’t answer, don’t know how to tell him it was perfect and not enough at the same time, that his hand seems to be burning a whole into the fabric of your blouse, that you want him to decide to take it off of you.
"Jesus," Joel says, interpreting your silence as confirmation, "I’m sorry, kid, I thought it’s what you asked me to do back at the beach, but if I got that wrong, I’m rea-"
"You didn’t," you say quietly, voice cracking on the last word a little. "Don’t apologize, please. Don’t make this into something…weird or, I don’t know, something to feel guilty about."
Joel falls quiet.
"I hate feeling guilty," you add after a stretch of silence. You can feel Joel looking at you.
"You don’t gotta," he says, shaking his head when you shrug, "no, sweetheart, I mean it. I’m tellin’ ya not to feel guilty."
You shudder, you can’t help it – Joel’s tone has an air of finality you can’t resist. As if Joel pressed a button, you feel the emotion seep out of you. He’s still watching you, and you feel your cheeks burn up. You know it’s a little sick, a little depraved and twisted to want Joel to act like this.
"You know," Joel says suddenly, "when Sarah was ten, you two begged your Dad and me to take you to buy you these headbands you wouldn’t shut up about. They had them in purple and green. Sarah chose the green one, but you just couldn’t decide, you stood in front of that damn shelf for half an hour, until your Dad said he wouldn’t get either if you didn’t pick one."
You don’t remember the shop, but you do remember crying on the way home, Sarah petting your arm and lending you her headband the next day.
"Your Dad didn’t mean bad," Joel continues, "probably thought it was a valuable lesson, but you just needed someone to tell you purple suits you, or green goes with your shoes, or whatever."
You’re still quiet, walking beside Joel in the dark, not quite believing he noticed and cared enough to remember such an innocent incident years later. After a while, you swallow.
"I don’t remember buying that headband," you say softly, "or…not buying it, I guess."
"Why was it so hard for you?" Joel asks, voice sincere "to pick one, I mean."
"I…I’m not sure," you answer, not looking at him, but at your feet moving over the cobblestones. "I think I…I think I learned pretty early on a wrong decision could make people angry or disappointed. By not making one at all I just…disappointed myself, you know? Turning the reaction inward, or something."
Joel hums, and contemplates your words for a while.
"Your Dad, does he…did he…if you’d picked the wrong color, would he have gotten angry?"
You glance up at him, see a slight frown on his face, his muscles pulled tight, and you understand what he’s asking.
"No," you say softly, "no, it’s not like that."
Joel visibly relaxes and nods.
"Sorry," he says with an exhale, "didn’t think it was, but geez, that’d you’d be worried about his reaction to the goddamn color of a headband…"
You sigh.
"I don’t know why I’m like this," you say so quietly, you’re not sure Joel hears, but his hand on your back squeezes slightly, an unconscious gesture of comfort. "I wanna please everyone all of the fucking time. It’s pathetic."
"It’s not pathetic, it’s empathetic," Joel argues, and you frown.
"I got no backbone," you say softly, saying out loud the worst you think about yourself to another person for the first time. "I’m a pushover and a narcissist who can’t handle anyone not liking them, as if I’m the centre of the fucking universe."
Joel stops walking, you sigh almost petulantly, and before you can keep walking, Joel’s hand catches your arm.
"Stop," he says, and without thinking about it, you do. He’s frowning, dark eyebrows pulled tight and casting a harsh shadow over his face.
"I don’t want ya sayin’ shit like that," he tells you, "don’t want ya thinkin’ it either, for that matter."
You don’t know what to answer, except that you do, so you just stare at him.
"Were you a pushover when you argued with me until your parents were pissed, just so I wouldn’t sleep in that shithole motel down the road?"
You look at your hands, and pick at your cuticle.
"Answer me, sweetheart," Joel says, and you can hear the order in his voice.
"That was different, it didn’t have anything to do with me," you say, and Joel shakes his head, as if in exasperation.
"Course it didn’t, it was completely selfless. Just like you don’t want to upset your grandma when she sees that little tattoo of yours, or your parents when you pick a career they don’t like. You’re too goddamn nice for your own good. Too empathetic."
You can feel his gaze glued to your face, but you keep staring at your thumbnail, until Joel sighs again.
"You think a narcissist would have worried about your dress stealin’ your cousin’s show?"
You shrug, aware what Joel wants you to say, but unable to do it.
"You think a narcissist would have sprinted across that shop to stop me buyin’ it for ya?"
"I’m still mad at you because of that," you say softly, and despite himself, Joel’s mouth softens into a smile.
"A narcissist," he repeats, voice dripping with irony, "and I’m the fuckin’ tooth fairy."
"Even if you’re right," you say finally, "I don’t think you can separate concepts like that, you know, egoism and altruism. It’s like, if you donate money, do you ever truly do it to help, or do you do it because you like thinking of yourself as someone who helps?"
"You’re overthinkin’ this, sweetheart. It ain’t philosophy. You had an occasion to buy a pretty dress, and considered your cousins’s feelings – that’s kind. You’re…you’re good."
For some reason that makes you swallow, your throat thick. Good. You don’t think of yourself as a bad person per se, but sometimes being kind does feel like making amends. Joel thinks you’re good. He called you empathetic, nice, got angry when you disagreed. Your chest feels a little warm.
"You can’t see inside my head, Miller," you say, finally meeting his eyes, as he’s towering over you. "You don’t know my intentions."
"You’re not as mysterious as you think, kid," Joel answers gruffly, "why are you so adamant about makin’ yourself into some kind of super villain?"
"I’m not," you answer, cheeks flushing, "I just…"
"Just what?"
You shrug, don’t know yourself what you were going to say, and Joel raises his eyebrows.
"You’re a good girl, a really good person, you always were. So kind to Sarah when you were kids, and now that she’s in Boston, you’re kind to me, just so I’m not lonely."
"Ah," you answer, face heating up, "that. Well, to tell you the truth, Joel, this is one of those times where altruism and egotism are…congruent."
Joel stares at you, and your stomach flutters.
"That so?" he asks quietly, unmoving and still staring at your face. Your neck grows hot, and images of him telling your father what you said rush through your head, of him being uncomfortable, of him seeing you as a substitute daughter and being freaked out by your attachment to him. You swallow, don’t answer, look at your hand again. Suddenly there’s a finger on your chin, and Joel’s lifting your face back up to meet his eyes.
"I’m not makin’ that decision for you, sweetheart," he says, face serious, but a with hint of something in his voice that wasn’t there before. "You ask for it yourself, or you don’t."
His warm hand lingers on your chin for just a second longer, and then he crosses his arms in front of his body. You two continue walking, as if you’re not headed to sleep in the same bed, as if Joel didn’t put his skin to yours in a way that felt new.
***
You’re slightly embarrassed when you’ve changed into your pajamas, which consist of an old pair of pink shorts, and a Micky mouse shirt much too big for you. When you leave the bathroom, Joel is lying on his side of the bed, arms crossed behind his head, a grin spreading across his face when he sees your outfit.
"Nice," he says, and you feel your cheeks heat up.
"Well, I didn’t know I’d be sharing my bed, did I?"
Your voice is close to irritated, but for some reason it makes Joel’s smile widen, and you scoff.
"Unless you’ve got silk pajamas packed, your humor is misplaced."
You walk over to your suitcase and get out your face cream. Joel keeps watching you and seems to have no intention of brushing his teeth any time soon.
"I like it," he says after a beat, and your eyes shoot up to meet his, your knees still pressed into the carpet next to your suitcase. "Suits ya. That blouse is real pretty, but you were tuggin’ on it all evening."
"Yeah, well," you mutter, rubbing the cream into your skin, "I got it for occasions like this one, cause it’s modest."
"Your Micky Mouse shirt is pretty modest," Joel answers, mouth still twitching, "should wear that tomorrow in case you have second thoughts about your dress."
You snort and look down. Micky’s face is all wrinkled, the print faded from how often you’ve washed it.
"I want you to wear something you like tomorrow," Joel says quietly, and you look up. He’s still watching you, voice steady. "Before the ceremony, I mean. Wear somethin’ that feels like you."
It’s a decision he’s making for you, and you swallow.
"Okay," you answer, voice cracking on the last letter. Joel nods.
"Good."
Joel gets up to brush his teeth and change, and you get comfortable with your book while you’re waiting. You know it should feel awkward, being with him like this, but even though your stomach gives a pleasant leap whenever you think about the man in the bathroom, you’re not nervous. Yes, you’re sleeping in the same bed as Joel, but the conversions you’ve had ever since you asked him to take you to this wedding feel much more intimate than this physical closeness.
When he slides under the covers next to you, smelling of three-in-one shower gel and toothpaste, you turn around to face him, one cheek smushed against your pillow, something in your stomach tugging.
Joel turns his head to look at you, and smiles.
"Comfy?"
"Yeah."
"This ain’t too weird for ya?"
"No," you say, "not too weird."
Joel nods, and takes a gulp from the glass of water on his nightstand. You watch him slide his reading glasses away from the edge, so that they won’t fall to the ground during the night, and think of how he got you the dress you wanted, how each nudge and decision he made for you was always in your favor, always meant to give you pleasure or make things easier for you.
"Joel?"
"Hm?"
"Why do you enjoy…I mean why aren’t you you freaked out by…making my decisions for me and, you know, picking my clothes and food and all that?"
Joel is quiet for a moment, and you wonder if you shouldn’t have asked him that, but then he sighs, and looks at you again.
"When I took you dress shoppin’, you looked at those dresses the way you looked at the headbands when you were a kid," he begins to explain, "I don’t care about the dress, sweetheart. But I could tell you’dve gone with one you thought everyone else was gonna like, and it wouldn’t have been the one you wanted. So I helped you pick it, just like I should’ve helped you pick a headband."
Joel’s eyes are warm and understanding when you swallow, and for a second, he lifts his arm as if to reach out to you, but then he drops it onto the covers. You want him to pull you towards him the way he did at the beach, but you know it would mean something else here, alone in a bed.
"I don’t tell people what I told you," you say quietly, "about my family, and my indecisiveness."
Joel watches you with an unreadable expression.
"Whatever you wanna tell me," he says gently, "is safe with me."
You take Joel Miller by his word, when you lean towards him, shuffling close to him, until you can feel the heat of his body through both your blankets, and you can see the hesitation in his warm eyes. You trust he’s telling the truth about keeping your secrets, when you arch your back so your lips reach his, and you brush your mouth against his, his beard tickling your skin. It’s soft, and a little clumsy, until your lips part, the fire in your stomach catching, and Joel lets out a groan right into your mouth.
Finally, he kisses you back, warm lips coaxing yours, his big hands coming to rest on your upper arms, and tugging your body towards his. It’s exhilarating to feel how strong he is, to hear his gruff voice not in words but in little sounds of desire for you. Before you can press your hips to his in a reckless moment of need, Joel breaks the kiss, and your eyes open. His pupils are dilated, his mouth is red and shiny with a mixture of both your saliva.
"Jesus," he says quietly, hands still on your arms, "Jesus, kiddo."
You feel nervous, but as so often, the decision lies with Joel, and that makes everything easier. You were honest with him, stripped yourself bare, right down to the skeleton of your want for him and all of the depraved thoughts you have, and now Joel can do with that what he wants – you’ve offered him all you have to offer and feel your limbs relax at that thought. Joel’s thumb starts drawing its familiar circles, his eyes glued to your face.
"I think we should sleep on this," he says after what feels like a long time, "but, God, I wish I didn’t."
The corners of your lips pull up into a smile.
"It’s your choice," you say, and watch Joel swallow – you think this might be affecting him just as much as you.
"You shouldn’t give me that much power, sweetheart," he breathes, and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. "Gonna make me go mad with it."
You lean into his palm, which is now cupping your face, and Joel sighs.
"Go to sleep now," he mutters, and the disappointment is dulled by the pleasure of doing as he says. Instead of moving over to your own side of the bed, you rest your head on Joel’s chest, and after a sharp inhale, he drapes his arms over you, pulling you against him and holding you securely.
"Good," he whispers into your ear, making you shudder, and you're almost certain you hear Joel chuckle softly above you.
***
You wake at night, Joel’s arms still wrapped around you, though limp with sleep now. He’s breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling under you as if you weigh nothing, as if you haven’t been lying on top of him for hours. You feel a little bad for crushing him like this, and move away slightly to lay down right next to him, but his arms tighten around you as soon as you pull away, and he keeps you locked in his iron grip, still unconscious, his eyes closed. You can smell his aftershave with your face resting high on his chest, can hear his heartbeat and the air rushing in and out of his lungs. His arms are like a cage around your body, and instead of waking him up, you give in, closing your eyes again, one of your legs sliding between Joel’s. You feel something in your stomach ache pleasantly, but you’re too tired to examine the feeling, just let Joel’s steady breathing and scent lull you into darkness again.
***
The sun pours into the room like honey when you open your eyes again, this time alone in the big bed. You can hear water running in the bathroom, then a quiet cough. Joel Miller is getting ready after holding you all night, even through his deep sleep. It’s a little hard to wrap your head around, so you just press your face into the pillow and inhale, smell his sweat and shower gel, his laundry detergent.
"Mornin’," Joel says quietly, and you turn around to face him. His hair is wet, and he’s wearing a simple black t-shirt and a pair of clean, black jeans. He looks excruciatingly attractive, all solid and masculine and warm.
"Morning."
"Sleep well?"
You nod, unsure of how to address the shift in dynamic between the two of you in the daylight.
"Did…you?"
Joel hums, still leaning against the bathroom door and watching you. Your eyes flicker towards his chest, and you think of the way it felt pressed against your face at night, how his arms wrapped around you so securely. You swallow, and Joel’s eyes track the movement.
"Do you…want to go have breakfast?" you ask timidly, your voice cracking.
Joel shakes his head, and you start picking at your thumb again. You’re not generally awkward around him, but nobody told you how to deal with a situation like this, with you father’s best friend after you kissed him.
"No, I wanna talk about last night," Joel says, and you can’t stop a little groan escaping your mouth.
"Joel, look, I don’t…I didn’t mean to…I was caught up because you understand me so well, and you smell so good, and I just…I acted on instinct, I didn’t think, and if I made you uncomfortable, I’m really really sorry."
Joel is so quiet, you’re afraid he’s going to yell at you, or walk out of the room and tell your father, but the feeling of his arms tightening around you keeps reappearing in your mind, so you push your worries aside. Joel didn’t have to hold you the way he did.
"Instinct, huh?"
You flush, and look at your hand.
"I…yeah."
"’S a hell of an instinct, sweetheart."
You sigh, and nod.
"I know."
"Your father’s goin’ to behead me with a dull axe if he finds out about this."
Despite yourself, a chuckle escapes you, and your stomach flips pleasantly. Joel runs a hand over his beard and walks over towards you, his hair still wet from his shower.
"He’s never been the dull axe type," you argue, "he’ll try to outsmart you with words, though."
Joel snorts, and for a second you feel bad about making fun of your father when Joel so clearly would have the upper hand in a fight, but then Joel cups your face in his massive palm and you stop thinking all together.
He hums thoughtfully, as if contemplating his options, his eyes drifting over your face, and you don’t dare say anything, scared of spooking him when he’s so close to finally giving into this weird tension.
"I’m not doin’ anything while we’re here," he finally says, and you sigh. The disappointment must show on your face, because Joel’s mouth twitches under his beard.
"Not while I’m a guest," he adds, "wouldn’t be right."
"You’re not a guest, you’re my date," you argue, Joel’s hand still cradling your face.
"Yes, the date your mother picked to distract me from the fact that my daughter moved across the country. Who is your age, by the way."
You know he’s saying it to stress the absurdity of the situation, the reason why he can’t kiss you again, but his words make your stomach flutter instead of deterring you.
"I’m not a kid," you mutter, realizing it’s the most childish thing you could have said.
"Jesus," Joel answers quietly, shaking his head. "We’re goin’ to have breakfast now, before I…"
And he lets go of you, steps back, runs his hand over his beard again in that nervous habit of his, and even though it feels like you somehow turned liquid in his hands, you manage to get up.
"You know, we could just skip breakfast," you suggest, "order room service. Nobody would miss us if we –"
"Get dressed," Joel interrupts, watching you with his jaw clenched tight.
***
It feels different, walking with Joel to meet your family for breakfast. He still puts that calming hand on the small of your back, you still tease him the same way you did before, but there is a new tension between you now, as if you’re each holding on to one end of a rubber band. You wonder if it’s going to snap.
"Mornin’," Joel says, smiling at your parents, and you try hard not to let it show on your face that you kissed their 50-something neighbor just last night. When your mother smiles at you, you’re sure it must be visible in your eyes, that any second now she will start yelling. But she just asks you how you slept, tells you how comfortable she finds the beds and that the water pressure of the showers is just perfect. You agree, indulge her in her good mood.
After a couple of minutes, you look towards your father, and find that Joel is staring at you, face carefully neutral in a way nobody else would notice. You give him a tentative smile, and his jaw clenches again, but his expression softens.
During breakfast, he doesn’t put his hand on your thigh like he did the night before, no matter how much you pathetically bounce it just to get his attention. He keeps talking to your uncle again, and you would feel hurt by how clearly he’s trying to maintain distance between the two of you, if you didn’t catch him looking at you whenever there’s a break in the conversation. You wish you were able to read his thoughts, then wonder if he thinks you’re pitiful, and are glad you can’t.
When you’re almost done with your coffee, a waiter comes over and asks everyone to pick something for dinner – meat, fish or a vegetarian option. Your parents start telling a story of the best fresh fish they ate last time they went on a holiday, as you open the little folded menu and read the options.
You can feel Joel’s eyes practically burning a hole in the side of your head, even thought his hands are carefully kept to himself. Then he lifts up his hand just slightly and points to the fish on his own menu, clearing his throat. Your stomach flips again – whatever it is you’re doing, he’s still willing to do it after you kissed him. You close the menu, and smile.
***
The day passes in a blur of playing with your little cousins, talking to various family members, helping with your cousin’s bridal makeup (mostly, you just hold the mirror, which you’re grateful for – too much pressure to actually apply anything on her big day). Joel keeps his distance, charms your family with that twinkle in his eyes, and keeps looking at you wherever you are.
When you’re pushing your little cousin on a set of swings, there he is, sitting on a hotel garden chair with one of your aunts and looking at pictures she’s showing him on her phone. He nods and smiles, seems to answer when appropriate, but you just know it’s boring him to death. Whenever your aunt looks down, his eyes find you, and you grin at him, giving him a thumbs up. He shakes his head just slightly to himself, but you can see his smile even from this distance. It makes you feel warm inside.
In the afternoon, everyone retreats to their rooms to get changed for the ceremony, and you feel your stomach jolt at the thought of finally seeing Joel in the suit he refused to put on for you before. You meet him at the front of the hotel, where he and several of the younger children are kicking a ball back and forth. They laugh when he cleverly dodges their little feet, and then kicks it through their legs. He laughs, too, ruffles their hair, lets them beat their little fists against his legs when he tricks them again.
"You like him."
It’s your aunt, and she caught you watching Joel, a subconscious smile on your face. You glance at her and look at your feet, then shrug.
"I thought it was some rebellious streak to drive your parents up the wall," she admits, and you snort at that, "but I guess you’ve never been the type to do that."
"No," you say softly.
"They don’t mind?"
You don’t want to lie to her directly – a conversation like this, one on one, feels way different than some vague excuses and stories when fifteen people ask where you met.
"I don’t think they know…how close we are."
Your aunt smiles and nods.
"Well, looks like they’ll have to get used to it. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you."
Her last words make your stomach flutter, but it’s the beginning of her sentence that makes you think. Your parents, having to arrange themselves with a choice you made for yourself, one they deem foolish or wrong or even immoral. The idea is almost preposterous – and thrilling. All these years, you were the clay holding your family together, molding yourself until you fit into all the little cracks and rotten cavities. Now it might be their time to soften and adjust, regardless of whether it’s because of Joel or not. You’re tired of being so shapeless.
When Joel spots you, he lets the kids score one more goal, one he could have easily saved, high fives them, and makes his way over to you with a smile on his face.
"Hello, coach," you say, as your aunt makes her way over to the children. "You’d better take a shower before you put on that suit."
He scoffs at you, but there’s that irresistible twinkle in his eyes again.
"You know, my aunt recons my parents could get used to…this."
"Jesus," Joel says and frowns. "I think they’d sooner tell you to join a biker gang."
"Maybe I should," you say, and Joel chuckles. "I’ll save that idea for the next family event. Funeral, maybe. Would be a talking point, wouldn’t it?"
"That what I am? A talking point?"
His voice is teasing, but you immediately regret your words – because he’s not. He got you the dress and he lets you talk about your family, and he doesn’t look at you any different for it.
"No," you say softly, looking up at him, "you’re not."
He doesn’t answer, but you think there is something like relief or satisfaction on his face, though he hides it well.
***
Getting ready with Joel feels weirdly domestic, but comfortable, as if you always share a space like that. He showers, puts on his slacks and a white shirt to wear under his dress shirt, then runs his hand through his hair and leaves it be. You’re glad, you like him best like this anyway.
While you apply your makeup, Joel watches you from the bed, the door to the bathroom wide open to let out the steam. For a moment you let yourself imagine a life in which you always share a bedroom, in which Joel Miller watches you get ready in the mornings, but you ban the thought from your mind, because it’s stupid and reckless and you can’t afford to fall for him.
"Y’look real pretty," he says after you come out of the bathroom in your light blue dress, your hair soft and tamed for once. Your stomach flips, both at the compliment and at how handsome Joel looks in his simple white shirt and black pants. He’s not wearing a tie, but he added light blue cufflinks to his sleeves – a detail that undeniably binds you to him, if only for one evening. He watches your eyes flicker over his form, and crosses his arms in front of his chest, and you remember how self conscious he was about the suit.
"You look…hot", you say honestly, before you can change your mind, and watch Joel’s cheeks flush a bright red.
"Don’t say shit like that," he says, hiding behind his frown, but he uncrosses his arms, and shakes his head. "Hot…"
The first button of his shirt is undone, and you have to force yourself to tear your eyes away from the skin that peeks out, can’t look at his hands either or you’ll see his silver watch on his wrist, and definitely won’t let yourself look at those dress pants, held up by a simple black leather belt.
"Let’s go," Joel mumbles, when you’re done trying and failing not to ogle him, and you grab your purse, slip into your shoes, and find Joel staring at you, when you turn around. He’s waiting by the door, but doesn’t open it when you walk over to him. Instead, he lifts his hand up, strokes the back of his hand once over your cheek, eyes trained on your face, and your skin burns.
"We picked a good dress, sweetheart," he says, you’re pleased that he’s pleased, but more than that, you like how he said we. Not a choice he made for you, but one you made together.
***
The ceremony is beautiful, and although you complained about your family to Joel a lot, you cry as soon as you see your cousin in her dress. Joel puts his arm around your shoulder, stroking your arm in a subconscious, comforting way. You lean into him, let yourself revel in the closeness without wondering what anyone will think – every eye in the room is glued to the bride and groom.
"You want a drink?" Joel asks you when people start to get up, talking in little groups. You hope your makeup isn’t all runny from your tears, but before you get a mirror from your purse, Joel cradles your face and wipes his thumb under your eye gently, just once.
"There," he mutters. The movement was quick and caught you off guard, your stomach fluttering uncontrollably. You’re usually better at keeping the butterflies in check.
"Yeah," you say, a second too late, "I gotta get drunk."
Joel chuckles and together you leave the venue, his hand on your waist, holding you tighter than he did during the day. There are tables set up outside in the sun, decorated with flowers and white tablecloths. People are catching up and laughing, basking in the joy of your cousin and her new husband. Joel leads you to the bar, and before you can look at the different drinks, he orders two Gin Tonics.
"There ya go," he says, handing you a cold glass, and you clink them together, before taking a sip. It’s refreshing, the sun burning your skin just slightly, and you enjoy the bitterness of the drink. It tastes like Joel ordered it, it tastes like him.
"There you are," a voice behind you calls, and Joel steps half a step back from you. "Weren’t those the most beautiful vows you’ve ever heard? I still remember when she was just a baby, and now she’s married."
You mother smiles at you and Joel, then at your father.
"Found the booze already, did you, Miller? Bad influence on my little girl," he just says, laughing and looking younger in the sun. Joel clears his throat, and smiles, but it’s forced.
"Well, anyway, we’d better find grandma," your mother tells you, and off they go. Joel exhales and looks at you. You know the comment about being a bad influence on you threw him off, but you smile at him.
"Get me drunk, then," you say softly, and despite it all, Joel smiles back.
***
In the heat, it doesn’t take long for you to become tipsy at the very least, you really shouldn’t drink gin to get rid of your thirst, but it tastes so good, and Joel watches you so intently. You’re sitting at one of the tables, listening to the music blaring from the speakers, your foot conveniently brushing Joel’s leg every time you move it to the beat of the song.
"We’re gonna dance," Joel says when you’re done with your first drink, and you snort.
"Right," you answer, "we’re gonna dance."
Joel doesn’t break the eye contact, just raises one eyebrow.
"Wasn’t the whole point of going to this thing together not having to dance?"
"It was before you enjoyed the music so much," Joel answers, and you stop moving your foot.
"I don’t dance," you say, frowning now, "and neither do you."
Joel takes a long sip from his own drink, emptying the glass. You watch his throat as he swallows, then sighs and looks at you thoughtfully for a few moments.
"I want you to dance," he says quietly, his gravely voice soft all of a sudden, "with me."
Something in your stomach comes alive – it’s one thing, sitting next to him when he points to a dish on his menu, but his eyes on yours as he practically orders you to dance make you feel all fluttery and hot.
"Okay."
"Good," Joel says softly, and you swallow, try hard not to let it show on your face how much your stomach jolts at his words.
The song is some romantic ballad you remember listening to as a teenager, and you can’t imagine Joel dancing at all, least of all to a song like this, but he gets up and holds out one hand. There are more people on the dance floor, swaying to the music, laughing, some kissing. The idea that Joel and you would join them is so absurd, you almost giggle, but Joel wants you to dance – so you’ll dance. You’re dimly aware he isn’t doing this for himself, but because he noticed your foot, but you pretend not to have made that connection.
His hands find your waist and you wrap yours around his neck a little awkwardly, and he sways you to the music. You’re surprised to find he moves with a certain grace you never would have thought possible, but you give a little sigh of relief when the song changes into something faster and upbeat. Joel notices, and chuckles.
"Havin’ fun?"
You suddenly are, and you didn’t expect that at all. There’s more people joining you now, as you sway your hips and grin up at Joel.
"Yeah," you say over the music and laughter, "think you should get me drunk more often, Miller."
Joel laughs, and gently guides you to your right to let a couple you have never seen before pass. You move easily under Joel’s hands, the insecurity about being seen dancing wiped from your mind by the fact that Joel told you to.
Joel’s forehead is slightly damp by the time the fourth song ends and your feet are starting to hurt in the shoes you’re wearing, so you wrap your arms around his neck again, and pull him towards you.
"I want another drink," you tell him, your mouth close to his ear, and he flinches slightly.
"No need to yell, sweetheart," he says, but turns towards the bar anyway. He takes your hand to pull you through the crowd, and your stomach does a sort of somersault. Joel Miller, holding your hand. Before you can think better of it, before you can worry about your parents seeing you, or Joel becoming angry or distant, you intertwine your fingers with his, and hold on tight. Joel turns his head to look back at you, but he doesn’t let go of your hand. He doesn’t say anything either, not while there’s so many people so close, but he squeezes, just once. Your knees become slightly weak, and your cheeks start to heat up, but the gin was strong enough for you to stop caring about your nervousness.
When you’re at the bar, you grin at the barkeeper, hand still in Joel’s, slightly dizzy from the drink and the heat and all the spinning and swaying.
"One sex on the beach, please," you say, then look directly at Joel with a mischievous smile.
"Jesus," he mutters, then turns to the barkeeper. "She’ll have a beer. Bud. One for me too, please."
"No, she’ll have sex on the beach."
You giggle at your obvious innuendo, and the barkeeper smiles. Joel shakes his head.
"Look, I don’t want her throwin’ up all over her dress, she’ll murder me in the mornin’ if I let that happen."
"Beer it is, then," the bar keeper says with a good natured wink at you. You frown at him.
"I’m an adult and I ordered a–"
Joel squeezes your hand again, and you look at him with a slight pout – his eyes are slightly amused, but there’s a stern expression on his face.
"Okay," you say, "okay okay okay, Miller. Whatever you want."
His eyes stay on yours a second too long, then he lets go of your hand and hands you one of the sweating, ice-cold bottles. You take it, put it to your lips and take a swig, all while looking directly into Joel’s eyes. The way you press your lips against the rim of the bottle is a little too calculated, a little too sensual, and Joel watches your movement with a tense expression on his face.
"Christ, kid, I’m gettin’ you water next," he mumbles, watches you swallow, then smile up sweetly at him.
"Whatever you want," you say again. Joel doesn’t answer.
***
The two of you drink your beers at the end of row of tables, and you’re glad for the moment of quiet – the music isn’t as loud here, and the beer is so cold, you get goosebumps. Neither of you is talking much, but it’s a comfortable sort of silence – as always when you’re with Joel, you’re at ease.
"– why they let her bring him, I really don’t."
Two of your great aunts are sitting at a table close by, completely oblivious to your presence.
"Yes, he’s old enough to be her Daddy."
"And so gruff looking!"
Joel looks away, but you’re sure he must have heard – there is nobody else at this wedding they could be talking about. His expression is unreadable, but his knuckles are white around his beer bottle, and you’re half afraid he’s going to shatter it.
"I don’t understand why she’s interested in him," you aunt continues, "but I was just waiting for her to do something like this, you know. She always was so sensitive, no wonder she has to compensate somehow."
You swallow, your cheeks heating up with embarrassment.
"Come on," Joel suddenly says, a deep frown on his face, and he gets up. You follow him, you don’t want to hear the rest of what your family has to say about you behind your back.
"Excuse me," Joel asks politely, when you pass the two elderly ladies. They scooch, so you can squeeze past them, neither of them saying anything. You don’t look at them, but take Joel’s hand in yours again.
"I’m sorry," you say, when you’re at a safe distance from them, no risk of being overheard, "I’m sorry for what they said about you, Joel–"
"No," he shakes his head. "They ain’t wrong about me. Are about you, though."
His face looks so kind, so sorry for you, you feel like crying. You won’t though, not when you’re on what is practically a date with Joel Miller. You won’t let them ruin this night.
"I wanna dance," you say instead, and finish the last of your beer, before putting it on a table close by. "I wanna dance with you, Joel Miller."
He doesn’t argue, lets you drag him onto the dance floor again, and this time you stand close to him, closer than you should, this time you bury your fingers at the back of his neck in his hair. Joel looks hesitant, his hands on your waist tentative.
"Sweetheart," he starts in an apologetic tone, and you know what’s coming – they were right, your parents are here, you’re drunk, this is reckless. You squeeze closer, until you’re all pressed up against him, your heart hammering right against Joel’s chest. You really are tipsy now, but you don’t care. You lean up, trying to reach Joel’s mouth with yours, but he holds you steady at your waist.
"No," he says softly, "you’re doin’ it to piss of your family."
He’s not entirely wrong, so you let up, but you stay close to him, and after a couple of minutes, his thumb starts drawing circles on your skin, the way he did all throughout the weekend to soothe you, even before you kissed him and turned this into…whatever it is now.
"Let’s do shots after this," you say with a smile, "lets vomit all over their ugly fucking clothes. They want me to fuck up this party so bad, I’ll fuck it up. Gotta compensate somehow."
"I think you’ve had enough, kid," Joel says, his voice just slightly concerned. "You’ll have a headache tomorrow."
"Oh, you’ll pace me," you answer, "given that you’re old enough to be my Daddy."
Joel’s thumb stops moving on your hip, and you smile up at him, which only makes his frown deepen. There’s something else there, too, something you recognize from when you kissed him, from when he saw you in your dress, from when you told him about your family for the first time.
"I wanna kiss you," you admit, "again."
The word tastes delicious in your mouth, your reminder that you have before, that Joel didn’t stop you, that he kissed you back.
"You won’t," Joel answers sternly, and you don’t even think about arguing with him, not when he’s using that tone. The same tone he used to tell you which dress to get.
"Okay," you say softly.
***
Joel does pace you – he doesn’t let you do shots, instead he gets you water, tells you to drink it all, and once again you chug it while looking directly at him, then smile sweetly and watch him shake his head in a mix of exasperation and amusement. After a while you tell Joel you need the bathroom, and when he leads you there you wonder briefly if he thinks you’re too drunk to find it on your own, or if he hates the idea of being alone at this party as much as you do. You’ve sobered up throughout the night, all that water Joel practically poured down your throat seems to have worked.
There is a line in front of the bathroom, and you wait with your grandmother and Joel – an awkward constellation, the silence is thick enough to cut.
"Your dress is awfully low cut, honey," she says after a while, and your eyes meet Joel’s just briefly – told you so. "You’re such a pretty girl, but that just gives the wrong impression."
"And what impression would that be?" you ask, but you don’t want to fight. Their age allows your family to say whatever they want to say, even if it’s not candor, but unprovoked opinions you tell yourself don’t matter anymore.
"I picked that dress," Joel says after a moment, and your grandmother nods.
"Of course men would like it," she says wisely, "but as a woman you have to be above that sort of thing."
You sigh, and Joel puts a gentle hand on your shoulder.
"I like this dress, grandma. It’s not 1850, Joel won’t fall into fits of lust if he sees my ankle."
"He can see a bit more than that, honey."
You make a gesture between a shrug and throwing up your hands, as if to say, well, I tried.
"He’s gonna have to take it off, then, if it’s that awful," you mumble so quietly your grandmother can’t hear, but Joel does. He looks at you with an unreadable expression on his face, and your cheeks go slightly red – you didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did, didn’t mean for it to sound so straightforward.
"Stop harassing her, Mom, this is how kids dress these days," a voice behind you says, and suddenly your mother is right next to you, your father not far behind. Although her words are intended to help you, they sting – that’s all your choices are to them, a product of your youth and the times you live in. God forbid you, an adult, wear a dress because you think you look pretty, it must be because it’s what everyone your age would wear.
Joel’s hand leaves your shoulder, and for a second you’re afraid your parents heard what you said about Joel taking off your dress, but they proceed to talk about the wedding, laughing and joking. You clench your fists, digging the sharp edges of your nails into your palms as hard as you can. It feels like being 12 all over again, their comments that aren’t necessarily ill-intended or mean, so you can’t really be mad about them, the way they don’t even notice they upset you.
You feel a very soft touch on your arm, barely there, just a brush of a finger from just above your elbow, down to your fist. Then it’s gone again, and although you don’t dare look at Joel after he touched your bare skin in front of your parents, you will your muscles to relax, knowing it’s what Joel meant to tell you with his touch. Your fingers unclench, and you feel distantly relieved at the absence of pain in your palms.
You know how reckless it is to be so into Joel, you know nothing good can come of it, but you don’t remember the last time you spent this much time with your whole family and felt so seen by someone at the event. For a second you envision kissing him here, on the dance floor, in front of your parents, and you know for once it would be a choice you wouldn’t question or be made to feel ashamed of.
You tried to, just hours before, and Joel stopped you, because you did it to piss of your family. He was right, in that moment you wanted to give them something worth criticizing, if they must criticize all of the time. But this time it’s different – you want to kiss Joel because he doesn’t think you’re a narcissist, because he sees your anger disguised by politeness and doesn’t think it’s ugly.
You turn to him, steadfast in your decision.
"I’m really tired," you say quietly, "we could just go upstairs, I can use the bathroom there."
Joel studies your face for a second, then nods.
"Alright," he agrees, and you turn around to your parents with a newfound confidence.
"I’m gonna use our bathroom upstairs," you tell them, "we’re going to bed anyways."
"Of course, honey, you go to bed," your mother answers and gives you a quick hug, "but Joel, why don’t you stay? You’re not her chaperone."
It’s a joke, you know it is, but it almost makes your blood boil. After your mother asked you to spend some time with Joel as a favor, after you’ve had to deal with judgmental stares and comments all night, after both you and Joel were insulted by your own family behind your backs, they still have the nerve to talk over you, disregard what you said, pretend you’re a child in need of supervision. You open your mouth, surprised by how ready you are to give them a piece of your mind, but Joel’s fingers brush your waist, squeezing gently, and he smiles at your mother.
"I ain’t the kinda man to stay at a party if my date’s leavin’," he says, and although it’s not particularly rude, there is an edge to his voice, a certain tone that suggests he’s sticking to you out of a kind of loyalty they weren’t aware of, and that he is unhappy with what your mother said. You watch your parents, see your father’s eyes flicker down to Joel’s hand on your waist, and although his expression is unreadable, and he doesn’t say anything, you feel triumphant. There you go, you want to say, someone here is willing to take me seriously.
"Good night, Dad," you say, give him a hug, too, and suppress a smile, when Joel’s hand returns to your side as soon as you step over to him. He smiles down at you, and shrugs out of his suit jacket.
"’S probably cold out, put this on."
You do, all too aware of your parents looking at you, all too aware that for some reason Joel doesn’t seem afraid of them noticing your closeness anymore. You thank him, and he says good night to your parents, ever friendly, but decidedly choosing you. His scent envelops you when you walk away together, the warmth of his body still stored in the fabric of his jacket now warming you.
***
You inhale deeply, push the air from your lungs into your mouth to puff up your cheeks, and sit down on the bed. Your feet hurt from spending all night in your fancy shoes, and your mind won’t stop running circles around the comments your family made. You wiggle your toes, watch them move under the fabric of your tights, then look up at Joel again.
"You look worried," he comments, reaching up to his throat to pop open the first two buttons of his shirt. You can’t help but stare at the skin that it reveals, slightly shiny with sweat.
"That was…a lot."
Joel hums, and slips out of his shoes, too.
"I think you did well."
A glowing feeling builds in your chest, and you can’t help but smile, looking at your fingernails.
"Didn’t throw any drinks into anyone’s faces, so I guess it’s a successful night."
Joel chuckles, the sound a deep rumble in his chest. He sits down on the foot of the bed, still watching you, looking excruciatingly handsome in his button down and slacks.
"That, too, but more so…you didn’t let them talk down to you. Didn’t just agree with your granny, you know? Stood your ground. ’M real prouda you."
There it is again, the pull in your stomach whenever Joel seems to really see you, and before you can think about it, you move over to Joel, until you’re sitting right in front of him, his broad body turned towards you, you kneeling on the white sheets. Joel’s eyes move over your face, down to your dress, your legs in those itchy tights you can’t wait to get out of.
"Did it help?" His voice is soft. "Me tellin’ you what to do?"
You nod, unsure of where this is going, nervous and so content at the same time. This is Joel, the same Joel who held you at the beach and ordered for you, who picked out your dress. He’ll know what to do, he’ll know what’s best.
"I don’t want you to stop," you admit, eyes wide and staring into Joel’s, "when we get back home. I wish we could just…"
You don’t know how to finish that sentence, aware that what you truly wish for isn’t in the cards for you and him, not while he’s your parents’ friend first. Joel sighs, but doesn’t answer. No me too, no we can’t, not even a nod or head shake. A man of few words, Joel Miller.
"You got my number," he says after a few beats, "can…ask for my help, y’know, when you’re pickin’ out headbands."
Without you being aware of it, your face splits into a smile, and you feel tears prick at your eyes. The kindness Joel offers even the sickest parts of you is unmatched, and you’re unsure what to do with it.
"Hey now," he says and puts a soothing hand on your shoulder, "don’t cry, sweetheart. Don’t cry."
You stop, because Joel told you to, your body by now accustomed to answering his command. With a shaky inhale, you calm yourself, and swallow.
"Sorry," you mutter, but Joel shakes his head.
"What’s got you hurtin’?"
The question is so blunt, so heartfelt.
"Nobody else…gets this," you explain, "it’s lonely."
Joel hums, and his fingers start moving on your shoulder, stroking your skin gently, soothingly.
"Don’t have to be anymore, kid. My door’s always open."
He’s close to you, and when you meet his eyes, there is static in the air between you. Something changed, between telling him about your family and him lending you his jacket, something shifted. It’s palpable, real electricity.
"Tell me what you need," Joel says quietly into the silence, because he can feel those unspoken things, because he knows there is something you need in the first place. It’s easy to tell him this time, without embarrassment or shame.
"I need you to tell me what to do," you whisper, scooching closer to him, his hand still lingering on your shoulder. You watch him swallow, aware that with any other man seeing how your words affect him would gross you out, but with Joel it just makes that pull in your stomach stronger. Joel doesn’t answer for a long while as he’s staring into your open, waiting eyes.
"Lie back," he orders quietly, voice gravelly and low. You feel a pang of want in your stomach so intense it’s almost painful, and your mouth goes dry. Joel watches you move, shuffle out of his suit jacket until you’re just in your dress and stockings, then lie back on the pillow, eyes still on him. You’re quiet, waiting for his next instruction, your mind blissfully empty.
"Good," Joel praises you, and your eyes flutter just briefly, giving away how much this is affecting you. Joel chuckles, and gets up from the bed, turning to face you fully, looking broad and handsome and very safe.
"You enjoy that, huh?"
There’s no condescension in his voice, just acknowledgement and warmth. You nod, and Joel smiles.
"Take off your tights."
You do, letting them drop onto the floor next to the bed, Joel still standing in front of you with his hands on his hips. He looks casual, relaxed, not at all like he’s watching his friend’s daughter undress herself because he asked her to. He moves over to you, and puts one broad palm on your bare leg, his fingers slipping under the hem just slightly.
"This will have consequences," he tells you seriously, "you aware of that?"
It’s the adult, responsible thing to have a conversation about what’s happening between you too, but you wish he would just get on with it.
"I am," you answer a little breathlessly, as Joel’s thumb is drawing circles on your skin and driving you crazy.
"You ready to face them?"
The question is laden with all you shared with him before: are you ready to do the thing your family would disapprove of the most, head high and without giving into their judgement? Two months ago, you wouldn’t have been. The idea of their disappointment would have swallowed you, the look on your father’s face as he noticed Joel’s hand on your waist paralyzed you. But it’s almost like a flip switched inside of you through Joel’s consistent understanding, and suddenly your grandmother’s outrage seems almost funny to you. You want this. And you’re ready to stand in for what you want, without shame.
"Yes," you breathe, "I really am, Joel."
You can see on his face he believes you, the way his crowfeet grow more pronounced with something like pride, and pleasure flushes your whole body, seeing how much your answer pleases Joel.
"Come a long way, sweetheart," he says, his hand moving upwards just slightly, pushing the hem of your dress up. You keep yourself from trembling under his touch, hanging onto the last bit of dignity and restraint you have left.
"’M real prouda you," he says again, the muscles in your stomach flexing at his words. "Now why don’t you tell me what you want me to do to ya?"
You’re no good at that. What you want is to take whatever Joel gives you, to follow his every command and let your mind go quiet in the process. But he’s commanding you to think about what you want yourself, so you dig your front teeth into your bottom lip and furrow your eyebrows just slightly.
"I…um…"
Joel waits, his hand patient and gentle on your leg.
"Remember I told you not to feel guilty?"
It’s not guilt, per se, but something distinctly feminine, something taught and learned over years. Just lie back and take it, the first time always hurts, women don’t finish as often as men do. You haven’t thought of sex as something meant to firstly fulfill your desire, as irrational as it sounds. It was a means to satisfying a partner, your own pleasure a nice side effect. Joel is telling you to leave that in the past, to really think about what you want and tell him without shame.
"I want you inside," you whisper, eyes wide and heart hammering against your ribcage with anticipation and the thrill of giving into your need. "And I…I like it when you talk to me."
At those words, Joel’s eyes seem to grow dark, you watch his pupils dilate in real time, and his fingers dig into the meat of your calf.
"Attagirl," he mumbles, and the heat in your stomach peaks. Joel stares at you for a moment. "Turn onto your belly, sweetheart."
You do so without hesitation, without wondering what he’s going to do, and let your cheek sink into the pillow that smells so much like Joel, your calf still enveloped by his massive palm. Joel hums, and then his touch is gone, only to reappear on your back, his hands teasing the satiny, light blue fabric he picked for you to wear. He runs his fingers from the small of your back up to the nape of your neck, and you can’t help but shudder when he grazes your bare skin.
"Let’s get this pretty dress off of ya, hm?"
He pops open the two tiny buttons at the very top, smoothes down the zipper to reveal your bare back. You’re about to be naked in front of a very much dressed Joel Miller, and the thought is exhilarating more than frightening.
"Looked so goddamn beautiful all night," Joel mutters, "wearin’ the clothes I picked. Jesus, you’ve no idea what that does to a man."
You can’t help the whine that escapes your mouth, when Joel’s hands dig into your muscles, kneading them softly and turning your body into liquid.
"So tense, baby, gotta relax f’me."
"I’m trying," you answer softly, and Joel chuckles.
"Know you are, know you are. Doin’ so good."
You close your eyes and let Joel touch you how he pleases, your brain quieter than you can remember it being with a man before him. There’s no fear of what he’ll do if your attention slips, no worry about putting on the right act for him either. Just Joel, his warm hands on your back, and your sore and needy body.
Joel helps you turn around and out of the dress since it doesn’t unzip entirely, moves your arms and legs how he wants so it’s off within a few moments, and you’re lying there on your back in front of him, wearing nothing but your nicest pair of panties and a soft bra to match them.
"Fuckin’ hell," Joel mutters more to himself than to you, eyes raking over your body. You remember the instinct to feel ashamed at his scrutiny, vaguely register you should cover yourself up, but the pride and pleasure triumph. He sees you, and he likes what he sees, in more ways than one. So you shimmy your hips into a sexier position, trail your fingers up your stomach and watch Joel’s eyes follow them. You squirm with need when you notice a very visible tent in Joel’s slacks.
"Alright?" he asks, voice kind and patient, like it would be okay if you weren’t.
You nod, slightly overwhelmed and Joel’s brows furrow just slightly.
"Use your words," he says softly, making your stomach flip.
"I’m alright," you answer softly, your eyes on his. Joel drags his fingertips over your stomach, following your own hand and building the tension and anticipation. You try hard not to visibly clench your thighs together.
"You gonna do as I say?"
He knows the answer. You know he does.
"Yes," you breathe, the feeling of his fingertips trailing over your ribcage bordering on overwhelming. He hums.
"I want you to tell me if it’s too much," he says, voice thoughtful, "will you do that for me?"
"Yes," you say again, your own hand absentmindedly coming up to wrap around his tan forearm, eyes glued to his rolled up sleeve, that silver watch Sarah gave him catching the light with every movement. Joel’s eyes follow yours, and you wonder if he registers how big his palm looks on your skin. If he wanted to, he could touch your bra with his thumb and your panties with his pinkie. The thought makes you squirm.
"I want you to touch yourself," Joel says softly, fingers dipping only just under the waistband of your panties, and you will your hips to stay put, even though you’re one command away from humping his hand like a dog in heat. You flush at his words, the idea of it so lewd and obscene, so intimate. It’s one thing to let him fuck you, to offer him some sort of utility, but to have him watch you get off yourself – it’s everything sex isn’t, not with the people you were with before.
"I…I don’t…"
Your voice trails off, and Joel watches you for a few moments, your pink cheeks, heavy eyelids, the goosebumps on your skin.
"You don’t gotta do anythin’ you don’t want to," he says, voice soft, "but if you do want to, and it’s just your pretty little head tellin’ you not to, I want you to think twice about sayin’ no."
You listen to him, and think about the feeling in your gut. You’re nervous about letting him see something so private, but not because you don’t want him to see, but because he does. He wants to see your pleasure, and so far it’s something you pushed down for other people, not just during sex. It’s easy to give into him when you realize this, and you feel something crack open inside of you, something primal and unashamed.
"Okay," you answer, voice still a little timid, but with a newfound conviction. "Anything you want."
Joel smiles at your words, but you’re aware he’s telling you to do this for your sake more than his. He wants you to feel good about feeling good.
Before you can move your hand to obey, Joel moves closer, leans down and presses his hand right next to your face, his face close to yours. You can feel the heat of his breath on your lips and shudder.
"Good girl," he says softly and presses his lips to yours. You kiss back willingly, eagerly, but he breaks the kiss all too soon, and finally sits down on the bed next to you, facing your half naked body.
"Go ahead, pretty girl," he mutters, "show me what you do when I ain’t around."
You flush, but do as he says, dragging your fingers down to your panties and slipping them in.
"You leave those on when you touch yourself?" Joel asks with a nod towards your underwear, and you shrug and shake your head at the same time. He chuckles.
"Take ’em off, then."
You swallow, and slowly drag them down. A string of your wetness connects the fabric and your pulsing core, and you flush a deeper red, the sight obscene.
"Christ," Joel mumbles, "all that from some pettin’ and a kiss."
"It’s from what you...from hearing you talk," you admit timidly, sitting up slightly to slip off your panties completely. You look at Joel and his dark eyes are glued to your wetness, but when he notices how nervous you are, he strokes your cheek with his knuckle just once.
"Look so pretty," he tells you, "just how I imagined."
That makes your brain short circuit and your eyes flutter closed at the image of Joel imagining you naked, of him wanting you as badly as you want him.
"Keep those eyes on me, sweetheart," Joel orders, and you open them again, the tension somehow doubling as soon as your eyes meet.
"I’ve never done this in front of someone," you admit, your hand awkwardly hovering over your stomach.
"Tell you what, you touch yourself for just three minutes, and then I’ll take over."
It’s absurd. It should not be sexy to have him time you touching yourself as if you’re running a race, but something about it makes you squirm and clench around nothing. When Joel looks at his watch, you almost moan, and tentatively press your middle finger against your aching clit.
"There we go," Joel mumbles, watching your hand move, "doin’ good, sweetheart."
You want to close your eyes, but Joel told you to look at him, so you watch him watch you touch yourself, his gaze flickering to his watch every once in a while. You don’t slip any fingers inside, just tease your clit, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind, and after exactly three minutes, he leans down to reward you with a kiss.
"All done, baby."
You’re lightheaded with want, the embarrassment not quite gone, but distant. When Joel props himself up onto one elbow, his other hand finding your stomach again, you sigh. He’s looking right into your eyes, when he drags his hand lower and lower, until his fingers find the place you just touched yourself, so much bigger than yours. He presses down lightly, teasingly, watching you bite your bottom lip and arch into his touch.
"Hips stay on the bed," he says softly, just to watch you obey, pressing a kiss to your temple. He starts rubbing slow circles, unhurried and practiced, and already you feel the pleasure building and building inside of you. You whine softly, craning your neck for a kiss, and he obliges, his beard scratching your skin and mouth swallowing your sounds. You try hard not to twitch under his touch, which is both so intense and torturously slow.
When the muscles in your stomach start clenching with your impending release, you can’t help yourself and press into his hand, chasing the pleasure, but Joel presses your hips into the mattress with the heel of his palm, never stopping the movement of his fingers. You’re close, so close you feel your jaw slacken against Joel, sigh into his mouth – and suddenly his touch is gone. Instead, his hand starts rubbing your side soothingly, your promise of release fading again.
"Joel," you whine, "what the fuck."
"Language," Joel scolds with a chuckle and kisses the corner of your mouth. "Patience is a virtue."
You nip at his lower lip, not harsh enough to hurt him, just so he registers your discontent, and Joel laughs a quiet laugh right into your mouth. Despite his amusement, his fingers return to your core, gathering wetness and rubbing once again. A whimper escapes your mouth when he finally prods your entrance teasingly, without real pressure, just to make you want it.
"You gonna lie still?"
"Y-yes," you sigh, "yes, I promise."
Joel hums, and pushes in just slightly, just so that his fingernail is barely inside of you.
"Gonna bite me again?"
"No," you answer, "no, Joel."
He pushes his finger inside of you, curling it upwards instantly, and you mewl.
"That’s alright, sweetheart," he mumbles, "I can handle your bitin’. Know it’s frustratin’."
But he makes no attempt to stop his teasing, sliding his finger in and out of you slowly, and curling it just enough to make the pressure inside of you keep building without intending to let it snap. Absentmindedly you move with him, and Joel stills his fingers. You whine, but stop moving, and he presses down on that spot inside of you again.
"Attagirl," he mutters, pressing a kiss to your jaw.
You’re close again embarrassingly soon, and even though you try not to let it show to trick Joel into letting you finish, he notices the way you flutter around him, and stills his hand once again, letting your orgasm drift away.
"Fuck," you whine, frustrated and so turned on you think you might get there if he so much as blew on your swollen clit.
"Shhh," Joel soothes you, adding another finger, the stretch delicious. He gazes into your open eyes, watches you as he makes you feel so good you could cry.
"Easy," he says, when he feels your stomach tense up with effort – whether to come or not to come, you aren’t sure anymore. "Easy, baby. Relax for me."
You close your eyes and this time Joel doesn’t object, as your whole body goes limp and accepts Joel’s power over it.
"Good," Joel mutters, "that’s real good. You come when I tell you to."
And suddenly you don’t fight it anymore, don’t try to race him there, just lie there with Joel’s thick fingers pumping in and out of you almost lazily, pleasure coming and going as Joel chooses, making your brain go all fuzzy.
"Sweet girl," Joel mutters, "just had to give in, huh?"
You don’t bother to answer, just open your mouth for him when he kisses you.
"Think you’re ready for my cock?"
You almost, almost come. He slips his fingers out of you completely when he notices, and your hips chase his hand, but the feeling is gone again, although it was close enough to taste. Joel chuckles, and it’s just a tiny bit mean, but it makes you even wetter.
"Think you are, huh?"
"Yes," you say, and run your hand up his massive arm, "please."
"So polite," Joel mumbles with a smile, but he finally moves to unbutton his shirt and you watch him through heavy eyes. He smiles down at you, no trace of embarrassment as he’s revealing more and more of his skin dusted in age spots and brown hair. He’s strong, soft in all the right places, and you want to worship his belly with your mouth.
"You look…so sexy."
Joel laughs, and shakes his head, deflecting the compliment but looking a little smug, a little proud, as he lets his shirt drop onto the floor and moves to open his pants. You sit up, and reach for his hands, looking up at him questioningly.
"Go right ahead, sweetheart," Joel says, and you pop open the button and slide down the zipper, eyes glued to his bulge. He gets up to slip out of his slacks, the outline of his cock even more pronounced in his boxer shorts. He looks big. You swallow.
"Don’t you worry," Joel mumbles when he notices, and slides down his boxers, too. "We’ll make it fit."
His cock is hard and an angry red, long and thick and slightly curved, and he hasn’t shaved. With anyone else, you would have preferred it if he had, but the graying hair at the base of his cock makes you lightheaded with lust. He looks so manly, in the primal, safe sense of the word.
His fist wraps around himself as he’s climbing on top of you, pumping once, twice, a little groan of pleasure escaping his lips and you reach down to bat his hand away, to return some of the pleasure he has been giving you. He lets you, even though your hand covers much less of his length, and pushes into your hand as you drag it over him.
"Hips stay on the mattress," you tease softly, and Joel laughs, his eyes all crinkly and warm.
"One more comment like that ’n I’ll force you to the edge five more times, sweetheart," he threatens, but the amusement is evident in his voice. Still, it makes you clench and flutter to know he could, to know you’d let him. Joel takes your wrist in his hand gently, and pulls your hand away from his cock, then aligns it with your entrance.
"Breathe in," he says softly, looking right into your eyes, and you do, staring at him unblinkingly and holding the air in your lungs.
"And breathe out."
As the air rushes out of you and you relax, he starts pushing into you. The stretch is painful in the very beginning, but you sigh in relief when the head of his cock is inside and Joel gives you a moment to breathe.
"Look at you," he mutters, nudging your nose with his, "takin’ it like a champ."
You wiggle your hips and Joel keeps pushing into you, the stretch making your eyes fall closed again. It feels like your body is making room for him in a way you didn’t think possible, like your insides are parting for Joel Miller’s cock. He groans, and with a snap of his hips he’s inside of you entirely, his wiry hairs pressing into your mound. The head of his cock is nudging that spot inside of you, pressing against it insistently even though Joel isn’t moving. You mouth at his neck, tongue darting out to taste his sweat and suck on his skin in an almost soothing manner, as your body adjusts and relaxes.
Joel starts moving in and out of you after a few moments, changing angles with every thrust, until a whine escapes your throat. He keeps fucking into you like that, pressing against your spot with every thrust, eyes staring down into yours.
"That it?"
You mewl, when he gives a particularly sharp thrust and Joel chuckles.
"Yeah, that’s it," he coos.
His hands start moving over your skin as you claw at his back and biceps, teasing your sides and ghosting over your nipples still covered by the fabric of your bra. He forces his hands under your body and unclasps it with ease, then pulls it away from your body and drops it. His eyes flicker down and he puts a large palm over your tits, groping and squeezing, then pinching the nipple just short of painful.
"Perfect fuckin’ tits," he mumbles, rolling the pebbled nub between his thumb and forefinger, making you arch your chest and moan freely. Again, the pleasure starts building, and you think Joel might be distracted by his own this time. More than anything you want to please him, though, so instead of chasing your release, you clench around him and focus on not letting go yet.
"Close," you groan, your body rocking with Joel’s deep thrusts, and he stills inside of you, letting you breathe into his mouth.
"Good girl," he mumbles and kisses your lower lip, "so good for me."
Just those few words would be worth not coming at all, you think, though Joel starts moving again when he’s sure it won’t make you come. His hand moves from your tit up to your throat, wrapping around it loosely. You feel so small under his massive palm, your windpipe and major arteries and spine all fitting into his hand like you’re a blade of grass. He squeezes softly, just enough to cut off the blood flow for a second or two, then relaxes his hand again. Your eyes roll upwards, and you bite your lip.
"Yeah?" he asks, waiting for your permission, and you nod.
"Yeah," you sigh, and your eyes widen when he squeezes again, all the while thrusting in and out of you. This time he squeezes for a couple of seconds more, and although it takes a little more effort, air still rushes into your lungs. When he releases your throat and the blood floods your brain, you moan, and feel Joel’s thrusts go slightly more erratic in response.
"Look at you," he mumbles, pressing his hips into yours, his whole weight on top of you. You whine and feel his hand close around your throat once more. This time his grip is unrelenting and stronger, and there is no oxygen rushing into your lungs, just stillness and quiet. You feel yourself go slightly dizzy, watch Joel’s warm eyes glued to your face, and feel your mind go entirely quiet.
"That’s it," Joel praises, "you breathe when I say you breathe."
You’ve never been closer than now, hearing those words, and when Joel releases you to let you suck in air desperately, you almost, almost come. But once again, he stops moving, lets you teeter on the edge and pull back, your brain fuzzy and overwhelmed with the sudden rush of blood and oxygen.
"What do we say?"
You groan into his mouth.
"Thank you."
"Good girl."
Joel’s thrusts start getting sharper, even deeper, and you know it can’t be long now. He keeps squeezing and releasing your throat, keeping you deprived of oxygen and letting it flood your brain again with the smallest movement of his hand.
"Need me to decide that, too?" he asks breathily, his voice rough and slightly broken, "need me to pick out that dress ’n tell you what to eat? Even when to breathe?"
You nod under his hand because he’s once again tightening his grip around you, rendering you incapable of speaking, and you clench around him. He feels it, thrusts harder.
"Yeah," he mutters, "don’t gotta worry about anythin’. I got you, babygirl. I’ll decide."
Your stomach cramps up with the effort of holding off your orgasm until Joel gives you permission, and when he finally lets you breathe again, he brushes the shell of your ear with his lips.
"Come for me, sweetheart."
It feels like your earth shatters, your vision going white, or maybe your brain just can’t register what it’s seeing, as you pulse around Joel, and shake under his broad body, your stomach exploding with pleasure. He fucks you through it, his thrusts so unwaveringly deep he presses into your clit every time. You shudder and whine, suck in air, come completely apart in Joel’s capable hands, and vaguely register him forcing his cock as deep as it will go, and then pumping you full of his hot spend, holding it there as he fills you up.
His thrusts slow after a while, then he slips out of you, and kisses you gently, softly, his fingers stroking your neck soothingly. You’re pliant and fucked out, entirely boneless.
"My sweet girl," Joel mumbles against your lips, "that what you needed?"
You nod, your eyes and limbs heavy as he brushes your cheeks and nose with his lips. He lies down next to you, muscles completely relaxed, and pulls you close against him. You can feel the mess you both made between you legs and distantly think you should clean yourself up, but you’re too tired, too satisfied, too blissfully happy. Your limbs are heavy, and your mind still when you kiss Joel’s chest, his hair tickling your face softly. He hums contentedly, a deep rumble in his chest.
"’M gonna fall asleep," you mumble against Joel, and he strokes your back in response, his arm draped over your side.
"That’s okay, sweetheart," he mutters, and you feel him kiss the top of your head. "Okay if I clean you up?"
You hum in agreement, yawn, and try to scooch even closer to his sweaty body, press yourself against him as if you will fuse with him if you just try hard enough. Joel’s arms around you tighten and you give into your blissful exhaustion.
A very special thanks to my friend @daryltwdixon who was my beta reader and helped me with my English (fuck this language) <3 she also came up with the idea of Joel making reader thank him for letting her breathe again after choking her, so now I’m making you all thank her. Love u, May, thanks for the help <3
warnings : smut, established relationship, praise, use of pet names (darlin’, baby, good girl), inexperienced reader, fingering, unprotected p in v, jackson!joel, shy/nervous reader, fluffy, it’s implied that joel & reader are fairly new in jackson (having travelled together), joel has a filthy mouth and talks SO MUCH, appearance from tommy at the end, this is literally 3.7k words of pure pornography im sorry
summary : joel was your first. your relationship has blossomed since then but you’re still inexperienced and he is certain to let you experience everything when it comes to intimacy although you still may be nervous to try new things.
an : ik this account has been exclusively cod characters but i’ve wanted to write for joel for soo long. kinda wanna rebrand and start writing again!!!!
“c’mere,” he murmured, holding his arms out to you, effectively compelling you into his lap. you straddled his thighs and looked down at his lustful gaze, feeling your chest tighten at the sight.
he didn’t seem to care about the fight he’d just had with tommy; you hadn’t even remembered what it was about this time, but what you did remember was tommy storming out of his own house, calling joel a “fuckin’ asshole” and leaving you and him in tommy’s living room like this.
you lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder, and play with the hem of his t-shirt. you hear him sigh above you and lean back against the sofa, instinctively resting his hands on the small of your back as he nosed at the side of your neck.
“you smell real good from that soap they let us use,” he murmured, his gruff voice in your ear.
you smile a little, “i do?”
“mmh,” he hummed, his hands reaching to fidget with the ends of your hair, “don’t know about you, darlin’, but i could get used to this life o’ luxury.” he leans down to press a kiss to the exposed skin of your neck, inhaling as he does.
the flesh on the back of your neck erupts in a shiver, feeling his breath fan over you as he exhales. you stay there, on his shoulder, wanting him to continue; he does. he paves a line of light kisses down to your shoulder as he pulls the neckline of your shirt to the side. a gentle hand runs under your shirt and over the skin of your back. he grins into your skin as he hears you exhale a sigh - a happy sigh - beside his ear.
joel shifts you in his lap, bringing you closer to where his hips bend and gently pulling you from the crook of his neck.
“joel..” you murmur shyly, to which he replies with the raise of his eyebrows in questioning. “you’re um… i can feel you..”
he gives a light chuckle in response and traces his fingertips over where your hair falls over your face, “that right darlin’? you feel what y’re doin’ to me?”
you give a shy nod, feeling your cheeks grow hot. he notices how you avoid looking at his face.
“don’t be goin’ all shy on me now, baby. ‘s alright to feel things.”
you nod again, glancing down to his lap where his jeans seemed much too tight and constricting. he notices but doesn’t say anything, his hands moving to your hips and gently up your sides beneath your shirt. they rise just beneath your breasts; he softly thumbs over your nipples, watching your face intensely for a response. you almost squirm at the delicate touch as you watch the shape of his hands moving beneath your shirt, and exhale a quiet sigh of his name.
“we haven’t done it like this before, have we?” he speaks softly, his hands moving back down to your hips as he sees your nipples are hardened under the soft fabric.
“what?”
“we’ve never fucked with you… on top o’ me,” he repeats. a thumb comes up to trace along your jawline and your eyes flicker back up to his face as you shake your head. he smiles when you look at him, “mmm… you wanna change that, baby?”
you nod.
his smile widens and his thumb on your jaw slides down your neck, to your shoulder, where he pushes your hair back. his other hand transgresses the waistband of your sleep shorts, watching your face as he does so. his hand nestles over your centre, the pads of his fingers tracing over you through your underwear, feeling the dampness. your eyes flutter but you watch intensely as he then delves beneath the thin fabric.
“let’s open you up a bit for me baby, huh?” he says, rubbing slow circles over your clit.
you nod eagerly, his words clouding your mind with arousal.
“there y’ go darlin’.. ‘s a good girl,” he praises as you whimper at his touch. he runs a calloused fingertip through the seam of your pussy, coating himself in your wetness.
using his other hand, he finds the hem of your shirt, and slides it up your waist, exposing your abdomen. “can i take this off?” he asks, glancing up at you.
“i…” you hesitate — what about tommy? if he comes back..? joel continues to swirl his fingers over your sensitive clit, making it near impossible to articulate thoughts. “i— don’t know.. what— what if tommy comes ba-ck?” you struggle between short pants and breaths.
he shakes his head and chuckles, “tommy ain’t comin’ back anytime soon darlin’. don’t you worry.”
“but… if he does? i don’t wanna.. take it off.”
his eyes soften; his fingers slow. “you’re worried about him seein’ you like this, hm?”
you nod.
“th’s okay, baby. you don’t gotta. ‘s okay,” he reassures gently.
you nod again.
he takes his hand from your centre and moves both to your waist, pulling your shirt back down. he places soft, wet kisses along your neck again, speaking softly as he does, “‘s no worries.. we’ll just take it slow. lemme take care o’ you.”
his hand finds its way to your hair, tucking it behind your ear. he pulls away from your neck as he feels you fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt, and glances up at you expectantly.
“are you.. gonna take yours off?” you murmur, afraid he’d say no and accuse you of hypocrisy.
he raises an eyebrow and smiles, amused that you’re asking. “you feelin’ shy again darlin’? y’ want me to take it off?”
you nod cautiously.
smiling wider, he laughs lightly, “all right, darlin’.” he takes the hem of his t-shirt from your fingers and lifts it over his head, exposing his abdomen and chest, and his hands find your hips again. your eyes rake over his skin, speckled with greying hairs over his chest and a trail of them that let down to his jeans. he watches you watch with a grin wide on his lips, almost with pride.
he gently runs a hand up your thigh; his touch reminds you that he is not in fact just an object that you get to stare at. you glance back up to his face, almost guiltily for the way your hungry eyes take him in.
“don’t feel bad for lookin’, darlin. y’ know i don’t mind.”
he feels you start to get restless in his lap, growing needier with each passing second. his hand slips back beneath your shorts, eliciting an almost frustrated whine from your throat, needing some real alleviation.
“shhh.. ‘s okay baby. ‘m gonna give you what you need in a bit.” his fingers softly graze your centre, wanting to see how much more he could rile you up.
you grind down into his fingers, the whisper of contact simply not enough. he pushes back against you in response.
“you need it real bad, huh?”
you nod, eyes staring to well with tears of need and frustration.
“ohh, i know darlin’, i know,“ he whispers, fingers still circling over your swollen bundle of nerves, as he glances up to you in awe. “you still wanna try bein’ on top?”
you nod.
“good girl.. tha’s my girl…. just need’a get y’ opened up a bit for me, ain’t that right?”
a whimper escapes your throat, feeling your core pulse at his words.
“oh, baby,” he muses pitifully, “…now, ‘m just gonna start with one finger, ‘kay? work up to maybe 3. that all right?”
your mouth falls agape as he pushes one digit into you, up to the knuckle and he curls it towards himself. “not 3, joel.. i don’t want—“
“shhh.. ‘s alright baby. i’ll do whatever you want, ‘kay?” he reassures as he repeatedly pumps his finger inside of you, soothing over that sweet little spot that made your head roll back. your hands move to his biceps, squeezing onto them tightly; he smiles widely as you do.
“there ‘y go.. ‘s a good girl.. lemme hear you baby,” he murmurs, adding a second finger.
you whine softly as he pushes that little bit further inside, and your pussy involuntary squeezes around him, almost keeping his fingers in place.
“j—joel..” you whimper, feeling how the bicep that is pumping his fingers inside of you strains and flexes beneath your grasp with each movement.
“c’mon baby, y’ gotta relax f’ me.. squeezin’ me so god damn tight.. ‘s like y’r try’na break my fingers or somethin’,” he chuckles, gently soothing his free hand down your side.
“sorry,” you whimper, slightly embarrassed although you know he doesn’t mind.
“‘s alright darlin’.. there y’ go, ‘s alright,” he mutters, feeling you open up as warm waves of pleasure wash from your abdomen and over your body.
“such pretty sounds y’r makin’ baby,” he compliments as you whine, mewl and babble his name, obscene wet sounds making your mind go fuzzy, “you think you’re opened up enough f’ me yet darlin’? y’ ready for me?”
he slows his fingers as you nod; with one last deep push into your aching spot, he removes them from you.
you whimper at the emptiness, shifting upon his lap and eyes darting around his face pleadingly.
“i know, i know darlin,.. y’ wantin’ more ain’t ya?”
you nod shamelessly.
“well now baby.. i need you to be patient for me then.. don’t want you hurtin’ yourself because you were impatient, now, do we?”
you shake your head, becoming aware of your neediness.
“hmmm.. didn’t think so,” he muses as he leans back into the sofa, “now.. you wanna unbuckle me or do you want me to do it?”
his fingers splay over his belt; you look between his hands and his face, afraid of disappointing him.
“um… you can do it,” you mumble
“tha’s all right. ‘s no problem darlin’,” he smiles at your bashfulness as his fingers begin to make work of his belt. he doesn’t wait to pull the soft leather from his jeans; he just unbuttons and unzips them, his self control running low.
he sees your curious gaze glancing down to his hands, eyeing his arousal through the thin fabric of his underwear. “you got me so fuckin’ hard baby,” he chuckles, palming himself through his boxers with a soft grunt.
you blush in response, unable to hide the proud smile that spreads over your lips. he grins, and his thumb moves to your lower lip, gently brushing over the delicate skin. “sweet girl,” he muses, “y’ still alright with bein’ on top?”
you nod in response, excitement building and tightening your chest.
“all right then darlin’. y’ just need’a relax for me, okay? we’ goin’ real slow, just like we’ve been doin’ so far, right?”
you nod; he holds your gaze for a little while, his fingertips moving to the hem of your shorts where he traces along their underside, “can i take these off darlin’?”
you nod eagerly - maybe too eagerly. smiling, he hooks his fingers into their waistband and tugs them down your thighs. you lift a leg out of them to help, leaving them dangling from your other. his thumbs rub over the front of your underwear, “‘m just gonna pull these to the side, that all right baby?”
you nod again, and he squeezes your thighs, shifting you closer, musing a quiet “c’mere” as you settle further into his lap, the most intimate part of you flush against his still clothed hardness. “there you go darlin’.. you ready to give it a go?”
“mhm,” you almost whimper, lifting yourself slightly as he palms himself again, before he pulls himself out - achingly hard and leaking at the tip. he strokes his hand over himself once, a small groan leaving his lips. his freehand settles at your hip, guiding you to hover over him, as you steady yourself on his shoulders and look between your two bodies.
“just do whatever feels natural, baby.. whatever feels right, okay? you ain’t gonna hurt me and i ain’t gonna judge you,” he reassures, as if he can feel your racing mind.
you nod and you let yourself fall a little closer to him, whimpering when you make contact. his tip notches at your weeping entrance; he slides the head of his cock through your slick, eliciting a small whine from deep in your throat.
“easy baby.. now, y’re nice ‘n’ wet, so it shouldn’t hurt, okay? ‘s just gonna feel real full,” he mutters with an adoring glint behind his eyes as he takes the image of you in: eyes fluttering closed, hair slipping over your shoulder, mouth agape and falling apart on his lap.
you lower yourself down a little more, his tip pushing into you and your pussy swallowing him wholly. you earn a grunt from joel; he moves both his hands to your waist, gently guiding you over him, selfishly unable to hold himself back.
“just like that baby.. yeah, feels real good.. there y’ go,” he mumbles breathlessly, feeling you lower further. you instinctively squeeze around him at the praise, your abdomen fluttering and erupting in spasms of warmth, sinking yourself down until you’ve taken him to the hilt.
he releases a guttural groan at the warmth of you clenching around his cock. on the brink of losing himself already, he tightens his grip on your hips and stills you, a series of grunts and breaths stringing from his throat. “christ, baby.. y’ gonna have to wait just a minute.. just a sec.. y’ got me seein’ fuckin’ stars sweet girl,” he speaks, his eyebrows pinched together and eyes tightly closed.
you moan out at the feeling of fullness, your head falling to rest in the crook of his neck as his dick presses into a delicious spot deep inside of you. he regains composure after a little while and begins to lift your hips slightly before pulling you back down. soft mewls and whines fill his ear, the pretty sounds travelling straight to his cock.
“mm.. there y’ go baby girl.. y’ feel that? feels nice ‘n’ full, huh?”
you nod weakly, feeling tears begin to well in your eyes at the sensation of being so full. lifting you with both hands, he slides one up your side beneath your shirt; you help him by steadying your legs around his thighs and raising yourself up, before he pulls you back down, earning a loud whine as a tear spills down your face.
he moans, head leaning back and reeling in the way you’re wrapped around him so tightly. noticing the small stream down your face, he speaks breathlessly, “you okay darlin’? you ain’t hurting on me, now, baby, are ya?”
you shake your head, barely able to concentrate on his words, “‘m fine.. just feels— good.”
his thumb wipes over your warm cheek as he grins, “mm.. well.. you’re doing so good f’ me baby.”
as you squeeze around him again, he grunts loudly, his hold on you tightening and an almost pained expression coming over his face. “i swear to christ, y’re doin’ that on purpose,” he strains.
“sorry,” you mumble, trying to relax.
he smiles and shakes his head, “don’t apologise baby.. felt real good. y’r pussy’s just so goddamn tight.”
you start to move on your own, your forearms resting on his shoulders for leverage as you push yourself up and then back down, building a painstakingly slow rhythm. your faces just mere inches apart, he grabs onto your chin and pulls you to his mouth, your lips pressing together hungrily. he swallows your whines and moans with his tongue pushing into your mouth and his lips enveloping yours as you keep up your slow pace, up and down over his cock. he kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, leaving wet marks along your neck that have you whimpering his name.
“tha’s a good girl baby,” he murmurs into your skin, “just make y’self feel good.. take y’r time… that’s it, take it nice ‘n’ slow darlin’.”
you take him slow and deep, undoubtedly unable to increase your pace, but he’s patient enough to let you take him however you want to. his cock notches against that sensitive spot inside of you that only joel knows, dragging along your walls with every rut against him. you look down and watch as you take him, filled to the brim every few seconds, your clit pressed against his greying hair. his chest gleams with droplets of sweat and his abdomen rises and falls with his short breaths. your mouth stays agape and you bury your head into his neck, moaning into the skin there each time you feel him deeply.
“ohh.. ‘s that feel good sweet girl?” he asks as he looks down to you pressed against his shoulders.
“uh-huh,” you mewl, barely able to form coherent words.
“tha’s good.. doin’ so fuckin’ good f’ me baby.”
its not long before your thighs begin to ache. you slow down even further, your legs burning with fatigue. being on top isn’t as easy as it seems; you grasp onto joel with the last ounce of energy you have left.
he feels your thighs tremble and your pace begin to slow more. “you doin’ okay there darlin’?” he drawls, guiding your head out from his neck.
“i— i can’t joel,” you almost whine as you stop, his cock still hard inside of you.
“‘s okay baby. you tired y’self out, huh?” he murmurs empathetically, giving a light kiss to your cheek, “you wanna get on your back?”
you hesitate for a moment, wondering if he’s secretly disappointed, but nevertheless, you nod. “c’mon,” he muses, lifting you onto your back, his dick still inside of you. as he lays you down onto the couch, he gently soothes kisses over your neck and your legs wrap instinctively around his waist. you shuffle yourself downwards slightly, getting comfortable and you exhale a needy sigh, moving your arms to enclose over his back as he holds himself above you.
“‘s that better baby?”
you nod and give him a smile, to which he returns with a grin and a tender kiss to your lips before he pulls back his hips and pushes them back into you. he starts to set a slow pace with long, gentle strokes, grunting with each movement, feeling you tighten around him as the speed of his hips gradually increases. a particularly deep thrust had your back arching with a sharp moan and your nails press down into his back. his head drops at the feeling, a series of loud groans leaving his mouth, as he caught a glimpse of your lower abdomen rising slightly with each thrust of his hips. his groans turn into a soft laugh as he continues to rut into you.
“oh.. sweet jesus baby..” he says, glancing up to your face, “gimme y’r hand.”
you take a hand from his back and hold it to him. his own hand encloses over the top of yours and he moves it between your two bodies, placing it over your abdomen as his hips move against you. you whimper at the feeling of his cock pushing against your walls from the outside, the flesh of your stomach pushing against the palm of your hand as his thrusts quicken in their pace.
“y’ feel me right here, hm? y’ feel that baby?” he almost taunts, pressing your hand down a little harder. the extra pressure has your eyes rolling closed; you tighten around him subconsciously.
“ohhh.. she likes that, huh?” he chuckles, removing his hand from yours and picking up his pace, determined to drive you closer to the brink of your high. his thrusts grow more erratic as he nears the edge himself, haphazardly pushing in and out of you as he begins to lose focus. he feels you swallowing his cock tighter with each movement of his hips.
“you gettin’ close f’ me baby girl?”
you nod, the pleasure building at your abdomen overwhelming all of your senses.
“c’mon then baby. let go f’ me darlin’. lemme feel ya.”
his ruts grow deliberately deeper and faster; he grunts grow louder and strained behind his teeth. you mewl into his ear, your back arching your abdomen into his and the heels of your feet digging into his lower back.
“joel— i’m..”
“tha’s it baby. don’t fight it.. let it happen.. good fuckin’ girl.”
his praise pushes you over the edge, the coil inside of you pulling taut and your core spasming with waves of heat, carnal pleasure shooting all the way to the tips of your fingers. your clit pulses as he continues to sloppily move inside of you, teetering on the edge of his own orgasm, until he feels he’s about to collapse over the brink with one last thrust. he pulls himself out and strokes his wet cock a few more times before he bunches up your shirt and spills himself over your stomach with a guttural groan, his hips jerking with each rope of come that paints your abdomen.
he collapses atop of your spent body with one final grunt as his head falls to rest on your shoulder. your body still trembles with the aftershocks of your high whilst you both try to catch your breath.
“fuckin’ hell,” he chuckles breathlessly, glancing up to see a lazy smile spread across your face, “you doin’ alright there baby?”
“mhm,” you hum, too tired to talk as your eyes flutter closed.
“good.. you did real good darlin’… y’ know.. i was—“
the sound of the front door opening. joel’s head drops to your shoulder again, muttering a quiet “shit”. your body is hidden beneath him; tommy must’ve been able to see joel’s back from behind the sofa. you hear what could only be tommy’s laugh.
“don’t tell me you two have just fucked on my couch.”
summary: You’ve been scared of intimacy since you can remember. So, what happens when Joel — your father’s best friend, and the only reliable parental figure you’ve had in your life — catches you in a rather compromising position on halloween? And, then, what happens when Joel finally decides you’re in for some tough loving?
warnings: potentially dubcon. smut. daddy kink. read at your own risk!
(aaand we’re back! this is quite easily my favorite thing i’ve written so far. it’s very self indulgent. i hope you enjoy! reblogs are always appreciated:) — title song is “can’t nobody love you” by the zombies!!! but the song i also recommend is “hot burrito #1” by the flying burrito brothers, which for obvious reasons i could not use as the title lol. it’s perfect tho so have a listen!)
You don’t know how to feel now that Joel has actually caved.
Now that he’s allowed himself to feed on your desires.
Or, rather, what you thought you desired.
You felt grown when you were pursuing Joel. A dirty albeit grown, adult girl.
But now? You felt anything but that.
Joel.
Joel dad’s-best-friend-Joel. Uncle Joel. Your old man, Joel. Your dad’s buddy, Joel — beer buddy Joel. Joel, Joel, Joel.
Fuck. Joel? Really?
It started with a look.
A volatile little smile on your birthday — your pink frilled cake, sticky vanilla frosting, and eighteen teensy candles glaring. Holding eye contact with him for far too long to be considered friendly; hoping he’d catch your gaze to see what was written all over your face.
“I’m legal, Joel.”
Joel was never stupid.
In fact, he was always too observant for your liking. Catching you guilty-as-charged on your porch and knowing you just smoked your first joint. Or finding you drinking his beer at an ungodly hour and somehow placing it immediately to your impending graduation. Your least favorite: your red eyes, and Joel’s hug following suit — you and your dad were fighting, Joel figured.
He knew you were a good girl.
Really, Joel knew the purity of your nature better than you’d observed yourself.
Your peeking lace, flirty little smiles and that awful pout you developed after your first semester at college never fooled him. Nope, not one bit.
Joel knew you were a virgin.
You were a nervous thing.
Always have been, always will be.
It’s in your nature, he’s decided. It’s your biological coding. Knew it since you were just a girl.
You were the same with boys your age; hiding at the adult table instead of mingling and doing who-know’s-what with boys like the ‘Felder’s’ eldest son or worse, that punk Scott. Not that he thought of you in that way yet, but it was just something he observed. Your meekness. Your quiet demeanor. The way you were totally uninterested in boys in such a way that your own mother began to worry.
“You know, at her age? I was onto my seventh boyfriend. Seventh! These kids are living in a different age, I suppose.”
So imagine Joel’s surprise pulling up to the bar that night to see sweet thing you: pressed against a brick wall, leg wrapped around some loser with your hand tangled in his hair?
Maybe it was his fault to blame.
Snooping where he didn’t belong.
He knew you would be here. In fact, he had, yes, admittedly followed you to the very bar you’re stood outside of.
But could you blame him?
You’re his responsibility.
Your father’s only daughter, his best buddy’s only child, now under his care while you were home for the holidays.
It doesn’t matter how old you are.
That you’re “an adult”, as you keep reminding him, or that you “know what you want.”
You aren’t old enough to know any better, he’s surmised, but Joel does — for you.
Joel is sure you must have been as equally disturbed upon seeing him. If not more.
He isn’t subtle about it. He doesn’t wait for you to finish whatever the hell you were trying to start.
He simply slams his truck door shut — half surprised the red herring of his faulty engine hadn’t sent you running, knowing you could tell when Joel was over just from the sound of it creaking into your drive away. But, alas, you’re occupied. He marches as silent as the still air outside toward the outline of your silhouette, where you’re shielded by this…. stranger, this random boy, this—
Joel fishes in his pocket and shines his flashlight on the both of you.
You’re the first to pull away.
You jolt as you snap your head up toward Joel with wide-eyes, your doe eyes illuminated in the white harsh exposition of his flashlight.
“Fuckin’ hell.”
This was a scene that could kill a man.
You — good grades you, star pupil you, sorority chair member and babysitter you — barely dressed in your white babydoll and fucking bunny ears.
And how ironic is it that you, caught in a disgusting act, gawk at him with faux innocence; donned in lacey white to match the part. And he would’ve sought you fit for it too, if not for your swollen lips and the smudge of lipstick on your chin. Not to mention the random boy currently swearing at your side.
“Get your ass inside. And don’t make me repeat myself. You hear me?” you hesitate for a moment — still wide-eyed and still frozen under the horrible blaring glare of his hand held torch. You’ve never felt so dirty and vulnerable in your entire life.
Joel growls a deep exhale and shines the light closer toward your face, blinding you and causing you to stumble back against the cold wall behind you.
“You fuckin’ hear me? Scram, kid. Inside. Now.” And you know he isn’t playing any games when he begins to count.
“One….two…” you run into the bar with your hand hovering behind your ass as though you were some child nervously escaping a spanking. You would laugh at yourself if you weren’t so frozen in an all consumable humiliation.
Joel has half the mind to slap the kid that was just eating your face off but he regresses. He knows it wasn’t the boys fault; if anything, it was more likely yours.
While he held your good girl disposition near and dear to his heart, he had noticed your recent rebelling streak.
It was unnatural and awkward.
Coming in the form of wearing dresses so short that you couldn’t even jump out his truck without flashing him; copious frills of red or pink or his personal hell, white, and he couldn’t stand it.
He wondered if college had taken the dear girl he watched you grow into only to snatch you away and morph you into a lady.
A femme fatale. Seductress. Promiscuous like your sorority sisters.
But, no — you were still shy as ever at neighborhood barbecues and still ignoring Scott Felder with the same fervor you had when you were seventeen.
And so to see you like this?
He hadn’t a clue what to do with you.
It could’ve been ten or twenty or even thirty minutes, you weren’t sure, but finally, you hear that unmistakable noise of heavy toed boots clang against the bar floor, and there he is. Making an appearance after all.
For a moment, you were scared he had stranded you here. Or, worse, called your father.
But instead, Joel locks his sight on you and slowly approaches. It isn’t hard. With your ridiculous costume ears still perched on your head. He pulls out the bar stool next to you and immediately waves down the bartender.
He keeps a tab open.
You sit in silence as he nurses his second beer, listening to the screeching noise of his obnoxiously loud sighs as you’re sat shaking on the grimy bar stool beside him.
Waiting for something. Anything.
A shake of his head. A snarl. You’re even finding yourself pleading for his dreaded lectures.
But, alas, he only sits there. Wordless and your stomach churns in anticipation for when his fuse finally implodes.
It ignites slowly.
A small, subtle look your way.
Disappointment.
Burning hot and sparking clear as day on his face.
Then,
and you couldn’t ever predict what he would say,
but he meets your eye and mumbles:
“And here I was, thinkin’ you were a virgin.”
You would say Joel has been a pretty consistent figure in your life.
He’s just been there. You can’t ever really remember when he came onto the scene or when you started to respect, and equally fear him, more than your own old man.
And well, you would say you’ve come to know him pretty well.
You like to think you have a firm understanding of his attitude. You know what makes him temperamental, what he enjoys or doesn’t, observed enough to guess what he would find humorous or instead flat out shun.
You know he’s a secret prude. Brave in a way your father never was, chastising you for skirts he deemed too short,
“two finger rule, sweetheart, c’mon. You know this.”
Blushing when the ‘grownup’ table makes a dirty joke. Usually about his lady of the month. Then lecturing you when he finds you peeping, tutting: “this is a grownup conversation, young lady. Eyes and ears to yourself.”
You remember the first time you saw Joel in a new light: condensation dripping down large fingers. That smirk highlighted by handsome lines of age and sun that weathered his skin. Tan flesh and jeans a bit too tight to really fit him properly. That scolding look of his, always pointed your way.
But in all your years of knowing Joel, nothing could have ever prepared you for this.
Joel Miller who damn nearly had a heart attack when you brought your senior year prom date to greet your father, and Joel — of course.
You never knew him to have the gall.
The nerve.
The obscenity to call you out.
“Thought you were a virgin.”
You choke on your own spit. Half-laughing-and-half-gasping as you try to squawk a retort that just gets stuck in your throat.
He takes a large gulp of his beer. You watch his adam’s apple bob around his sip, stupidly stuttering and now burning in a feverish blush.
“What!-what, what…” he peers at you through his peripheral. “Wh-at? So, so— so virgins aren’t allowed to kiss now, is that what, huh?”
You are just so defensive. For no good reason; he’s the one who caught you in your indecent act. Though, you don’t deny what he’s said either, and a tiny sick part of himself is slightly relieved — for your dignity, of course.
“I ain’t ever know one to kiss like that, that’s for fuckin’ sure.”
“O-kay, Joel. How about you try and stay out of my business, and you won’t have to know a damn thing. Does that work for you?”
Ouch. Well, look at that. You’re embarrassed.
Good, he’s thinking. You should be. You ought to be. But there’s something more, something slightly sinister bubbling below the surface. You’re humiliated, maybe. Pissed at him, even. He’s wondering why you haven’t yet asked him what he was doing at some college bar, but he suspects your unease has you tattered.
“Quit bein’ ugly with me, kid. It’s my job to be lookin’ out for you, and I won’t — while you’re under my roof—”
“I’m sorry, under whose roof?—”
“Don’t go talkin’ back to me. I won’t have you actin’ this way so long as you’re stayin’ here. You hear me?”
You can’t decide whether to laugh or yell at him. “You’re aren’t my father, Joel. It’s not your job to do anything!”
Your shame has brought your claws out; hissing and scratching and clawing deep into wounds you have no business deepening.
There’s a falter in the beat of the room. A stutter. A sliver of light peeking onto skeletons long hidden inside your closet.
You knew it was the wrong thing to say. It felt awkward, somewhat heavy like a lie on your tongue, and the suffocating air weighing heavy between the two of you concede’s that he knows this too.
His face reads as surprisingly amused, and you suspect that’s the reason why. You’re just lashing out. Growing pains. All little girls go through this phase. He’s been waiting for this, really.
“Alright.” He groans as he stands up. Arm raising to scratch at his greying scruff and his flannel raises slightly — tan skin exposed, happy trail peeking from above his slacks. “I’m takin’ you home. Your dad ain’t back yet,” you don’t miss how he lingers on that word. Dad. Spitting it at you. “And frankly, I don’t want him seein’ you like…” his eyes rake down your frame and you feel just as exposed as you did under the glare of his flashlight, “this.”
He may as well have gone and called you a whore. You want to lash out and really give him something to be shocked at. Treat him like you do with dear old dad when he tests your patience and see how he likes it.
But really, you’re nervous at how Joel would retaliate. You and your father aren’t afraid to yell; you know that with every argument, while a silent lull may fall for however long it takes, your relationship would eventually return to its flawed resting point.
But Joel? — he classes your low points differently. He yearns for the confrontation, because he enjoys the punishment. The lesson in it. You give him an inch? He’ll run it any which way from Tuesday just to turn it into a some sort of paternal marathon.
You would call him a sadist if it didn’t mean you would have to acknowledge what that would make you.
Really, sometimes, you wonder, if it isn’t the reason him and his own daughter are so distant. Or, rather the reason why she won’t speak to him. You never really saw Sarah growing up, with your age gap, but you could see how Joel’s life motivation could be his very own fatal flaw.
He constantly needs, wants, longs to teach teach teach.
He knows best.
His way is the best way.
“Don’t be mad at him,” your father would tell you when Joel first started taking it upon himself to solve your tantrums himself.
“You know how it is for him. He’s just bein’ a dad, ‘s all. Saves my ass the trouble, that’s for sure.”
You try to remind yourself of this when you and Joel make it back home. Any slight buzz you had lingering is strikingly gone — dissipated completely enough to leave you so sober you’re shaking. From the cold air, or from your repentance, you aren’t sure yet.
Joel notices.
“You’re shakin’,” he observes, but he doesn’t sound concerned. In fact, there’s that same amused twinge from before. The lesson. He wants you like this, all to teach you.
“It’s cold.” You whine, and he sighs at your tone but with a small smirk in tow. Is it cold, or are you stood half-naked in a kitchen where you used to play with your barbies?
“C’mon.” He nods his head toward the dimly lit staircase and you follow up behind him as he begins his slow ascend, leading you down the hallway to your bedroom.
He turns on your bedside lamp and opens your drawers. Rummaging through them as you stand in the corner, still shaking, until he finds a clean pair of pajamas for you and lays them on your bed. Folding them, neatly.
“Get changed.” He mumbles.
“I need to — I need to shower, first.” You feel dirty. You’ve felt dirty since you let that boy kiss you outside that awful dive bar. You weren’t even sure why you did. It wasn’t you. He wasn’t even your type. You weren’t half as drunk as you usually get on nights out, but truthfully, it had little to do with the alcohol and more with the nagging voices of your friends and boys you wouldn’t let pursue you on repeat.
Taunting you. And for what?
Grimy. Bad. Even more so, the moment Joel saw you in that state.
“Then shower.”
You hoped that the cold water and the harsh rubbing of your skin would clean you of more than just your caked-on makeup. But it doesn’t. You feel just as awful as before, and Joel doesn’t offer you any consolation.
He’s as quiet as you are; silent when you meekly pass where he’s perched on the edge of your bed. You fetch the pajamas he had laid for you.
And when you remerge, creaking the door open an inch, he’s still there — waiting. Head tilting at the open door when you meet his gaze with a small smile. You continue doing whatever it is you were doing, seemingly spraying something into your hair. Citrus and brown sugar.
The smell of you. Fresh, clean, warm, sweet. He should get going now. Really, he’s probably overstayed his welcome. Your father could be back. Sat downstairs, nursing a beer. Watching television. Thinking you’re dead asleep. If he was even wondering that at all.
You watch as he lifts from your bed and gingerly wanders toward where you’re spraying all sorts of concoctions into your hair, his frame lurking behind you.
Taller. Brooding. Unsure.
Pausing in the doorway until he’s making eye contact with you in the mirror. He shakes his head, low and disappointed, and tuts at you. Slowly moving toward the other end of the sink before beckoning you over to where he’s stood with a call of his fingers.
You follow — barefoot padding across the cold tiles to reach him.
He sighs. Hums, even. Tilting his head at you and scanning his eyes down your expanse like he’s examining you. Wanting to see how sorry you are.
“You don’t have to stay here, Joel. With me. It’s late.” The concept of someone staying up for you, up with you, is foreign. You feel awkward standing across from Joel, unsure how to handle the onslaught of attention; wearing pajama’s he picked out for you and you hate that you’re secretly comforted by even the small semblance of tenderness it holds.
“You seein’ that boy?” he finally speaks, and you can’t help but shyly smile and shake your head.
“No.” You’re grinning now. Almost giggling. Cheeky.
He wants to give your cheek a curt smack and wipe that smile off your face.
“No?” He’s smirking back at you.
You slowly shake your head. He’s lulled you into thinking that you are equal. That since you are smiling, and he’s smiling, that now you two are playing. But you should know by now — Joel’s never been one to bark without a bite.
You step ever so slightly closer to him. You could blame it on shaky legs or that burning taste of tequila still lingering in your mouth, but it’s just you.
The bathroom is dimly lit, and Joel’s still smirking, and so he thinks maybe you must be feeling brave. Surely, if you’re being this brazen with him.
“I didn’t even know his name.” You whisper.
Smiling, still, albeit sheepishly. Beads of water dripping down the expanse of your cheekbones and wet hair clinging to your shoulders.
Joel doesn’t say anything.
His expression doesn’t even flinch.
He just hooks his ankle behind your calf, causing you to stumble closer to him. You catch yourself before you can fall, making quick balance by placing your palms on his chest.
He hums — gently, and ever-so-slowly inches his startlingly large hand out toward you. You can feel him softly catch the droplets trailing their way along your jaw, grazing his knuckles down the edge of the bone.
To your confusion, the head-rush of the moment is dulled by the clanging of miscellaneous items on your counter, until you realize what he’s doing.
He’s searching for something.
Digging through your sink caddy before pulling out your — toothbrush?
You watch as he squeezes a dime of toothpaste onto its pink bristles. His knuckles are still resting fleetingly along your cheekbones. You would convince yourself that this was your deluded imagination, if not for the jarring sensation of his hand outstretching and covering your entire jawbone in one tight clamp.
Both from the sheer force of his grip, and in a gasp of surprise, your mouth opens and you’re about to retort —
Is he really going to?—
“Open wide.”
Your effort is useless.
He gives you no warning before almost gagging you on your own toothbrush. Shoving it uncaringly into your mouth, letting the plastic stick clang loudly against your teeth and poke at the plush flesh inside.
This is . . . humiliating?
You silently pray it’s not spit you can feel slightly dribbling onto the handle of the brush, surely going down his hand, and you whine in embarrassment — it’s muffled in the clumsy attempt of brushing your teeth — and you try to shove his hand away, but he only grips your wrist with the other; absentmindedly bracketing your hips and pressing you against the sharp porcelain digging into your behind.
He laughs at you.
“Gotta get you clean,” he tuts, and you burn both with mortification and in the revelation that he must surely now see you as you do yourself.
Dirty. Ruined. Once the child, now the inevitable woman.
“Joel,” you gurgle, slightly laughing in awkwardness. The mint is causing your eyes to water as you try to shove him harder, with no avail.
“Stop.” He catches your wrist once again and presses it hard against your chest. “Be good.”
Now this — this is just —
Humiliation.
Joel’s never touched you like this. He’s never gripped at you, or ever, ever been rough with you.
Really, now that you really come to think of it, you’ve never much felt the graze of Joel’s flesh against yours.
Sure, you’ve felt his frame against yours in tear-soaked hugs.
Or felt the calloused graze of his knuckles when passing you the clandestine beer, or maybe felt the accidental knock of his knee brushing yours in sweaty lawn chairs at neighborhood barbecues.
But Joel has always treated you so . . . delicately.
Only touching you unless absolutely necessary. Avoiding it, even: his hand hovering above your waist in photographs, rejecting your requests of retying your bikini top, reacting as though you’ve burned him in accidental moments of your body swiping past his.
Okay, now? Well this just feels oddly intimate.
You must be making it weird.
You’ve stopped thrashing and now you’re only sat complacent, blushing. At Joel. You hate the feelings you can feel begin to stir deep in your gut. It’s hot fierce and you’re sure he can see it, or at the very least feel it in your quick pulse.
But this is already weird.
Joel is brushing your teeth.
For you.
While laughing like it’s the highest form of entertainment he’s had in all his fifty-so years of living.
And — are you shaking? Seriously? Are you that unsure on how to act in the presence of such a man acting as casual as he does during errands?
It’s only Joel. But he’s a man, nonetheless.
You could count on your one hand the amount of times you’ve ever touched one, and so, yes, you’re shaking.
Maybe it’s part adrenaline, too. Your nervous system grappling to accommodate that this is Joel. Touching you so openly, even if it is to manhandle you.
His other hand moves from its tight hold on your jaw to create a makeshift ponytail of your hair, pushing your head gently toward the sink
“Spit, honey.”
You can barely speak with both the toothpaste swishing in your mouth and between your stifled giggles, toothpaste foam clumisy escaping and now you’re laughing, fully.
“There she is. You feelin’ better now?”
“No! You just — you?” You’re hysterical. He snorts at you, secretly relieved to finally see a smile appear on your face after all of your pouting. You’re not off the hook just yet — his seething disappointment still brewing — but the melody of your laughter quells the bitterness even for a little moment. He sighs when you giggle and hide your head in the crook of his neck because this is the little girl that he fondly remembers. Maybe you just needed a reminder, too.
On his flannel collar, you can smell the lingering remainder of the cigarettes he must have snuck out on his lunch break whispering to you. It mixes with the smell of his musk. His natural scent, and a spray of that cologne you could sniff out with a blindfold. Sweet, yet notably masculine — honey melded with boozy tobacco — like that whiskey he stashes below his kitchen sink. Nostalgic in a way that reminds you of summer; Joel’s cigarettes burning the dewy grass of your lawn, sweltering nights spent in his garage, your favorite cherry red ice pops he kept in his freezer just for you, skin sticky with chlorine, cicadas and early dawn, the taste of beers you shouldn’t be having and looks you shouldn’t be giving.
You’re sat on the counter, Joel stood between your legs, and as your head tips up, you can recognize the exact second Joel resigns. The moment he remembers who you are to him, and who he is to you.
“Alright. I better, um. I best be to gettin’ sweetheart. I’ll be speakin’ to you in the mornin’, you hear me?” He goes to step backward, away from where you’re sat, away from your pajama clad body. Skimpy and short, too short and he needs to step away from the girl that deep down doesn’t belong to him. Not with his best buddy’s blood running through you. Away from the little girl he’s known for far too long.
Your small ankle hooks around his calf.
“Why do we have to wait for the morning?”
He’s stunned. You’ve stunned him. Peering up at him with doe eyes and he’s — he’s shocked.
And intrigued?
“It’s way past your bedtime young lady. And frankly if I stick around, well. . .” he scratches the greying scruff speckling his jaw. He’s as close as he was before. Close enough to where he has to dip his head down to look at you. Close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath.
“Well?”
He sighs, softly, and inches slightly closer. His face is beside your ear now. He drops his voice into a gruff whisper.
“I’d say some things I shouldn’t.”
Your eyebrow quirks and the corner of his mouth lifts into a shy smirk. “Not like that, kiddo. It’d be mean. I’d say rude things to you, and I don’t wan’ to. Wanna save it for the morning. Give us a second to cool off, y’know? Take a breather. Go from there.” He pats your shoulder. Joel Miller, always so level-headed.
It’s time to go. Really, it is.
You gnaw your bottom lip between your teeth as Joel begins to tread through your quaint bathroom and toward the door of your bedroom. You should let him go. You shouldn’t say anything else. You’ve already forever changed the trajectory of your relationship with Joel — but in the same sentiment, what is there to lose?
“I’m a big girl, Joel. I can handle hard conversations.”
Even through the dim lighting of your bedroom, lit only by the single glass lamp at your bedside, you can faintly see when Joel’s expression changes.
“Can you? Nearly done scared you off at the bar. Didn’t I?” You watch as it sours, his eyebrows furrowing. You’re beginning to test the little luck you have left for the night, but you’re either willingly ignorant, or simply don’t notice.
You push either way.
Stupid, little naive girl.
“Because you treat me like a child! You — you never treat me like I’m a grown up. You treat me like I’m still little. Like I’m.” You suck in a sharp inhale. “Like I’m Sa—“
“— Don’t you finish that sentence. Fuckin’ hell. You pitchin’ a hissy fit? Is that what this is? I interrupt your little play date,”
“Oh my—”
You really should’ve stopped talking a long time ago. But you can’t seem to find a way to switch this side of yourself off. You’re frustrated — you’re embarrassed, still so abashed and there’s nothing more you want at this moment than comfort; but you don’t deserve that. Definitely not now. You may as well be itching for punishment with the way you’re rambling your mouth at Joel.
“Shut it. You shut your mouth.” Joel raises his voice and you flinch. Both in the fear of your father potentially hearing a glimpse into your altercation, but also for you. You don’t know what’s gotten into you, and theres nothing you can do but watch as Joel drags his hands down his face. Sighing and shaking his head before storming up to you. Raising his pointer finger right in your face, his own scrunched and angry.
Albeit, he inhales a single shaky breath.
“You’re right. You ain’t Sarah. I failed her. I was too soft with her. Too weak. Too lenient with shit I shouldn’t have been. Too — too goddamn proud. And so help me God, I will not make that same mistake with you. You hear me girl? When I speak, you listen. Goddamnit.”
You’re frozen. Stuck in place and somehow the distance between you two has become even shorter. He’s almost breathing down your neck. Seething and huffing with no regard for your space.
You don’t know what to say. Choking on a sharp breath that you didn’t even realize you had been holding.
“This is — Joel, I’m not… you’re not my… I don’t need you to—”
“What? You wanna be my friend? Is that what you’re askin’ for? For us to be fuckin’ friendly?”
His nose brushes against your own and it’s so beside him, entirely uncharacteristic for him to be this close to you; undeniably too enraged to recognize the lack of distance between you. “Hm?”
“No, you’re not listening to me—“
“You keep runnin’ that mouth at me and I’ll show you just where it gets you, little girl.”
You’re appealing to the ugliest parts of himself now. Playing right into his game of cat and mouse. The perfect pawn on his chess board. You know all the right buttons to press and you aren’t even sure if you do it unwillingly.
“I’m sorry Joel.” You whisper so quiet and so sweetly that it nearly stops him in his tracks. Almost breaks him from the frustration he feels toward you.
Almost.
“I know you are babygirl. I know you are…”
And for a fleeting moment, you have your Joel back in the room. The Joel you’ve always known. The only person you know that looks at you with starry eyes and protects you like you’re as delicate as fine china.
He carefully cups your cheek before sighing, looking down toward the ground in an attempt to recalibrate.
To cool off.
To get a grip of himself.
To act like the adult he is.
The role model you deserve.
But. . .
Have your shorts always been that short?
Really — he doesn’t mean to look, his eyes just snagged on a fleeting glimpse of the smooth expanse of your legs, and now he’s perplexed. Why would you even own shorts that tiny?
What purpose do they serve? Other than to appease. To appeal. To impress.
‘Two finger rule, sweetheart.’
Joel can feel himself begin to flush; his temper is brewing again.
Hadn’t he taught you better than this?
You gulp. “Joel?”
“I know you’re sorry. But sorry ain’t ‘gonna cut it this time, kiddo.”
“No, please don’t—” please, anything but tell your father.
“I think we oughta try some tough love.”
“No!—” you scramble toward Joel; reaching out toward him in an attempt to get him to stop. To not go downstairs. To not tattle to that man about your bad behavior. To not bring him into this.
But in that same second, Joel hunches over you, grabbing your wrist and pinning it behind the small of your back.
He pulls you against his sturdy chest. Shushing you. Telling you to “be quiet, goddamnit,”tightening his grip on your wrist when you begin to thrash — kicking at him, trying to free yourself from where you’re held against him, “stop being so squirrelly, kid. Stop. The fuck’s gotten into ‘ya?”
You don’t stop, too confused and frightened to do anything but flail like a fish out of water; gasping like you were gurgling for air when you feel the sudden force of your body colliding with the solid plush of your bed from below you.
You register the pressure first. The immense weight of Joel above you, all broad muscle mass, pinning you with the full heft of his bulk into the mattress. “Stop,” he growls, and you can feel the warmth and softness of his lips graze against the shell of your ear.
The noise and clatter inside your head goes silent — everything coming to a static standstill as you finally take a single slow, albeit wheezed, breath. You quell beneath him.
“Good.” He whispers. “Good girl.”
Joel has you bent over the edge of your bed.
Joel.
Joel.
“You ain’t gonna like this one bit. I’m sorry, honey. But you gotta learn somehow.” You can’t register anything he’s saying because you can feel him. Against you. Pressed against your behind.
Oh. Oh.
You think of what to say but fall short. Instead, you lay still. Waiting. Your heart pattering so fast you wonder if he can hear it.
And then, you yelp; the resounding smack! of his palm shocks through your body. The small of your back where your flesh melts into its heart shape burns. Sending you up the mattress to get away from it.
He’s just hit you. No — he’s just spanked you.
“What the—”
Before you can even begin to comprehend, let alone retort, his palm hits you even harder. So hard that the sound rattles you and rings in your ears.
His hand swats you again, and again, and again. You can barely distinguish the noise of him grunting with each move, watching as his face scowls when you peek your head back.
And then, his smacks hit lower,
lower,
and once more, lower.
Right over your most intimate part. All yours.
And now, partly his — with his palm cupping you there for a split second before pulling away instantaneously when your head whips around to meet his gaze.
His brows are still settled low on his face, with his eyes squinted at you and mouth twisted into a disgruntled scowl.
But beneath it, you can see his guilt rising. His unwitting abdication of you revealing to him in an instant.
You, slightly bent over your frilly bed.
You, gawking at him so bewildered he’s surprised you haven’t slapped him back.
You.
You.
By him. Joel. Joel.
Joel dad’s-best-friend-Joel. Uncle Joel. Your old man. Your dad’s buddy, Joel. Beer buddy, Joel. Joel, Joel, Joel.
Joel who loves you as his own.
Fuck. Joel. Really?
You feel fractured in two. Dichotomized between the part of you that feels sickened, almost. Frightened. Pure and untouched being corrupted in a split second.
And, equally, by the part of you that doesn’t feel that way at all. The fraction of you that feels wanted. Finally desired. Worthy. Worthy of Joel, worthy of his touch, worthy of his attention. His failed attempt of feigning composure a signal of how much you’ve meant to him this whole time. Of how much you can be wanted. To be loved so much by him that he cares for you in every sense of the word. The tiny, insidious part of you that felt jealousy toward those that Joel unconditionally loved. Wishing you were in their place.
Sarah.
Admittedly, you hadn’t seen this coming. But it wasn’t as though you hadn’t wished for it. Like that one time in Joel’s garage. When your father was passed out inside, left asleep on the couch with his beer left warming in his hold, you hiked your skirt a few inches higher; sat alone with Joel in his old camping chairs and demurely playing a game of one sided footsie with him. Joel was talking at you about something monotonous. Some old lecture.
And maybe it was nothing. Really, it might’ve been mostly your imagination. But you swore there was something different about the way he peered up at you — not just anger for your silly game of footsie despite urging you to pay attention, but real hunger — (you pulled your foot away in an instant.)
Joel staggers back, your stunned expression mirroring his own. You’re still frozen in position as you watch him pace in the small space of your bedroom. Nearly knocking over your dainty jewelry and makeup stashed on your porcelain vanity, swearing loudly when he inevitably does, his hip bumping your pink perfume bottle in his moment of frantic realization. He hinges down, gently placing it back in its position before settling his attention back onto you.
“I—” your eyes lock momentarily before he twists away. “Sit up for me” he murmurs with his back facing you. You’ve never seen Joel so frazzled. So out of his own willpower. You hesitate for a beat longer before gradually turning your body toward where he’s stood with his hand in his heads, perching yourself on the edge of your bed. Your hands are politely placed on your lap despite your ass still burning red beneath you.
Joel is victimized by his own puzzle of sorts too. Pulled between his rational self that loves you innocently like his own. Wanting nothing more than to watch you succeed — build your career, have a family of your own, grandchildren, visiting your old man Joel. The white picket fence you deserve. The happy ending he’d give anything to see you have. To be the one stable role model in your life, waiting at your every beck and call. The only thing a man like him is good for. The only thing he lives for.
But beneath it all lurks that ugly, ruined, most selfish inner part of himself fueled entirely by his bloodlust. His nauseating thirst to teach you and have you and protect you like his own kin. Greedily ravenous to claim you in every way he can without his blood running through your veins, without his last name belonging alongside your first. To teach you every lesson he can mangle his way into. To put his love into you. Make it stick.
He cautiously walks toward you. The room is so silent that you can hear his knees creak as he hinges to sit docile beside you. You aren’t sure which version of him you’re with, and you aren’t sure which one you want.
“That wasn’t right. I’m sorry sweetheart. Shit. I’m sorry. That was too much, kiddo. I know.” He finally braves a glance at you and swears under a loud sigh. “Hey. Hey. Look at me, kid.” He holds your face in both of his warm hands. “I’m sorry, honey. That ain’t right of me to do to you. I know, baby.”
But if it wasn’t right, then why are your insides all tangled up? You hate to admit it but you’re ignited. And judging by the stiff sensation pressed against your knee, you bravely assume Joel feels it too.
You gawk at him. A little coquettish without really thinking about it. Slightly blinded by your impulse and batting your eyelashes as kittenish as you can without being obvious.
But Joel knows. He always does. He doesn’t have a sixth sense, he just has age. Knowledge. Power over you in the form of sun-weathered wrinkles and a body shaped by years of hard work and callouses to prove his determination cause of providing for his family. The same hands that are delicately bracing your face having brought women pleasure for decades longer than you have existed and fixed your nightstand when the hinges broke.
‘I’ve got decades on you, little girl.’
“Oh.” He faux’s a puzzled look, but you know that he’s well aware of your situation.
“Oh? Is that how it is?”
You break your silence. Gulping embarrassingly louder than you intended to. “Joel—”
“You liked that, didn’t you?” You go to retort, shaking your head and aimlessly stuttering. Joel stares at you wordlessly, his mouth slightly agape and scanning your face, his two hands still cupping your cheeks gently. Slightly disgusted at your gall. At how you mirror his own.
”That was supposed to be a punishment. You weren’t supposed to…like it.”
“I’m . . . sorry?” You’re scared your heart might lurch out of your chest when you recognize the expression on his face. Hooded eyes and lips pressed in a tight line. The one you’ve only seen once before, in his garage. Starving.
“You’re just a kid. Just a goddamn baby. You shouldn’t…we shouldn’t … this ain’t right.” And yet, your faces are a hairbreadth apart.
His eyes darken; he’s onto you. His mouth melts against yours hard, so hard that you would think your lips may bruise tomorrow if you even had time to think. You can feel him everywhere. Pawing at every inch of your bare skin that he can access and gripping, tightly. Soothing the red flush of your behind with a fierce grope. You gasp, but Joel steals it as an opportunity to satiate his appetite; deepening the feverish kiss by stroking his tongue against yours. You can’t do anything but mesh your lips just as hard against his, clumsily trying to match his fervor until you feel his hand slither to the waistband of your shorts. Teetering at the lace edge.
“Joel… I don’t know if… I’ve never….” he pulls away to catch his breath, the both of you panting into each other’s mouths, his forehead pressed against yours as you feel his capable fingers toying with the delicate lace of your waistband. He steals another kiss over your panting mouth.
“I know, kiddo. Don’t be scared, honey. I’ll make it so good. I promise.” His knuckles accidentally graze right over where you’re most sensitive and you gasp, bucking your hips up absentmindedly in response to his touch. He smirks.
“So responsive. Nobody ever touch you here? Really?” You know he knows the answer, but he just wants you humiliated — willing, shaking shake your head ‘no’ just so he can groan; biting the delicate junction of your neck and nipping at the soft skin there. Nudging his fingers a bit harder into that sensitive, untouched spot and you writhe embarrassingly beneath him.
“Wait…” Without a word, he slowly tugs down the thin cotton of your shorts. You hear him suck in a sharp inhale at the sight of you almost bare, all for him. Joel silently wishes he felt even a sliver more of guilt at the sight of your white ruffled panties. His best buddies daughter. Complete with a tiny bow at the center. But he doesn’t. If anything, it just confirms what he’s always known; that you’re his —
— The only reason he’s kept that bastard around as company. For the promise of you. To be there for you. Like the time he drove ten hours to your campus for parents weekend when your father said he was too busy. A date, if he remembers correctly. But Joel didn’t mind the drive.
He groans. It’s a deep, guttural noise and you blush. You were half expecting Joel to be more collected, more detached, but what would you know. Heat bubbles in your gut all the same as your hips buck once more.
Joel eyes you like you’re something to eat. Biting the bone of his knuckle as you lay there, watching him, coyly, pressing your knees together in an attempt of preserving any semblance of your dignity.
In a split second, Joel’s head lowers to be level with your thighs. Gently spreading them apart to gain closer access to you and mouthing over the cotton material of your panties without a second thought. You whine, legs kicking out as you feel Joel’s mouth soil your panties even more than they already are.
”O-oh,” you try to push his head away, yet clamp your legs around his head in the same effort, overwhelmed at all of the sudden contact, but he just grips the backs of your knees — deepening his soft kiss over your still-clothed mound.
You don’t know how to respond to the newfound pleasure except to try and squirm away, to which he simply hovers his head above you, replacing his mouth with a sturdy rub of his fingers, watching as your legs jolt and immediately kick at his shoulder blades; trying to squirm away from the pressure by scooting your body up the mattress.
Joel tuts softly, grabbing the backs of your knees and heaves you back down toward him until you’re prone beneath him, legs forced to pliantly widen around the breadth of his burly torso. He pins you there by his hips, bearing his full weight onto you until you feel his pelvis against yours — meeting your core in a deliberate, brief grind and smirking when you twitch beneath him.
“You gonna let me touch on you or you gon’ keep beatin’ me? Hm?” He does it again and you shiver.
“I’m not— I’m — stop being so — dramatic,” it’s hard to form a sentence with Joel is continuously rolling his hips against yours, not when you can feel just how hard he is. How he’s heavy against your core and you can’t believe that this is Joel.
Almost as if he could read what you were thinking, which would be feasible with the way you’re shuddering beneath him, he leans in for a greedy kiss, open mouthed and messy, before humming into the shell of your ear. “You feel that?” he punches his hips against yours to emphasize his wanting and your breath hitches.
“You feel how hard I am for you?” he nips your earlobe, rocking against you once more to let you really feel the heft of him. To remind you of his brute size, to make sure you don’t forget that mounted above you is a man. Strong enough to have you crushed into the mattress with no effort, large enough that your legs are forced to part almost painfully wide to accommodate his virile size, old enough that he has the crows lines to prove it and an age that means you could’ve been calling him daddy and mean it.
“You gon’ be good for me now?” you nod against your better judgment, exhaling a shaky breath as he lifts to slither his hand to the waistband of your panties. “You gonna let me see you?” he whispers, teasing you by faking a tug of your underwear just to snicker when your legs immediately clam.
“C’mon, darlin’. Don’t be like that. Spread ‘em legs for your old man.” You don’t, still shaking, not even budging the tense press of your knees when Joel tries to pry your legs open himself.
He hums in contemplation. “Let’s get those trainin’ wheels off. How ‘bout that? How ‘bout this?” his calloused fingers trace their way along your abdomen to the edge of your cami top, rubbing the exposed skin where your top has rucked up, leaning down to kiss your navel gently.
He peers up at you beneath hooded eyes when your hips shift. “Hm? What’dya say?”
“O-okay. Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
You nod, letting him slowly pull your shirt up the expanse of your torso and audibly groan at the sight of you exposed. Your bare breasts all his to leer at and he licks his lips, pinning your wrists beside your head when you reflexively go to hide your chest.
“Fuck,” he murmurs beneath his breath, reaching out to rudely grip at your chest and smirking when you whine. Biting the flesh of your breast and groaning even louder. You shift uncomfortably beneath him, the burning of your core getting harder to ignore, and you buck your hips into nothing. Joel meets your restlessness with his fingers once more, rubbing small circles onto where you’re most sensitive.
“Joel—”
“— Let me make you feel good.” And this time you don’t oppose when he starts to tug your panties down, stealing a look between your legs before you can try and close them again, forcing your legs open with a rough grip on your knees and swearing, whistling lowly and you try reach out your leg to kick him in humiliation.
“Dirty girl. You’re wet.”
You tuck your lip between your teeth. “Just… do something.”
Ignoring you, he continues his ogling; staring at you between your legs as though you weren’t there, reaching out to give you a curt smack over your core just to see how you would react. You yelp and squirm, trying to kick him once more and he laughs.
“Joel…” you’re getting fussy now. Rubbing your feet against the mattress and gnawing at your bottom lip, waiting for him to just stop scrutinizing you and do anything.
“Shh, baby. I’ve got you.” Tentatively, he finally touches you. Your breath hitches when he gently brushes his fingers against where you’re most sensitive. Pressing a bit harder when he sees your toes begin to curl and your eyes widen. “Pretty little pussy.”
“Stop—”
“Anyone ever touch you like this?” he asks you so casually that it sounds almost clinical. Like he isn’t currently touching you harder just to see you react in a way that makes his dick hard.
“N-no,” you whine, leg jolting when he momentarily speeds up his motions, pressing harder onto your bud and rubbing tiny circles there.
“No? Really?”
“Fuck - oh! - off.” He chuckles, seemingly amused before he’s pulling his hand away and hooking them under your thighs to position himself between your legs once again. Lowering his head, blowing against where you’re bare to make you shiver.
“How ‘bout this? Anyone ever do this?” Joel peers up from between your legs, fixating his gaze onto yours and leaning to lazily kiss you right over the center of your core.
“Oh!” you yelp, the sensation of Joel’s mouth overwhelmingly hot against your clit makes your knees desperately try and clamp together. Joel wanted to tease you a bit. Bring you apart with his tongue. Play with you. But hearing you keen at just a measly kiss has his head spinning and cock hard — he ruts against your frilly sheets like a teenage boy, his large hands gripping the sides of your ass to bring you impossibly closer. Groaning at the taste of you and kissing and laving his tongue against your clit like a man starved.
It’s lewd. You’re so wet that you can audibly hear the squelches of where you meet Joel’s hot mouth and it’s obscene. Mortifying and mind-blowing. Your legs shake and hips spasm, but Joel just pins his forearm against your hipbones, holding you in place and shaking his head against you.
You try to bite your lip to keep your sounds at bay, but it’s no use — that unfamiliar build in your stomach creeps faster and faster and you’re moaning, too turned on and bewildered to stop yourself.
Joel pulls away. Grinning when you whine, your chest heaving beautifully and Joel is possibly the hardest he’s ever been. Which is shocking, considering his age and that little blue pill he keeps on his nightstand.
“Why,” you whimper, hips squirming at the sudden lack of contact and Joel just laughs at you.
“Patience, sweet girl. Gotta get ‘ya ready.”
Ready?
Oh.
Ready.
Your attention is abruptly brought to the front of Joel’s jeans. The seemingly hefty bulge presses at the denim seams, so large that the fabric is taut and you gulp. If Joel senses your hesitation, he doesn’t say anything. He just wordlessly reaches his hand back between your legs, using your distraction to press a single bulking finger right between your folds.
You cry out, the stretch of his one finger being equal to two of yours and it burns.
“Hurts—” he’s hovering above you, pinning your knees open with his own, mouth ghosting over yours and breathing down your neck. Kissing you softly on your jaw when he feels your tight, dripping cunt envelop him to the knuckle.
“Fuckin’ hell. This all for me?” his finger presses impossibly deeper, curling and beneath the fullness, you’re starting to feel blips of pleasure beneath — sparking in bursts as he keeps curling his finger inside of you; gritting his teeth at how tight you pulse around his digit.
“Asked you a question darlin’,” he hums low into your ear, beginning to properly thrust his finger into you and smirk when your breath hitches, hips bucking into his touch. You can feel your slickness down your thighs and you burn in humiliation at the thought. Without warning, Joel tries to push in a second finger — groaning when your walls refuse him entry, clamping so tightly around his finger that he has to grit his teeth as to not come right there.
“Relax, baby. Ease up a bit, kiddo. Shit — fuckin’ stranglin’ my finger, ain’t ‘ya?”
“Sorry. Jus’ feels really…!” you cry out once more, rutting your hips when his thumb comes to softly press at your clit. Your whole body shakes, and for a moment, you relax just enough so that Joel is able to push a second finger into you. His forehead presses against yours, thrusting two of his fingers into you and curling with no remorse.
“Feels good, huh?”
“Uh-huh!” you grind your hips back against his hand, feeling him stroking that spot inside of you that your measly fingers could never reach on your own. Your eyes roll back, your hand flying out to grab Joel’s wrist when he begins to move his fingers even faster and harder inside of you; you keen, your entire body tensing and back arching up and he impossibly slots a third digit into you, his wrist continuously circling and you — are you crying?
”So-full,” you whine, and sure enough there’s tears running down your cheek. He wants to tell you to just wait until he finally has his way with you, if he’ll even fit, but you’re clamping around his fingers so tightly that you’re unmistakably about to come. You feel beside yourself, the foreign noises you’re making registering but failing to register over the overwhelming heat coursing through your body, your toes curling and legs shaking.
“Wait-wait-wait-it’s too much… Joel!” he ignores you, curling his fingers into you with a crazed fervor that leaves you gasping, you weakly try to push his circling wrist away but it’s no use, your wrist limply falling to your side.
“Thaaats it, sweet girl. I’ve got you.” And, then, it violently crashes; your mouth slacking and body bowing as it spreads through you, searing white hot as you sob against his hovering mouth.
Your legs flail as it just keeps going, his fingers still moving inside of you and you cry out.
“I know, baby. I know. I’ve got you. Da-” he has half the mind to cut himself off.
You can barely register it over the crushing haze you’re in, your legs still twitching in the after effects of what is monumentally your first ever orgasm.
“What?” you timidly squeak, eyes still closed and panting for air, opening them to see Joel licking the fingers that were just inside of you, before watching as he palms himself over his jeans, his cheeks flushed and eyes dark, eyeing you beneath him with a predatory, hungry stare. Your mind goes blank.
“Are we gonna…” you whisper. Shaky leg lifting to press your foot demurely against where the denim tents, and he groans, gripping your ankle and pressing a soft kiss to the skin there.
“Fuck?” he replies, curt and lewd and you blush, covering your face with your hands as if you hadn’t just cum all over his fingers. He smirks, and only now have you noticed that he’s still fully dressed and you’re completely bare beneath him.
“Dunno. Don’t know if you’re ready for that. You’re just a kid.”
“No… I am,” you whine petulantly and he tilts his head at you.
“You gonna be a big girl for me?”
You nod your head, hands grabbing at his rattled flannel to try and take it off yourself.
“Yes. Yes, yes, I swear. Please.” He swats your hands away, peering down at you with a smirk in tow at your babbling.
“Oh, so she can be polite.” You’re reminded of all the times Joel tried to grill your please-and-thank-you’s into you. Not that you weren’t a polite, meek girl, you were, just not always with him — slacking on your manners at neighborhood barbecues and having to remind you by hovering your plate away from you, “what d’ya say?”, only passing it to you when you grumpily rolled your eyes and mumbled “please, sir.” You don’t dwell long on the queasiness that follows.
Slowly, Joel lifts his shirt— his large biceps that he’s built from decades of construction and handy-work raising above his head to reveal the tan, built, albeit slight pudgy body that you’ve seen countless of times in his garage or by the lake, but never like this. Hulking over you and overwhelmingly man. Your eyes linger back on his face. Painfully handsome; his crows feet are a homecoming — cornering his soft, dark eyes — that sweet puppy-dog stare.
His salt and pepper scruff. Curling strands of greying hair. Saccharine tobacco. Humid southern air. The leather seats of his classic truck. “Alright smartass. Who sings this?”
Then, he moves to his belt, deft fingers pulling the leather through the loops and tossing it somewhere in the midst of your room, tugging his jeans down until he’s just in his boxers and then — oh.
He’s big. Not that there’s any history to compare him with, but it’s undeniable. You gasp at the sight, your eyes flickering to where he’s exposed himself. It looks almost sore. The thick tip of him dripping. The sight is vulgar. You gulp. Not quite sure what you were expecting, but the fat length of him and greying tuft of hair (even there!) an unrelenting reminder of his maturity, age, and above all, authority over you.
He examines your every reaction carefully, fisting himself for a moment and hissing upon the brief contact. He moves closer and forces your legs to spread to accommodate his bulking size; his body is so much larger than yours that your inner thighs burn at the stretch.
“That’s…are you sure that’s gonna… fit?” You whisper sheepishly and he barely hides his cocky smirk, hovering above you and pressing an achingly tender peck against your forehead, stroking the top of your head delicately before meeting your lips — unlike the other kisses; slowed and passionate. Intimate and gentle enough that it feels like conversation. He slots his lips against yours once, twice more; I love you, let me put my love into you, like this.
“We’ll make it fit. Always worryin’ your pretty little head, aren’t you darlin’?” With your hips forcefully splayed beneath him, he grabs himself and begins to line up his cock to where you’re embarrassingly wet. You squirm at the sensation.
“Always worryin’. Always stressin’. Poor baby.” He teases you, baiting you into holding your breath to see you buck your hips in anticipation as he traces your slit with his painfully red tip.
“Just need some lovin’, don’t-ya?” He slots the head of his member against your opening. Forcing the bulbous tip slightly inside of you and you gasp at the intrusion.
“Y-yes. Please.” Love me.
“Biiig stretch now, kiddo. It might hurt a little. But I’ve got ‘ya, okay?” You nod eagerly, lifting your head a bit to try and see him begin to enter you painfully slow, the both of you gasping, he leans against your forehead, tilting his own gaze downwards to watch alongside you.
“Wait—it hurts,” you yelp, the stretch of merely the tip of him inside of you already barely manageable; he halts, trying to distract you with languid, tender kisses up the expanse of your neck. Trying for his own sake to think about anything about how tight you are. About how sacred this is. Your first time, your innocence, now his to shape. His little girl. All his.
“Gotta let me in, sweetheart. Let me show you how to make love, baby.” You desperately wish that phrase would send your spine crawling rather than arching, his old man theatrics in any other scenario surely earning a snort from you, but instead, awfully, you whine, trying to spread your legs further to make space for him despite the stinging pain inside betraying you.
Cautiously, he begins to move again. Pushing his length ever-so-slightly deeper until your heat has swallowed him halfway, your hips squirming in discomfort. Beneath him, you’re whining in bursts of piercing pain. You’ve never felt so full. Sweat is dripping between the two of you, his large arms bracketing your trembling frame and all you can see or think or feel is Joel. You peel your eyes open just enough to make eye-contact with him from above you, his silhouette impossibly broad and backlit only by the warmth of your bedside lamp, and by the glare of streetlights fluttering through your lace curtains.
He stares at you like he’s in disbelief. His eyebrows pinched and mouth slightly agape, pressing open-mouthed kisses over your own gasping mouth when he somehow gets even deeper — a sharp, shaky cry escaping you as he finally bottoms out. His hips finally flush against yours. He meets your wail with a groan of his own, slumping over you and inadvertently pinning his hipbones hard against the most sensitive part of you.
You try scramble away, clawing the sides of your bed, and then Joel’s bulking arms, but it’s no use — Joel’s full body weight presses against you. Fastening you to the mattress and any slight movement hurts; the thick weight of him splitting you open for him heedless of your aching.
“It’s too much — you’re too much — too deep, Joel, you—”
“I know baby, I know. Hardest part is over. Just,” he gulps when you clench around him, nipping the skin of your jaw to keep him from thrusting into the wet heat of you. “Just gotta-fuck-trust me now, darlin’.”
“It hurts,” you subtly shuffle again to try and feel any bit of comfortability but it backfires — shooting a twinge of pain back through your spine and you cry out once again.
Joel stops you by bearing even more of his body weight against you, tutting softly at your naive defiance and whispering gently in your ear. “C’mon, baby. Be brave for me. Don’t hurt yourself now.” He drags his knuckles against your pinched expression, leaning in for another doting kiss against your mouth. You feel his fingers trail their way down the expanse of your stomach to brush soft circles against your bud, caressing you there in hopes of distracting you from the ache. Pecking kiss after kiss and sighing contentedly when he feels you begin to slacken, just barely spasming around him and he shivers.
“You feelin’ any better?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
You nod, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth. Your hips jerk against Joel’s, but this time, you gasp — not in pain, but at the fleeting feeling of Joel’s thick moving inside of you. It aches, but the brief movement forces a meek moan to spill from your lips.
“Startin’ to feel good?” You nod again, bucking your hips experimentally and the both of you groan at the feeling. You do it again, huffing at the blips of pleasure when you feel the slight drag inside of you.
“Yeah, I think so…I think,” your hips move once more to consolidate what you’re about to ask for. “Yeah. Uh-huh. Can you, please, um, I think I’m ready.”
“Y’sure?” And when your heel lifts to dig into the small of his back, he doesn’t question you again.
“Please.” You whisper, your saccharine voice breaking when he meets your tiny jolts with a single, lethargic thrust — carefully pulling his hips away until only the tip remains inside of you, then driving the entire length of him back inside with a deep roll.
You keen, back arching off the mattress despite Joel’s entire weight melded against you; writhing under him as he starts actually fucking into you with fervor, rocking the length of him into you and grunting in your ear.
If his fingers made you feel full before, this was an entirely different ballpark. You could almost swear you could feel every vein of his shaft and throb of him inside you as he fills you impossibly deeper.
“Joel,” you whimper, head tilting back and he latches frantically onto the expanse of your neck, biting so hard you know you’ll be bruised in the morning, but all you can care to think about or feel is Joel.
“Shh, baby.” He coos, using all his willpower as to not rut desperately into you, and to think about the old man that could very well be downstairs; passed out or just now clicking the door open.
His calculated pace falters for a beat when both of your legs wrap tightly around the bulk of his lower back, meeting his languid pumps with a grind, moaning and squirming when he grazes against a spot you never knew to exist within you. His hips snapping against yours roughly and you nod eagerly.
“Yes, Joel. Feels good now, Joel. Joel,” you cry his name out like a mantra, “more. Please. Joel. Please. Pl—”
“Fuck,” he growls, his hand clasping over your mouth and gripping the sides of your jaw, squeezing so tightly you almost bite your tongue. “You ‘tryna wake up the whole goddamn neighborhood?”
You shudder, eyes rolling back and Joel’s careful composure is slipping — the sound of smacking flesh ringing through the room as he begins to really give it to you; brutally plunging into you and grunting with every erratic strike.
Your whines are stifled under his palm, and you’re so wet that you’re dripping — leaving a mess over Joel’s thighs and stomach.
His knee hikes up to position your leg open in a way that fills you even more, the stretch burning deliciously and you can’t do anything but take him, his pace unrelenting and bulk pinning you in position as you spasm.
“That’s it, honey.” And then, he fucking leans even closer, hovering his face less than an inch away from yours, locking his gaze directly into yours and make-shifting a kiss over his hand — right over where your mouth would be under the current suffocation of his palm.
It’s getting too much. You’re bonded to the bed under his crushing weight, the feeling of him splitting you open sending tremors through you. You’re too full. He’s too deep. He’s hitting that same spot over and over and sending violent shivers through you. You try to tell him to stop, he’s too big, it’s too much, but it’s no use — his hand remains the same, fixed over your mouth, and you’re positive you’re drooling.
“Thaaat’s the spot, hm?” He can hear your hiccuped moans beneath the muted suffocation of his palm. You can feel every drag of him inside of you. “Doin’ - fuck! - doin’ so well for me, ain’t ya?” He’s really starting to lose it now. Your heat tight as a fist around him, clenching wildly, and he can’t help but slump even more against you, groaning unabashedly into your ear. Going insane with how perfect you feel. How perfect you are. His sweet, precious girl. All his.
“Brave little girl.” His hips are slamming frenetically. “Doin’ so well for your daddy.”
Your eyes shoot open to meet Joel’s disheveled stare, eyes wide and his hips pause on the deepest part inside of you, holding right against that sensitive cluster of nerves and your hips frantically write against him.
If you were any less depraved as a girl, if you hadn’t held that awful void inside of you for so long, maybe you would’ve pushed Joel off of you. Told him to fuck off. Called him a creep.
You could try to blame it on Joel’s virile stature, curse it as irresistible, but you know he’s the only person that can patch that cavity. The only one you want to.
You sob — rolling against him in a frenzy and whining because yes. Yes. You want to tell him yes. The word growling out of him ringing true like a depraved piece of a puzzle slotting into place; his hips meeting yours desperately as he rocks into you again. Your hand clutches onto his wrist as you nod. Yes. He eases his grip over your mouth, weaving your lips together instead in a bruising kiss.
You’re whimpering unabashedly into the kiss.
“I know, honey. I’ve got ‘ya. Daddy’s got ‘ya. Tell me who your daddy is.”
You might not be able to face yourself when dawn arrives, but right now, it feels too good to deprive yourself of what feels right. What settles into your bones like tantalizing belonging.
“You,” you whine, chasing his mouth to steal another zealous kiss.
“Say it. Shit, honey, you feel so fuckin’ perfect.”
“Ohmy-” his pace is the most merciless it’s been since he first entered you. Slamming against you ruthlessly and you can feel that coil begin to tighten.
“Who’s your daddy?”
“Joel—” You’re on the precipice. He can feel it. Clenching around him and he’s surely going to follow behind soon.
“Fuckin’ say it—”
“You! Daddy. Daddy. Daddy, please!”
“That’s right.” He growls, and your head is spinning with adrenaline. “Think that boy could do this to you? Be what you need?” He slows his thrusts into deep, passionate drives into you. “Be your fuckin’ daddy? No, baby. I’m your daddy, ain’t I? Shit, y’needed this. Needed a man. To make love to you.
“Yes. Daddy.” Nothing could drag him away from this moment. From you. Your sweet scent. Vanilla and soft whipped musk of you. Your heady skin. Your beautiful disposition. Holding his breath just looking at you. Dreading the release building in his gut because he knows he’s made his grave, and he’ll have to lay in it come daylight.
Your entire body seizes; arching and shuddering at the electricity convulsing through you. White sparkling light littering your vision as you clamp tightly around his length, quivering and keening at the shockwaves.
Your mouth is agape, wordlessly clawing at his back to try and pull him even closer to you, trembling as he fucks you through it.
The first blush of daylight is creeping through your lace curtains, spilling silhouettes of the intricate netting across your bedroom floor. Still too early for the birds to sing yet. Delicate filigree shadowing the span of Joel’s skin, muted rays of light beginning to infiltrate your room and dimly light corners of your room.
“Daddy loves you. Fuck. ‘M close, baby. Shit. Shit.” He growls into your ear, rutting into you madly and your legs tighten around him.
“Please.” He tries to shrug you off him, head spinning with the fogginess of his imminent release, but you flash him a blissed out look; eyes glazed over and pressing a painfully delicate kiss against the junction of his neck.
Sweet thing you.
You’re still convulsing beneath him, frantically grinding your hips against hiss. “Please, daddy. Love you. I love you. IloveyouJoel—” His entire body weight slumps against you. Your bodies melding and shuddering against each other as you milk him through his orgasm. You can’t get close enough. Wanting to crawl inside his skin and stay there.
He groans; gruff and virile and Joel. All him. Spilling into you like he belongs there. Like he has the right to. His little girl.
“I love you, daddy. I love you. I love you.”
And for a moment, breath gasping into each other’s mouth, and dawn-light lurking behind outside, you and Joel can play pretend.
Pretend that you are his, no matter how short lived.
Warnings: 18+. If y’all don’t like an age gap and a nasty, nasty breeding kink, DO NOT read this shit—I’m serious. Unprotected p-in-v. Daddy kink. Jealous!Joel. Feral!Joel. Cumplay à la sucking Joel’s dick clean after he fucks you.
Note: This is a one shot in the Waiting Game universe. If I had to guess, I’d say it takes place between Homemade & Ruined!
Another Note: ‘Sweet Emotion’ by Aerosmith is the song Joel’s listening to when he’s trying to kill his boner LOL.
Word count: 3.5k
Joel’s mind was always buzzing with bad ideas.
He’d left for work that morning with his dick as hard as steel, balls as heavy as rocks, and you, gorgeous and naked and entirely unfucked in his king-sized bed.
Idiot that he was, he forgot to buy condoms last week. You’d cleared all thirty-six of the rubbers he’d had during your most recent visit from college, and since then, Joel had been meaning to restock, but it just slipped his mind—now, he was suffering the consequences of that oversight in spades, as he hadn’t been able to get his typical fill of you before he left for work. Or last night.
You’d so sweetly suggested some 69 action after he’d picked you up from the airport the night before, knowing just how badly you wanted each other—despite the fact that it was three A.M. and you happened to be ovulating. But it wasn’t meant to be. No sooner had Joel shucked off his boots, jeans, boxers, and shirt and crawled into the space beside you in bed than you were passed out. Snoring loudly and lying splayed between his sheets without the faintest idea of how horny the old man was.
There is something very wrong with me, he thought.
He’d been so pent-up and wild with thoughts of you writhing underneath him, cunt snug around his cock, that he hadn’t even been able to rub one out after that. It was like some maggot had crawled its way inside his head and had him needing insane things. Stupid things.
Shit that would legitimately get him locked up, or kicked to the doghouse, if he ever shared these thoughts aloud.
He wanted to pump you full of cum.
He craved the feeling of you leaking him.
He felt an urge to fill you like he never had before.
Had he really forgotten to buy those condoms last week? Or had it been the workings of his own subconscious mind, begging him to test the waters of what you would look like flush with that milky white substance and drip—
Shit.
Joel almost spilled his piping hot two-dollar coffee from the gas station onto his pants. Again. He cut the wheel and made the turn, set the cup in its little holder, and, without a second thought for his own well-being, cranked the car stereo to fifty. Fuck his hearing.
‘SWEEEEEEEET EMOOOOOTION!’
That should do the trick.
It seemed deafening himself with classic rock was the only way Joel could keep some semblance of composure today. Admittedly, it worked wonders. He learned it was much harder to stay horny when your head was ringing.
Of course, it had been just his luck that before he’d been able to stop by H-E-B to buy rubbers on his lunch break, you’d called and said you needed a ride from the repair shop. Apparently, your dad’s truck was all kinds of fucked up and he’d asked you to drop it off at the mechanic that afternoon. You’d needed a ride home after, and Joel had only too happily, and hornily, obliged.
He was still stiff as shit pulling into the parking lot a minute later. He reached for the radio dial again but quickly found that he’d turned it all the way to its limit.
His phone buzzed in his pants.
Your name was on the screen.
I gotta fill out some bullshit paperwork. Come on in.
You must’ve seen him park the Bronco from inside.
Is that you blasting Aerosmith in your car? 🤨
Joel let out a sigh and shut off the engine.
Readjusting his rock-hard cock in his jeans, he went in.
And the moment he stepped in there, he regretted it. Joel got exactly one foot inside the door before his eyes nearly bugged out of his head and his jaw hit the floor.
You were signing paperwork alright—bent over the front desk where everyone in the waiting room of the repair shop could see right up your miniskirt. Joel choked.
There had to be fifteen men in there, at least. All but one old guy dozing off in the corner were gawking at your backside pushed up in the air. Joel saw you shuffle some papers around, eyeball a form and pose a question to the man behind the desk, who was also trying his damndest not to stare, and then hum something low. You laughed.
You were so naïve.
As if a switch had flipped in his head and every thought thenceforth was from a place of being an overprotective, asshole-ish, caveman of a guy, Joel strode in, scowling.
He shot pointed, putrid looks of disdain at every shameless voyeur drinking you in with their eyes, and, to his surprise, a couple turned their gazes guiltily away.
That’s right. Keep your fucking eyes to yourself.
Then, without even really meaning to think it:
She’s all mine. So don’t get your hopes up.
Would anyone in there think you were with him? Did it even matter? In that moment, Joel didn’t give a shit. He just walked in with his head up, jaw clenched, and eyes shooting daggers at every scumbag who dared to keep looking. He approached the front desk just as you turned
“Oh! Hey.” You breathed a sound of surprise, smiling. “You scared the shit out of me. I’ll just be a minute.”
You had about thirty seconds before he yanked you out by that little skirt and drilled you on the hood of his car.
Instead of saying that, though, Joel just frowned.
“C’mon, kid, I got places to be. Hurry it up.”
You flashed him a puzzled look but said nothing in reply. He hadn’t expected you to, seeing how occupied you were with discussing your old man’s truck’s transmission flush, tire rotation, wiper blade replacement, and on and on and on until Joel’s head was spinning with all the jargon. Since when did you know about ignition coils?
No matter.
Just a few more action items to parse through, then you’d swipe your card and get the hell out of there.
“I mean…do y’all have to replace that cabin air filter? Can’t my dad do that himself? Or just wait a little bit?”
Surely you knew you were torturing him now.
There was no way you weren’t doing this on purpose.
The shop employee scratched the back of his neck and gave a sheepish smile, right after he’d unglued his gaze from the cleavage spilling out of your top. He coughed.
“Well…well, uh, see here, our last service report says…”
Joel didn’t give a flying fuck what the service report said. He tuned out the rest of what the little pervert was trying to tell you then and turned to face the waiting room with a flinty, stern look. Several sets of eyes snapped away.
One in particular, he noticed, didn’t flinch at all.
Of course it belonged to some shit-brained kid. Probably only two or three years out of high school and ogling you like a slab of meat while his father sat beside him, trying to do the same but slightly more discreetly. How polite.
It was almost as if Joel had acquired some supersonic hearing ability over the last five minutes, and he could somehow tell what the ass-hat was muttering to his dad.
‘Hell, I’d like to bend her over a desk myself.’
His father grinned, eyes wandering again.
‘Yeah. I bet she’d like that. Love it, even.’
Fuck this.
Technically, Joel hadn’t heard the words come out of their mouths, but the intentions had been behind their eyes all the same. He hated it. The longer he stood here with you, the more the odds grew he’d end up decking someone, or throwing a chair at their head, so he swiftly tilted and pressed a touch to your elbow. It amazed him how gentle it was, given the bloodlust percolating within.
“Honey, we need to go,” he told you, voice low.
“What?” You turned. Brows furrowing. “Why?”
Because every swinging dick in this establishment wants to get in you. Let’s dip before I kill someone.
“Because I’m paying for all the repairs. C’mon.”
Before Joel could even begin to contemplate the ramifications of this offer—exactly how much cash he’d be blowing on his best friend’s truck thanks to his impulsiveness—he slid his credit card across the desk and jerked his head toward the door. Telling you to go.
“Joel, you can’t—” you’d just started to say.
“Now that’s a real fine thing to do for your daughter, b—”
It was the latter of these two statements, seemingly spoken at once, that Joel paid any mind at all. The stranger behind the desk’s thinking that he was your dad, and not your partner, made his blood boil beneath the skin. His conviction to do this only grew stronger.
Suddenly, Joel was turning his body to you. Leaning down, gripping your chin in one hand, and letting his mouth land firmly on yours, so that there would be no mistaking who he was, or what he was to you. Not today.
Your lips were warm, and they kissed him back gently. When he’d pulled away, your face, and every expression around yours was painted with some degree of surprise.
The man behind the desk cleared his throat: ‘Uh, sorry.’
Not the dad. Got it.
Joel was glad to spread the message, even if your gaze was lingering on his with a wordless little threat, like you would get him for this. He just grinned and nodded to the door again, then watched you leave, skirt swishing and bobbing all the way to the door. Hardly any eyes followed now, as most were too busy flitting to him.
Good.
Great.
“That’ll be $4,898.72, sir.”
Goddamn.
You hadn’t seen Joel this feral in ages.
Hell, maybe ever.
His cock seemed to be cleaving your body in half with how hard his thrusts were coming in now. How loud those wet slaps against the swell of your ass rang out through the cramped backseat of his car, how deep his tip sank, and how quickly the motions repeated, like Joel was beating a drum somewhere far down in your cervix.
Your eyes rolled. Jaw slackened. Tongue darted from either corner of your lips to lap away the spit that was trickling out. Joel was fucking you that hard. His strokes jostled your body, dick wedging deep and unforgiving, and his eyes were alight with a look you couldn’t quite decipher. Your own vision was blurring at the edges.
“Tell me it’s mine,” Joel panted against your neck.
Then, as if his hips had been made to pummel at this relentless, frantic pace, he lowered his torso to yours and drilled away even quicker. The force and the friction were so great you had only to grip his forearms and meet his gaze, barely able to get the words out: ‘Y—Yours, Joel.’
Doing this the day after your period tracker claimed you’d been ovulating probably wasn’t the best idea. Insane as he was with desire, the thought did also seem to cross Joel’s mind as he pounded away. More than once, his brow pinched, and his hips made as if to stutter to a halt. Then the need kicked in. The thing picked up again, harder than it had before, and Joel was back to fucking you hard on the upholstered seats of his Bronco.
Above you, his jaw clenched. His teeth ground tighter.
“This…” he grit out, as if words evaded him. “…OK?”
Yes, Joel.
You’d never seen such bare-faced need from him in all your life, and you loved it. It wasn’t just the expression of a man in love—which he was—but also the face of a person in pain. Someone whose need for your touch was so agonizingly great that he was blind to anything else. Joel lifted his arms to bracket your head so he could get in even closer, and his frantic pants warmed your cheeks. Come evening, you’d happily be popping Plan Bs like candy if it meant another moment of seeing him like this.
Sweat glistened on his brow and in between spatterings of silver and black along his jaw. His gaze was hard and determined, like he was contemplating something else.
Slowly, and with legs trembling against his sides at every thrust, you reached to cup his face. You stroked it gently.
“Is—Is everything alri—”
“I wanna cum inside you.”
Joel’s voice was deadpan, with no preamble or warning. Mere inches from your face, his own was twisted in that strange, pained look. His cock twitched; its pace slowed.
Your walls clamped around him instinctively. You blinked.
“W-What?”
“Wanna fill you up.”
There wasn’t a shred of hesitation in his tone as his hips rocked steadily against you. If anything, his grip grew even tighter, like he was trying to press you down.
“But Joel, I’m—” Another clench. Another strangled breath. “I still might…be…ovulating. And you’re…”
“Old enough to be your father, ain’t I?” he sneered. “Least, that’s what everybody in that shop seemed to think. What if you made me one today, hm, sweet pea?”
He didn’t mean it.
Joel knew how bad it’d be if he really knocked you up. Just the same, you couldn’t contain the sharp, startled whimper as his cock stirred inside you and that thought took shape—his hot and sticky seed being shot in ropes, painting your needy walls, making you so, so full of him.
Your lizard brain didn’t bat an eye at that.
Blame it on ovulation, a glaring oversight in sex education, your undoubtedly compromised morals or whatever the case may have been, but you wanted it.
You needed him in, making a mess where he shouldn’t.
With sunlight bathing you both in the backseat of Joel’s car, classic rock drifting through the speakers, and one handsome, weathered, earnest expression hovering over yours with the faintest of smiles, how could you refuse?
He sped up again. The hands that had slid to your hips constricted to an almost suffocating level, but it was possessive. Protective. Envy sparked in Joel’s eyes.
“Don’t want nobody oglin’ what’s mine, y’hear?”
It was a question, but it didn’t warrant a reply.
You nodded anyway, watching the older man’s gaze shift from your eyes to your lips to your breasts to, eventually, the sight of his length plunging in and out of your body below. Your eyes trailed after it, and you watched one hand of his move from your hip to your ribs. Rubbing.
Your wet and pliant hole took him with ease and welcomed him in. The sounds of your shared fluids were obscene, but it made the kind of wild, dizzying refrain you knew you wouldn’t be able to forget for years, if ever.
Slowly, Joel’s palm slid over, and his fingers splayed out.
His hand rested flat against your belly as he fucked you with abandon. At a particularly deep thrust, it was as if you felt him all the way up in your lungs, and your throat pushed out a cry. Your legs tightened around Joel’s waist, and you knew the end wasn’t far from sight.
“All—All—All yours, daddy. Cum in me, please.”
Joel’s fingers flexed gently on your tummy, then he moved them back and forth as his dick did the same.
The friction nearly sent your mind in a spiral; you glanced down, and you saw his outline, faintly, under that touch.
Joel was so big, and your body was lying perfectly supine on the seat that you could feel him—see him—push repeatedly inside you. A little bulge took shape where his hand was pressing in, and the sensation was overwhelming. Your hands slid to Joel’s hair and yanked.
“Fill me—wanna feel you, daddy, please just fill me—”
“Think a little swell in that belly’ll keep those boys from lookin’, huh? Is that what I gotta do to show ‘em you’re—”
“Yes! Fuck!” you whined.
“—always gonna be mine?”
Joel’s thrusts were relentless. Your brain was on the fritz. Your hips tried to lift, mindlessly, begging him to fill you with his cum, but the man had you pinned underneath him. Sweat drenched you both, and the wildest ideas were humming between you. You were almost there.
“That’d be one way to tell your dad, huh?” Joel panted.
Oh, fuck.
“Have you come home from college all swole up with my kid—he couldn’t keep us apart then, huh?” he went on.
Your father would probably skin him alive if he found out. Still, your lips parted, and you dumbly, sweetly mumbled, OK, OK, Joel. Give me one. Make me a mommy, please.
Joel almost lost his hold on your hip and your belly with that last part; he all but folded in on you with that request. Breathily, through his teeth, he gritted:
“You mean that, baby?”
Again, you nodded.
Momentarily forgetting the outline of his cock in your tummy, the thought of seeing you leaking his cum and squirming for more, it seemed, Joel just sank into you.
He bracketed his arms around your head like he had before, flattened his chest to yours, and fucked you.
It was primal. Needy. Wet. Insatiable. You probably looked feral and senseless, and neither of you cared.
Overhead, the strains of an old ZZ Top song reached a crescendo, and Joel’s eyes stayed locked on yours. His cock stretched you in a way that seemed implausible—you felt him from root to tip and could sense the oncoming pulses before they ever left a drop.
Then Joel kissed you. In his warm, soft, and loving way, his lips melded to yours and caressed them continually. Though it might’ve only lasted a few seconds, the effect was profound, and you found yourself pulling him deeper. Squeezing him tight and taking him whole.
“You really wanna have a baby with me, Miller?”
“Nope.” Joel’s response was instantaneous.
“Wh—”
“Eight kids, at least. You OK with that?”
If you weren’t on the verge of climax, you would’ve laughed in his face. But because you were, and you happened to be head over heels in love with this man, you grinned, nodding. Joel smiled and kissed you again.
“Alright. First one’s comin’ now if you’ll just—oh, fuck.”
It seemed like Joel wanted to drag things out a little longer, but his body had other plans. Yours did, too.
Right as your walls clenched and your senses started to flood with those sweet, euphoric feelings, Joel’s cock throbbed once. Twice. Again and again, unleashing ropes of his cum in a seemingly endless stream. Your heels dug deep in Joel’s back, and your jaw fell open, instinctively. While that sticky-wet warmth filled your insides and Joel continued pounding away, a shriek clawed out from you.
It started as a cry and quickly morphed into a moan, shrill as anything: “Please, baby. Please, please, please.”
You never thought you’d want to upend your life with a child before you even graduated from school or got a job.
Joel clearly hadn’t been planning for that either, and still, his voice was as slow and sweet as molasses in your ear.
“Take it all now, darlin’. That’s it. That’s my girl. So good.”
He stroked your hair and emptied himself completely. His balls must’ve been drained, because you could sense what felt like a torrent of warmth between your legs.
When he pulled out, you both groaned at the sight.
Joel was drenched in his cum and yours. Dripping.
Still oozing a little at the tip, the old man was spent, and it appeared he was about to give himself a good shake and wipe it all off, when you stopped Joel in his tracks.
Your mouth watered as you watched him. You swallowed.
You didn’t even bother to ask for what you wanted, just stuck out your tongue and peered up with doe eyes.
Joel groaned and nodded. He shuffled closer and lowered himself in until his tip was at your mouth.
Your lips closed around him, and your head bobbed down. As his cock filled you whole, your mind went blank. It wasn’t even a matter of sucking him off or getting him clean; you just needed to feel and taste the cum that had sprayed your insides. You craved the scent of the sweet, affectionate man who was well over twice your age and still on board with giving you his babies.
Even if it was just a fantasy between you both…for now.
You hadn’t even realized your eyes had closed until your lips slipped off him with a pop, and your vision suddenly brightened. You eyed Joel curiously from below, and your heart skipped a beat when you could see he was smiling.
Before he could speak, or else try to clean you up any himself, your own lips twitched a little at the corners. Your gaze searched Joel’s with a soft, tender intensity, and for a second, you debated whether or not to say it.
Quickly, you made your choice.
Just as Joel was about to lean down to reach for his clothes, maybe search the floor for a clean t-shirt or towel to wipe you both down with, his eyes were still glued to yours, and your grin was slowly growing bigger.
Joel cocked a brow in question, and you went on ahead, fighting the urge to laugh while you said, sweet as ever:
“So…it looks like my little miniskirt trick actually worked.”
And if I said Reader got pregnant with twins…THEN WHAT
Best brain hack is taking “this too shall pass” and applying it in the micro. The panic you feel from an argument with a friend, wanting to get on your phone when you should be studying, the absolute obsession with someone you’re crushing on, pain from rejection, utter hopelessness at a situation that is not entirely hopeless. Heavy on situations that induce panic and incentivize you to act out of turn, maybe to send a text you shouldn’t be sending or to blow up at someone or whatever it is. The antidote to knee jerk reactions is literally just “this too shall pass” and allowing yourself to feel the physical manifestation of your extreme emotion. Literally just ride it out. Even for things that can’t immediately be resolved, it makes such a big difference and prevents you from reacting in ways that you would undoubtedly regret down the line.
The thing is that sex scenes actually are incredible ways to explore character. People are at their most vulnerable during sex! The way they have sex says a lot of very interesting things about their desires, obviously, but also their psychology, their vulnerabilities, their hopes and fears, etc. It is completely insane to me to think that sex scenes have no value other than to sexually excite the audience. And even if their only value is to sexual excite the audience - SO WHAT?? A movie is supposed to excite and entertain you! Grow up!!!
There is no drug on earth that can replicate the absolute euphoria of hitting a writing flow state at 2:00 AM. You aren’t even typing anymore. You are a vessel. You are a channel for the gods. The characters are speaking directly into your brain and you’re just the stenographer trying to keep up. You feel like you could fight a bear. You feel like you invented the alphabet
Summary: You’re in the middle of a rant, and Joel Miller couldn’t care less. He’s calm, dismissive, and entirely too confident for a man who should probably be listening. But then he does something bold enough to stop you mid‑sentence—and suddenly the argument turns into a different kind of standoff. One you’re not sure you’re ready to lose—and he can see every crack forming.
Warnings: 18+, Smut, MDNI, slight fluff, sleazy!joel, fuck buddies, fat!joel, riding, pinv, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names, JOEL CALLS YOUR PUSSY HONEYPOT, daddy kink just once, Joel talks shit most of the time, orgasm control (?), one (1) spank, nipple play, biting also once, male masturbation, no outbreak
A/N: Guys, I can’t believe how beloved sleazy!Joel has become… 🤭 I hadn’t planned on it, but I ended up writing a little continuation to ‘Strawberry Creampie.’ It’s not as filthy as the first one, but it definitely has its own dirty energy and Joel’s nonstop, ridiculous yapping. Enjoy, pookies!! <3333
“Joel, this is disgusting. It’s stiff. It’s literally stiff with gasoline and whatever the hell you spilled on it. And you left it on my couch. My couch.”
The van feels like it’s melting. Heat clings to your skin, the air thick and heavy, carrying the usual mix of gasoline and old leather. (And cigarettes, though you’ve long since gotten used to those.) Under all of it, your nose still catches Joel’s cheap aftershave—the one he splashes on like holy water.
In your mouth, a lollipop.
He bought it for you while grabbing his cigarettes at the gas station, leaning over the display with that lazy, sleazy grin and saying, “C’mon, hon. Grab a color. You always look real cute when you’re workin’ on one of these.” Then, lower, just for you: “Get the biggest one they got, sweetheart. You always handle it just fine.”
And now, Joel is slouched in front of you, on the built‑in bench with sweat all over him. His shirt was tossed somewhere behind him, leaving the broad, heavy spread of his stomach bare to the thick summer air. Sweat beaded along the crease where his belly met his ribs, sliding down in slow, shining trails.
He’s got a cigarette tucked behind his ear, another unlit one rolling between his fingers, and a beer sweating on the table besides him. He looks like he’s been here for hours, like he’s slowly melting into that furniture.
His eyes aren’t even on the shirt you’re holding in front of him. Instead, he sighs dramatically, like you’re the one inconveniencing him.
“Sweetheart, you’re talkin’ like I marched into your place with a whole god damn laundry basket and dumped it on your bed. It’s one shirt. One. And it ain’t even that bad. Smells like a hard day’s work, that’s all.” He shrugs.
You stop pacing just to stare at him.
“It smells like a gas station bathroom.”
“You’ve ever been in a gas station bathroom, baby?” He chuckles hazy. “‘Cause if you had, you’d be thankin’ me for bringin’ somethin’ in your house that smells better than that.”
You groan, rolling your eyes and toss the shirt at him. It lands across his stomach and he doesn’t even flinch. Just lets it sit there like a napkin he’s too lazy to move.
“And another thing,” you say, pointing at him. “Stop leaving your cigarettes in my apartment. They’re everywhere. On the counter. On the floor. In my plants. One was in my plants, Joel.”
He snorts. “They ain’t lit. They’re fine.”
You push the lollipop off to the side, letting it sit deep in the hollow of your cheek. Joel’s eyes flick to the way it bulges your cheek out, the stick tapping against your lip every time you speak.
“They’re dirty,” you snap. “They’re gross. And you leave them everywhere like some kind of—”
“Like some kinda man who ain’t got a trash can in his van,” he interrupts, gesturing around the cramped space. “Look at this place. You see a trash can? ’Cause I sure as hell don’t.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
“It’s a damn good one.”
You throw your hands up. “You’re impossible.”
Joel leans back even further, belly rounding, thighs spread, looking like he’s settling in for a real long, and real comfortable argument. (His favourite thing to do).
“Impossible? Sweetheart, I’m a delight. You just dramatic as hell. You get all worked up over nothin’. A shirt here, a cigarette there—“
“And my leftovers,” you cut in sharply. “Don’t forget those.”
Joel pauses, squints, then nods slowly as he remembers shoving your leftovers into his mouth all at once the night before.
“Oh yeah. Those were good.” He licks his lips.
“They were mine.”
“They were sittin’ in my line of sight,” he counters. “And you know how I get when I’m hungry. You can’t just leave food around me like some kinda test. That’s entrapment.”
You stare at him, jaw dropped. “Entrapment?”
“Damn right. You left ’em right there on the counter, all innocent‑lookin’, like they weren’t beggin’ me to eat ’em. What was I supposed to do? Walk away? I ain’t no saint.”
You can’t believe what you’re hearing. How one person can lack even an ounce of responsibility or respect is beyond you. It feels like talking to a child who hasn’t learned the basics of common sense yet.
So, you pace again, muttering under your breath, waving your hands, ranting about boundaries and hygiene and how he’s slowly turning your apartment into a landfill, because apparently turning his own van wasn’t enough and he has to turn your—
“Keep goin’, baby. I like when you get all fired up. You start walkin’ around, talkin’ fast, wavin’ your arms…gets you all worked up.” His voice drops into that long, lazy drawl he uses when he wants to get under your skin.
You whip around. “Don’t.”
He grins wider.
“You never take anything seriously. Ever. Not the mess, not the cigarettes, not my space, not the fact that you treat my apartment like a damn storage unit—”
Joel exhales a long, dramatic sigh, head tipping back against the wall.
“And you know what? I’m done. I’m done letting you walk in, eat my food, leave your crap everywhere, and act like it’s all just—just—”
Joel lifts a hand, palm out, like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “You’re wound up tighter than a damn banjo string. C’mon now. You know I don’t mean nothin’ by it. I just get comfortable. ’Cause you make it real easy to get comfortable.”
You stop pacing just long enough to glare at him.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be so comfortable. Maybe we shouldn’t even be hooking up at my place anymore. Maybe you should just stay in your van and keep all your trash to yourself.”
You don’t even realize what you’ve just said until it’s out. It hangs in the air, heavy and sharp, your mouth gaping open. Joel also goes still for half a second—just long enough for you to notice—then he huffs a laugh, low and amused.
“There she goes,” he mutters. “Sayin’ things she don’t mean just ’cause she’s mad.”
You spin back towards him.
“Don’t—” you start, throwing your hands up. “Don’t do that thing where you act like you know everything. I’m not mad, I’m just— I’m just tired of you acting like you can do whatever you want in my house.”
So, you start pacing again, words spilling faster than you can even organize them.
“And you never listen, Joel. Ever. You just sit there with that face, like you’re above it all, like nothing I say matters, and I swear it drives me insane—”
The lollipop shifts in your mouth, knocking against your teeth. You pause mid‑sentence, annoyed at the sudden sweetness hitting your tongue again. You pull it to the other cheek with a sharp click.
“—and this stupid thing keeps getting in the way,” you mutter, waving the stick vaguely before you shove it back between your lips
“And—“
Your eye catches on something tiny.
Tiny and wet.
Sitting just below Joels belly. His hand is wrapped around it, covering the pulsing veins you know all too well, while it keeps releasing generously amount of white fluid from the tip.
Joel was jerking off. Without you noticing, he pulled the waistband of his down away—and then (somehow) sneakily pulled his cock out.
His posture shifts, his breathing grows heavier, his eyes darkening—fixated on you with a hunger that makes your stomach flip. His hard cock is free, tip smudging against the underside of his belly, leaving small, sticky droplets of pre-cum on his skin.
Fucking bold.
“What are you—are you fucking serious right now?” Your eyes look at him up and down.
He doesn’t even look guilty. Heck, not even surprised.
Because what else do you expect from a man who uses pussy as his fleshlight and laps around your folds like it’s his last meal on earth?
He tilts his head, eyes slowly dragging over your tank top, your chest, the lollipop you’re still absentmindedly chewing on.
“What?” he drawls, voice thick. “You’re walkin’ around in that tiny little shirt, no bra, nipples all perked up, suckin’ on that damn lollipop like you don’t know what you’re doin’. I’m only human, baby.”
“Joel,” you start. “You’re such a—”
“A pervert?” he offers, grinning. “Yeah, sweetheart. You knew that when you let me in.”
You’re too stunned to speak.
He keeps moving up and down lazily, while his eyes are half‑lidded and fixed on you with that slow, filthy amusement he always has when he knows he’s getting to you.
He doesn’t even pretend to care. He never does.
“Go on, sweetheart,” he drawls, voice thick and lazy. “Finish your little rant.”
You roll your eyes so hard it almost aches, but you keep talking anyway.
Or at least, you try to. Because with Joel, it’s always a power play. He watches you fight for your composure like it’s for his entertainment, taking in every twitch of irritation as if it’s something he needs for to stay alive. He lives for this—your stubborn attempts not to react, and the way you inevitably do.
Your words start to trip over each other the moment you hear his low groan. Not because you’re giving up, but because you know exactly where this goes. You’ve been down this road with him before. You know the slope, the heat, the way your body starts to anticipate him before your mind catches up.
He is still jerking off, slowly.
“You’re—you’re just so disgusting,” you say, but it comes out more frustrated than anything else. “You can’t just—Joel, seriously, I’m trying to talk to you.”
“Ain’t stoppin’ you,” he murmurs. “Keep talkin’.”
You look away, trying to pace again, trying to hold onto the thread of your irritation, but the heat in the van is crawling under your skin, and the only thing you start to hear is Joel’s breathing picking up. You try to not look at him—him and his leaking cock, rock hard, pulsing with each—
“Oh, you done?” he interrupts your thoughts.
You don’t answer. Because you can’t. He has you wrapped around his finger.
“…Thought so.”
You exhale, long and shaky, more frustrated with yourself than with him.
Then he says it.
“C’mere then.”
You stand there for a moment, jaw tight, fingers flexing at your sides, trying to pretend you’re still deciding.
And you can’t believe that Joel’s hunger—his shamelessness, his filth, all that god damned sleaze he wears like a second skin—always has an effect on you.
But let’s face it: you wouldn’t be in his van if you didn’t have the same messed‑up, dirty, feral thoughts running through your head just like he does.
“Sit.”
And that’s what does it for you.
The way he says it like he knows exactly that you’re going to.
You don’t even realize you’re moving until you’re already stepping towards him, tugging your pants down as you go. Your panties slipping with them, pooling at your feet by the time you reach him.
You lower yourself, holding into his shoulders while Joel grips the tip of his cock, lazily playing with your folds, nudging against your clit, and then—slowly inching his way into your cunt. You sink down on him, breath hitching as you feel your walls being stretched around him.
“Slow…slow…don’t let your attitude hurt my honeypot.” He murmurs, looking down.
You stop halfway to give him a scoff.
As you start to sink slowly again, cunt swallowing the last bits of his pulsing cock, you hear his voice again: “There she is,” smug. “Couldn’t help yourself, huh?”
He chuckles when you drop onto his lap, hard enough to make his belly move.
You shoot him a glare, shifting on his lap, trying to get used to the burning stretch. “Shut up,” you mutter—which only makes his smirk deepen.
“All bark, no bite.”
Joel’s eyes stay on you as he leans back, arms folding behind his neck while he settles comfortably on the bench. The smug look on his face tells you this was his plan all along—getting you on his lap just to watch you crumble for him.
But you’re not backing down. You know exactly how to make him crumble too.
You breathe out, hands stabilising on his shoulders as you lift yourself up and sink down again. You swallow, already feeling his tip nudging against that spongy spot inside you.
You can see Joel’s jaw tighten, like he’s fighting not to break that smug smirk on his face—but you know him. He’s crumbling inside.
“Mhmm, always thinking with your cunt, that’s how I know her.” He nods. “Thought you were gonna keep up that little tantrum all day. But nah, you see cock and balls and your mind goes blank.”
You lift, and settle down again. Harder this time.
“And you always use your cock and balls to get you out of every single argument and confrontation,” You rock your hips. “But yea, i’m the one that thinks with her cunt.”
Joel bites back a groan when your hips start to get used to a rhythm, riding him in a steady, controlled pace.
“You’re cute as hell, baby. Look at you, all worked up and pretendin’ you’re still mad.” He drawls lazily. “Go on, keep talkin’ your little talk—I’m lovin’ every second of it.”
You can hear it in his voice—the way he holds himself back from not gripping your hips, from not letting out a sound, from not pushing you against the table and fucking you until you forget your own name.
You smirk, lifting yourself up and sinking around him again, repeating the process, fueled by a sharp, reckless need to prove you’re not the one breaking first.
“Oh, now she’s hopping.” He smirks, fingers suddenly sliding up to curl under the hem of your shirt. He starts to tug it higher—and you smack his hand away like he’s lost his damn mind.
Joel’s eyebrow furrow.
“Lemme see my girls.” He mutters. “C’mon now…don’t leave me hangin’. I’m starvin’ over here.”
“I know. That’s the fun part.” You nod, smug.
“Hm. She thinks she’s real funny today.” He taps your thigh, amused. “Go on then. Let’s see how long this pussy can keep that up.”
He leans in, quieter. “Cause I already can feel her fluttering.”
You swallow, but continue to move your hips.
His chest starts to rise in heavy, uneven breaths, sweat glistening along his stomach as he tries to keep his hands where he put them—laced behind his head, knuckles white with restraint, trying, oh so hard, to ignore your cunt clenching down on him.
The long‑forgotten lollipop taps against your teeth as you smirk down at him, suddenly aware you can use it to tease. You pull it from your mouth, a thin strand of sweetness stretching before it snaps, and you drag the candy across his lips with deliberate slowness.
He exhales sharply, eyes narrowing up at you.
“You’re real funny,” he mutters, but he still parts his lips, letting you press the candy to his mouth.
His jaw works once, slow, like he’s tasting more than just sugar—eyes still locked into yours.
And while he sucks on the candy, another idea to break him sparks in your mind.
You lean in and bite into his neck, teeth sinking into skin—hard enough to leave a mark, sharp enough to make him jolt and make his cock switch.
The lollipop slips from his mouth, clattering onto the table as he lets out a rough sound he clearly didn’t mean to make. And you know, you got him this time.
“Hey,” you say, “I wasn’t done with that.”
“Ya know, most folks apologize after takin’ a chunk outta someone’s neck,” he says, clearly annoyed. “Not you. No, you’re sittin’ here mournin’ a piece of fuckin’ sugar.”
“You liked it. You groaned.” You say it quietly, a smile on your lips as you trace the grey stubbles along his neck.
“I like a lot of things, hon,” he murmurs, slowly melting at your lips against his neck. “What more I like is this pussy wrapped around me. Heck, ain’t even close yet. Keep goin’.”
Joel lands a sharp spank on your right ass cheek, forcing a sound from you that cuts straight through the calm front you were trying to hold. A moan.
He chuckles.
“There she goes,” he mutters. “Knew you’d crack.”
You set your jaw, brows pulling together as you start to pick up your pace, going up and down his cock with a sharper, more deliberate movement. You’re done playing around—and he can tell.
“That’s it, ride all that anger out.” He says but you see that the sudden intensity knocks a rough breath out of him, his head tipping back, hands twitching like he’s fighting the urge to grab you.
And then you slowly start to feel it—your slick dribbling down the sides of his cock, walls fluttering and spasming; every roll of your hips giving away a squelching sound and Joel can feel you holding back.
Your lips form into a straight line, eyebrows still pinched and your cunt can’t do nothing but soak into his lap, your body completely betraying you.
“Let me help you out, pretty girl. Looks like you’re startin’ to lose it.” He murmurs, before you feel the pad of his thumb going through your messy folds and then touching your aching, little clit, sitting just between the mess—switching.
You release a whine, stopping your movements on his length to take a deep breath so you don’t come on the spot. He doesn’t stop, his thumb keeps rubbing lazily over your nub, determined to make you more sensitive.
You try and swat at his hand again, stubborn as ever, but he just shakes his head with that slow, lazy little smirk that always gets under your skin.
“Nuh‑uh,” he drawls, voice low and maddeningly calm. “You wanted a challenge, didn’t you?”
You grit the words out through clenched teeth, “Fuck you.”
He just chuckles—like he’s been expecting that exact crack in your voice.
“Oh, I know,” he coos, eyes half‑lidded, savoring the moment you finally slipped.
His thumb on your clit speeds up, massaging tight, little circles around the nub and pushing that dry, cracked texture of his digit into your flesh, over and over again.
Your breath stumbles, trying to keep moving your hips.
And before you even expect it, Joel tugs at the hem of your shirt, flipping it upwards and releasing your tits to him. His hand immediately lashes onto one of your nipples; already sensitive and pebbled as he pinches the little nub between his fingers.
That, unfortunately, does it for you.
Your hips stutter, you stop your rhythm while your hands hold onto his chest, breathing through the stimulation and trying so hard not to come.
Joel smirks. His thumb slowing down, fingers leaving your nipple to slowly caress down your sides.
“Knew you’d burn yourself out tryin’ to beat me. You always do. Come on now…breathe. I got you. You did real good, pretty girl.” He murmurs, cupping your cheek. “Let me take it from here.”
Your whole body goes slack, the last of your stubbornness draining out of you as his hand cups your cheek. You try to glare at him, you really do, but the warmth in his voice makes your breath hitch instead. “Don’t…” you mumble, cheeks hot, “don’t talk to me like that.” There’s no real bite behind it. You’re melting, and he knows it.
“Mm‑hmm…that’s what I thought,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over your lips. “All that stubbornness and look at you now.”
His voice drops, warm and maddeningly sure of himself. “Breathin’ all shaky, tryin’ so hard to pretend you’ve still got some fire left.”
He tilts your chin up gently, eyes soft but smug.
“You don’t. Not with me. And that’s alright, baby. I got you.”
Something in you just…folds. Because he’s right, and you hate that he’s right, and you hate even more how gentle he sounds when he says it.
You feel your resistance slip, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left to hold onto.
And you can’t ignore the tight coil in your stomach, pulled so taut it feels ready to snap. Your gummy walls clinging around his cock for dear life, while your clit throbs in anticipation.
You need him.
“Buckle up now, honeygirl… let me show you how this is really done.”
With that, Joel’s grip settles on your hips—solid—fingers digging into your flesh as he starts to pound into you, hard and rough. Your body moves on top of him, tits moving up and down, head lulling from side to side. You try to stabilise yourself on his shoulders, sudden moans and whines leaving your lips.
“Easy now…that’s it. Let me hear you.” He murmurs through gritted teeth. “Don’t hold back on me, darlin’. I want every sound you’ve been tryin’ to swallow.”
His hips snap harder from underneath, swollen cock hitting that sweet, sensitive spot in you, making your head spin and shaky sounds slip past your lips. You tip your head back and catch Joel’s dark eyes on you, focused and intent, studying every little detail of your face.
“Joel—please,” you don’t know what you’re pleading for.
Joels hands grip you even rougher, knuckles white as he leans forward until the top of his head settles against your chest, his hair brushing your skin as he exhales roughly.
“I know,” He rasps against your skin. “Cunt is soft as warm honey now, baby. I can feel you letting go.”
He eases his head away from your chest, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek with surprising gentleness.
“Turning into butter in my hands, huh? Aren’t you, sugar?”
He pulls you in, brushing a gentle kiss against your lips like he’s trying to settle you.
“My sweet girl.”
That steals the breath right out of you. For a second you freeze, thrown off by the sudden softness—then everything in you loosens, warmth flooding through your chest as the words sink in.
Joel feels it; your walls clenching on him, flooding his lap with the same wetness he loves to lap on whenever he eats you out.
“Daddy’s honeypot is sucking me in so nicely.”
“Don’t call it honeypot…” you whine.
He lifts an eyebrow, the ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Oh, I’m callin’ it that,” he says, like it’s already settled. “Cause that’s what it is. Daddy’s honeypot.”
You moan out, louder than before and your head falls on his shoulder. His thrusts speed up once again, Joel pressing himself deeper, tighter as if he already knows that you’re on the verge of coming.
“Mmm… there it is. Sweet, messy thing,” he says. “I can feel you tremblin’. Come for me, sweetheart. I got you.”
You gasp, hiccuping his name as you nuzzle into him closer, sudden waves of your orgasm rushing through you. Your belly tightens, your body locks in and your fingertips curl into his skin.
Joels hip stutter, thrusts followed by squelching sounds of your come and while you try to ride your high out, you feel Joels cock throbbing rapidly—finally spurting his warm release into you.
“There we fuckin’ go…” he groans out. “This pussy is heaven.”
His thrusts slow down, grip softening on your hips as you breathe through the last waves of your release, nuzzling into his neck and placing a few kisses here and there.
Joel sinks back, dragging in a sharp breath, then another, his chest heaving as he tries to steady himself.
“I’ll be damned… we’re sweatin’ like whores in a church.”
You huff out a tired laugh against his neck, your forehead nudging into the warm skin there. Joel tilts his head just enough to brush his jaw against your hair, a small, worn‑out sound rumbling in his chest.
After a moment, he reaches blindly towards the table besides you, fingers closing around a cigarette pack. He shakes one out, sticks it between his lips, and lights it with a low groan.
He takes a long drag, exhales slow, then mutters around the smoke, “Lord…my damn back’s gonna kill me tomorrow. Ain’t twenty anymore, that’s for damn sure.”
Then, you start to push herself up, moving sluggishly, like your body hasn’t quite remembered how to work yet. But Joel has other plans. Before his cock is even halfway out your cunt, he pulls you back in, making you sink down around his softening cock again.
You gasp, eyebrows pinching, looking at his unbothered face.
“You’re not goin’ anywhere. Not ‘til I say so.” He murmurs besides the cigarette.
You tries to push at his shoulder, but it’s weak, more symbolic than anything. “You’re such a pain.”
And then you nuzzle right back into his neck. Your breathing evens out almost instantly, soft and steady, your whole body going slack as sleep pulls you under.
Joel shifts the cigarette at the corner of his mouth, glancing down at you with a tired huff.
“Figures,” he murmurs around the smoke, voice low and rough.
He leans back against the couch, sunlight catching in the curl of smoke drifting past his face, and just watches you sleep—peaceful, quiet, completely gone—wishing he could have this forever.
Sleazy!joel Masterlist
This is not really proofread so please ignore the mistakes yall🫣 anyways…i’m planning a little special valentines day fic for our @/coffeguitar babies hehe <333
Joel x F!Reader - No use of Y/N, no physical description. Post-outbreak, canon typical violence, eventual smut and fluff.
Years ago I wrote a short bit about coming across Joel in the rain, and reaching out to him for help. It never went anywhere, but I recently had a burst of inspiration to finish it. So, a one-shot with Joel and reader, with drama, angst and eventual smut, I hope you enjoy!
Extra love for @lady-bess for whipping up a beautiful banner!
It’d been raining all day and the clouds still looked heavy as the afternoon moved into evening. You shivered in your wet clothes, the thin windbreaker jacket you wore had been soaked through for hours, and everything on your body was wet from the rain. But you pushed forward, putting one foot in front of the other, feeling the wet socks squish in your trainers. Stopping here was not an option, you might as well just give up and die if you tried to survive a night in the cold rain.
The goal was a small cluster of cabins down by a lake. You’d seen them from a rise earlier in the day, and you’d been walking in their general direction for an hour now, hoping you’d make it before nightfall. As the trees thinned out, and the remains of a broken fence came into view, you breathed a sigh of relief.
The cabins were strewn across the shores of the small lake, a holiday resort before the outbreak. Now they were in various states of disrepair, dilapidated and crumbling. Most of them had broken roofs, or crumbling walls, but a few, those more protected from the elements, seemed to have fared better.
There was always a risk of infected, but you were banking on them having wandered away from this area by now. And hopefully the cabins were remote enough not to have attracted other people, fear made you tread carefully over the wet ground towards them. But you were unarmed, had no supplies, and knew you were dead if you didn't find shelter and food soon, so, biting back your fear, you moved closer.
As quietly as you could, you made your way towards one of the more sturdy looking cabins. The roof was whole, the shutters closed, and as far as you could see, the walls were intact. Wary of infected or other humans, you gingerly put your foot on the first step up to the porch.
The broken screen door of the cabin swung open, a shotgun barrel pointed at your chest.
“Back up,” a man growled, his body and face hidden in the shadow of the cabin, only his hands on the gun visible.
Your breath hitched in fright, and you stumbled back a few steps, putting your hands up.
“Pl..pl..please,” you stuttered, from fear and cold, “I’m just looking for shelter.”
“Go find it somewhere else,” the man snarled, and motioned to the forest with his gun.
“Pl..please, I can’t,” you whimpered, “I need shelter.”
“I should shoot you right now, you’re shaking like you’re about to turn into a runner any second,” the man lifted his shotgun and aimed down the barrel at your chest.
“I’m-I’m not infected,” you said through chattering teeth, “I’m cold. I’m soaked, and I’ve walked for four days without anything but water."
You put out your hand at the man and held it as steady as possible, “Please” you sobbed, your shoulders heaving under a ragged breath.
“Try one of the other cabins,” the man finally relented, “I checked them when I arrived, they’re empty.”
“Please, do you have any food to spare?”
You wrapped your arms tight around your body as the man started to retreat through the door.
“No,” he growled, closing the broken screen door.
You drew a deep breath, clenching your hands into fists, wrapping your arms tighter.
“I’ll have sex with you," you pressed out, "if you give me food.”
The man behind the screen door pushed it open again, and stepped out onto the porch, into the fading light, with an angry look.
“Do I look like the kind of man who buys sex with food?” he snarled at you, “Trade something else.”
“Does it look like I have anything else to trade?” you spat back at him, gesturing at yourself, “I lost my supplies and my group a week ago, I have nothing but the clothes I stand in. I’m starving, and if you have food to spare, then all I have to trade is sex.”
You glared at each other for a few seconds before you seemed to falter and shrink.
“I’ll go, I’ll go to one of the other cabins. I’ll leave at first light, you won’t see me again," you said, your voice defeated, as you started moving towards the next cabin.
The man watched you go, silently cursing under his breath.
“Wait,” he called after you, “wait there.” He stepped inside the door frame and reached for something just out of sight and came back out, “Here, have this.” He tossed a can of peaches that you caught with a surprised look.
You grabbed the tab and pulled it open, eagerly drinking the sweet juice that spilled out.
“Take it easy, take it easy,” the man called to you, “You’ll make yourself sick if you haven’t eaten in that long.”
You took the can from your mouth and wiped it with the back of your hand as you looked up at him.
“Thank you,” you said.
“Yeah, just don’t go turning in the night and make me waste that can on you.”
The man closed the screen door again, and you heard him close the front door too, something heavy sliding in place behind it.
You scooped up half a peach from the can, and made your way to the cabin next door, pushing your way past the front door that stood slightly ajar. As the man had said, it was empty, only a few pieces of half rotted furniture remained. With a sigh you sank down on the floor in the most sheltered corner of the living room.
Joel woke the next morning, looking around the unfamiliar cabin and the gear tucked in behind his head. He hadn’t planned on stopping here, but the rain had been relentless, and made it hard to hear anyone approaching on the trail he’d been on. He’d been through these cabins before, looted anything of use, and now they were just a convenient stop for shelter, tucked away out of sight from the trail a mile away.
The rain had stopped overnight but the low light filtering through the window shutters signalled that the sky was still overcast. Pushing himself up with a groan, he stretched his aching back, and picked up his gun. Before anything else he needed to check on the woman from last night, to see if she’d moved on or turned infected.
Hitching up his backpack, he carefully opened the door and peered out through the screen door. The world outside was quiet in the dim morning light, water dripping from the roof, and the trees surrounding the cabins. Silently he stepped out onto the porch and surveyed the surrounding area before walking down the stairs and moving over to the next cabin a short distance away.
The shutters on this one weren't closed, Joel knows they’re hanging slightly ajar because he was the one to pry them off the first time he was here, looking for a way into the locked cabin. Now he moved closer to the window, edging up to it so that he could peer into the gloom of the room. In the furthermost corner he saw you curled up, knees drawn to your chest, and arms wrapped around your legs. The windbreaker is spread out over one of the pieces of furniture, a puddle of water underneath it.
Joel watched you for a few minutes, trying to discern if you were still alive or not. Your face was drawn, pinched even as you slept, and he couldn’t tell if you're breathing or not.
Hiding himself from view, he peered through a crack in the shutter hanging on the side, and lightly tapped the window pane. You didn't move, and he tapped it again, a little bit harder. Your eyes flew open, and you stared towards the window. For a minute or more, you didn't move, and Joel held his breath, getting ready to take you out. But then you started to get to your feet. The movements were smooth, a little stiff, but not the jittery cramps of the infected. You still watched the window warily as you grabbed the windbreaker and tied it around your waist before you hunched down and retied your boots.
Joel watched you rub your hands along your arms, trying to bring warmth to them, as you looked around the living room. You really had no supplies, there was no bag, no weapon, and Joel cursed himself silently as he realised what he was about to do.
"Should’ve just fucking left right away," he mumbled to himself.
“Come outside,” he called, and you jumped, crying out and stumbling back against the wall, “Don’t be scared, I’m the guy from last night, I’m not going to hurt you.”
Joel walked around the cabin to the front door and tapped on it before stepping off the porch again. He pointedly hung his shotgun on his back and waited. He noticed the empty can of peaches sitting on the stairs, full of rainwater.
After a few minutes you cautiously peeked out through the door, only your nose showing.
“C’mon, you obviously didn’t turn in the night and I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said again, trying to sound reassuring.
You stepped out further through the door, and stood at the top of the stairs, looking around with apprehension. In the daylight Joel could see the bags under your eyes, the skin dull and lifeless, starting to take on the complexion of the many starving, or near starving, people he’d seen in the QZ. You licked your chapped lips, and as you wrapped your arms around yourself again he saw a shiver run through your frame as the breeze hit your sweater.
Joel pulled his backpack off and opened the top flap, pulling out a hoodie. It was his spare and was pretty worn, but it was dry and warm. He held it out to you.
“Here, take this for now, it’s dry and I can see that you’re still freezing.”
“Why?” you asked, not moving from the porch.
“Just take it, I’m not asking you for anything,” Joel took a few steps towards you and shoved the hoodie into your hands, and you baulked back from him but grabbed the hoodie.
Joel stepped back again, to his backpack, and pulled out a granola bar, and threw it to you as well.
“And eat this, you look like you’re about to keel over at any second.”
You slowly picked up the granola bar from where it had landed on the porch without taking your eyes off him, and retreated back into the cabin. He could hear you move around, and after a few minutes you came out again with his hoodie on, chewing on the bar. Picking up the peach can, you sipped on the water collected inside, and Joel realised you'd put it out on purpose last night.
Smart.
You were drowning in his hoodie, it reached half way down your thighs, and you’d rolled the arms up. You gave him a cautious look from the porch, “Thank you."
“You’re welcome,” Joel replied, and you stared at each other for a few seconds. Joel was uncertain about what he should do next. He didn’t really want to leave his spare hoodie with you, but now that he’d given it to you he could hardly ask for it back straight away. But he was also reluctant to offer you to come with him on the next part of his journey to Bill and Frank’s.
"I'm heading to a small settlement a few hours away," he said, reluctantly making up his mind, "And then back to the Boston QZ. I'll take you there."
"Why?" you asked again, and he sighed.
"Because I'm not a complete ass hole, and now you're wearing my hoodie, and I'd like it back at some point."
You still looked apprehensive, so he put out his hand to you.
"I promise, I'm not going to hurt you, but you can walk away now if you want to."
It took a few more moments, but then you stepped off the porch and took his hand, giving it a brief shake. You knew you had very little choice, on your own it was a miracle that you'd survived this long, and without him, you'd most likely be dead sooner rather than later.
When his rough fingers closed around yours, they were warm and dry, and it lingered on your hand after you'd let go. It had been weeks since you'd been properly warm, and more months than you cared to remember, since you'd felt touch of another human that wasn't hostile.
"Thanks," you said, tucking your hands into the sleeves of his hoodie to keep the warmth, "I'm-"
"Don't tell me," he cut you off, "I'm taking you to Boston QZ, I don't want to know more than that."
"O-oh ok," you nodded, but he'd already turned and was walking away between the derelict cabins.
"Stay close, make as little noise as possible, and if you see infected, run."
"Won't they catch us?" you asked, falling in line behind him.
"Maybe, but they don't run faster than humans, so running and hiding is always the best choice if you can't kill them all."
"Can't you shoot them?" you asked, and he threw a look back at you.
"And attract every infected nearby? That's a sure fire way of getting yourself killed."
"Oh…"
He didn't say anything more, and you followed him in silence as he entered the woods, back towards the trail you'd come on.
The woods weren't quiet, but your companion, or escort, was. Birds were singing around you, and there was a steady drip from the trees after last night's rain. The walking, and the hoodie, warmed you up, and after a while not even the wet feeling in your shoes bothered you too much. It felt safe walking behind this broad backed man with his shotgun slung over his shoulder, a knife in his belt, and a world of supplies in the heavy back pack. He looked dangerous, and you hadn't doubted his threat last night. But for now at least, he was on your side, and it made you feel safer. And the warmth of his hand still lingered like a phantom touch on your skin as you buried your nose into the soft fabric of the well worn hoodie and inhaled his scent.
Another two hours in, and the morning sun broke through the clouds, lifting your spirits even more. Your stomach grumbled though, loudly, and he turned around and glanced over his shoulder at you.
"Sorry," you whispered, but he slowed his step and came alongside you.
"We'll be at the settlement in about an hour, and I know they'll feed you. Can you hold out until then?"
You nodded, "Yeah, what's another hour after four days?"
His eyes scanned the surrounding countryside as the woods thinned out and the road came out into empty fields, but seeing no threat, he looked back at you.
"What happened?" he asked, digging into a side pocket of his backpack and producing a small parcel. Waiting for your answer, he unfolded it and handed you a slice of dried meat.
You took it gratefully and ripped a chunk from it, chewing to make the tough beef soften as you considered how much to tell this stranger. Deciding it wouldn't make any difference what he knew, everyone was dead anyway, you shrugged.
"You know Richmond? Small settlement with people who left the Albany QZ."
He nodded, "Yeah, I heard it was run by Fireflies."
"It was, but raiders attacked about six months ago and took over, made a base. They killed anyone who resisted, the rest of us were made to work for them. Myself and three others managed to run away when they used us to dig a new field outside the town fences."
"How?"
"Infected are useful sometimes," you said, giving him a crooked smile, "A couple of them attacked, and in the chaos we slipped away. But one of the men, Jerry, got bit and tried hiding it, so Amir had to kill him the first night. Lisa broke her ankle when she tried running from Jerry, so we had to leave her behind. I'm pretty sure she'd been bit too though. And then Amir just left the third night, I don't know why," you shrugged, "He had the second watch and when I woke up he was gone. Maybe the raiders got him. Maybe he turned back."
"How far back was this?" he asked, and you had to pause and think.
"We left Richmond six days ago, I think I covered ten, maybe fifteen miles per day? Less when I ran out of food."
He nodded, doing the calculations in his head, "Seventy, maybe seventy-five miles then. We should be out of their range, unless they're really fucking determined to get you back."
You scoffed, chewing on the meat again, "Hardly. Me dead in the forest was their preferred outcome. I was on field duty because I pissed off the wrong guy."
Joel glanced over at you again with raised eyebrows, in your half starved, pitiful state, you didn't look like someone who'd mouth off against a raider.
"What did you do?" he asked, and you shrugged.
"I may have pointed out that he was hung like a baby carrot and two peas…."
Joel chuckled, "Smart move."
"Yeah, not my brightest moment…but it felt good at the time."
You bit off another piece of jerky and chewed it while he scanned the surroundings again.
"It almost got me killed though," you said, as an after thought, "And no-"
"Quiet."
His voice was low, and you froze mid-sentence, snapping your mouth shut. Up ahead was a cluster of trees, and from them you now heard the tell tale sound of a clicker. Joel grabbed your arm and pulled you to the side with a firm hand, his eyes never leaving the trees. Stepping into the ditch on the side of the road, he signalled for you to crouch down and stay out of sight. Doing as he said, you ducked down low into the long grass.
"Stay here," he mouthed, and you nodded.
Staying low, he stepped up out of the ditch, and you watched him disappear over the edge as he took the shotgun from his shoulder.
Birds were still chirping in the sky above you as you waited, a couple of sparrows taking up their interrupted song nearby in the long grass. Straining your ears, you tried to hear the clicker, or the man's footsteps, but all you heard were the birds. You didn't even know his name yet, and he'd saved your life last night, probably twice by giving you some food and pointing you towards shelter. And here you were, hiding in the long grass while he risked his life. You guessed he wasn't doing this for you, more likely that he didn't want random clickers where he usually walked. But still, he could die in the next few moments, and you didn't even know his name.
In the distance you heard the sounds of the clicker, that whining, raspy sound they made as they stumbled blind through the world. You wondered how the man would handle the clicker, especially if he didn't want to use the gun. Close combat with them was dangerous, maybe he just wanted to make sure there was only one, and then come back so that you could avoid it. Nervously you tried to peer over the edge of the ditch, trying to see anything. The long grass swayed and obstructed your view, but a flicker of movement caught your eye. Suddenly you realised that the birds had gone silent around you.
Holding your breath without realising, you slowly pushed upwards. Just up ahead, moving towards the cluster of trees, was another infected, a stalker. It was crouched down in the long grass, almost hidden from view as it moved with quick, sly movements.
Cursing under your breath, you carefully climbed up the side of the ditch. Were you really about to risk your life for this guy you didn't even know?
The stalker was creeping along in front of you, and its slow movements meant it hadn't spotted the man yet, but if he made any noise killing the clicker, it would go for him in an instant. And the worst thing about stalkers was that people usually didn't see them coming.
The grass was still wet from the rain of the past few days, and it muffled your footsteps as you crept along behind it. It slipped into the small forest, and you hurried your step to not lose it. There was an old abandoned house, the roof half collapsed, and a barn among the trees, overgrown and covered in vines, and you saw the stalker slip in through a broken first floor window of the house, and out of sight.
"Fuck," you breathed, stopping, unsure what to do. There was no sign of your companion or the clicker, and you couldn't hear anything either. Going into the house after the stalker was out of the question, too many places for it to hide and ambush you. But you needed to see what was going on, and warn the man.
Looking around you spotted a storage building up against the house, just low enough for you to climb onto and then shimmy up onto the roof of the house. An infected could certainly climb that too, but as long as you were quiet, you'd be able to see without being seen.
You were holding your breath again as you carefully made your way towards the storage building, trying to watch both your back, the window where the stalker had disappeared, and keep an eye out for anyone, or anything, coming around the corner. Stepping onto the door handle, you pulled yourself up, biting into your lips as you tried to move as quietly and quickly as possible. You were a sitting duck with your legs dangling over the edge, and when the rubber of your sneakers scuffed against the shingles, you froze in place.
Nothing moved, the birds in the trees above you were back at their chirping, and you took that as a good sign. Gingerly you stepped across the small storage roof and grabbed the next ledge. This one was easier, you climbed up, rolled onto your back, and waited a few moments.
All silent.
Carefully getting to your feet, you crouched down and moved over the roof, praying the rest of it wouldn't collapse under you as it took your weight. The chimney that stood in the middle looked stable enough, and you slowly made your way over to it as you tried to spot your unknown companion in the yard beneath. When a shriek suddenly went up, cutting through the air, you nearly lost your balance, and you grabbed the chimney, heart pounding. From the barn across the yard came the sound of something breaking, and the door flew open, the man stumbling out. He took a few steps, and then bent forward, hands on knees as he drew a deep breath.
Relief flooded you as you saw him, but you didn't dare call out to him. Instead you shuffled forward on the sloping roof, waving your hands over your head.
"Up here!" you hissed, "Up here!"
He must've heard something, because he straightened up and grabbed the shotgun off his shoulder as you waved again. It flew up and aimed at you, but he dropped it again as you waved a second time.
"Stalker! Stalker!" you mouthed, pointing down at the house beneath you, "In. The. House!"
He understood you this time, and levelled the gun at the front door. Moving slowly forward, he disappeared from view under the eaves. On your hands and knees you crawled towards the broken edge of the roof. There was no sign of the stalker as you looked down over the half rotted away second floor, a crumbling staircase leading down to the first floor. There was a slight squeak from below, but you couldn't see who'd, or what, had made the noise. Shuffling around the edge, you changed your position, and you spotted your companion, his back against you. He was moving towards the half closed kitchen door, gun raised, and just as he pushed it open, you heard the scuffling of the stalker across the floor beneath you. It was straight under you, but the man hadn't heard it, he was slowly walking towards the kitchen, and the stalker was quickly moving towards the stairs.
You opened your mouth to warn him, and then it all happened too fast.
A second stalker flew out from the kitchen, straight at the man, and the gun went off, the shot going wide as the stalker barrelled at him. They tumbled to the floor, and the first stalker reached the stairs as you jumped without thinking. The thump of your feet landing on the landing sent a shockwave through your knees, but you managed to stay upright as the stalker whipped around to face you. You could only see its head and shoulders above the ledge of the landing, but the fungus growing out of its head and neck seemed to reach out for you as the infected stared at you for a beat.
Somewhere a second gun shot rang out, and the stalker launched itself at you. You kicked out, pushing it back to avoid the snapping mouth, and it came at you again. It grabbed your hoodie, pulling itself closer, and you narrowly missed the teeth as it went for your neck. Desperately you tried to kick it again, it was much stronger than its slight shape would suggest, and you could feel your own strength failing, the grotesque, contorted face coming closer to your own with each second.
Suddenly it was yanked back, pulled off you, and as you scrambled away, the man, your companion, threw it to the floor and bashed the butt of the shotgun through its head, once, then twice, until it lay still.
The next few minutes were a haze. He pulled you to your feet, dragging you from the house and back outside. Your hands were shaking, your whole body was trembling as his hand held hard onto your wrist, tugging you along. Stumbling, you almost fell, but he pulled you up, and got you moving again.
It could've been just a few minutes, or it could've been an hour, you weren't sure when he finally stopped and set you down on a log hidden among thick bushes. You blinked a couple of times as shrugged out of his jacket and ran his hands over his forearms and neck.
"Take it off," he ordered you, and you had to shake your head a few times before the words sank in. He was already pulling at the hoodie, helping you out of it as you realised what he was doing.
"I-I think I'm ok," you mumbled, but he didn't stop. Tossing the hoodie to the side, he grabbed your hands and pushed up your sleeves, turning your arm in his big hands. His hands were dry, and warm, and your hazy mind couldn't stop thinking about how they were still dry while you were soaked in cold sweat.
He dropped your arms and put his hand on your neck, tilting your head back as his fingers ran across your skin. It made you tingle, the touch leaving trails across your neck, and it felt good, which was such a strange thought to have right now. You snorted out, a half choked giggle, and he let go of your neck.
"What's so funny?" he asked, staring down at you with a deep frown between his brown eyes, and it made you laugh again.
"We almost died," you said, another giggle bubbling up, "And all I can think about is how good your hands feel."
His eye brows flew up into his hair line at that, and he looked at you like you were out of your mind.
"Maybe it's the shock, or no food," you said, tampering down another bout of laughter, drawing a deep breath, "But it's been a long while since someone touched me, and I guess…near death and everything…"
He didn't reply for a moment, just looked down at you as his jaw ticked, something strained in his eyes.
"We need to move," he said eventually, picking up his hoodie and handing it back to you, "Got another hour to go."
A man with a big beard came down the street towards you as you finally reached a small town surrounded by a tall chain wire fence. Your companion punched in a code to the gate, making sure you didn't see it, and let you through as the other man waited half a block away, a rifle slung over his shoulder.
You watched him with trepidation as you followed your companion up to him.
"Who's this? You didn't say anything about bringing company," the man said, "I thought we had clear rules about this kind of thing, Joel."
"I know, Bill," he replied, "I'm taking her to Boston QZ tomorrow, we just need to crash here tonight. I'll pay you extra for your trouble."
"It ain't about the trade, I don't allow strangers here, and you know it."
The man, Bill, looked like he was ready to turn you away, and your companion, who you now knew was called Joel, sighed.
"She's starving and-"
"Hello, Joel, good to see you!"
A second man was jogging down the street, wearing running gear, and clearly sweating from his exercise. He stopped next to Bill, and held out his hand to you with a friendly smile.
"Hi, I'm Frank. It's so nice to see a new face around this pla-"
"She's not staying," Bill cut off, "Joel knows the rules."
"What rules? He's never brought anyone else. What's saying he can't bring someone he trusts?"
Frank was still smiling at you, and you gave him a small smile back from behind Joel's back. It felt safer to stay there while the other guy, Bill, was glaring at both you and Joel.
"You look hungry and tired," Frank said, ignoring Bill's open mouth, as if the decision had already been made, "C'mon inside, we've got hot water and I bet you'd love a shower."
You glanced up at Joel, who nodded, "Go with Frank, I'll explain to Bill."
Frank beamed at Joel, and waved you forward, "C'mon then."
As you followed him into the house, you heard Joel's voice behind you.
"She's unarmed, and half-starved, Bill. But she still took on a stalker to save me…"
The rest was lost as the front door closed behind you, and Frank put his hand on your shoulder, leading you towards a staircase.
"There's a guest bedroom upstairs, it's en suite. Take as much time as you want, we've got plenty of hot water, and there's soap and shampoo in there too. I'll get you some clean clothes and put them on the bed for you."
"Th-thanks," you stuttered as he opened the door to a bedroom with flowery wallpaper.
"Don't say anything, I've been where you are, and Bill saved me. I'm just paying it forward," he smiled, "Now, come downstairs when you're ready, and we’ll get some food ready for you both.”
With that, he left you to it, and you had to pause for a minute to take in your situation. The room was so well kept it looked untouched by the outbreak, as if you'd stepped back in time to a normal afternoon without cordyceps and infected. Somewhere nearby a door opened and closed, and you heard voices moving through the house, Frank calling for Bill, asking where the boxes with women's clothes were.
Stepping into the en suite, you locked the door, and peeled off your clothes before turning on the shower. It was impossible to not moan when the hot water hit your body. It felt like years of grime and sweat rinsed down the drain as you scrubbed your skin and hair. When your skin tingled from all the scrubbing, and you finally felt clean, you just stood under the stream of hot water, relishing the feel of normalcy.
A knock on the shower room door pulled you back to reality, and you grabbed a towel, turning off the water.
Joel cleared his throat outside the door, and knocked again.
"Sorry, I'm just checking on you, you've been a while."
His voice was low, and he cleared his throat again as you fumbled with the lock.
"I lost track of time," you apologised, opening the door, and Joel stepped back, his eyes drifting down over the towel you'd wrapped around yourself, before snapping back up. You could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, clearing his throat a third time.
"Just wanted to make sure you were alright," he said, "Frank said he's put out clothes for you, and dinner is ready in five."
"Thanks," you replied, leaning against the door frame as you wiped water from your face, "The shower was amazing, I feel human again."
Joel nodded, and shifted his weight from one foot to another, his hands twitching by his side.
"I…I never said thank you," he finally said, "For saving my life. And risking your own."
"Oh…" you felt your cheeks heat up as you shrugged, feigning indifference, "I-I mean…you saved me, and I kinda need you alive…?"
He barked a laugh, almost startling you as he chuckled, "Yeah…I guess, but you tried taking on a stalker, that's one hell of a risk."
"I didn't really think about that, in the moment, if I'm honest," you replied, "I kinda just…jumped."
"You're crazy," Joel smiled, his features softening as he looked at you, "Thanks for saving my ass."
You smiled back at him, and the moment seemed to freeze, only his eyes moved as they drifted down to your lips, and your skin burned under his lingering gaze.
"You should put some clothes on," he finally said, his voice a low whisper as his eyes dragged across your still damp skin, coming up to meet your eyes again.
You nodded, your voice stuck in your throat, and Joel backed away, turning to the bedroom door.
It took you a few moments to gather yourself after he'd left, a long exhale escaping you as you walked back into the bathroom to dry off.
There was a full selection of clothes on the bed, courtesy of Frank, and you had to wonder where they were all from. Jeans, skirts, dresses, t-shirts, cute tops, hoodies, even clean underwear and socks, it was all there. Putting on jeans, and a t-shirt, you tied a hoodie around your waist, and made your way downstairs in search of the kitchen.
The other man, Bill, was standing at the foot of the stairs, looking at you as you came down, and something told you he was standing guard. Joel appeared behind him in the doorway, his hair damp now, and in a fresh shirt. He must've taken a much quicker shower than you.
"Dinner's ready," Bill told both of you, and held out his hand, pointing you towards a set of double doors.
Joel gestured for you to walk in first, putting himself between you and Bill, and you were relieved when you saw Frank already sitting at the head of a dining table with a bright smile.
"There you are! Come on, sit down here, and Bill will bring out the food," he said, waving you towards a chair next to him. Joel sat down opposite you.
"I forgot to say, you're welcome to take any clothes you might need, and we've got spare back packs you can have too. Seeing as you seem to have turned up with nothing but the clothes on your back," Frank said, pouring water for everyone.
"Thank you," you said, "You're really generous, and the shower was incredible, it felt so good."
"I know what you mean," Frank smiled, "When I first came here I hadn't showered or eaten in days. That first shower was the best I've ever had."
A door at the end of the room swung open, and Bill walked in, carrying two plates that he set down on the table, one for you and one for Joel.
"It's just stew," he said, "But it'll give you some energy back. And there's bread."
"I made it," Frank beamed, holding out a basket filled with soft looking rolls, and you gratefully took one. Frank immediately put a second one on your plate, "Eat slow, but make sure you fill up properly. The food in the QZ isn't that great."
"I know," you replied, wrinkling your nose as you tore open the roll and inhaled the rich smell of the stew, "I was at the Albany QZ for years, the food was always terrible no matter how hard we tried to grow crops. Not even the Fireflies could get the food production up and running properly."
Further down the table Bill scoffed. He'd brought in two new plates, one for Frank and one for himself, and had just sat down opposite Frank.
"Fireflies are only good for blowing things up," he said, "Feeding people is another thing."
"I've lived in a regular QZ, and then with the Fireflies, and then we were taken over by raiders. The Fireflies at least tried to make things better," you objected, "Beats living in a QZ or with raiders any day."
Bill opened his mouth to say something, but Frank cut him off.
"This stew is really good, Bill. Did you use the spices Joel brought last time?"
Bill nodded, and Frank smiled at you, "Bill's a great chef, but it's getting harder to get hold of spices, especially the stuff we can't grow ourselves. Joel is a great smuggler though."
You glanced over at Joel who was staring down at his stew, fork in hand, and Frank continued on.
"So, tell us about yourself. But only what you feel comfortable sharing of course. If you're anything like Joel I'm guessing you don't share much," he grinned the last part at Joel, who seemed to grunt, and then looked over at you.
It struck you that it was strange how much the passage of time, a shower, and good food, could change your view of a man. When he'd first stepped out onto the porch of the cabin last night, staring at you from behind his shotgun, you'd been too petrified to notice what he looked like. He was just another large, threatening man. When you offered your body to him in exchange for food, you'd only hoped he wouldn't be violent. But now, when you were warm, fed, and safe, he had a magnetic pull on you. His eyes were dark as they looked at you over the edge of his wine glass, dwarfed by his thick fingers, and the memory of how he'd dragged his gaze over your body earlier made your cheeks heat up. You hadn't minded then, and you didn't mind now. It had been a very long time since you were close enough to someone, safe enough, to even consider the feelings that were slowly spreading through your warm limbs, pooling in your core with a promising heat.
Frank kept the conversation going while you all ate, and you tried to be polite and answer his questions, Joel added a few things, and Bill only replied when Frank said something to him. By the end of the meal he pushed back his chair and said he was doing his security round, and Joel stood up, offering to join him.
The two men disappeared through the front door while you helped Frank clear the table. As you brought the plates into the kitchen, he grabbed them from you, and pointed up the stairs.
"Go to bed, you look like you need a good night's sleep. And don't worry about getting up early tomorrow. I'll talk Joel into letting you stay here another day or two before you head over to Boston."
"Thank you, Frank," you replied, "I'm so grateful, I don't even know what to say, you've been so kind to me."
"Oh, don't say anything," he shook his head, "Just happy to help and to see a new face. We don't get many visitors out here as I'm sure you can imagine. Sleep well."
"Thank you, sleep well too."
You left Frank in the kitchen and made your way upstairs to the bedroom at the end of the landing, the same one you'd had your shower in. There was a soft t-shirt in the pile of clothes that you pulled on to sleep in, brushing your teeth in the bathroom, wondering how the hell Bill and Frank still had real toothpaste. The minty flavour burned your gums but left your teeth feeling cleaner than in a long time.
Pushing back the covers, you crawled into bed and let out a long sigh of contentment. A real bed, a real pillow, and soft sheets…you groaned with pleasure as you burrowed deep into the mattress. This day had really started in a very shitty way, but had turned around, with a few hiccups along the way. You shuddered at the thought of the stalker trying to get to you, pushing the thought to the back of your mind. Just another traumatic memory to ignore in this nightmare world.
But it hadn't been all bad. Joel was an unexpected, and pleasant, new development. And he seemed to have got over his initial suspicion of you, he even seemed protective now. Your mind returned to his eyes on you over dinner, lingering on your lips as they closed around the rim of your glass. His fingers had danced across the rim of his own as you met his gaze, letting your tongue catch a drop in the corner of your mouth as his eyes darkened.
Falling back against the pillow, you drew another deep breath. How far could you take this? Would he want to get that close? You had no qualms about it, it had been a long time, and with a soft bed and full belly, your other needs were starting to wake up. Everything could end tomorrow, so if there was an attractive man who wanted to share your bed tonight, you wouldn't discourage him.
A low knock on your door pulled you from your thoughts, and you sat up.
"Come in," you called, keeping your voice low too.
There was only a small bedside light on in the room, but Joel was holding a candle when he pushed the door open, and it lit up his features.
"Did I wake you?" he asked, "Can I come in?"
"Yeah, come in, I wasn't sleeping," you told him, and he softly closed the door behind him, but he remained by the door.
"I wanted to say good night," he said, and you noticed that he was out of his boots, bare feet on the carpet, a t-shirt stretching tight over his broad shoulders as his empty hand rubbed over his strong thighs. He was dressed for bed, his hair unruly as if he'd pulled his shirt over his head, and then yanked it back down.
"Sit down," you told him, making room on the bed, and you hoped he would take the invitation for what it was, "I wanted to thank you, you saved my life, and you brought me here. And I'm pretty sure you knew Bill wouldn't like it."
He shook his head, but he didn't really mean "no", just an uncomfortable shake as he made his way to your bed and sat down, putting the candle on the bed side table.
"We don't need to talk about it," he said, "It's done, and I wanted to say something else."
He pinned you with those dark eyes again, and your breath caught in your throat as he leaned forward, his leg pressing against yours as he took up more space on your bed.
"You said my hands felt good when I touched you…and I can't stop thinking about how soft your skin was..."
His voice was low, a whisper of roughness in the silent room, as he dropped his head closer to yours.
"I'll leave right now, if you want. But if you want me to stay…
He let the question hang between the two of you for a beat, and you felt the need for him to touch you rush through your limbs at break neck speed, making your hands tremble as you reached for him.
"Stay," you mumbled, pulling him backwards with you without a second thought. And he let out a deep groan as his arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you up the bed, dropping you in the middle.
"I was hoping you'd say that," he mumbled,
He was on his arms above you, filling your field of vision completely as he dragged his gaze down over your body. His hand followed, slipping down over your chest, down over the hem of your t-shirt, and then he reached your skin, sliding his rough fingers over the inside of your thigh, pushing it open under him. The touch made you let out a moan, heat filling your body as you pulled him closer, pulling him down over you. There was no hesitancy now, he was here, offering you exactly what you wanted. And when he slotted himself between your legs, the evidence of his need was hard against your core as he rolled his hips, both of you moaning into the dimly lit room.
He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as he rolled his hips again, "You feel so good, so soft."
Heavy, and thick, he dragged against your underwear, and you could feel how wet he was making you. Each roll of his hips caught on the bundle of nerves at the apex of your sex, and the friction made you cant your hips, chasing his hard length. Groaning again, he kissed your neck, his tongue licking over your heated skin, scraping with his teeth as he pushed your legs wider underneath him.
"Take off your clothes," you mumbled, tugging at his t-shirt. His fingers were still digging into your soft thigh, and you wanted to feel more of him. The warmth of his hands on your body made you feel light headed with need.
He pushed up a little, and tugged your shirt over your head in one smooth motion, lifting your arms over your head in the process. Tossing it to the side, he impatiently pulled his own shirt over his head and dropped down over you again. The heat of his body was intoxicating, feeling him cover every part of you with his heavy weight.
"Condoms are hard to come by these days," he said, "but I'll do whatever you're comfortable with."
Wrapping your hands around his wide shoulders, you hooked your legs around his hips, making him roll his hard on against you again. He groaned as you smiled up at him.
"I want you to fuck me, just don't come inside me, and we're good," you replied with a smile, his eyes darkening as you spoke.
"God, you'll kill me," he mumbled, "Do you know how long it's been? I might not make a very good impression…"
"You already feel so good, your body feels so good on mine, Joel," you told him, groaning as he ran his hand over your torso, cupping your breast with his calloused fingers.
He grunted in reply, dipping his head down to your neck, scraping his teeth over your skin.
"Gonna make you feel even better," he whispered, slipping his hand further down, pushing past the edge of your underwear, thick fingers sliding into your slick heat. You whined as he teased your opening, his thumb finding your clit, dragging over it, and lighting a fire through your body.
"More…" you breathed, "More, please, Joel."
Above you he pushed himself up, off your body, and you looked up at him, protesting at the loss of his body.
"Patience, woman," he growled, reaching down and pulling your underwear off you, tugging them down your legs before he pulled down his own boxers.
You inhaled sharply as his hard cock bobbed free, thick and flushed red between his strong thighs. But he only gave you a moment to admire it, he knelt down and grabbed your thighs, pulling you towards himself as he came down on his elbows, his face between your legs.
"I'm going to make you come on my face before I fuck you," he informed you, "But keep your voice down, Bill hears everything."
Nodding, you bit your bottom lip as you watched his dark eyes trail over your sex, his hands pulling you open, leaning closer, his breath ghosting over your swollen folds. He tested your opening, a finger circling through the wetness, letting it slip in, pushing as he felt your body contract as you moaned.
"Relax," he hummed, and you felt him kiss your clit, a feather light touch, "I'll give you everything you need."
His tongue dragged across it as he pushed his finger in further, the scrape of his beard across your sensitive skin a sweet contrast to the electricity that was shooting from your core. Keeping silent was becoming difficult, you clapped your hand over your mouth as he pushed a second finger inside you, whining into your palm. The force of your climax was already beginning to build, and he could feel it, curling his fingers, pulling them out as your body tried to keep them tight. When he pushed them in again, he closed his mouth over your clit, smiling into your flesh as he heard your gasp.
"You're so tight, sweetheart," he mumbled, moving above you, his fingers pushing deep, fucking you harder, "So tight and wet, so fucking needy for someone to make you come."
You nodded, reaching for him and tangling your fingers in his hair, "Please…Joel…Joel," you whispered, your voice breathless, and he smiled, lowering his mouth to your clit again.
"Come for me, honey, and I'll fuck you until you come again on my cock," he promised, "So fucking wet, you're just dripping down my hand, and you taste so good, so sweet, my girl."
He was rambling, lost in the feel of you, the taste of you, and as he closed his mouth over your clit again, his tongue circled it in tight movements, his fingers picking up speed as he fucked you on them.
You had to slap your hand over your mouth again, your body bowing up from the bed as it all came crashing down, stars exploding behind your lids as the climax hit. Joel felt it, and dragged his fingers through your cunt as you shook under him, his tongue never stopping its tight circles. You were panting through your nose, fingers tight in his hair, keeping him between your legs until it began to ebb away. A long deep breath escaped you, and you felt your body relax, sinking down into the bed, your hands shaking as you let go of Joel's curls.
Above you, Joel pulled his fingers from your sopping wet sex, and crawled up your body, leaving sticky, warm kisses on your skin, nipping at one nipple, and sucking hard on the other one. You could feel his cock against your thigh, hard and leaking. Joel moved, his hand disappearing between his legs as he grabbed it, and slid it through the slick mess between your thighs. The tip caught against your sensitive clit, and you both hissed.
"Let me fuck you," he muttered, his mouth against your ear as he held himself up over you on his elbow, "I need to feel that tight cunt squeeze me, pull me in, you feel so fucking good, sweetheart."
The firm head of his cock dragged through your sex again, the head against your opening, and Joel groaned, a deep growl from his throat, his eyes black as he looked down at you.
Nodding, you reached down and closed your hand around the hard length, helping him push it in, "Fuck me hard, Joel, I want to feel it tomorrow."
With a strained grunt, he drove forward, sinking deep in one smooth stroke, groaning as he bottomed out inside of you. Grabbing behind your knee, he pushed your leg up, opening you up for him as he buried himself against your neck. His hips snapped, picking up speed fast, jolting your body under him as you hooked your feet around his broad back, spreading yourself wide for him. He panted into your ear, and strangled moans mixed with filth poured from him as you felt the coarse curls around his cock graze your clit with every deep stroke.
"Sweetheart…so good, you feel so fucking good," he groaned, "So tight for me, this tight fucking cunt, she'd taking me so well…I want to fill you up, fuck you so full…"
His words turned to panted grunts, his speed picking up as you felt your body contract around his thick length, each snap of his hips driving him deep inside until your world shrank to the way his heavy body was pushing you into the mattress, his broad shoulders over you, his mouth moaning in your ear, the heat of his thick cock buried inside you.
"Joel…" you cried out, much too loud, but he was past caring. He could feel your cunt squeezing him as your body began to shake. Your teeth bit into his shoulder, and he slammed his cock deep inside over and over, pulled in by your legs and your arms wrapped around him, fucking you through the waves of pleasure as you came around him a second time.
He had to bite his lip to stave off his own release, he could feel it coming, "Let go, let go," he moaned, pushing you away as he wrenched himself from the tight grip of your cunt, grabbing hold of his cock.
It took only a stroke, staring down at your swollen folds, your clit wet from his mouth and your juices, and he came with a deep groan. Falling forward on his hand, he milked himself, covering your thighs and mound with ropes of pearly white cum, gasping for air as his own climax hit.
"Fuck…" he groaned, his hand still stroking his aching cock, softer now, as he watched the last drops fall onto your skin. He couldn't stay upright, collapsing onto you, he felt your arms come around his shoulders again as you pulled him in.
You drew a deep breath, Joel's body heavy on top of your own, warm, solid and real. It felt better than you ever could've imagined, and your body was slowly relaxing, sinking deep into the soft bed. He mumbled something above you, and pushed himself off, but you didn't have the energy to protest. There was movement somewhere in the room and then he came back to the bed, you felt him wipe your body with something soft and damp.
"I made a mess," he muttered, tossing the towel on the floor and looking down at you. You saw his shape between your half closed lids, and held out your hand to him.
"What are you doing? Come back to bed," you mumbled.
"Wasn't sure if you wanted me to stay," he replied, and the tone of uncertainty in his voice made you open your eyes properly and look up at him where he stood. He'd pulled on his boxers and was standing next to the bed with a frown, his left hand twitching as he looked at you.
"I want you to stay, and take off those boxers. We're not done, I just need to sleep first."
You heard him chuckle, and the sound of his boxers sliding off again as you closed your eyes. The bed dipped down next to you.
"Scoot up then," he said, and you shifted over as he pulled the covers over you both. His chest was warm and solid under your head as his arm came up to curl around your shoulders, and you felt his fingers caress your cheek.
"Sleep well," he mumbled, pressing his lips to your forehead.
The End
A/N - I hope you enjoyed this little smutty one shot! I seldom write for Joel but it's always fun to do. Long before Pedro played him, he held such a special place in my heart!
And if you enjoyed this story, please consider reblogging to spread the word. Reblogging is the only way our works get spread on Tumblr, so a simple reblog is veyr important to us all! Thank you! ❤️❤️❤️
I love love loooooooved every word of this!!! the way these two got each other’s backs on their way to lincoln was so sweet AND THEY’RE SO HOT TOGETHER!!! (thinking about joel in sweats is giving me heart palpitations, in a good way) 😩🥵❤️🔥
