Pairing: dbf!Joel x afab!reader - 10k.
SUMMARY: Youâve always disliked Joel Miller, your dadâs grumpy friend and neighbor. Growing up, he was nothing but short responses and cold glares, never bothering to hide how little he cared to even speak to you. Rude. Dismissive.
You never thought you could feel anything for him. But years later, everything feels different. And so does the way heâs looking at you.
WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, no ellie, dbf!joel, age gap, mean joel,pet names, alcohol consumption. weed consumption, oral m!receiving, dirty talk, degradation
A/N : First time writing Joel Miller, but this fucking guy is stuck in my head on a loop and I had to get him out of my system. Even created a whole new blog just for him. And now that Iâve written this, I somehow have even more ideas?? No beta, because life is life. Hope you enjoy
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"Waiting for you at the exit!" the text from your dad read. You checked it one last time as you made your way toward the terminal exit, eyes scanning the crowd. The rolling of your suitcase felt almost too loud in the busy airport, but you barely noticed it as you searched.
And then, a hand waved in the airâthere he was. Your dad. His face lit up with that familiar, wide grin, and before you knew it, he was already moving toward you, eager and excited.
As you reached him, he pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you like you were still his little girl. You sank into the embrace, feeling the warmth of his chest against yours, the steady beat of his heart familiar and comforting.
You pulled away from your dadâs embrace, smiling up at him. "You look like youâve been waiting forever," you teased, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. Your dad chuckled, ruffling your hair like he used to when you were younger.
"Iâve been here for a while, actually," he said, his voice a little too cheerful. "Couldnât wait to see my favorite graduate."
You rolled your eyes playfully. "Iâm your only graduate, Dad."
"Yeah, yeah." He laughed again, clearly proud. "Still feels like a big deal."
You smiled again, the pride bubbling up inside you. It felt surreal ; starting college years ago, it seemed like a lifetime ago. And now, here you were, finally done with it all. Sure, college had been a great experience, but nothing beat the satisfaction of being done.
Your dad reached for your large suitcase, lifting it from your hand. âI can take it, really,â you protested with a smile, appreciating the gesture.
âNo, no,â he responded, waving off your offer. âThe flight mustâve been tiring. Todayâs about you, so let me take care of you.â
You thanked him, feeling a warmth spread through you at his caring words, and the two of you made your way outside the terminal. As soon as you stepped into the Texas air, the familiar thick heat hit you like a wall. You had almost forgotten just how intense the summer heat could be, especially after spending so much time in the cooler, more temperate climate of Chicago.
You both made your way to his car, and soon you were on the road toward your childhood home.
"I'm so happy you're here," your dad said, his smile wide and genuine as he glanced over at you.
"Come on, I was here for Christmas," you chuckled, brushing off his excitement. "Itâs not like we havenât seen each other in years."
"It felt like it for me," he replied, his voice softening a little as he focused on the road. "The house always felt so lonely without you. Iâm really happy you're home."
"I'm happy too, Dad," you said, your own smile creeping up. It felt good to hear thatâgood to know your presence meant something more than just the occasional visit.
The conversation naturally flowed as the miles ticked by. Your dad asked about your last few days at school, how the flight had been, and whether youâd managed to catch up with any of your friends before leaving. You found yourself laughing and reminiscing, the easy familiarity between you two making it feel like no time had passed at all.
After a little while, the car slowed, and you could see the familiar neighborhood signs in the distance. The streets, lined with houses you once knew so well, felt like a snapshot of your childhood, almost frozen in time. And then, the house came into view. The old oak tree in the front yard stood tall as ever, its branches casting long, familiar shadows over the driveway.
As you opened the car door, you could see your dad grinning from ear to ear, his excitement practically radiating off of him. You shot him a questioning look, but shrugged it off, assuming he was just that happy you were home. If youâd been paying closer attention, you might have noticed the unusual number of cars parked along the streetâmore than you'd expected for a quiet neighborhood.
But you didnât notice. Not yet.
When your dad handed you the key to the house and told you to go ahead and open the door, you were too caught up in the warmth of the reunion to think twice about it. You turned the key in the lock, pushing the door open slowly, expecting the quiet stillness of home.
But before you could even step inside, someone flipped on the lights.
In an instant, a chorus of voices erupted from the shadows, and people leaped out from every corner, yelling, "Surprise!" Laughter and cheers filled the air as you blinked in shock, your heart racing. There, in the middle of the living room, was a crowd of familiar facesâfamily, friends from home, and even some you hadn't seen in yearsâall smiling wide with excitement, their surprise catching you completely off guard.
You clenched your hand to your chest, letting out a startled yelp. You hadnât expected this. The shock of the surprise hit you hard, and before you could even catch your breath, your dad patted you on the shoulder from behind.
You turned to him, eyes wide. âWhat theâ?â
He smiled, his voice loud enough for the entire crowd to hear. âSheâs home!â And the room erupted in cheers once more.
âSay hello,â he continued, his grin never fading as he gestured to your luggage and backpack. âIâm gonna take these to your room.â
You were still frozen in place, your mind racing. This wasnât how you had imagined the evening going at all. Youâd expected a quiet nightâmaybe convincing your dad to order some takeout and watching a stupid movie together, just the two of you. Definitely not a surprise party in your honor.
Before you could even process it, people were already crowding around you, greeting you with warm smiles and happy chatter. It took a few sentences before your brain caught up with reality, but once it did, you found your rhythm, smiling and thanking everyone as you pulled them into quick hugs. You exchanged brief words, trying to take it all in, but it was impossible to focus on everyone.
You couldnât even guess how many people were thereâmaybe twenty? Most of them had already split into smaller groups, some headed toward the kitchen, others into the backyard. The whole house felt alive with laughter and conversation, buzzing with energy.
Just then, your dad returned, his arm slipping around your shoulders as he pulled you in for a brief side hug. You squeezed his shoulder, still processing the surprise.Â
âThank you,â you said softly, your voice full of warmth.âIs it impolite if I go take a shower and change?â you asked, motioning to your travel outfitâa worn pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt. You felt ridiculously underdressed for a party like this, your clothes inadequate for the occasion.
He chuckled, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He kissed the top of your head, then nudged you toward the stairs. "Go on, donât take too long."
You quickly excused yourself, sprinting toward your room. Your dad had definitely gone all out to surprise youâthe room was spotless, everything neatly in place, just as you remembered. It was a comfort to see your space waiting for you, a small piece of familiarity in the chaos of the evening.
You threw your suitcase on the bed, quickly unzipping it and rummaging through the contents in search of something nice to wear. It didn't take long before you darted into the bathroom, the cool tile floor a relief after the heat of the day. You were the type who loved to take long showers, sometimes staying under the warm water until your dad had to yell from downstairs, complaining that he also needed hot water for his own shower.
Tonight, though, you needed to be quick. You didnât want to keep everyone waiting too long, especially after theyâd all come out to celebrate you. The trip had been exhausting, and while the time under the water was always soothing, you knew there was no time to indulge tonight. The warm water washed away the tension from your muscles, soothing the soreness from the weird position you'd managed to fall asleep in on the plane. You barely bothered to dry your hair, knowing the humid air outside would do the job quickly enough.
You grabbed the first sundress you had found, a simple white one that was light and breathable enough for the Texas heat. It wasnât too fancy, but it was comfortable and easy, and right now, that was all that mattered.
You made your way back downstairs, already feeling more like yourself. The shower had worked wonders, and the light sundress helped you settle into the warm, familiar air of your childhood home.
Your dad spotted you first, his face lighting up again. He was mid-conversation with one of your aunts but paused as you approached. âThere she is,â he said proudly, motioning for you to join them.
Your aunt greeted you with a warm hug, immediately launching into the usual questionsâcongratulations, how was school, what was next. You gave her a polite smile and nodded through the compliments, but when she asked about your future plansâa question you werenât ready to answerâyou skillfully deflected, asking her about her work, her garden, anything to shift the spotlight.
Your dad stepped in then, mercifully. âI didnât even offerâdo you want something to drink?â
âSure,â you said, flashing a grateful smile at your aunt before following your dad toward the kitchen.
On the way there, you exchanged quick hellos and short hugs with a few familiar faces scattered through the living room. The noise of the party pulsed gently around youâmusic low, conversations layered, the clink of glasses in the background.
Once in the kitchen, your dad turned to you, hands already moving toward the fridge. âWhatâll it be?â he asked.
âWhat are you offering?â you asked, leaning against the counter.
He opened the fridge. âWell, weâve got enough beer to last us a few days,â he said with a grin. âOr, if youâre feeling bold, I could get you something stronger.â He nodded toward the assortment of bottles lined up neatly on the counter.
âA beerâs fine to start,â you replied, smiling.
Your dad handed you one, and you popped it open, ready to head back and rejoin the crowd. But just as you turned, you collided with something solidâsomeone, actually.
You stumbled a little, beer sloshing near the rim of the bottle, and barely had time to react before your dadâs voice cut in, cheerful and unaware of the tension that had just shifted the air.
âJoel! Wondered where you went!â
Your whole body tensed for a beat, instinctual and sharp. Of course. You took a quick step back, enough to finally look up and get a good look at the man youâd just bumped into.
Joel Miller, your dadâs best friend since the day he moved into the house next door. He stood there, looking down at you with that same gruff expression he always wore around you. Taller than you remembered. Broader, too. The kind of presence that filled the room without trying.
âWas just outside,â Joel said, his tone casual as his eyes slid right past you. âCame in for a new one,â he added, lifting his empty beer bottle like proof.
Your dad reached into the fridge and tossed him another without missing a beat. Joel caught it with practiced ease, cracking it open one-handed. Then, for the first time, he actually looked at youâand at the matching bottle in your hand.
âSince when are you old enough to drink?â he asked, the words edged with something that wasnât quite teasing.
You met his gaze, unimpressed, and took a slow sip before replying. âItâs been a while.â Your voice was flat, arms crossing over your chest.
The man had known you your whole life and somehow still looked at you like you were a surpriseâand not a pleasant one.
The air between you bristled, charged with the same tension that had always simmered there. You didnât like him. He didnât like you. And neither of you bothered to pretend otherwise.
Joel turned away, launching straight into a conversation with your dad as if you werenât even there. Like this wasnât your party. Like none of this had anything to do with you.
Heâd never really cared about you, and heâd never made an effort to hide it. The bond between him and your dad had been instant, the kind of easy friendship built on shared interests youâd never been part of. Their jobs, fixing things, football and other stuff youâd always found boring or just flat-out irritating.
With you, Joel was different. Always had been. You werenât part of the equation, just some brat he had to tolerate in order to spend time with your dad. Heâd never been subtle about it eitherârolling his eyes when you asked questions, sighing when you pushed his buttons, offering only the bare minimum in response when forced to talk to you.
You used to think he hated kids. But noâhe just didnât like you.
Which was fine, because you didnât like him either. You tolerated him, because your dad liked him, but as you got older, you stopped pretending to be polite. If Joel couldnât be bothered to try, then why should you? You rolled your eyes when he spoke, talked back when he got snippy. Your dad had always tried to get you to see the good in him, but you never did. And honestly, it didnât really matter. Joel was just⊠there. Always hanging around whenever you came home, like part of the furniture : annoying, unavoidable, and easy to ignore.
You left them to their conversation, not bothering to hide your disinterest, and stepped outside to find people who actually enjoyed your presence. The scent of barbecue drifted through the air, warm and familiar, and your stomach growled as you grabbed a plate from the folding table piled with food.
Before long, you found yourself seated at a picnic table with a mix of childhood friends and cousins you hadnât seen in ages. The conversation flowed easily, catching up, teasing each other, slipping back into old rhythms like no time had passed at all.
People came and went as the night wore on, stopping to hug you, offer congratulations, ask about school. You recognized a few of your dadâs work friends lingering on the patio, most of them clustered in the same spotâaround your dad and, of course, Joel.Â
The conversations kept going, and so did the beers. You were genuinely grateful to whoever had stocked the fridge like they were prepping for the apocalypse, because no one was going easy on them, least of all you and your friends.
As the night wore on, people started saying their goodbyes. A few last hugs, warm smiles, and congratulations passed between you and the guests as they filtered out. You thanked them all, the praise and attention making your cheeks ache from smiling.
Eventually, only a handful of people remainedâsix or seven at most. You and your friends made up one little cluster, your dad and his made up the other. Joel, of course, was still right there with your father, like heâd just been absorbed into the foundation of the house itself.
When your last friend finally stood to leave, mumbling something about an early shift, you pouted dramatically. âYouâre really gonna leave me here with them?â you whispered, tilting your head toward the older crowd.
She snorted, pulling you into one last hug. âYouâll survive. But in case it gets too hardâŠâ She slipped something into your palm with a grin.
You looked down to see a neatly rolled joint nestled in your hand.
âFigured you havenât had time to stock up yet. Consider it a graduation gift,â she said with a wink.
You stifled a laugh, hiding it quickly in your fist like a teenager. âYouâre the best,â you whispered, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
âDonât I know it,â she called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the night.
You watched her disappear down the driveway, then turned back toward the house, heading toward the patio where your dad and his friends were still gathered, half-lit by the string lights draped above.
âGoinâ to bed already?â your dad asked as you passed by, the buzz in his voice saying he hoped youâd stick around a little longer.
You smiled, still carefully cradling the joint in your closed hand. âNope. Just takinâ a lap. Think I mightâve had one too many.â
Frank leaned back in his chair with a chuckle. âCanât hold your beer, huh? Like daughter, like father.â
You shot him a grin, backing away into the house. âGive me five minutes and Iâll prove I can outdrink him.â
That got a round of laughter, your dad laughing loudest of all while his friends chimed in with mock protests and teasing.
You were a smokerâon and off. Mostly when you were stressed, or buzzed just enough not to care, like tonight. Your dad wasnâtânever had beenâand you didnât exactly feel like getting a lecture tonight. You just wanted a little more fun, to stretch the evening a bit longer.
So you slipped into the kitchen, quietly opening one cupboard, then another. You were hoping, maybe, some old forgotten lighter had been tossed in a drawer. A leftover from a guest. Anything. But no luck so far.
You didnât hear the back door creak open. Didnât notice the presence behind you until a low voice cut through the quiet.
âWhat are you doinâ?â
You startled, spinning around. Joel stood a few steps inside, the kitchen light casting a warm line across his face. You mustâve looked caughtâlike a teenager up to somethingâbecause his brow lifted in that way of his. That silent judgment.
Normally, he wouldnât have cared. Wouldâve walked right past you without so much as a glance. But not tonight.
He moved to the fridge, opened it like heâd done it a thousand timesâwhich, to be fair, he hadâand grabbed a beer. ââWhatâre you digginâ through drawers for like that?ââ
âNothing,â you said, crossing your arms like a shield.
He cracked the cap off with one hand, took a long pull, then looked you over again. âNothinâ, huh.â
His voice was skeptical, casual in that way that always grated on your nerves. He didnât believe you. That much was obvious in the way he leaned back against the counter and just... looked. Waiting.
The stare stretched long between you, hot and heavy like the Texas summer outside.
You didnât look away. Just stood there, jaw tight, staring back. The message was clear in your eyes:
Why the hell are you still here?
You didnât want to be the first to break, to move, to let him think heâd gotten under your skin. But at some point, your patience thinned, you just wanted to smoke and unwind. So you walked past him, your every step saying Iâm done with this.
You didnât bother hiding the way your shoulder brushed his slightly on the way out. Didnât mask the glare you shot up at him as he looked down at you, still leaning there like he owned the place.
You didnât speak. Didnât offer a word. Just walked out of the kitchen, your footsteps solid on the hardwood as you made your way to the stairs.
You didnât look backâbut you could feel his eyes on you, lingering, sharp as ever, watching you disappear.
Once in your room, jaw tight and heart still a little too fast, you dropped to your knees by your bag. You were annoyedâannoyed at him, at the whole damn momentâand all you wanted was the comfort of a quiet high. You unzipped the front pocket, fingers digging past receipts and pens, and there it was.
Right where you needed it.
You walked down the stairs slowly, careful with each step, not wanting to draw any attentionâespecially not from Joel. If he was still brooding in that damn kitchen, you had no interest in crossing paths again.
A quick glance confirmed the coast was clear. No voices. No movement. You slipped through the front door without a sound.
Outside, the night wrapped around you in a warm hush. The air was thick with leftover summer heat, cicadas buzzing low in the distance. You made your way to the old oak tree, the one that had watched over you since childhood, and slid down with your back against its trunk.
The joint was still in your hand, slightly bent from your grip. You brought it to your lips and flicked the lighter youâd grabbed from your bag upstairs.
You tried again. Pressed harder.
âFucking really,â you muttered under your breath, jaw clenching as you stared down at the useless plastic.
You shook the lighter, flicked it again, and like a gift from someone above, a blessed spark appeared long enough for you to light your joint. You inhaled, slow and satisfied, the burn calming, the quiet of the night wrapping around you like a weighted blanket.
Then, a voice cut through it.
âYou serious right now?â
Your eyes flew open mid-exhale. Joel.
He stood at the edge of the porch, arms crossed over his chest, face shadowedâbut the tone was all too clear. Disapproval, plain as day.
You coughed lightly, caught off guard, waving a hand like you could erase the smoke between you. âJesus, do you ever make a sound when you walk?â
âDidnât think I needed to,â he said, stepping off the porch, boots crunching against the grass as he came closer. âDidnât figure Iâd catch you hidinâ out here like a damn teenager.â
âNot a teenager anymore,â you shot back, trying to steady yourself, annoyed by the interruption.
âYou sure? Then why are you smoking here, hiding from your daddy?â he asked, his tone low, judgment lacing the words.
âCanât I just want a moment to myself?â you retorted, holding his gaze steady as you took another hit.
Joel didnât answer right away. Just stood there, arms crossed, eyes flicking down to the joint between your fingers. The judgment was all over his face. If a cigarette would've earned you a lecture from your dad, this? This would light a fuse.
But you didnât hide it. You didnât even flinch. Hiding it wouldâve meant guilt. It wouldâve meant Joel won.
And you werenât giving him that.
He huffed through his nose, like he couldnât believe you had the nerve, but wasnât surprised either. âYâknow heâs gonna smell it the second he steps outside,â he muttered.
âThen maybe he shouldnât step outside,â you said calmly, shrugging as you brought the joint back to your lips.
âYou never admit when youâre in the wrong, do you?â he snapped back, his tone clipped. Joel didnât like getting talked back toâespecially not by you.
You stood up, brushing grass from your dress, chin lifting as you squared up to him.
âOh my god, Joel. Itâs one joint. Iâm not twelve anymore,â you said, voice rising with each word. âI drink. I smoke. I do a lot of things.â
That made him pause. His eyes locked on yours, and for a second, it looked like he might ask what exactly those "things" were. You saw it, the curiosity, judgment, maybe even a flicker of something else but he bit it back, jaw clenched.
âLetâs not pretend youâre some saint whoâs never touched a joint in your life. Or worse,â you added, eyes narrowing. âWe both know thatâs not true.â
He took a step closer, slow and sure like he always moved, and before you could reactâbefore you could even take another inhaleâhis hand reached out. Quick. Firm. He plucked the joint from between your fingers like it was his.
âWhat the hellââ you started, already ready to snap, but the words caught in your throat when instead of lecturing you, instead of crushing it under his boot like you half-expected, he brought it to his own mouth.
Joel inhaled. Long, steady. The ember flared, lighting up the edges of his faceâthe hard line of his jaw, the crease in his brow, the scar on his temple..
He stood there, smoke curling from his lips, his eyes half-lidded as he brought a hand up to run through his hair like the weight of the night had finally sunk into his bones. There was more gray than you remembered. At his temples. Scattered through the strands like dust on old wood. He looked⊠older. In a good way.
You blinked hard. You didnât want to notice things like that, not about Joel.
âNever seen you smoke before,â you said, trying to cut through the strange haze between you.
âThatâs âcause I know how not to get caught,â he muttered, taking another pull. Calm. Unbothered.
You scoffed. âOh, so youâre hiding too? What, scared my daddyâs gonna ground you?â
That pulled the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile, exactly, but close enough to spark something sharp in your chest.
âYouâre gettinâ old, you know that?â you said, letting it land like a tease, but there was an edge to it.
He tilted his head, gaze pinning you in place. âAm I now?â he said, voice low, thick with that familiar southern drawlâlike honey and gravel. He stepped in just enough that you caught the scent of smoke and the heat from his skin. âFunny, cominâ from the girl sneakinâ off like sheâs still seventeen.â
You rolled your eyes. You were starting to think this might be the longest conversation youâd ever had with him.
You reached out, palm up. âYou gonna give it back?â
Joel didnât answer. Not with words.
Instead, he stepped forwardâclose. Too close. The air shifted instantly, thick with something that wasnât just smoke or summer heat. His hand lifted, steady, unhurried. And without asking, without a word, he pressed the joint back between your lips.
Your breath hitched. Not just from the inhaleâbut from him.
His fingers brushed your lower lip, slow and deliberate. Not an accident. Not rushed. Just enough to leave heat in their wake.
You stared up at him, lips parted slightly around the joint. Your heart beat too loud in your chest, but your body stayed still.
Didnât blink. Didnât move.
His gaze locked on yours, heavy and unreadable, like he was waiting. Like he was daring you to break the silence first.
But for once, you didnât.
You took a slow drag. Held it. Exhaledâright between the two of you.
And still, neither of you moved. Joel held your gaze for one long second more.
Then, like a switch flipped, he stepped back, just a half-step, but it felt like miles. The heat between you cooled instantly, and when he spoke again, his voice had that old, familiar edge.
âWell,â Joel said, his eyes flicking over you with that familiar, judgmental gaze, âdidnât even last a day before you were back to your old tricks.â
The words landed sharp, biting in that casual, offhand way only he could manage. Like everything you did was somehow a little wrong, a little too much..
And just like that, there he wasâthat Joel. The one who couldnât help but offer a comment about everything. The one who never missed a chance to nitpick, to point out what you were doing wrong.
You scoffed, jaw tight. âThere he is,â you muttered, dragging on the joint, blowing out a thick plume of smoke. âWas wonderinâ how long itâd take for the real Joel to show up.â
He raised an eyebrow, his voice low and sharp. âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
You took another hit, your thoughts swirling for a moment. You could just let him go, ignore him like you had countless times before. But no, he had to make that damn snarky comment, didnât he?
You turned to him, the frustration boiling over, and before you could stop yourself, the words came sharp. You stepped in, jabbing a finger into his chestâhard, deliberate. âAlways so fucking rude to me. What the hell did I ever do to you?âÂ
He stiffened at your words, clearly not expecting the bite behind them. You poked him again, harder this time. âYou never said anything nice to me, never even looked at me like I was a person. Just a damn inconvenience in the way of your âgood timeâ with my dad. So tell me, what did I do to deserve that, huh?â
Joelâs hand shot out, grabbing your wrist before your finger could make contact again. His grip was tight, not painful, but enough to stop you in your tracks. His eyesâthose goddamn eyesânarrowed as he looked down at you, frustration boiling behind them.
âCome on,â he said, voice low and cutting. âYou really wanted me to coddle you? Like your dad doesâpretending you donât make everything harder than it has to be?â He laughed once, bitter and short. âYouâve been a storm since the day I met you. Youâve been acting out your whole damn life, never grateful, always pushing. What, you think that deserves kindness?â
He stepped in closer, the distance between you shrinking, his breath warm against your skin. âIâm not your dad, sweetheart. I donât have to pretend to care. And I sure as hell didnât have to put up with you when you couldnât even take care of yourself. You think I wanted to deal with you?â He gave you a smirk, as if the very thought was laughable.
The bitterness in his voice cut through you like a knife, the words searing with years of unspoken resentment. Maybe you had been a pain in the ass as a kid, always causing trouble, always pushing boundaries. But you were a kid. Yes, your dad worked himself to the bone to provide for you, and you were left trying to figure it out on your own.Â
You looked up at him, jaw clenched, trying to hold on to the anger that was threatening to slip away.
âYou think I asked for any of this?â you snapped back, your voice dripping with contempt. âI didnât ask for you to come around, either. You think I wanted to be stuck between you and my dad, always the damn inconvenience? Maybe I was just trying to figure out my own damn life. Maybe I didnât need someone like you breathing down my neck every time I fucked up.â
His eyes flashed at that, but he didnât move. Didnât back away.
"Was I just a disappointment to you, then? Is that it?" you spat out, the question lingering in the cold air between you two.
âNo,â Joel replied, his voice hard but low, like he was forcing the words through clenched teeth. âYou never disappointed me, kid. You were always exactly who I expected you to be.â
It hit you harder than it should have. Those words stung, but you didnât let it show. You fought to keep your composure, to hold onto that anger that had been building in your chest. You werenât going to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much it hurt.
You yanked your wrist from his grip, the heat of his touch still burning into your skin. âFuck you, Joel,â you muttered, the words biting as they left your lips. You didnât give him a second glance as you turned and walked toward the front porch, the weight of his gaze heavy on your back.
The joint had stopped burning, but you didnât care anymore as you trew it away. You needed a moment to breathe. You went straight to the bathroom, splashing some cold water on your face to shake off the heat of the argument. You stared at yourself in the mirror, frustration building inside you. Fuck him, you thought. Fuck him.
You spritzed some perfume, just in case the lingering scent gave you away, and then walked back down the stairs, your steps purposeful and steady. In the kitchen, you opened the fridge, but it was the bottles on the counter that called to you. You didnât bother with the beer. Instead, you grabbed whatever whiskey was within reach, pouring yourself a drink and letting the burn settle in your chest.
You walked back toward the backyard, taking slow steps as you made your way to the patio. Your dad was deep in conversation with Frank and Bill, laughing lightly at something one of them had said. When he saw you, his face lit up with a smile.
âI thought you wouldnât come back,â he said, his voice warm.
âI said I would,â you replied, offering him a small smile that didnât quite reach your eyes. You didnât feel like explaining much right now.
You found a chair around the table, making sure to settle yourself just far enough from your dad. You didnât want him to notice anythingâthe lingering scent or the storm still brewing in your mind. There was no need for him to ask, and no need to bring it up.
Joel wasnât around the table, and part of you felt a little relief. Maybe he was already on his way home, back to wherever he belonged. But, as if summoned by your thoughts, there he wasâappearing from the same way you had come.
"Thought you forgot where the bathroom was," your father teased as Joel slid into the empty chair across from you.
"Not that drunk," Joel muttered, a little too casually, his eyes flicking over to you like he was trying to catch your gaze. But you didn't bite. Instead, you focused on Bill next to you, making small talk, pretending not to notice the tension building in the air.
Your fatherâs attention shifted to your drink. "Didn't expect you to be a whiskey girl," he remarked with a smile, eyebrows raised.
You shrugged, taking another sip. "It's nice," you replied, your voice nonchalant, though the warmth of the alcohol barely did anything to calm you.
Your father patted you on the shoulder. "Well, finally, something youâve got in common with Joel, huh? Heâs the one who brought it, you know." He looked over at Joel, pride edging his voice. "You should see his collection," he continued, clearly pleased with the fact that you two could now bond over something.
You kept your eyes on your glass, trying to avoid the sharp edge of Joelâs stare, but it didn't escape youâthe way your father was so eager to find common ground, any excuse to connect you with Joel. You gave your dad a small, practised smile enough to ease his attention off you. But your eyes caught Joelâs across the table.
Not in the careless, absent way people sometimes do when lost in thought. Joel was watching you, steady, unreadable, like he hadnât stopped since he sat down. Like the words youâd thrown at him earlier were still echoing somewhere behind his eyes.
You tilted your head just slightly, a silent question or maybe a challenge, and took a slow sip of your drinkâintentional, deliberate. His gaze didnât flinch.
If anything, it sharpened.
Frank leaned forward slightly, swirling the wine in his glass. âSo,â he said, glancing at you with a friendly grin, âHappy to be finished with school ?â
You nodded, taking a sip. âYeah, finally..â
âDamn, time flies,â Bill said, impressed. âFeels like we were just talkinâ about you leavinâ. Whatâd you end up majoring in?â
âCommunications,â you said, voice light. âWhich is code for âI still donât know what Iâm doing with my life.ââ
That got a laugh from Frank. âWell, join the club. Took me years to figure out what I wanted, and even then, I changed my mind half a dozen times.â
Your dad beamed quietly, pride flickering behind his eyes. âSheâs smart,â he said. âAlways has been. Stubborn as hell, but smart.â
You gave him a small smile, choosing not to argue.
âSo what about work?â Bill asked. âYou stayinâ around here, or just visiting?â
You hesitated for a moment. âI donât know yet. Thought Iâd come back, take a breath before jumping into anything serious.â
There was a pause, and then Frank grinned. âAnd anyone special back at schoolâor hereâgiving you a reason to stay?â
You raised your eyebrows and laughed under your breath, deflecting with a sip of your drink. âJesus, Frank.â
He held up his hands, grinning. âWhat? Canât ask a question?â
Your dad chimed in, playing along. âHey, pretend Iâm not here if it helps.â
You laughed, relaxed. You didnât mind your dad. The two of you had gotten close, especially in those past years, separated by college. If there had been anyone serious, heâd probably already know.
âNo one worth mentioning,â you said after a moment, flicking your eyes back to Frank. âJust me for now.â
Frank gave you a look, all charm and teasing. âI donât buy that for a second. Pretty thing like you? I bet you left a trail of broken hearts in Chicago.â
You let out a soft laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. âEh,â you said lightly, the smile not quite reaching your eyes, âdisappointmentâs kind of my thing, apparently,â you said, smiling just enough to pass it off as a joke.
Your dad chuckled, clearly not reading the undercurrent. âYou? Please. Youâre doing just fine.â
But Joelâhe wasnât laughing. He stopped mid-sip, his eyes fixed on you over the rim of his glass. His gaze was sharp, piercing, the silent understanding hanging between you like a weight.
You didnât acknowledge him. You didnât have to. You knew he heard it.
You kept the conversation going with Frank, though his words were starting to blur as the alcohol made him a bit more loose-lipped than usual. Bill, ever the more sober one, finally pointed out that it was time for them to head out. Frank, clearly one glass of wine too many, was a little wobbly on his feet, but that didnât stop him from giving you his signature ruffle on the head. You rolled your eyes, but couldnât suppress the smile that tugged at your lips.
âYouâre gonna find someone who sees you for who you are, kid,â Frank slurred, his voice filled with an odd mix of affection and drunken sincerity. âYouâre too smart, too pretty, not to," Frank said, his voice a little louder than necessary as he nudged you with a playful grin. âAinât she, Joel?â
Joel, who had been deep in conversation with your dad, looked up, clearly caught off guard by Frankâs question. "What?"
âSheâs pretty, donât you think?â
You raised an eyebrow, already anticipating the awkwardness that would follow. Frank was a little tipsy, but you knew he didnât mean any harm. It was just Frank being Frank.
You half-expected Joel to brush it off, mutter something gruff, or look away entirelyâanything to avoid the attention. But instead, he met your gaze briefly, his eyes looking you up just for a second, before shifting back to Frank.
âVery pretty,â Joel said quietly, the words not quite as reluctant this time. It was almost as if he couldnât help it, like Frankâs teasing had pulled it out of him.
âSee?â Frank said, giving Joel a playful shove, not realising the undercurrent of tension in the air. âEven Joel says so!â
Joelâs shoulders stiffened slightly, but he didnât say anything more.
Frank and Bill left, their goodbyes echoing softly as they promised to invite you and your dad for dinner soon. You stayed outside as your dad continued his conversation with Joel about the upcoming game and who was going to host it. The voices of the two men blended into background noise, the hum of the conversation barely registering in your mind. You were half-listening, half-distracted, your thoughts lingering on the anger youâd been holding onto all night.
The burn of the whisky slid down your throat, and without even realizing it, your eyes found Joel. You were still mad at him, the words heâd spoken earlier lodged under your skin. It stung in a way that made it harder to push away. Normally, you wouldâve brushed it off, moved on, but tonight, his words had managed to hit deeper than usual. And for some reason, it bothered you more than you were willing to admit.
At first, you looked at him with nothing but irritation, your gaze sharp, unforgiving. The way he leaned back in his chair, so at ease after everything heâd saidâit grated on you. But then, without meaning to, your eyes lingered. You noticed how the porch light caught the strands of gray in his hair, more than you remembered. The lines around his eyes were deeper now, the rough stubble along his jaw peppered with silver. And yet, somehow, it suited him. He looked⊠good. Annoyingly so. That solid kind of good that didnât come from trying. The kind that made some of your dadâs female friends earlier laugh too loud at his jokes and linger a little too long near wherever he stood.Â
He shouldnât have looked good. Not after the shit he said. Not after the way he always made you feel small and in the way.
And then, as if he could feel the weight of your gaze, his eyes found yours.
You hesitated for a second, but didnât look away. You couldnât. Not this time. You werenât going to let him think he had any power over you. Not now. Not ever again.
He held your gaze, serious now, almost as if he was silently asking you what the hell you were looking at. It was like a challenge, an invitation for you to either break or keep going. But you didnât flinch, didnât break the connection.
Your dad, oblivious as ever, continued tidying up the table, clearing away the bottles, while he kept talking to Joel. But you didnât shift your focus. And so, knowing damn well he was watching, a strange boldness crept in, aided by the drinks youâd had. You let your eyes trace himâacross his chest, his hands, then slowly, almost instinctively, to his lips.
You took a slow sip of your drink, letting the tension hang in the air, lingering just enough on his lips for him to feel the weight of it. Then, you lifted your gaze back up to his. You saw the way his brows furrowed for a second, his eyes narrowing as if trying to make sense of what you were doing.
In that instant, your dad clapped his hands, breaking the tense silence between you and Joel. Both of you snapped your gaze away, turning towards him.
"I'm busted," he said with a grin, clearly oblivious to the quiet storm that had just passed between the two of you. "I think it's time for me to go to bed. What about you two?"
You raised your drink to him, trying to mask the lingering heat in your chest. "Gonna finish this first, then I'll crash too," you said, voice calm, though your mind was anything but.
Your dad chuckled, giving you a playful look. âWhiskey, huh? Careful, it goes under your skin quickly.â He glanced at Joel, raising an eyebrow. âWhat about you?â
âIâll finish my drink too and go,â Joel replied, his voice steady.
Your dad nodded, then walked over to you, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. âSo glad youâre here,â he said warmly. You squeezed his hand, smiling up at him, before waving as he turned to head back inside. As he passed Joel, he gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder.
And just like that, the two of you were alone again. Your eyes drifted to the door your dad had disappeared through⊠then back to Joelâonly to find him already watching you.
âItâs rude to stare,â he said casually, but that familiar edge was thereâlike he was already halfway into a fight.
You scoffed, lifting your glass. âFunny, coming from you.â
Joel raised a brow, slow and deliberate. âWhatâre you tryinâ to say?â
You didnât flinch. âThat youâve been staring at me all night. Like youâre tryinâ to set me on fire.â
He took a long sip, unfazed. âAnd why the hell would I wanna do that?â
You shrugged. âYouâre the one who keeps acting like Iâm a pain in your ass.â
Joel gave a low, humorless laugh. âDarlinâ, you are. Donât mean I gotta kill you for it.â
You leaned back, a smirk tugging at your lips despite yourself, the word darlinâ echoing like heat under your skin. âHow kind of you.. So what do I owe this stare? Full of love and all,â you added, letting the word drag with thick sarcasm.
Joel scoffed, but his eyes didnât leave yours. âLove ainât exactly the word Iâd use.â
âMm,â you hummed, tilting your head. âCouldâve fooled me.â
He lifted his glass, took another long sip, then set it down with a soft clinkâclear as day he was ending the conversation. Funny how heâd been the one to start this fight, but didnât want to finish it. You couldnât help the laugh that slipped out; pushing his buttons was too tempting to resist.
âAm I really that pretty?â you pressed, leaning forward, voice low. âIs that it? Enough to make you unable to look away?â
You saw the way his jaw twitched before he met your gaze again, his eyes darker than before. In the past, that little tell wouldâve tipped you off and youâd have backed down, let him off the hook. But tonight, you didnât care. If he couldnât find the decency to be kind, why should you?
âNot gonna answer?â you teased, your voice soft but edged. You lifted the glass in a salute, then drained the last drop.
âCareful.â His voice was low, dangerous and it made your stomach tighten.
âOr what, Miller?â you shot back, setting your empty glass on the table. âGonna ground me? Youâre not my dad, remember.â
With those words, you stood, smoothing the hem of your dress. For a heartbeat, you saw his gaze drop to your bare legâjust a glanceâbefore snapping back up to yours.Â
âAlways gotta be smart, donât ya?â he called after you, voice rough as you stepped toward the door.
You stopped mid-step, one hand on the doorframe, and turned back. The patio light caught your face just right. Arms crossed, you gave him a small, mocking smile. âOh, so Iâm smart now?â you snapped, tone brittle with sarcasm. âPretty and smartâwhatâs gotten into you, Joel? Running out of insults?â
Joel didnât miss a beat. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his eyes hard. âDonât push your luck,â he said, his voice low and dry. âI said you were smart, not that you stopped beinâ a brat.â
âOh, right,â you scoffed. âBecause youâre the king of saying exactly what you mean. Never cryptic, never cruel, never hiding behind that goddamn scowl.â
He stood thenâslow, deliberateâhis glass forgotten on the table behind him. His height always had a way of pressing down on a room, and now, with only the patio light casting long shadows between you, he felt even closer than he was.
âYou done?â he asked, low and tight.
âNo,â you snapped, taking a step toward him without even thinking. Your heart thudded hard in your chest, but you didnât let it show. âYouâve been staring at me all night like Iâm something stuck to your damn boot, but God forbid I look back. You start shit, and then when I give it back, suddenly Iâm the one whoâs too much?â
Joel didnât flinch, didnât move at firstâbut you saw it in his jaw, the way it clenched, the way his fingers flexed at his sides like he was holding something in.
He stepped toward you, and the space between you narrowed into something heavyâyour skin prickling with heat, not entirely from anger. His voice dropped, rough and controlled, but far from calm.
âDoes that mouth ever do somethinâ other than complain?â
The words hit like a slap, and a dare. The way he said it, slow, his voice coiled tight with something darker, something heavier, made your pulse jump.
Your breath caught, not from fear, but from the sudden pulse of heat that curled low in your stomach. Maybe it was the whiskey still humming through your veins, the warmth of it making you bold, reckless. Sober, you never wouldâve said what came next.
You looked up at him, stepping in just enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, the space between you now little more than a breath; eyes fixed on his, daring. âWhy?â you said, voice low and steady. âYou want my mouth to do something else?â
Joel didnât hesitate. His fingers came up, rough and warm, catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, firm, not gentle. He tilted your face up, forcing you to meet his eyes.
âYou wanna play like that, kid?â he muttered, the word kid sounding more like a warning than an insult. âKeep talkinâ like you know what youâre askin' for.â
The word echoed in your headânot just what he said, but how he said it. Low, rough, like gravel under pressure. He didnât flinch. Didnât blink. Just stared, like he was waiting to see if youâd flinch first. Your heart kicked harder against your ribs. You shouldâve backed off. Maybe any other night, you wouldâve. But the way he was looking at you â like you were the last line he hadnât crossed â made your mouth move before your brain could stop it.
âNot scared of you,â you said, but the words came out softer than you meant them to.
He leaned in closer, just a breath away, the porch light casting deep shadows over his face. âYou should be,â he paused, his eyes dark. âGet on your knees.âÂ
Your breath hitched at his words, the patio suddenly too quiet. For a second, you werenât sure youâd heard him right. The heat that rushed between your legs, however, confirmed that you had.
âWhat?â you asked, your voice a little breathless.
Joel didnât blink. His gaze stayed locked on yours, unmoving, unreadable. âYou heard me, girl,â he said, voice rough, low.Â
You should have backed off. You knew that. It was Joel, for crying out loud. The one you couldnât stand. He was your dadâs best friend, your least favourite person in the world. The guy who made you feel small with every sharp word, every lingering glance.
And yet, you sank to your knees. The hand that cupped your chin went to the top of your head, guiding your descent. Joelâs breath became more rugged as you did, never leaving your eyes.Â
Your knees fell on the cold patio floor, but you didn't care. Joel's gaze was intense, unreadable, yet unmistakably focused on you. His eyes locked onto yours, steady and unwavering, as if he was trying to see right through you. You feel the weight of it pressing in on you, challenging you to see how far you were willing to go.
You didn't want to back down. You looked in front of you, his crotch right there. Your hands quickly moved to unbutton his dark jeans, making them fall to the ground. He was already hard, the fabric straining against his thickness, precum staining the front of his boxer, leaving a print that made your mouth salivate a little more than it should.
Joel was big, of course he was. Broad shoulders, large hands, big cock. It made sense. You would be lying if you said youâd never thought about it. After all, Joel Miller was the better-looking of your dadâs friends. He just happened to be the most annoying.Â
You brought your mouth closer, letting Joel feel your hot breath on his cock. His hand was still in your hair, a little tug inviting you closer, wordless but clear. Your hand rested on the waistband of his boxer, not taking it off just yet. You could see a bit of his happy trail, his dark hairs inviting you to explore more of his body. You pressed your lips into a small kiss where you could see the print of his tip, earning you a low, guttural groan from Joel. The sound was exquisite, and you already wanted to hear it again. So you pressed a few more kisses, relishing in the small noises he was making. You couldnât wait to take him in your mouth.Â
Finally, you took down his boxer, and his throbbing cock stood in front of you. Large, thick. perfect. You swallowed a gasp, realising youâve never taken one so big in your mouth â or anywhere else for that matter. It only made it more enticing. You looked up to Joel, who had his eyes on you. Waiting, hungry, and he looked way too good in that instant. It made you feel things you didnât want to think about Joel. Made you want to take a hand between your thighs and deal with the heat that had been pulsing all evening. But later. Now you only wanted to focus on him.
One hand on his thigh, the other finding the base of his length, you looked at him one more time before opening your mouth. Slowly, teasingly, you licked his tip, tasting the glistening precum off him. Salty. Musky. Joel. Then, you pressed your lips around his length, the warmth of your mouth making the man grunt. Knowing you were the one making him moan like this was exhilarating. Powerful even. The need to hear this sound again pushed you to take more of him, inch by inch. You started a steady rhyme, your mouth so full â and you hadn't taken all of him yet.Â
Joel let out a guttural moan, his hand pushing you further down his length as he thrusted his hips up slightly into your warm, wet mouth. You dared look up to him and saw how his head tilted backwards, the hand that wasn't in your hair on the table behind him, keeping him steady. Fuck, he looked so good and you were the one doing that to him. You clenched your thighs together, feeling a wetness you couldn't take care of right now.Â
âFuck, darlingâŠâ he groaned, his calloused fingers tightening their grip on your head when you took him a bit deeper, hitting the bak of your throat. The pet name made you moan around his cock without you even realising, the sound vibrating around his cock.Â
At that, Joel looked down at you, a slow, smug smile spreading across his face. Your nose pressed agasint the base of his cock, your throat bulging obscenely with his girth.
âYou like it, donât you? Choking on my dick like that ?â He asks, his voice rough, almost breathless. His eyes darkened with something primal, something hungry, and it sent a shiver down your spine so sharp it left your skin buzzing. You nodded on his cock without even realizing. âOf course you fucking do, you mouthy little thing.â
He started to thrust harder, faster, driven by the thrill of having you here, worshipping his cock like it was your sole purpose. You had sucked dick before, sure. It was something you enjoyed, making your partner come undone with only your mouth. College had been the right place to experience it, but you never had your throat fucked like that. And you liked it more than you thought was possible.
âYou take me so good, baby, â Joel praises you, his voice heavy, taking in the sight of you, the way you are so eager on his cock, and the feeling shouldn't feel so good. You looked up at him, your eyes, your lips stretching around him, your eyes watering slightly as you take him as deep as you can. âF-fuckâŠâ he curses, his breath ragged, as he watches himself disappear inside you inch by inch.âGonna make me cum doinâ that. Are you gonna be perfect for me and swallow like a good girl ?â
The answer came in the way of a whimper you couldnât stop, causing Joel to chuckle darkly as an acknowledgement. He picks up the pace and, with a final, hard thrust, Joel buries himself deep in your throat, coming in a strangled moan that sounds very much like your name.Â
And so there you wereâknees on the cold patio floor of your dadâs house, lips still tingling and your mouth full of cum. Joel Miller, the man you despised, was standing in front of you, his chest rising with rough, uneven breaths. His hand was still tangled in your hair, idly, almost possessively, like he hadnât decided to let go yet. He looked down at you, and you swallowed under the weight of his gaze. His eyes dragging over your mouth, down your throat, and finally meeting yours again, his breathing just beginning to steady. Then, he loosened his grip in your hair, allowing you to move from him, a strand of cum and saliva connecting your swollen lips to the tip of his softening cock. The sight of youâlips parted, breath shaky, eyes still wideâmade Joel chuckle, low and dark. There was no humor in it, not really. Just heat. Satisfaction.Â
He helped you back up, his touch steady, almost too gentle after everything. You wobbled for a moment, heart still racing, and smoothed your dress with shaky fingers, eyes avoiding his like they might burn. The silence was deafening as he pulled back his clothes. You couldnât even look at him, not reallyânot with the feel of his dick still lingering in your mouth, the taste of him still not gone. The air felt colder now. Or maybe it was you, sobering fast under the weight of everything that just happened.
But before you could say anything, his thumb slid over your lips once more. Just like earlier with the joint, but this time it wasnât casual. This time it lingered, drawing a painfully slow line against your skin. His eyes were fixed on your mouth, dark with something primal, an intensity that made your breath hitch. It was like he could still feel you there, still feel the way you had taken him so well, so eager. And from the smug tilt of his lips, it was clear he liked it.
âGuess you can back up that mouth after all.â
