Summary: Robby comes home early from his sabbatical to find you, the resident neither he nor Jack were supposed to touch, fucking the night’s shift attending.
Warnings: age gap, implied power-imbalance Smut| getting caught, unprotected p in v sex, creampie(s), voyerism, pet-names for reader, praising, Dr. Michael ‘monster cock’ Robinavitch.
“Jesus Christ”
You were on your attending’s lap, busy riding the man, completely naked, sweaty, and flushed, when Dr. Robby opened the door.
“This isn’t exactly what I imagined when I asked you to house sit for me.”
Your mouth was open in a gasp, eyes wide with mortification as you froze from embarrassment.
Dr. Robinavitch had just caught you fucking Dr. Abbot... on his couch.
“Brother” Jack grinned as he looked behind him, not even a little fazed at the interruption. “You came back early.”
You could feel your face setting on fire as you desperately tried to think of what to do.
Robby’s eyes weren’t on you anymore as he got rid of his jacket and boots… this would be the perfect time to get up and scurry away towards the bedroom… Robby’s bedroom— Shit.
Your hands went to cover your bare tits as you tried to come up with something else.
“Decided to cut my sabbatical short,” Robby was explaining, “You all were right- as it turns out, I can’t go more than a month without the ED.”
You heard and felt Jack’s snicker, his fingers absentmindedly drawing circles where he still held your waist.
His hard cock was still deep inside you, and as much as you hated having to depart from it, you really needed to get off and try to at least regain some decency.
Which is what you tried to do. You began rising from Jack’s lap, but in an instant, his eyes were on you, his brows furrowed.
“Where you going, sweetheart?”
He can’t be serious right now.
You glanced pointedly at Robby behind him, your voice barely a whisper as you murmured his name.
“It’s alright, honey, Robby doesn’t mind,” he spoke softly, his hands caressing you softly. “Do you, Robby?”
Robby’s soft chuckle came from somewhere closer than where he’d previously been.
“I sure don’t,” He was smirking once you slowly raised your gaze.
He’d walked to the edge of the couch, right behind Jack.
You felt your face burn with embarrassment- and yet your pussy clenched harder around Abbot as you caught Michael’s eyes drink you in.
“We were having such a good time,” Jack murmured, his mouth on your collarbones as he pecked your skin, “Would be a shame to stop now.”
Oh God, he was being serious.
“Jack- I-”
Were you dreaming? Was this one of the sick fantasies that materialized in your mind whenever Robby and Abbot were both on shift, and you had to squeeze your tights together at how incredibly hot of a pair they made?
Everything seemed to point in that direction, except for the fact that the feel of Jack’s fingers removing your hands from your naked chest was very much real- the same went for Robby’s voice.
“You know, sweetheart... we had a talk about you before I went away.”
You were bare again now, and Jack was making use of the space, filling it with delicious, taunting kisses as Michael spoke.
“Decided none of us were gonna try anything... didn’t wanna take advantage of you or anything….” His voice was rough and soft all at once as his hand went to cradle your cheek, “and now look at that.”
Heat bloomed low in your belly and on your cheeks as you heard yourself whimper.
What he was saying was… unbelievable. They liked you- both of them. Just as you liked them.
This was really happening- Dr. Robinavitch was watching you as you sat on Dr. Abbot’s cock. And they both looked incredibly casual, as if this were a daily occurrence.
“Since when has this been going on?”
When you didn’t answer, Jack stopped his ministrations on your neck to speak, “Just two weeks, man.”
“Is he lying to me?” Robby asked you, his head tilted in doubt.
“N-no,” You murmured as you cowered under his stare.
To that, he smirked, shaking his head as he muttered, “A week- that’s how long you lasted.”
“C’mon, man- you knew it was bound to happen.” Jack groaned, looking at you with a smirk as his mouth ghosted yours, “You’re too pretty not to do something about it.”
You felt your heart skip, and your hips involuntarily grind against Jack’s lap- causing you to whimper pathetically.
“Oh sweetheart…” Abbot cooed, his hands going back to rest on your hips, “Go on, take what you need.”
There was nothing you wanted to do more. As unusual as this situation was, you were so turned on that you feared you’d start dripping on the couch any second now.
Yet you watched the two men uncertainly, biting your lip as you went against your instinct to use Jack’s manhood to feel good.
“Go on, baby,” Robby encouraged you once your eyes settled on him, “Do as he said.”
His palm was still on your cheek, his thumb pulling on your lower lip to free it from your teeth’s grip… and you had no choice but to obey.
You started slow, shily grinding onto him, feeling Jack’s dick graze and reach all those sweet spots inside of you as your clit rubbed against his base.
Your mouth hung open as soft whines filtered through your throat. Robby’s hands held your face so you could only look at him- and the look in his eyes… the darkness in his iris and the locking of his jaw gave you all the more incentive to go faster.
You began raising yourself on Jack’s dick just to slide back down again until you found the delicious pace from before your interruption.
Your moans weren’t so quiet anymore as you struggled to keep your eyes open and gripped Jack’s shoulders for dear life, your nails probably leaving crescent moons on his skin.
“So good for me, baby,” Jack murmured against your neck, resuming his kisses on your salty skin as he thoroughly enjoyed the show. “Such a good girl.”
You cried like a desperate little thing at that, his dick hitting that spongy spot inside of you that had you feeling on cloud nine.
“Jack feels good, baby?” Robby’s voice felt muffled, as if the pleasure was acting as a sound shield.
“Y-yes,” You whined, your voice breathless, your movements more and more desperate, “B-big,” you cried brokenly.
You felt Abbot’s growl vibrate against your chest at that, and seconds later, you felt his mouth against your ear as he whispered loud enough for Robby to hear, “You’ve seen nothing yet.”
You didn’t have the brain capacity to understand what he meant by that, or to analyze the grin that spread Michael’s lips at those words, because all you could focus on was the growing sensation that sparked in your belly.
“Oh my god,” You whined, your thighs burning with the effort as the sound of your skin slapping with Jack’s echoed against the walls.
“It’s ok, baby,” Robby murmured, watching closely as your eyes almost closed and your brows furrowed in bliss, “You’re doing so good.”
You didn’t even realize you were doing it, but as Robby guided his thumb into your mouth, instinctually, your lips closed around it, sucking him in further.
“That’s it, baby,” he nodded, the weight of his finger on your tongue making you wish it was replaced by his cock. And that image… that image made your orgasm approach even faster.
Your moans were silenced by Robby’s thumb, but Jack could feel your walls gripping him like a vice.
“Let go, sweetheart,” he commanded, kissing the spot right beneath your ear. “Be a good girl and show Robby how pretty you look when you come.”
That was it.
You didn’t even have time to mentally prepare yourself that a bright white flash of pure ecstasy overtook your soul.
You came like the world would end tomorrow, your pussy spasming around Jack as he couldn’t help but follow suit.
Somewhere in the frenzy, you could hear Abbot’s groans while Robby murmured what appeared to be soft words to you, his hand never leaving your face.
The pounding of your heart thumped in your ears as you tried to calm your breathing.
Your eyes fluttered open to both the men looking at you, Jack’s eyes soft with gratification and adoration, while Robby’s irises swirled with lust and just plain need.
“You wanna switch?”
Jack’s words didn’t even make sense to you. You were still lost in the haze of what had just happened.
“Not on the couch, man.” Robby shook his head, his lips pulling into a small smile as he watched you. “Let’s get on the bed, baby.”
__ __ __
Your legs felt like jelly as Robby towered over you.
You knew what was happening, and yet your brain was still buffering.
His lips were so close to yours… just a few inches and you’d be kissing him.
But that’s not what he had in mind.
“Lay down for me, baby.”
You blinked, needing a second to understand his command and do as told.
The mattress was soft, the comfy duvet wrinkling underneath you as you laid back, your wide eyes watching him.
With a quick move, he removed his shirt, throwing it behind him… in the direction of Abbot.
Your breath hitched at the sight of him leaning against the wall, his eyes dark as he watched the scene unfold.
By the time you looked back, Robby was naked- and your lungs took another toll.
You were propped on your elbows, shamelessly eying all of him. His broad chest, the dark hair on his pecs, on his belly, until your gaze lowered just enough to catch his cock-
You were pretty sure you’d stopped breathing completely.
That’s what they’d been talking about.
You really had seen nothing yet.
You swallowed dryly as his big hand wrapped around his dick, giving it two slow strokes that had him seemingly grow even more.
Your eyes were wide as he stalked closer to you, his smirk everlasting.
“R-Robby,” you stuttered, clearly intimidated.
“’S alright, baby. I’ll go real slow.”
“I-I- How…”
“Don’t worry about it,” he shook his head, “spread your legs for me, baby.”
And even if your heart was going crazy and your brain was telling you that was an impossible fit, you did as told.
“Wider.”
You slid your feet further across the bed, opening yourself up to him completely, eliciting a delighted groan.
“Pretty,” he murmured, his palm going to your mound and his thumb moving to your folds, exploring slowly.
Jack’s come was still leaking out of you, creating a sultry mixture with your own juices.
Your cheeks heated at his unabashed gaze, but then his other hand grabbed the base of his manhood, his tip suddenly parting your folds, and all thoughts left your head.
You were whimpering already, still sensitive from your previous orgasm, and Michael would have done anything to record those sweet sounds and listen to them on repeat all day long.
“It’s ok, baby, relax for me.” That’s all he murmured, as he started guiding his impossibly thick tip inside of you.
“Oh!” You gasped, your eyes wide open as you watched him thrust into you.
He was looking at where your bodies melted into one another, watching your greedy pussy swallow him in.
The stretch burned at first- he had the biggest cock you’d ever seen after all- counting porn- but his soft growls and groans were making you all the more pliant.
His thumb started circling your clit to help you out as broken cries fled your throat.
He was retracting his hips just to thrust softly into you, over and over again, filling you up inch by never-ending inch.
“O-Oh my god,” You were crying, your hands fisting the sheets as he kept going.
“You’re doing so good, baby,” he reassured you, his free hand tight on our waist. “Stretching so good for me- such a good girl.”
Your walls tightened around him at that, causing him to hiss.
“Let me in- just like that… good girl”
You knew the moment he was in to the hilt, because you could barely breathe at the feeling of how unbelievably full you felt.
Breathy gasps spilled from your lips as your gazes met.
“Told you you could do it,” he smirked, before he started to move.
The moan you let out at the first full, deep thrust was more of a scream.
“Robby!” you gasped, your fingers gripping his forearm as he started building his pace.
His back hurt like a motherfucker from all those hours on his bike, but he’ll be damned if he denied himself this sight.
“He always makes you do all the work?”
How his voice was still so even when you could barely breathe, let alone think, was a mystery.
You want to tell him the truth, that no, Jack was usually very much adamant in his need to take care of you, to pin you beneath him and fuck you thoroughly well into the day… but all you could manage was a whine.
You watched his lips pull into a grin at the state he’d rendered you in.
“Oh, c’mon, brother, I’ve just come back from a twelve-hour shift,” Jack defended himself from his spot against the wall as your eyes found him.
You could see from the bed, even with his boxers back on, that he was hard again.
God, this was all so hot.
The way both their eyes were only focused on you as Robby’s thrusts had you bouncing up on the bed, your tits moving in tandem with his harsh movements…
“And she hasn’t?” Robby raised his brows, shooting Jack a quick, disappointed look, before coming back to you.
“You don’t have to worry about it now, baby,” he spoke softly, the thumb he still had on your bundle of nerves resuming its torturous movements. “I’ll take care of you like you deserve from now on.”
You felt butterflies in your stomach at those words.
Your hips were chasing his movements, forcing the loud smacking of his skin hitting your core over and over again to get even louder.
You could feel every inch of his dick inside you, every vein and ridge slide against your velvety walls as his tip speared you and reached parts of you no one ever could find but him.
And with a feeling like that… it was inevitable for tears to gather in your eyes, your vision blurring as a knot of pleasure tightened inside you.
“Oh baby, I know it’s a lot.” his voice was calming, soothing your overexited system.
It was a lot. He was a whole damn lot.
“Just take it,” he cooed, “Don’t think about it, sugar, just be good for me and Jack, yeah?”
You slowly nodded, tears rolling down your temples and onto the sheets as the air filled with your moans.
“That’s it, pretty girl— that’s it.”
And suddenly, it was all too much.
“I-I- Oh my-”
He groaned at how tight you got. His chest inflating with the effort not to come on the spot.
“Let go, baby,” he instructed. “Be a good girl and come for me.”
The last thing you saw was his smile; everything after that was sort of a blur.
A tidal wave of pleasure washed over your body; you were pretty sure you were moaning his name like a prayer as you experienced a mind-blowing orgasm.
Your eyes and ears started functioning again as Robby’s thrusts got sloppier, more erratic.
He grinned as you whimpered at the overstimulation, his groans getting louder as he got closer, until he spilled inside you with a feral roar.
“Jesus Christ,” he hissed after several moments, slowly pulling out of you.
Jack had gotten beside him somewhere in the meantime, and both men’s eyes fell to the release spilling out of your spent core.
“C’mere,” you whined, breaking them out of their amazed trance.
They both smiled, and it was Jack who joined you on the bed first, moving you so your head could rest on the pillow as he spooned you, wrapping his arms around you.
“You did real good, sweetheart,” he murmured to your ear, his stubble grazing your skin as your eyes fluttered shut.
You were exhausted.
You didn’t even hear Robby lying down next to you until he placed your head to rest on his chest.
“So… am I gonna have to sanitize every surface of the house?”
A soft laugh fled your throat as Jack grinned amusedly.
“The kitchen should be saf—” The look you sent Jack had him suddenly remember all the alternative meals he’d consumed on the kitchen counter. “No, yeah… the whole apartment.”
The Savage and the Sanctuary - Ch. 21: New Beginnings
You and Joel try to navigate this new relationship and learn just how alike you are. A continuation of The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue through chapter 20 found on Tumblr here.
Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader
CW: SMUT!!!! Mild angst for me, tbh. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only.
“I’m not. Tommy was always the troublemaker, bailed him out of jail more than my fair share of times over the years. Had to keep him from getting in over his head, make sure he ate something besides junk from 711, all that shit.”
“I can’t picture it,” you laughed, reaching out and scratching your fingers through his beard. “He’s always so… together.”
“Relatively recent development,” Joel said. “You met his wife?”
You frowned a little, considering. Joel took the moment to memorize the light creasing of your forehead, the small line that formed between your sculpted brows.
“Don’t think I have,” you said. “Should I?”
He chuckled.
“It would explain a lot. She helped straighten his ass out. She’s an attorney - on retainer for his company now - and he knew from the minute he met her that he was punching pretty damn far above his weight. That and having to look out for me…”
His voice trailed off and you offered him a small, sad smile. For the first time, he didn’t need to say anything else. You knew now.
Joel hadn’t anticipated the relief that came with telling you everything. He hadn’t even known that he’d wanted to until it was all spilling out of him, desperate to make you understand and not seeing a way to make you get it without telling you everything.
I was a father.
It wasn’t until the words were out of his mouth that he realized the desperation was just an excuse, the last push he needed. He wanted you to know him, all of him, and that was impossible without knowing Sarah, too.
He spoke about her rarely because it hurt too much. It was like picking at a cut that was trying to scab over but never really seemed to, the wound pulling and bleeding and not making anything better. It hadn’t taken long, after she died, to figure out that keeping her safely tucked away in his memory was the best thing to do. But telling you felt right, a relief in a way. Like you were supposed to know her and know him, he was just correcting a wrong he’d let go on too long.
That was hours ago now. The two of you hadn’t gone far since coming to the little guest house. You were beside him in the bed, your bodies bare and aligned, your face so close to his that your nose brushed his sometimes when you laughed.
At first, you’d just watched each other. His thumb traced your cheek, fingers feeling the flutter of your pulse at your neck and your eyes searched his face over and over again, like you weren’t quite believing what you were seeing which made no goddamn sense to him at all. He was just him, just a man, and you were you. You were more human and mortal to him now than you’d ever been before but you were still extraordinary in so many ways. Fuck if he knew why you’d be looking at him like he was some kind of miracle when you were the only miraculous part of this.
He wasn’t entirely sure how the two of you started talking but once you did, he couldn’t seem to stop and neither could you. He told you things he’d never told anybody else, how he knew what it was like to just want your parent to love you only to feel like nothing you did could be enough, how it seemed like everything he did in his life was just short of what was needed of him, how he wasn’t sure what his daughter would think of him now, if she could see what he became without her there to guide him.
“I think she’d understand,” you said softly, your fingers trailing a slow path through his hair. “I didn’t know her but if she was anything like you described, I think she’d understand. She’d understand and she’d love you.”
He kissed you gently.
“I hope you’re right.”
You told him about Anna, about Elise, about how you didn’t even realize what you were missing from your own mother until you saw what they had up close.
“It’s probably pathetic,” you said, playing with the tips of his fingers, watching the abstract patterns you were making with him instead of looking at his face but he was watching yours, the small frown on your lips and that little crease between your brows. “But I clung to them so hard once I pieced it together. That’s probably why Elise brought me around so much, I just kept hanging on to them both. I tried to get my mom to be like that with me and when I couldn’t I just…”
“Not pathetic,” he said gently when your voice trailed off. Your eyes met his then, soft and open. “You deserved to have someone lookin’ out for you that way. You just knew what you needed, that’s all.”
“Sometimes I think there’s something wrong with me,” you whispered, like a secret, and Joel supposed that it was. That, like what he’d said to you, you’d never said this to anyone else, either. “Like there’s something rotten inside me that I can’t see but everyone else can, once they get close enough. Like they know I’ll poison everything I touch if they don’t cut me out and I’m scared it’ll get Ellie, too. That just by being close to her and making her need me, she’ll get hurt.”
He took your face in his hand, making your gaze meet his.
“Not a damn thing wrong with you,” he said. “Plenty wrong with the world and the people in it but none of it’s got a thing to do with you. Ellie needs you. She’s lucky to have you. Anyone who gets to have you is lucky.”
You dozed off in his arms more than once through the night, eyes drifting closed and body relaxing. He didn’t try to stop you even though he couldn’t sleep himself. His mind was moving too quickly, trying to absorb as much as he could - the way your lashes fanned over your cheeks when your eyes were closed, the steady pattern of your sleeping breaths, the softness of your limbs that reached for him in dreams and the way your lips curved up ever so slightly when you found him there beside you - and trying to figure out what to do next.
This could not be a repeat of what happened before. He would not lose you like that again, and it’s not like he could separate himself from you now if he tried. But he was still your bodyguard, still responsible for your safety and the safety of your niece. He couldn’t trust anyone else to look out for you and her the way he did.
He was treading on new, dangerous ground. He’d never cared about anything the way he cared about you, never felt like this for a woman. Even before he’d lost Sarah he’d never felt like this but to have it now - so much vitality and fire and life in every inch of him now that his guard was down - after feeling nothing at all for so long was overwhelming. He couldn’t let you get hurt, let alone anything worse, but he wasn’t sure how to protect you like this, either. There was a reason this sort of thing wasn’t just frowned upon, it was down right forbidden.
The sun started to break on the horizon, orange and red streams of light cracking over the mountains. Joel watched the dawn, cupping your head gently in his palm. He was strangely aware of himself, how his movements might effect you, how easily he could fuck up and hurt you. His thumb delicately stroked your temple and you smiled ever so slightly.
“You’re warm,” you said quietly, eyes still closed.
He laughed a little.
“If you say so.”
“I do,” you smiled a little wider. “What time is it?”
“Not sure,” he said, his thumb keeping that path over your skin. “But should get back before we have to explain ourselves to that niece of yours. Love the kid but she’s too smart for her own good.”
You opened your eyes then, meeting his so fast it almost surprised him, that anyone would be so aware of him and where he was.
“You love her?” You asked, a hopeful lilt to your voice.
Joel’s heart stuttered. He hadn’t meant to say it but that’s what it was, what it had been for a while, and it scared the shit out of him.
But he was in it now, why pretend like it was anything but what it was?
“Yeah,” he said. “Not sure she gave me much choice in the matter, but yeah, I do.”
You laughed.
“Yeah, she does that,” you said. “Had me wrapped around her finger since the day she was born. Before, that, really.”
He smiled.
“Can only imagine. But we should get back, she’s… observant.”
“She is,” you agreed. “But she’s also a teenager who sleeps late.”
You bit your lip, watching him closely.
“Yeah,” he said, taking his thumb and gently tugging your plush flesh free of your teeth. “She does.”
He kissed you then, soft and slow. It was almost oddly intimate, kissing you like this, the taste of sleep on your tongue and the delicate feeling of your skin after your body had been relaxed alongside his for so long.
Joel would have been satisfied with that, just that, but you deepened the kiss, pressing yourself against him. He loved it at first, the feeling of you against him, the warmth of you. But something had shifted. He couldn’t even put his finger on what it was, exactly, but he felt it. It reminded him of when you were about to go perform or when you were doing an interview, a change in how you held yourself, like you weren’t really you anymore.
He pulled back from you enough to look at you and you frowned, almost pouting.
“Hey,” he said, taking your chin in his fingers so you couldn’t so easily look away from him. “You don’t gotta do that.”
Your frown deepened.
“Do what?”
“That… thing you do,” he said, wishing he was better with words. “The thing where you’re not really you, you’re just acting like you think people want you to act. You don’t need to do that, not with me, and you really don’t need to do that when we’re like this.”
You just blinked at him for a moment, watching him.
“You noticed that?” You asked quietly.
He nodded once.
“If this ain’t what you want…”
“It is,” you said quickly, your eyes searching his.
“Then why are you doin’ this.”
You looked at him for another long moment before taking a deep, shaky breath.
“I just… I want to be what you want,” you said, tension in you that wasn’t there before. “I know it’s different, that I’m not like my characters or what I seem like out in the world. I’m kind of a let down in comparison, I know that, and I don’t…”
“Hey,” he cut you off, holding your face a little firmer. “That’s not true.”
You gave him a look, one that made him feel younger and dumber than he had in years, like he was harboring some naive view of the world that you’d known the truth of for so long.
“Joel.”
“I’m serious,” he said. “I’m not interested in some character you’ve been or some version of you that ain’t real. I want you and that’s the only way I want you. You gonna let me have you?”
Your eyes searched his for a moment, like you thought he was going to change his mind somehow. Eventually, you nodded, and stretched to kiss him.
It took some time, Joel just cradling your face, a hand on the small of your back just to touch you and not to push you. He felt you relax, like you were coming back into yourself. This time, when he kissed you deeper, you moved against him in a way that felt like you.
Joel slipped a hand down over the curve of your ass, your thigh, to the hinge of your knee. He hitched your leg up and over his hip before tugging you closer to him, his cock - already aching and hard - pressed against the wet heat of your pussy. You groaned into his mouth, wanton and needy, and he rocked his hips against you, coating himself in your arousal. Your breaths grew more ragged and his heart was pounding as he notched himself at your entrance and pressed slowly, firmly into you.
He had to give himself a moment to collect himself once he was inside you and he wondered - fleetingly - if he would ever get used to this. It was overwhelming, being this close to you, able to feel your heartbeat and your trembling breaths and your tight, wet heat. The rest of the world may as well not exist and everything that was worth a damn was somewhere inside of you, anyway. He just had to find a way to not lose himself to you too quickly, wanting to savor it and make it last instead of giving into the screaming drive to chase his orgasm because he knew just how fucking good it would feel to do it.
So he made himself move slowly, surely, within you. He lingered where your breath hitched and held your gaze as he pressed his forehead to yours. Neither of you spoke but you didn’t need to, everything that needed to be said shared through your skin and eyes and breaths.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he felt you tightening around him, like you were trying to pull him impossibly deeper and hold him there, your ragged pants becoming stronger and needier with every long drag of his cock. He pressed in deep, his head finding the soft, sensitive place inside and you cried out softly as you pulsed and fluttered around him. He didn’t let up, your wide eyes locked on his as your orgasm brought on his own and he came hard inside you.
Both of you went limp and he kissed you, gentle but sure, as he cradled you against him, trying to stay in this place with you as long as he could.
Eventually, he disentangled himself from you, kissing you as he slipped out of you because he needed to be connected to you in some way for a second longer, and the two of you silently got dressed before heading back to the main house. The blanket from the night before was wrapped tightly around your shoulders and Joel wished he’d thought to throw on a damn jacket the night before, if only so he could give it to you.
“So,” you said eventually, breaking the silence that had fallen between you. “Justice obviously knows what’s going on.”
Joel laughed a little.
“Yeah, he does.”
“But… I don’t think we can tell anyone else,” you said, eyes darting to him for a moment before looking ahead of you again. “I need to keep up the relationship with Justice in public, the whole point of that is making things stable for Ellie and…”
“I know,” Joel cut you off. “And that’s OK because I don’t think we can tell anyone else, either.”
You stopped walking and turned to face him.
“You don’t?”
“Can’t tell anyone,” he shook his head, stopping too. “Not while I’m protecting you. This… it ain’t allowed. It’s risky, for you and for me. I should tell Tommy, tell him to assign someone else but…”
“I don’t want you protecting me,” you said and he frowned but you didn’t give him a chance to say anything. “I don’t like the idea of anyone getting hurt to protect me but I really don’t want you to, if something happens to you because of me…”
“I should tell Tommy but I’m not going to,” he said, reaching out and taking your shoulders in his hands. “I can’t trust someone else to look out for you the way I do. Can’t let you get hurt because they hesitate. I know what I’d do to protect you, can’t trust them to do the same.”
Your jaw quirked, like you were biting your tongue.
“It’ll be OK. Haven’t died on an assignment yet,” he said after a moment, giving you a wry smile, and you scoffed. He didn’t bother to mention all the times he’d wished he had died or how now, for the first time since he lost his daughter, he was glad he hadn’t. “Need you to trust me, baby. I know we’re just figurin’ this out but I need you to let me take care of it. I know what I’m doing.”
You sighed and looked toward the house for a moment, the haze of dawn still on the air and the golden light made it seem like you were glowing. When you looked back toward him, you had the smallest smile on your face, a glint in your eye that he hadn’t seen in what felt like forever.
“Well as long as the great Big Miller knows what he’s doing…”
“Jesus,” he shook his head, trying not to smile.
You started back toward the house again.
“Gonna have to keep giving you shit,” you said as he followed behind you. “Only way to make sure no one gets suspicious.”
He scoffed.
“Yeah, sure, that’s why you’re gonna do it…”
“Seems like the safest thing.”
“Uh huh. You’re just gonna find new ways to make me lose my damn mind, ain’t you?”
You smiled, a little proudly.
“Probably. Why, got a problem with that?”
He just shook his head, giving in to his urge to smile. He wouldn’t have you any other way.
***
“Mornin’.”
Justice was sitting at a bar stool at the kitchen island when you came in, drinking a steaming mug of coffee with a shit eating grin on his face.
Joel cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Morning,” he said, his eyes darting from Justice to you and back again.
Justice clicked tongue and gave his head a small shake before nodding to the coffee maker.
“Help yourself to some caffeine, something tells me you two need it.”
Joel’s jaw tightened for a moment before he went to get a mug and you went to lean against the counter beside your friend.
“Proud of yourself?” You asked brows raised.
“Dunno,” he smirked. “You have a good time?”
“Sure seemed like she did,” Joel said before setting a mug of coffee in front of you. Justice barked a laugh and you looked aghast between them.
“So he does have a sense of humor,” Justice said, shaking his head. “Good to know.”
He polished off his coffee before setting his now empty mug on the counter and getting down to business.
“Ain’t seen Ellie yet today but sure she’ll be up before too long. Already asked my ranch hands to get some horses ready for us in a few hours. Figure we could go for a trail ride after breakfast. Animals are good at helping people through their shit, thought it’d do us all some good.”
You nodded slowly, the reminder of why you’d come here in the first place settling heavy inside you. It had been easy, in the cocoon of the guest house in Joel’s arms, to pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist. You’d forgotten, for a while, that the only real mother you’d ever known was gone, that the person who mattered more to you than anything else was coping with a kind of pain and loneliness you were deeply familiar with and that made you ache for her all the more. You weren’t entirely sure what was happening with Joel, what was even possible with Joel, but you couldn’t let that distract you from what was important. You took a sip of coffee and only then realized that Joel had added the perfect amount of sweetener to it. You looked toward him but he didn’t seem to notice, focused on Justice, and you wondered just what parts of you he’d noticed over the past year.
“I think that’s a good plan,” you said. “Ellie’s always loved animals, getting on a horse will help. I think just being out here, away from everything else, will help.”
“That is the idea,” Justice smiled a little sadly and took your hand, giving it a squeeze. “A reset is good, for you and for her.”
When he finished his coffee, Joel excused himself to get cleaned up for the day and he paused before he did, looking at you like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do before heading to his corner of the house. You watched him go until he was out of sight and instead focused on your remaining coffee, turning the mug slowly in your hands and watching the black of it ripple.
“So,” Justice said conspiratorially after the two of you had been quietly alone for a minute. “Is Big Miller actually Big Miller or…”
“Oh my God!” You shoved him lightly.
“What!” He laughed. “He’s got that… what the fuck are the kids sayin’ now? Big Dick Energy?”
“You’re the worst,” you rolled your eyes and he laughed.
“I just want to make sure you’re taken care of, that’s all,” he teased and you rolled your eyes, laughing a little, too. But he shifted then, an earnest look in his eyes. “Being serious, though… You two talk? Figure some shit out?”
You took a deep breath, nodding slowly.
“We talked. We haven’t figured out everything but we understand each other a lot better now.”
“S’good,” Justice nodded slowly. “Mind if I ask when all this started?”
“A while ago,” you said, looking back at your coffee cup again, cheeks getting hot. “It’s hard to exactly say… We didn’t seem to like each other much at first and I’m not sure when things really started to change… But I’m also not entirely sure they actually changed, not really. The first time I met him, he saved me, did I tell you that?”
“No,” Justice said. “What happened?”
“Someone must have seen me in the lobby of the hotel where Quinn was staying when she was meeting with Joel and Tommy, his brother who owns the security company,” you said. “Word got out, a bunch of people showed up and swarmed me. I thought I was going to be OK, it wasn’t anything that hasn’t happened before, but it got out of hand fast and some guy decided to feel me up… Anyway, Joel just jumped into the middle of it all. He wasn’t even working yet, he didn’t start until the next day, but he punched the asshole who decided to grope me and then got me out of there. He got my car from the valet, had them bring it around back, made sure no one followed me. I think we both resented the situation we were in - I didn’t want someone following me around, he didn’t want to be protecting some stupid actress for months on end - and we took it out on each other. But he was always taking care of me. I’m not sure what I did to deserve it but he was.”
“You’re allowed to let people care about you, you know,” he said, watching you closely. “Know you got your own shit you’re dealin’ with but you’re a good person. You don’t gotta constantly be trying to prove that you’re worth giving a shit about, it’s OK to just let someone care.”
You scoffed.
“You sound like a therapist.”
Justice laughed dryly.
“Yeah, well, we could probably both use one of those, so.”
You laughed, too. He was probably right.
Justice made breakfast for everyone while you got dressed for the day - he’d always been good at cooking, something you’d always meant to ask him to teach you but never had - and Joel joined the two of you in the kitchen, neither of you really sure what to do or how to act around the other.
It was merciful when Ellie eventually got up, shuffling into the kitchen in her pajamas like she’d been roused at the crack of dawn instead of rolling out of bed of her own accord at 11 a.m. Texas time.
“Well aren’t you pretty!” You teased and Ellie gave you a grunt as she fell into a chair at the oversized table set into a bay window. She put her head down in her arms dramatically and you resisted the urge to laugh.
“It’s bright outside,” she groaned and Justice chuckled.
“Yeah, don’t gotta worry about sleeping in much on a ranch,” he said. “No blackout curtains here, kiddo. Hungry? Figure we’ll feed you and then take you out to meet some horses, sound good?”
Her head shot up.
“Horses?”
“Horses,” Justice smiled before going and loading up a plate of pancakes and bacon for her.
The motivation of riding horses had Ellie wolfing down breakfast and it wasn’t long before the four of you were walking toward the stables, picking your way through the tall grass with the mountains on the horizon and the sky wide and crystal blue overhead.
You looked toward Joel, his tall, broad body looking at home working his way through the field and you were thankful that Ellie was ahead of you, walking alongside Justice as he told her about the mountains and the horses, so you could actually appreciate Joel for a moment. It’s not like you were unfamiliar with beautiful men. Hell, you’d fucked three of People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alives, you were surrounded by beautiful people all the time, but there was something about Joel that struck you. There was something honest about how he looked, rugged and real. It was oddly comforting, knowing that he wasn’t trying to sell himself in the way you and so many people you knew did. He caught you staring and you looked straight ahead again, fighting the urge to smile.
The stables were busy when you got there, a few ranch hands grooming horses and mucking stalls, going about the daily work of running Justice’s ranch.
“Mr. James,” one of the men gave him a nod and you could have sworn you saw a small smile pulling at his mouth. “Heard you wanted to go ridin’ this morning.”
“Colten,” Justice nodded to him and smiled a little, too. “Got my best girls with me, figured we could all use a little equine therapy today.”
“Well, why don’t we get your guests introduced to the horses,” he said. “Get ‘em saddled up. Think you can take it from there.”
“Think I can,” Justice said, turning to Ellie. “Want to meet the one I picked for you?”
“You picked a horse for me?” She asked, her brows rising so high they almost disappeared into her hair.
“Sure did,” he smiled, jerking his head toward a stall. “Let’s see ‘er.”
You followed him to a corner stall, a large, chestnut horse with a white blaze down its face watching you pensively.
“This,” Justice said, leaning against the door to the stall. “Is Shimmer.”
“Hi Shimmer,” Ellie said, her voice reverent, reaching for the horse.
“Let ‘er get a whiff of you first,” Justice said. “So she’s nice and comfortable.”
Ellie obeyed, holding her hand out toward the horse, who considered her for a moment before pressing her nose into her palm. Ellie beamed and Justice smiled.
“Rescued her from a nasty breeding operation not long after I bought this place,” he said. “he was just a yearling back then but the first time I saw ‘er I knew she’d be your horse.”
“My horse?” Ellie asked, gaping at him. “Like… she’s mine my horse?”
Justice shrugged.
“If you want ‘er,” he said. “Figure she can live here. Colten here takes real good care of her when I’m not around and we bring some kids out from the city once a month so they can experience nature and spend time with animals, she’s real good with ‘em. Given all that, wouldn’t be good to just send her to Texas with you but you can come see ‘er whenever you want, as long as your aunt says it’s OK.”
Justice gave you a little wink as Ellie turned her attention back to Shimmer, giving her gentle strokes.
“We’re going to be best friends,” she whispered to her. “Promise.”
Justice pointed out the horses he’d selected for you and Joel to ride that day and asked Colten to help saddle them up while he showed Ellie the ropes of getting a horse ready to go riding. It wasn’t long before you were out in the open pasture, your heart racing a little at the idea of getting on something this big.
It was almost strange, being nervous about something like this. For so long, you’d done reckless things just because you could. You’d gotten a reputation for doing your own stunts and it had started because it seemed like a win/win. If everything went right - which it usually did - you’d at least feel something for a moment. Even a simulated near death experience gave you that much. If something went wrong, there was a chance it would kill you. You didn’t dwell too much on the appeal of that because you knew that it wasn’t great to feel that way. If you spent too much time thinking about it you’d have to do something about it. Instead, you learned how to stunt drive cars and got thrown around sets because that tantalizing possibility was there and it required no examination.
Things had changed when Ellie came along. The smoking stopped, the drugs, too. You still did stunts but there were nerves there that hadn’t been there when you’d started doing them. It changed more when Anna got sick and the fact that she wasn’t going to make it was obvious. Then, you knew you couldn’t risk it because you had to take care of Ellie. Life had purpose and that purpose was her.
This was different, too, and you hadn’t expected it.
For the first time that you could remember, you wanted to live for yourself.
Justice helped Ellie up onto Shimmer and you stood there, looking at the mare that had been saddled up for you.
“Need help there, Siren?” Joel said, a hint of a teasing edge to his voice.
“No,” you resisted the urge to smile. “But if you’re offering…”
“Well, can’t have you fallin’ and breaking your neck on my watch,” he said.
He helped guide your foot into the stirrup and boost you into the saddle, his hand on your ass and you had to adjust yourself in your saddle to ease the ache in you once you were seated.
“You ridden before?” he asked.
“Nope,” you said, looking down at him from your perch high on the back of the horse. “But how hard can it be?”
You looked to Justice, who was showing Ellie the basics.
“Well don’t go tryin’ to do anything crazy,” Joel said, his hand going to your ankle. The callus of his fingertips trailed gently over your skin. “Keep your heel low in the stirrup. Squeeze your legs together to get ‘er to go forward and nudge her the direction you want her to go with your legs and by leaning your weight.”
“Oh, so you’re an expert?” You asked, brows raised.
“I’ve been on a damn horse,” he said before giving your thigh a pat. “Try not to give me a heart attack, alright?”
“Now where’s the fun in that?” You called after him as he went to his own horse. “And who’s going to help you get on your horse, hm?”
He didn’t respond. He just lifted his leg, put his foot squarely in the stirrup and pulled himself up smoothly into the saddle as you gaped at him. He guided the horse to yours, shit eating grin on his face.
“Who said I needed help?”
You glared at him.
“Shut up.”
He laughed and you got the hang of guiding your horse - who Justice said was named Justified - eventually letting her trot around the field, Ellie riding alongside once she got the hang of Shimmer. She beamed, looking prouder than you’d ever seen her as she guided the horse around.
“Alright ladies,” Justice called eventually, grinning from the back of his own horse. “Wanna hit the trails?”
“Hell yeah!” Ellie said, nudging Shimmer toward Justice and you smiled at him, feeling like she might actually be OK.
***
Joel felt almost light headed.
It was like the last five years of his life had been spent in a dark room and he was seeing the light for the first time. It was overwhelming, everything bright and intense and there was too much to focus on.
He wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt like this before. Knowingly caring about someone couldn’t have always been like this, a knot of anxiety lodged deep in his chest right along side this almost perverse little bubble of warmth that was there because you and Ellie were smiling.
Justice was leading the way down the trail, the sound of birds and the rustling of leaves everywhere, and it was easy to see how much you and Ellie needed this. You kept reaching your hand out to run your fingers over the leaves on trees as you passed, turning your face toward the canopy-hidden sun and closing your eyes and breathing deep, green light dappling over your skin and making you glow. Ellie kept asking Justice questions - about the horse, the ranch, the plants Shimmer pulled leaves off of and chewed like gum as she walked.
It reminded him a little of when he’d first come to guard you, back before the threats weren’t concrete, when Ellie hadn’t found reasons to be pissed off and Elise was still alive and well. He hadn’t realized that he’d missed this version of you the last few months or how much he felt like he needed to protect you like this. Not just from would-be kidnappers or rabid fans but from anything that might hurt you, even some small wound because he knew you’d had too much of that in your life. He had to protect you from all of it. Even him.
“Hey Joel!” Ellie called, twisting in her saddle to look around you and back at him. “What do you call a guy who buys a horse and has money left in the bank?”
You looked back toward him, too, lower lip between your teeth as you held back a grin.
He sighed in contemplation.
“Dunno, Trouble, what do you call ‘em?”
She grinned, victorious.
“Financially stable.”
You laughed so hard you threw your head back, whole body shaking, and Joel groaned if only to make Ellie smile wider.
“That’s terrible,” he said. “Worst one yet.”
“No it’s not!” She laughed.
“It’s pretty bad,” Justice called back. “I’m with Big Miller on this one.”
“Ignore them,” you said, still laughing. “They’re just boring.”
“Thank you,” Ellie said, looking between Joel and Justice. “I knew Sissy was the cool one.”
You looked back to Joel, proud little smile on your face, before facing forward again.
After a while, the trail widened and forked in two directions, Justice pulling his horse to a stop, you, Ellie and Joel pulling up alongside him.
“Alright,” Justice said. “Which way are we going, girls? Left is easier, path’s clearer, but right’s got the better pay off at the end.”
“What do you think, kiddo?” You asked, looking to Ellie.
She considered for a second, chewing the inside of her cheek.
“Hard way’s worth it?” She asked, looking to Justice.
He shrugged.
“I sure think so.”
She nodded, looking ahead again.
“Hard way it is.”
Justice took the lead, followed by Ellie with you behind her and Joel in back. Things were smooth at first, like they had been on the earlier parts of the trail, but things got trickier. The brush was thicker, trees had fallen, rocky areas that required more trust in your mounts that made Joel even more nervous than he already was.
The four of you had been working your way through the more challenging path for what felt like a while when, suddenly, Ellie’s horse spooked.
She started almost dancing on the trail, hooves stomping into the dirt, head tossing. Ellie lost control of the reins, yelping as she grabbed onto the saddle horn.
“Ellie!” he yelled, pushing his horse faster, trying to force him up the path but you were closer to her, reaching for the reins and dropping your own in the process.
It didn’t help. Your horse reared back and time slowed. Joel could see you trying to think, in a fraction of a second, what to do but you never had a chance. You were off balance from reaching for Ellie’s horse and you didn’t have a hand on your own reins or saddle when your horse panicked. You held on to the reins of Ellie’s horse until you couldn’t anymore and then you were falling, hitting the ground with a sickening thud.
Joel jumped off his horse before he had a chance to really think about it, stumbling through the brush to get to you. His heart beat so fast that he could hear the blood in his ears and he fell to his knees beside you, looking you up and down, searching for some sign of injury but he didn’t see one.
“Ow,” you said, flat on your back, staring up at the trees with wide eyes. He reached out slowly, delicately cupping your cheek and your eyes met his. His other hand found the base of your ribs, where he could feel your body move with your breaths and his thudding heart slowed.
“Sissy!” Ellie yelled and Joel suddenly remembered that you weren’t alone. He looked to find Justice off his horse, the reins of yours and Ellie’s mounts in his hands and the animals’ feet on the ground as they anxiously tossed their heads. Ellie scrambled off Shimmer, almost falling as she slipped off the horse before running for you. She skidded to a stop, sending dirt and leaves flying, before dropping to her knees on the other side of you, panting for breath. “Are you OK?”
“I’m fine,” you laughed a little before reaching up to stroke her hair. “Are you OK?”
“Yeah,” she said, relaxing then and sitting on the ground next to you. “You scared the shit out of me!”
“That goes both ways!” You said, going to sit up, but Joel held you in place. Your eyes darted to him for a second, giving him a quick frown before looking back to Ellie. “What happened? Did you get thrown?”
“No clue but no, Justice calmed Shimmer down before things got too crazy,” she said. “Shit, that was nuts!”
“Hey Ellie,” Justice called. “Need another set of hands, c’mere for a minute.”
She rolled her eyes but obeyed and you watched her go before looking back to Joel.
“Think you can let me up, cowboy?” You teased, brows raised.
“You sure you’re OK?” he asked, looking you over again. “Did you hit your head?”
You rolled your eyes in a way that was so like Ellie that Joel wondered if it was something that you’d picked up from her or if it was the other way around.
“No, I’m fine,” you said. “Just going to have a nice bruise on my back tomorrow.”
“Neck’s OK?” He asked, his hand slipping from your face down to your throat and then to the back of your neck, his fingers tracing the bones that seemed far too delicate to be doing a job that important. “Not gonna paralyze yourself if you move?”
Your eyes softened and you smiled gently, reaching up to take his face in your hand. Your palm was soft and warm and he resisted the urge to press his lips to the place on your wrist where he knew he could feel your pulse.
“Joel, I’m OK,” you said, thumb stroking his cheek. “It’s all going to be OK. I promise.”
He nodded once, jaw clenched tight, and gently guided you to sitting upright. You adjusted yourself, tilting your head and rolling your shoulders back before picking dead leaves off your jacket.
“Still feelin’ alright?” he asked, not able to bring himself to take his hands off your body yet.
You looked at him for a moment, considering him.
“I’m good. Really.”
The two of you rejoined Ellie and Justice, the horses now calmed and eating apples out of Ellie’s hand.
“What the hell happened?” Joel asked, trying to keep from sounding pissed off but he wasn’t sure how well that was really going.
“This trail ain’t used as much,” Justice said, eyes on the horses. “More wildlife. Shimmer saw something, got spooked, scared Justified. We all OK?”
“All good,” you said before Joel got a chance to speak.
“Maybe we should head back,” he said, looking you over one more time for good measure.
“Aw, come on Big Miller!” Ellie said. “We’re so close to the end! Wait.” She looked to Justice. “We are close to the end, right?”
He chuckled.
“Only about another 10 minutes on horseback and then five on foot but yeah, we’re close.”
“Joel,” you looked at him, barely hidden smile on your face. “Come on. We can’t let her down.”
He sighed heavily, the tightness of fear in his chest warring with the fact that he knew he could give you something that would make you happy.
“Fine,” he said after a moment. “We go the rest of the way. Assuming you don’t give me another damn heart attack.”
Ellie squealed happily and Justice helped her back on her horse as Joel put you back on your own.
“You sure you’re OK?” he asked, looking up at you once you were firmly seated in your saddle. You gave him a look.
“Joel.”
He sighed, just shaking his head and going to get on his own horse, hoping he wasn’t going to regret this.
But the rest of the way up was easier, until the four of you came to a stop where the trail thinned and Joel could see brighter light beyond.
“Alright,” Justice said, dismounting. “This trail is too narrow for the horses, gotta go ahead on foot. I’ll hang back, stay with the horses, you three go on ahead.”
“You sure?” You frowned.
He smiled a little and gave you a nod.
“Go ahead, take your time,” Justice said. “Oh and there’s a pretty cool echo up there and next closest ranch is a few miles away so there’s no one around to hear. If… you know. You need to blow off some steam.”
Ellie led the way, picking her way through the brush with you close behind and Joel at your back. You kept looking over your shoulder to him, smiling gently when you did like you were happy to see that he was still there with you.
“Woah,” Ellie said as the three of you broke through the tree line and he saw why. Justice was right, it really was beautiful.
There were mountains and lakes and open land as far as he could see, the view full of nothing but things that were wild and free and ancient.
He hung back as you and Ellie got closer to the edge, looking out over it all. Your arm went around her waist and Ellie’s head went to your shoulder. You rested your own head on hers and the two of you stood silent for a while.
“Do you think Justice was right about the echo thing?” Ellie said after a few minutes.
You smiled.
“Only one way to know for sure.”
Ellie pulled away from you, stepping one foot closer to the edge of the outlook and cupping her hands around her mouth before yelling.
“Hello!”
It echoed back to her and she laughed, waiting for the echo to die down.
“Is anybody out there?” She yelled again and stayed silent as it all echoed back to her.
No one responded and she let the quiet hang in the air for a moment and something shifted in that moment. Joel couldn’t put his finger on how he knew, he could just feel it, some desperate longing that was so thick he could practically taste it.
She crept closer to the edge, so close that Joel went to reach for her but you held a hand out to him, going alongside her instead but not pulling her back.
“We’re all alone!” Ellie yelled out into the abyss and her own voice yelled back alone, alone, alone. Just as the echo died she yelled again. “Everyone else is gone!”
Gone. Gone. Gone.
It was all but silent for a moment and then she just screamed, harsh and hurt and broken. She kept screaming, her hand groping for yours and you took it, lacing your fingers with hers before screaming, too. It was a gutting sound, so viscerally full of pain that it hurt to hear. All Joel wanted to do was take care of both of you enough that you never felt like you needed to make a sound like that again.
That aching sound trailed off with a broken sob and Ellie all but collapsed into you. You put your arms around her, tears in your eyes, just holding onto her as long as she needed you to and Joel looked out from the clifftop, something too intimate about the two of you together to keep watching you.
Eventually, she pulled away from you, her face wet and cheeks red, and you tugged your sleeves down over your thumbs, drying her tears with your jacket.
“Ready to get started, kiddo?” You asked, smiling gently at her.
“Yeah,” she sniffled, wiping her nose on the back of her wrist. “I’m ready.”
After dinner that night, Justice built a bonfire in the pit out back and the four of you roasted marshmallows, Ellie tucked against your side, her head on your shoulder as you stroked her hair and held her close. Justice told a ghost story with with so much flourish Joel had to fight to not laugh and Ellie dozed off with her head on your lap, fire still burning bright, your breath rising in front of you like fog. You just watched her for a bit, running your fingers through her hair in a soothing pattern.
“Here,” Justice said quietly when Ellie had been good and out for a while. “I’ll get her inside. Joel, you seem like the capable type. Can I trust you to make sure nothing burns down and everything’s taken care of out here?”
“I’ll handle it,” Joel said.
“I’m trustin’ you,” he said, tone heavy and serious, and Joel knew he wasn’t talking about the fire.
He considered him for a moment.
“I know.”
Justice gave him a nod and then went and slowly, carefully, lifted an unconscious Ellie from your lap and carried her inside, leaving you and Joel facing each other, the flames between you casting you in a crackling orange glow.
“Turns out you didn’t need to worry about bears out here, it was the horses that got me,” you teased lightly, smiling a little at him.
He chuckled a little.
“Leave it to you to find trouble in the middle of nowhere,” he said.
“Need to keep you on your toes,” you said, watching him through the flames. “Are you alright?”
“Me?” he asked, brows raised. “I’m fine, I’m not the one who got thrown off a damn horse.”
“No,” you agreed. “But you seemed… I don’t know.”
He nodded slowly, trying to figure out how to put words to it all.
“You and… and her,” he said slowly. “You scare me. After… after everything, think somethin’ in me just decided it was better to not care about anything at all. It was safer that way. Meant what I said last night, that if something happened to you… Didn’t think I’d have to look that in the face so quick, especially not out here. I’m not used to giving a shit anymore. Not used to wanting to live anymore. Still figuring out how to deal with that.”
You nodded slowly, watching him for a moment before you got up and moved around the fire to sit beside him.
“It’s not the same,” you said slowly, looking at the fire instead of at him. “But I used to think I wouldn’t be around long enough to see my 30s.”
He stiffened beside you, heart pounding, but didn’t say anything.
“I’m not sure I really wanted to die, exactly,” you said, frowning a little, like you were trying to find the words. “It was more that I just didn’t want to live. I did a lot of stupid, risky shit and figured that, at the very least, I’d join the 27 club.”
“The 27 club?” Joel frowned.
You smiled just a little, looking at him.
“You know, troubled celebrities who died when they were 27? Kurt Cobain, Amy Winehouse, Jim Morrison?” You laughed darkly. “Just… add me to the list.”
Joel fought to stay still and not give into this foreign, amorphous terror that gripped him. Back when he first started protecting you, he wouldn’t have thought it was possible for you to have felt like that. It had seemed like everything in the world had conspired to give you everything a person could ever need, how could that have left you so wanting? How could someone like you ever understand what it was like to really, truly lose something.
Now, he knew better and that knowledge came with pain. What if you’d been right and you were just gone, back when you would have been a headline and his daughter crying on his shoulder? What if he’d never met you, known you? Would he even have had any idea of what was missing from his life or would he have just moved hollowly through the world with this empty piece he didn’t even know existed?
You looked back toward the fire, your fingers gripping the rock you were sitting on.
“I remember what it was like when Ellie changed that. I wanted to be around for her, to see her grow up and have a life, to be the cool aunt who she could actually depend on, not a bad influence who was just a story after she was gone. She changed everything for me.”
You looked to Joel again, eyes searching his.
“It’s different,” you said. “But… I get it. Or, I think I do, anyway.”
Your hand covered his, grit from the stone embedded in your palm harsh in the contrast to the softness of your skin.
“This doesn’t need to be anything you’re not ready for,” you said quietly. “We have time. We can figure it out but… I’d like to figure it out.”
He twisted and took your face gently in his hand, tilting your head so he could kiss you, the peppery bite of red wine and the syrupy sweetness of the marshmallow mixing on your tongue. He pulled back enough to look in your eyes but stayed close, pressing his forehead to yours like it could somehow keep any version of you from meeting that imagined fate. Like as long as you were close, you’d be OK.
“I’d like that, too.”
A/N: WOW this took a million, billion years. If you're still here, thank you. Work has been swallowing my creative energy whole the last two months and I'm taking a math class this semester of grad school so that's got me stressed tf out all the damn time.
That being said, it's not the AO3 author's curse (...yet) so I'll take what I can get.
I hope this was worth the wait! Thank you for spending your time here with these characters! It's interesting to explore them as they figure out this part of their relationship and are becoming more in tune with each other instead of the clashing that's been happening for the past *checks notes* 20 goddamn chapters or so.
summary: truths are unearthed during a visit with joel's friends, and he shows his commitment to you with words. some sweet, and some edging into completely new territory for you two. 10.4k words.
warnings: 18+ MDNI, sugar daddy worthy age gap (reader is 21, joel is 54), slow burn! and yes it's still burning, inherent power dynamic imbalance from a sugar daddy arrangement, heavy flirting, two stubborn people with feelings, insecure reader, does a very sexually charged conversation need a tag? playing it a little fast and loose with pov.
a/n: thanks as always for sticking around to keep reading their story! i hope you're loving this slow burn burning on for them. and shoutout to @justagalwhowrites for easing my worries and giving this a cheeky beta 💞
The crisp, invigorating air sticks in your lungs long after you’ve gone inside. It’s so clean here, fresh and a surprisingly welcome relief from the city. You’ve always been more inclined towards the bustle of things, but that may have been more out of necessity than anything else. The sun is bright against the chilly day, streaming in through the windows at Amelia and Margot’s cottage. They’re living here until the new house is built, they tell you over the rustic table you share with them.
You mostly stay out of the way when Joel conducts business with them first, watching on with a quiet delight as the two women fawn over every piece of it. You’ve outdone yourself, Amelia tells him with a kiss to the cheek. Joel shies at their compliments, but you know he must be absolutely beaming inside with all the care and attention he’s invested in this project.
Although you didn’t have much of an expectation of what the two would be like, Amelia and Margot are still somehow completely different than you’d imagined. Comfortable, flowing clothing adorns them, and Amelia has a streak of gray in her long hair that looks impossibly chic. Margot still carries her French accent, and keeps her hair in a bob that seems to flow and bounce charmingly when she moves. They’re so perfectly unperfect, flawed in a way your parents’ friends of a similar age are not. They feel like real people, and best of all, they treat you like one, too.
“Alright, so…” Amelia says, sitting across from you, her fingers folding together. Plates of herbed omelettes, potatoes, fruit, and three different options of juices in carafes are piled in front of you. You’re now seeing the evidence of Joel’s warnings about them being over the top hosts. “Joel told us he was bringing someone, but… well, you’re kind of unexpected.” She’s blunt, but not in an unkind way. You get the sense she’s simply the type of person to cut right to the chase.
You glance Joel’s way, but he looks unfazed. “Do they…?”
He nods, turning his attention to Amelia. “You’ve seen women I’ve dated before,” he tells her.
“Yes, but you say you are not dating,” Margot cuts in, gesturing in confusion with her hands before forking her omelette.
“We’re not,” Joel asserts, and the two women offer him a similar stare of doubt. It hurts you a little too, even though this isn’t new information by any means. You’d agreed to this at the start, and back then you’d been on Joel’s side. The idea that anything more than spending a little time together as part of the arrangement sounded like a recipe for disaster. But that doesn’t mean things can’t change, evolve, into something different and very confusing.
Your lip sits pulled between your teeth, feeling caught in the middle of all of this. “We’re not,” you assure them, wanting to fortify Joel’s front despite your hurt. “But he’s just helping me out. He’s… he’s… a good friend. A good person.”
They both appear to be thinking, narrowed eyes and fidgety fingers. “Uh-huh” Amelia says, humoring you and Joel. “Let’s just pretend I believe you. As friends, then, how did you meet?”
Your cheeks are hot under their teasing scrutiny, the way they can peer through the thin veil of your deceit so easily. “This may be rude to ask in front of you, so I’m sorry. But can I trust them?” you ask Joel, and his face morphs into surprise at your honesty, but he nods with a smile.
“Of course,” he replies, looking at his friends, and you notice the loving way they stare back, the history and understanding shared between the three. You suppose Joel wouldn’t bring you here if he doesn’t think he can trust them to ask questions about you.
So you tell them everything. Once you start, the words pour from your chest in rapid succession. Joel seems to unburden himself too, adding to the conversation with equal enthusiasm. You’ve never thought about how Joel likely doesn’t have anyone he can talk about this with, either. Ribbing back and forth, you argue playfully over small details, the other seeming to remember more accurately how the entirety of your strange, maybe twisted relationship has reached the point you’re at now. Amelia and Margot listen intently, without judgement, and it only makes the confession flow faster off your tongue. You feel free, like a long forgotten and impossibly heavy weight has lifted from your shoulders.
“And that’s how we basically became awful people,” you conclude, making them chuckle wryly.
“No, you aren’t. But that’s a hell of a situation you’ve gotten yourselves into. Especially you, Joel. You’ve dug quite a hole for her, here,” Amelia responds, contemplatively holding her glass of grapefruit juice, the bright pink liquid sloshing. “What’s the plan?”
“Plan… I -” you mutter. “I don’t know, honestly.”
“Well, even if it’s not ideal, I like this for you. You’re young, and are allowed to be reckless. I know I was. Joel, I like her.” Margot says.
“Well good, so glad you approve” Joel spits back sarcastically, chuckling.
“Joel,” Margot addresses Joel seriously, her stare likely to burn a hole in him. “You’re prepared to take care of all of this, even when it goes bad?” You scoff, blinking in surprise. “I’m sorry, but it’s the truth, darling. This isn’t… forever you can keep going like this. You need to be prepared,” she says to you.
Your skin prickles as you scrunch your brow together, knowing what she says is true and hating it. It’s only been your most prominent fear since all of this started with Joel, wondering when and how it’ll all blow up in your face. When he finally gets tired of you, of paying for everything, of listening to you whine and complain about your situation but barely doing a damn thing about it all these years.
“I know,” you say quietly. “I just… want to make it through the day, the week, the whatever. Not having to think about it.”
“We’re on your side,” Amelia assures you. “Look, we don’t know you yet, but we know Joel and -”
“I’m prepared. To take care of it,” Joel cuts in, his voice stern. He reaches for you under the table and out of sight from the others, grasping your hand, tight and firm. Your heart leaps in your chest and you turn your head, gazing at him with admiration, interlocking your fingers with his. Out of the corner of your eye, Amelia and Margot are watching you, studying the interaction, but you don’t care if they’re judging or laughing inside, knowing that you’re both lying through your teeth about being friends. Hell, you’re lying to each other at this point, too.
Amelia smiles. “Good. We won’t dig into it anymore, then. You’re grown adults who can make choices without us barging in, I guess. You know we have to do our due diligence first, though.” She winks at Joel.
“Don’t you always,” Joel mutters, dropping your hand.
“Let’s finish up, then go take a look at our land, yeah? It’s such a nice day today,” Margot suggests.
“Oh, I -” You glance towards the front door where your very inappropriate footwear is parked. “My shoes…”
“I’m sure we can find some hiking boots to fit you,” Margot suggests with a wink, subsequently trying to guess your shoe size.
After eating, you’re led upstairs by Amelia, entering their cozy bedroom with a patchwork quilt sitting on the bed and dust particles filtering slowly through the sunlit patches. Time seems to stand still in here, peaceful and quiet.
She starts to sort through her and Margot’s closet before looking up to you from her crouched position. “I know I said I wouldn’t dig, but…”
You cross your arms, amused as you lean against the wall. “Uh-huh. But now that we’re alone you can interrogate me, right?”
She laughs with crinkles around her eyes. “God, I like you. You’re funny, and weirdly, I see it. I see… this.” She makes a gesture towards you and then towards the stairs, referencing Joel still down in the kitchen.
Your cheeks warm up, an odd combination of complimented and uncomfortable as you break eye contact, looking at the wood planks beneath your feet. Amelia can read the situation so easily that it gives you pause, wondering if other, less approving eyes like your parents’, could do the same.
“Thanks,” you mumble, anxiously toeing at the floor. “Don’t you think it’s weird though, our age difference? You guys are very chill about this.”
Amelia considers her words for a few moments. “I’m not someone to judge people quickly. It is unconventional at best, and most people would give you a hell of a time over it. I only feel as okay as I do because it’s Joel. He’s not… he didn’t intentionally seek you out, trying to pull anything, you know? It was all sort of a happy accident, from the sound of it. And you two are always welcome here, okay? And even just you, if you need someone. I know how hard it can be in your shoes, to a degree. I grew up a lot like you.”
Her candid nature and kindness towards someone she hardly knows surprises you. It’s always been hard to accept people’s goodwill towards you, wondering if you deserve it. You were raised in harsh, barren conditions - not monetarily or physically, but emotionally. How could anyone be so free to offer themselves to you without a second thought? That isn’t how you’ve been taught the world works.
“You’re really kind,” you say softly.“I’m, uh, I’m not used to that. I’ll take your word for it, though. Thank you.”
Amelia only gives you a curt nod, sensing your discomfort. She’s said her piece, made sure you know their standing offer with you, and thankfully seems willing to drop it. “Try these on.” She stands up with a pair of hiking boots in her hands, shoving them towards you.
You start stuffing a foot into one of them, finding the fit a bit off, but not overly so. You shoot Amelia an approving nod, slipping the shoe back off and moving to leave the bedroom. She pauses, and you turn to watch her tuck her brown curls behind her ear, looking hesitant.
“He - he doesn’t look at people that way normally. Or ever, maybe. Just if… that’s anything for you. And I probably shouldn’t be saying that, but I thought you should know.”
“Oh,” you blurt out, grasping at thin air for a response.
“And… I’d be willing to bet you don’t, either?” Silence hangs between you for a moment so she walks towards the doorway. “But that’s me done digging now. I promise, okay?”
“I don’t either,” you tell her, feeling brave, and she turns to look at you knowingly, so many emotions wrapped up in it from years of devoted friendship to Joel.
She grins. “Good.”
You try to put the conversation from your mind as you descend back downstairs, but your head is swimming. It’s not like you haven’t deduced exactly what Amelia said for yourself, but hearing it from someone else is an unexpected shock. Even still, Amelia is likely mistaken - Joel probably gives those looks to any woman he’s spending this much time with, whether they’re actually together or not. It makes sense why he’d be fond of you without it having to mean anything more - you’ve been taking up space in his life for several months now. He’s bound to feel something, whether it’s what you want him to feel or not. Maybe in the worst case scenario that you rarely allow your thoughts to play out because it hurts too badly, he only thinks of you as a charity case.
But last night flashes through your head again, even though you’ve been trying to neatly store it away. Joel had just been lonely or maybe he’s not used to sharing a bed with someone, and he took advantage of the situation, wanting some comfort. It could have been anyone, not because it was you.
That’s what you’ve had to tell yourself since you woke up this morning in his hotel room, having him sipping his coffee at the little two seater table be the first thing you laid your eyes on. The look he’d given you, so perfectly content as he peered up at you over his newspaper, made butterflies shock through your belly within moments of starting your day. Joel handed you coffee in bed, smiling sweetly, but he didn’t bring it up, and neither did you. Then you landed here at Amelia and Margot’s place, unable to stop thinking about it all over again.
“Hey, we’re here,” Joel says to you, shaking a gentle hand on your shoulder. You blink your gaze from the window displaying the forested landscape to him. Amelia and Margot are in the car in front of you, getting out, and you realize that you’ve been making absent-minded conversation with Joel the entire way over to their plot of land. Granted, it was only about ten minutes, but you feel guilty for getting so lost in your head.
You utter an apology, shaking off your stupor and stepping out into the sunny but frosty day. You know it’s only a matter of time before the snow starts falling, so you decide to make the most of it, breathing in deeply and letting the sun strike your face in little rays through the treetops.
“Nice out here, huh?” Amelia says, her hands stuffed in her coat pockets.
You nod eagerly, following them off the unpaved private drive, treading carefully onto the softer soil, hearing the crunch of small twigs and dead leaves underneath your boots. You’ve never actually been hiking or spent much time in nature like this - the beach at five star resorts had been more up your family’s alley while you were growing up.
You’re determined not to let it show to everyone here though, somewhat embarrassed by the fact. You watch your tread meticulously though, feeling on uneven ground despite the lot being cleared of trees for the upcoming build. You gaze up at the sky, milky blue and bright, a few wispy clouds floating by, and then back ahead of you to endless green and brown, pine trees intermixed with branchy, barren ones.
“Through here, we’ll have all of this to look out on behind the house,” Amelia tells you, gesturing ahead to the dense forest.
“It’s beautiful,” you say, flashing them a smile. You’re truly excited for these two women you’ve only just met, and you picture yourself here with them, coming to visit with Joel. Your cheeks blaze hot against the cold air, feeling a little foolish for running away with your fantasies again. “The kitchen will look out here, right? And the main living room next to it?”
Margot crosses her arms, pulling her face into an impressed gesture as she tilts her head. “You know your stuff.”
You laugh, nodding. “Joel showed me last night. My favorite part was that fireplace. I’d kill for it.”
Amelia brightens at your words. “Same here,” she tells you. “Well, I guess I don’t have to.”
They meander further in, crossing the threshold of the woods. You’re tentative in your steps, but attempt to shadow it with confidence. Joel, a quiet observer for most of this, steps closer to you, placing a hand on your lower back, barely brushing his fingers there as you pull past some low tree branches. There’s definitely a path of some sort here, but it’s a little precarious, not yet entirely carved out.
“There’s a stream back here, and it’s really lovely, For when we take our dog for a walk. We’re going to get a dog,” Margot tells you matter of factly.
“We’ll see about that,” Amelia shoots back quickly, and the two giggle a little at the apparent, long standing argument between them.
You grow more comfortable and sure-footed, enjoying time spent with them as if they’re old friends of yours, too. You learn more about Amelia and Margot’s pasts, stories of theirs about moving to New York from New Hampshire and Normandy, respectively. Teasing Joel for the things they used to get up to in their younger days. Fawning about Sarah, asking about her current life updates, and you’re shocked to learn they even helped babysit her all those years ago. Their friendship runs deep, far down in their history, and you feel a little out of place but never left out of the conversation. It only settles into a deep longing inside of you that you can’t quite place.
When an hour has passed and you’re all too winded from the frigid air to stay out any longer, you head back to the car. It’s a bittersweet goodbye for you, not really wanting to return to the real world, wishing to stay here forever, feeling the freedom of these woods and the support of two open hearted people. They bear all of your secrets now, but you trust them.
Amelia and Margot hug you tightly on the way out, muttering encouragements in your ear.
You’ve got this.
You’re going to be okay.
Take care of him, alright?
I meant what I said earlier. Anytime you need it.
You wave to them from the car, beginning to drive away. “They’re awesome,” you rave breathlessly to Joel as soon as you’re back on the road.
“That they are,” he replies. “They took to you a little more than they ever have to me, I think.”
“That’s because I’m way cooler than you. Obviously.”
Joel shoves at you, chuckling before falling silent. You can see his gears turning as you cruise along in a peaceful, comfortable silence, both of you a little worn out from this morning and last night. You had a restless sleep last night, considering the circumstances, and you learned that even a small hike tires you out more than you expected.
Joel glances at you before pulling onto the main highway, somewhere around the sixth time since you settled back into the car with him.
“Yes?” you finally ask him on his seventh glance, saccharine sarcasm dripping from your tongue.
“I’m not sure how t’say this. I guess… I’m just surprised by you today,” Joel says, now focused on the road. His forehead is crinkled, lost somewhere in thought.
“Oh yeah? How so?” you reply with intrigued brows, lounging back to make yourself more comfortable for the long drive ahead.
“Really gettin’ in there with the nature stuff. I didn’t expect you to - not to say you’re not the type or anything like that, but -”
You laugh. “I’m definitely not. Or, more like I never got much of a chance to be, because I somehow don’t think it counts as camping when you’re staying in a fancy lodge in the woods, so…” You chew your lip a little self consciously.
Joel chuckles, half smiling. “Guess not. You surprised me, though. Handled yourself like a pro out there.”
“It was the boots,” you say, smirking.
“You joke when you don’t want to give yourself credit for somethin’,” he states..
You open your mouth for some kind of witty, off the cuff retort, and then close it, keeping your eyes forward on the road. “Ever hear of coping mechanisms?” you say, hearing Joel laugh again next to you.
His hand lands on your leg, fingers brushing the denim before giving it a reassuring squeeze. You’re transported back to last night in that crowded bar with him, the lust crossed with angst that had burned a hole through both of you. You’re silent, letting the music play at a low volume as you rest your head back. You drive like that for a while with Joel’s hand resting on your leg, your thoughts whipping through you as quickly as the changing landscape.
“I could say the same about you, you know,” you finally say into the silence.
“What’s that?” Joel asks distractedly.
“The nature stuff. I wouldn’t have expected it from you either. You’re very, uh, into the city life it seems, like me.”
Joel sits on your words for a moment. “Guess that’s pretty true on the surface. I haven’t gotten away to somewhere like here in a long time. But I grew up like that - in nature, outside. I mean. I’ve always loved it.”
You make a sound of recognition. “Texas, right?”
Joel peers at you curiously. “That’s right.”
“I may have read some articles about you over the years,” you tell him sheepishly.
Joel’s cheeks flush a little, flattered. “Keepin’ tabs on me?”
“Sometimes,” you reply coyly.
The slip of his hands on the leather steering wheel fills the car as he shifts in his seat. “I don’t really like that kind of thing - the articles, I mean.”
“I enjoyed them,” you say, shrugging. “It made me wonder about you, because it was always hard to get a read on you when I didn’t know you that well before.”
“Well I’m a complicated sort of guy,” he quips, and you snort. “I just… Sometimes I enjoy being a bit of a coy bastard, for lack of better wording. Guess I have my own coping mechanisms.” He shoots you a smirk.
“As someone who’s been on the receiving end of that, I agree.”
“I’m very nice to you, remember?”
“This is exactly what you were just talking about!” you scold him. “I do like all the sides of you, though. Even when you made me sweat in your office that first day. Prime coy bastard on display right there.” That moment feels like forever ago, another lifetime and version of yourself in the distant past.
“I was… passionate about your cause. Had to see if you could handle me.”
You roll your eyes, looking sideways out the window, a blur of cars and asphalt. “You’re annoying.”
“It’s all part of the gig.”
“Good thing you’re paying me for it.”
Joel’s head shakes, always amused by you - your quick wit, your ability to keep up with him and challenge him in the same breath. You’re a ball of energy, but weighed down by so much worry, so much expectation. He wonders who you could be if you were completely unburdened of it all. If he could do that for you, he would, and it isn’t for a lack of trying, of wanting. Wanting, trying, pining, searching for something, anything is all he does when it comes to you.
“Brat,” he mutters, concealing the thoughts running rampant in his head.
Joel can’t see the way you twitch at the word, caught off guard. You stiffen in your seat, something humming inside of you, reverberating deep in your core. It surprises you, the things that Joel unknowingly helps you discover about yourself.
“Tell me about Texas,” you say as a much needed distraction, gently clearing your throat.
“Well, uh -” Joel pauses to think. “I basically grew up on a farm. Nothin’ big or anythin’, mostly selling locally or just to put some food on the table at home. Hence the spending a lot of time outside. Practically all we did.”
“Who’s we?” you ask.
“Oh. My brother an’ me. And our grandparents.” You let the sentence linger as an encouragement for him to go on. You’re hanging on his every word, soaking up any knowledge of him that you can. You want to know him, devour every bit he’ll offer to you. “It was jus’ us. Well, most of the time anyway. Our parents… they… uh -”
“They…” you encourage him. You rub your thumb against the pads of your anxious fingers, soothing yourself. You feel close to a breakthrough, a vulnerable moment that you rarely get the pleasure of experiencing from Joel. You don’t want to push him too hard, but you can’t help yourself.
“Sorry.” Joel chuckles nervously, his hands tightening around the steering wheel. “I don’t really talk about it much.”
“That’s okay,” you assure him, reaching over to touch his arm, letting your fingers skim down the soft sweater on his bicep. “You don’t have to -”
“They weren’t really around. They were bad parents. Made bad choices. Didn’t care enough to get their shit together, even for us. And by the time they came around, lookin’ for anything to do with us, it was too late. They were strangers t’me,” Joel blurts out, a blend of sadness and anger rising in his voice.
You blink softly, staring at Joel as his jaw clenches, eyes fixed forward with intensity. “I’m… so sorry,” you reply softly, too busy processing his words to think of anything better to say. Joel is so grounded despite those circumstances, and his resilience shines through brightly in every single facet of his life. You admire him for it, the way he’s worked hard to be this version of himself - a generous, kind person, a steadfast father, and a good friend, you suppose, to you.
“You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”
Joel visibly softens, muscles relaxing as he glances at you with an appreciative expression. “That’s okay. No need to be sorry.” He pats your leg again before squeezing the fleshy top of your thigh.
You swallow hard, overwhelmed with emotion at his story. “So… you lived with your grandparents because of that?”
He nods. “They were great. They understood, never tried to make excuses or anythin’ like that. Just… took care of me and Tommy like it was how things were always supposed to be.”
“Tommy…” you echo, committing the name to memory. “Where does he live?”
“Back in Texas, still. We own the farm, from after our grandparents passed. It’s just sittin’ empty, but we can’t seem to give it up, sell the old place.”
You make a contemplative hum, feeling it vibrate in the back of your throat. “Is it weird to say I’d like to see it sometime? The farm.”
Some form of sadness or pain passes over his expression in a flash, darkening before it disappears. “No,” he replies, his voice low. “It’s not.”
“You never want to go back and live there? Y’know, farm life and all of that?”
Joel sighs wistfully.“Can’t say I haven’t thought about it, when things have gotten hectic or I’m just needin’ a break. Disappear back to Texas and leave everyone wondering.”
“Well, not everyone…” You bite your lip as Joel glances at you, the corner of his eyes crinkling.
“‘Course not. Not everyone.” His persistent hand rubs your thigh again, shooting sparks along the skin.
“I could live on a farm,” you say bluntly.
Joel’s skepticism is written on his face. “Oh yeah? Miss goes on a hike one time and then… what, you’re a farm girl now?”
“Well maybe!” you retort indignantly, barely having a leg to stand on here. “I’m half joking, I dunno.” You shrug, wringing your hands in your lap. “I just mean, I get it. The whole wanting to randomly move away forever and escape thing.”
It’s too quiet for a long beat as you both think. “Yeah,” Joel says, the word drifting out of his mouth. “Maybe you’d do alright on the farm, after all.”
You brighten at his approval. “I’m learning to cook now, right? And I could, uh, tend to animals or something. I don’t know, you’d think of things for me to do, and I bet the quiet would be nice for a while.”
He chuckles. “If you want quiet, that’s the place. I’ll get you whipped into shape for the farm, then, if that’s what you want,” Joel teases you.
“Yes, thank you,” you quip, and then groan as reality crashes in on you. “I kind of wish we weren’t joking, you know.” Realizing the over-intimate implication of your words, you backpedal, feeling your cheeks burn. “Not like that, just like… I don’t feel like going back to real life right now.”
Joel’s lips move sympathetically into a half smile. He gracefully ignores your flub, although part of you wishes that he’d acknowledge it, maybe say that he’s feeling the same urge as you to run away together. It feels so silly, being in the car with him and playing through scenarios in your mind where you just keep driving all the way to Texas, letting Joel take care of you for the rest of forever. It’s childish, you scold yourself, to think that could even work.
“I know,” he agrees. “Me either. But hey, you’ve got the week ahead of you to relax now, and maybe look into some schools or programs or even interests or somethin’? Remember, no classes to go to, yeah?”
“Hell yeah,” you say, nodding with a smile, seeing the scenery outside the car window moving back towards civilization. You’re passing by signs advertising gas stations, rest stops, and a plethora of fast food coming up. “I’ll get right on it, I promise.”
“Well hey, don’t work too hard, okay? It’s only your first week off of school.” Joel flips the turn signal, making his way over a few lanes. “Need t’stop for gas,” he mutters.
“Well, I feel like I - I maybe owe it to you or something. I don’t want to be… lazy.” The last word falls out of your mouth, mousy and quiet, hearing your parents’ voice in place of your own.
“Jesus Christ girl,” Joel sighs, frustrated, but not in a tone where you believe he’s mad at you, just at the way you’ve been conditioned to think. “When have I ever suggested you owe me a dime or a damn thing?” He urges you on at your ensuing, stunned silence. “No, I’m serious, tell me. ‘Cause if I have, I’d like to know.”
You’re not sure if you’re being berated right now, or if Joel is simply passionate enough about you to push this hard. Either way, it’s making all kinds of unwelcome sensations work their way through you, different sides battling it out. Your face is hot with embarrassment, feeling like a child being scolded, but your core tightens as you feel a pulse between your thighs, wishing Joel’s hand was still there, squeezing hard in disapproval. What the hell kind of twisted reaction is this?
“I don’t - you haven’t,” you mumble, tilting your blazing face towards your lap. “You haven’t. You’ve never said that.”
“Right,” he says sternly, his energy snappy. He exits the highway and the car rumbles to a stop after pulling into the nearest gas station. A sting pulls behind your eyes at his silence, unable to interpret it as anything but complete rejection, marking the battle won by the berated child side of yourself.
“I’m not mad, I’m sorry,” Joel says, remaining in the car. He’s deflated, his energy completely shifting as he lets out a long sigh. “I don’t care what you do. Not - not like that, not out of not caring, but just that I don’t give a shit what you do as long as you’re happy with it. That’s why I got frustrated, that’s all.”
You nod solemnly, still not meeting his eyes. “Alright,” you reply plainly. “I hear you.”
Joel’s hand comes into your periphery, calloused fingers brushing your cheek before attempting to tilt your gaze towards him. “I’m not mad. I didn’t mean to sound angry. I just want you to know I’m serious about what I say, always. I don’t just say shit to go back on it, like making you owe me somethin’ someday out of nowhere.” He sounds disgusted at the idea, his face twisted up in objection to it. “I don’t want you to think like that, like you’re lazy or should be, need to be, doin’ anything.”
You twist your lips to the side, looking deeper into his eyes. The softened, creased edges around them are laced with concern for you, studying you for any indication of how you’re feeling.
“Like, really? You don’t care if I…” you stutter, falling short on your words.
“No,” Joel cuts in. “Whatever you’re gonna say, I don’t care. I don’t care if you do anything at all. I know we said I’d only be here helpin’ for you to figure out what you want for school and that’s it, but I don’t care. I want you to find somethin’ you like, but if that’s nothing at all for a while, be my guest, honey. Shit, spend away.” He waves an impatient arm, shrugging. “Unfortunately I’m a little too deep in this whole invested in your life thing to mind anymore.”
Your brows knit tighter and tighter as he speaks, dumbfounded. His words sink in slowly, like they’re taking their time to permeate your skin. It’s all too much, too confusing, too intense to have someone care about you the way that he’s saying he does.
“Joel, what -” you stammer out, shaking your head as tears brim in your eyes. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”
“That was a lot, I’m sorry. Sometimes I just need to make sure you understand me, ‘cause you’re adamant not to half the time.”
You laugh through your tears. “No, no it’s not. Okay, it was a lot, but the good kind.”
“I jus’ - I can’t stand to see you question yourself. You’ve got this big fuckin’ brain in there - “ He taps your forehead gently before cupping your cheek in his hand. “This work ethic, this good heart, and you’re so god damn funny it’s annoying, actually. Sweetheart, you’re a special person, do you realize that?”
“Fuck, Joel,” you deflect, tearing your watery gaze away from him. It’s hard to hear, to accept, your brain automatically rejecting the kindness, and you squeeze your eyes shut, fighting it.
“And I’m sayin’ too much again and I know that, but I don’t want to have to have this conversation another time, is what I’m aiming at here.”
“I know, I know,” you acquiesce, swiping at the moisture on your eyes. “I’m sorry I do that a lot. I don’t know how to accept things without thinking, well, I’m expected to do something in return. And if I don’t, then it means something… bad about me.” You shrug.
He sighs, taking in your words. “I’m just trying to help you see things differently, so you’re not so hard on yourself.”
You nod several times through the fog of your brain, attempting to catch up to how meaningful this conversation is with Joel. “I can try. You promise you’re not annoyed that I’m being la - not lazy, but relaxed, let’s say, while basically stealing your money?” You shoot him an overly suspicious look, raising a brow, grateful for the slight comedic relief.
Joel’s wry smirk reminds you before he even speaks. “You know better than most people it’s not a problem for me. Actually, in fact, it’s -”
“Stop,” you laugh, putting your hands up to your face, wanting to hide in embarrassment for bringing up the thing that haunts your desirous thoughts most nights. “I’m not even supposed to know about that, remember?”
“I’m just saying. It’s never a problem. If it is, I’ll tell you. How about that? Otherwise, we’re smooth sailin’.”
“Fine,” you grumble. You lean towards him across the console, wrapping your arms around his neck for a spontaneous embrace. He pulls you into it, his broad, thick arms sliding around your back. “Thank you for saying all those nice things about me.”
“Oh, you’re welcome, honey. I’m only tellin’ the truth,” he says, so close to your ear that it makes your skin raise in delicate goosebumps as the pet name rolls off his tongue. He leans back, his hands trailing along your arms before stopping at the wrists, holding them with care. He brushes his fingers over the bracelet he’d gotten you all those weeks ago, the one you’d hardly taken off since that day.
“I won’t make you upset like that again, I promise. I want to see things the way you do, like I’m not just… some hopeless case that’s taking advantage, ‘cause I swear I’m not -” you say.
Joel shakes his head, squeezing at your wrists to stop you from riling yourself up. “Shh. I know you’re not.”
You swallow hard, gathering yourself, shaky from the intensity of the conversation. You’re far too used to skirting around these things with family and friends, never really saying much of anything with substance.
“What I mean is, I’ll trust you one hundred percent, now. You deserve that.”
Joel’s lip pulls up a little, his brows dipping, soft and sympathetic. “Thank you.” He practically mouths the words, they’re so quiet. “I’d like to buy you gas station snacks now, if you’d let me.”
You crack a smile, blinking away the last of your lingering tears. “Oh, you’re too kind.”
“Don’t forget it,” he quips back, opening the car door, and you can nearly physically feel the way you’re landing back into that safe, comfortable space together, where despite the intensity of the moment, you always pull back to this lest you commit to saying or doing something irreversible.
You feel a bit high on it though, the release of emotions that Joel brings out in you, the things he sees in you that nobody ever has, or has ever bothered to. It’s like you’re walking on air, knowing how hard he fights to make you see yourself the way he does, and it’s so beautiful a thought you nearly start crying all over again as the door to the minimart dings when he opens it for you.
Joel touches you all over in the aisles, surrounded by sugar and salt while you both mull over your choices. A hand on your arm, your back, you letting out an errant giggle when you fight over which snack is best. You barely pay any mind to the man behind the counter, looking at the two of you with some kind of disapproving curiosity at the entire series of interactions while Joel whips out his wallet to pay. There's no doubt that you’re an eccentric pair - too well dressed, too far apart in age, and too out of place with Joel’s six figure car parked outside.
The details that may have bothered you before seem to no longer exist, caution thrown completely to the wind. Something has broken open inside of you, burning with life, desire, and freedom after truly, finally taking Joel’s words to heart. You’re not sure why it hasn’t quite sunk in until today, but you’re glad that it has. It’s a fresh start, a blank, beautiful page right in front of you, the revelation settling into a pleasant buzz across your skin as you take carefree steps back to the car, headed home.
This new attitude of yours, as welcome as it is, is going to get you in trouble. It all starts innocently enough, of course it does. A benign idea popping into your head one morning following your weekend getaway with Joel, something you think he might enjoy.
His phone pings early in the day as he’s on his way to a meeting, your name on the screen alone enough to make him crack a smile. Brow quirking down at his phone, he opens the photo you’ve sent. It’s… a cup of coffee. Well, a cup of coffee in your hand with some logo on the side of the lidded paper cup. The blurry visage of a cafe appears behind it, out of focus. It’s an unusual sort of message from you, a photograph like that, but he shrugs happily, just glad that you were thinking of him.
Good morning, hope you slept well, he sends back before sitting down for his meeting with a prickle beneath his skin thanks to you as he approves logistics and financials with his team on an upcoming project. The second it concludes, he’s whipping out his phone again, checking for a response. He spends more time than he’d care to admit doing this, practically glued to any form of communication with you. Sometimes he wishes you could be by his side every second, knowing it’s obsessive, inappropriate, and would only do further damage. It’s exasperating enough to see you as often as he does, and not be able to have you, not in the way he wants.
You’ve sent another message, once again containing only a photograph. It’s a meal - some breakfast or lunch, Joel can’t quite tell - but it’s very green from the sheer amount of avocado involved. He blinks a few times, not sure he’s quite catching on to whatever bit you’re doing.
Looks great, he shoots back self consciously, rubbing at the back of his neck, head down to his screen as he walks back to his office.
When another alert pops up two hours later, he snatches his phone up off his desk, more sure of what to expect this time. His brows raise a little, seeing a photo of you in a mirror giving a thumbs up. The background is slightly indecipherable - a calm, dark toned looking room. This one thankfully comes with a message attached to help him out. Facial time!
Joel chews his lip, chuckling to himself. Also looks great, he replies to this one, adding a winking emoji. Your lack of communication between messages doesn’t concern him necessarily, but leaves him wanting. Always wanting more of you, he thinks, putting his head in his hands briefly at his desk, swiping them down rapidly to help jolt some focus back into him.
The next message in the late afternoon is more layered this time - your hand holding some brightly colored drink, with a storefront window full of purses in the background. Expensive ones. Sighing, Joel hovers his fingers over the screen to type, feeling a nagging in the back of his mind. He’s not even sure why he’s irked about this chain of messages from today, even if most of him is glad to have it, to have anything to do with you swimming around in his head. Instead, Joel calls you, and after a few rings, you answer.
“Well hello,” you say cooly on the other end of the line, sipping on your smoothie. “It’s about time.”
“So, what’s all this today? Is there somethin’ I’m not getting here?” Joel asks, straight to the point. He leans back in his chair, unfocused eyes staring at the keyboard on his desk.
You laugh, the sound so familiarly beautiful to his ears but missing that generous, round sound it emits in person. And it’s without that smile, the one that haunts him long after it’s faded from your face.
“No, I mean, it’s just what I’ve been up to today,” you say.
“Alright. Not that I don’t appreciate it, I s’pose, just…” Joel trails off. If he’s the butt of some joke here, he swears he’ll let you have it next time you’re within his reach.
“It’s just all the things I’ve spent your money on today. In case you didn’t notice,” you trill, meandering down the walkway in the mall.
A flame of recognition ignites deep in Joel’s core, making him grin devilishly into the phone, leaning forward onto his desk.“You think you’re clever, don’t you?”
You roll your eyes, wishing Joel could see your overdramatic version of a taken aback expression. “Well I certainly thought so,” you admit. Joel goes to growl something at you, but you add, “And I thought you especially might like it, seeing everything I got today.”
Joel contemplates which direction to take the conversation. The rational part of him, attempting to stay sane, wants to steer the direction elsewhere - simply thank you for doing it, tell you how much he’s enjoyed it, and wipe his hands of it, easy and clean. However, the more rare side - eager and impulsive - wants to burst out, turning this into something more. Something he thinks could satisfy you both, if he gave it permission to. You’re offering it to him, and the decision is in his hands.
“I do,” Joel purrs into the receiver, smirking. “You woke up wantin’ to push my buttons today, did you?”
“Mhm,” you hum back lowly, a fluttering starting in your belly.
“If you ask me, it ain’t enough.”
You stop, pausing to step to the side of the concourse, too engrossed in the conversation now to mind where you’re walking. “Really?” you snort before turning your voice to honey, silken sweetness. “All my fun little pictures today aren’t enough for you, Mr. Miller?”
That name again… He wants to snap at you to stop, but that would be as good as admitting his fascination with hearing it and fueling the fire of your teasing. “I could do with more,” he replies, relaxing back further in his chair, assuming a cocky stance even though you can’t see him.
You scoff in disbelief. “I try to do one nice thing…”
“Your hard work doesn’t go unnoticed,” he says.
Another scoff comes from your end of the line. “What is this, a performance review?”
“D’you want it to be? I could tell you what a good job you’re doin’ for me.” The words slip out before Joel can stop them, all logic tossed to the side.
You pull your lip between your teeth, biting hard. Your body threatens to melt into his words and whisper a breathy, resounding yes, because you’d like nothing more than what he’s saying. How good would that feel, to hear it from him. To be praised over and over by his voice, rumbling right in your ear with such sultry, charged affection, like it is now.
“Doesn’t sound too bad,” you reply, trying to keep your cool and fight the way your breath tightens in your chest, unable to quite catch it.
“Well, your work is satisfactory, but I think I’m just lookin’ for… more,” Joel says. His heart pounds faster, and he shifts in his seat, feeling restless in the way that only comes about when sexual tension has gone unresolved. And with you, it’s been unresolved for far too long.
“More…?” you ask, licking your lips. “Pictures?”
“Mhm. I’d like to renegotiate our… agreement to include that.”
You giggle, biting at your thumb nail with a cheesy grin. “I could work with that. But it’s gonna cost you, you know.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he drawls, lust clouding his voice.
You’re having a hard time believing this isn’t some dream right now, that you’re really hearing the slip of control in Joel’s voice, in his choice of words. You’re both near a breaking point, barely clutching toup a facade that’s been cracking and crumbling bit by bit. How much longer could it hold up at this rate?
Your voice comes out in a lusty rasp, one that feels foreign to you but gives you a thrill from the power it wields. “What are you looking for, Mr. Miller, to fulfill this new addition to our arrangement, hm? I couldn’t stand for my next performance review to not be up to par.”
Joel’s eyes practically roll back in his head, feeling some strange power trip over what should be a silly roleplay scenario. Christ, he shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t be letting himself go this far, to the point where he’s feeling tightness around the crotch of his slacks.
“Everything. Every dollar of mine you spend, I want to know about it,” he breathes out.
Your thighs clench, feeling squirmy at his rough, low tone. When the hell did spending his money start turning you on so much, too?
“Or you could just check your bank account,” you say, tightly pressing your lips together, feeling that giddy excitement brewing inside of you. “Might get your kicks there.”
“You…” Joel growls, and you wait for the word on the other end of the line, wait to feel it ignite your skin. You’re asking, practically begging for him to say it. “Brat.”
A shaky breath leaves you, a catharsis of sorts that you know is all kinds of messed up. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise, Mr. Miller,” you reply sweetly.
“You’d better.” Joel is enjoying the game, the characters you’re both playing, the way it distances you both from this having any real substance. This is a fantasy scene that you both get to yell cut at when it’s over, but it dawns on him that it’s the last thing he wants to do. “I’ll expect more photos by the end of today.”
“Well, I was planning to go home after this. I’m only window shopping,” you say, hearing the mischievousness in your voice that leaves you wondering if you’re reflexively testing him.
“I’d make that into a reality if I were you. Part of the new agreement, remember?”
You hum thoughtfully, fighting a full blown, mortifying giggle at how much fun you’re having. You can’t remember the last person who has ever made you feel as fun, as light, as Joel does. Or who naturally leads you to let down your inhibitions, or takes all your teasing and annoyances and finds something charming in them.
Pulling yourself back into character, you drop your face, attempting to sport a serious look. “I couldn’t bear to disappoint you.”
“Well, those purses looked nice,” he says dryly, and you chuckle.
“They are very pretty…” you muse, turning back to peer at the window display. “But I was mostly trying to decide between these two pairs of pajamas earlier.”
“Why not both?” Joel asks, like the idea of you even contemplating otherwise is that incomprehensible to him.
“Well I don’t need both,” you tell him, matter-of-fact. Truthfully, you’re already more materialistic than you’d like to be, but Joel has given you far too much of a push in the wrong direction lately. It’s hard not to make him happy, when this is what makes him feel good.
He scoffs. “Doesn’t matter what you need.”
You raise your brows. “Doesn’t it?”
A quiet grumble of dissatisfaction comes through the phone speaker. “Consider ‘em paid for already,” he says in an attempt to dismiss any further argument. “I expect photos of both later. Or your next review won’t be lookin’ so good.”
You laugh. “I wish you could see the way I’m rolling my eyes at you right now.”
“As if you don’t like me bossin’ you around,” Joel says cheekily, and you think he’s mostly joking. It lights a little fire in your belly, anyway, at the secret truth you’re hiding behind his statement. “You’re the one that started this whole business today.”
You mutter in annoyance. “Fine, fine. Anything for you, Mr. M.”
“Mhm,” Joel hums sarcastically. “I’d better be seeing evidence later, yeah?”
“Consider it done.”
When you hang up with Joel, it takes a solid moment to feel steadily back on your feet, staring down at your phone in disbelief with a toothy grin. The pull of his low voice has set a match to your skin, unable to be extinguished so quickly. You’re not even entirely sure if the conversation was real or imaginary, at a loss as to where it leaves you two. It was fun, but also charged with something that begins to border on a different dynamic for you two.
Your head is spinning, but you don’t want to think today, not anymore, so you head off to do as you’d promised him - an attempt to have unfiltered fun without any worry attached to it. If Joel is willing to inch the imaginary boundary further, then you’re prepared to meet him there.
When you arrive home later, shopping bags in hand, you know you’ve left Joel patiently waiting, and kind of like the idea of him anticipating your next move. He’s been busy trying to spend the rest of the afternoon not cursing himself for what he’s done. But as time agonizingly crawls by, his anxiety gathers into a tight ball in his chest. He just couldn’t help himself today, could he? Playing into that part he’s been so eager to do in the past, fun flings and other women who had been a welcome distraction for him. You’re more than a distraction or a fling, though, and he shouldn’t be messing with you like this.
This whole act today is dangerous, threatening to ruin all of the things he’s been trying to build for you, all in the name of taking care of you. He shouldn’t ruin it over a moment of weakness and cheap thrills. You deserve someone who can follow through on their promises to you - to keep you safe and provide everything you need. Not some jackass who puts his own carnal needs above you.
This empty space between messages leaves too much room for him to rethink this, to reflect on his choices and let regret creep in. If he could turn back time, would he make the same choices? Without a doubt, he realizes that of course he would. There is no universe where he’s able to help himself when it comes to you, to what you offered him today.
All of his worries come screeching to a halt when you finally text him next. It’s a photo of shopping bags, laid out on top of what he can only assume is your bed. He doesn’t know what he expected, but finds he’s oddly disappointed, wishing for more. Half of him is relieved, but he had been wondering if there would be something a little more forbidden from the way your conversation had gone. His fingers hover over the keyboard, thinking up a response when another message comes through.
You: I could send more if you want?
A smile creeps onto Joel’s lips. A tick flashes through his jaw, already typing away, feeling as though something is in control of him that is no longer his sensible, responsible self. You take all of that and toss it away, leaving him an irrational shell of a man.
Joel: I do.
With slightly shaky hands, you move to send the photos you’d taken in the dressing room to Joel. It’s a bad idea, awful, actually, to send him these. You’d debated and fought it the entire way - paying at the register, lost in thought on your way home, standing over your bed now, texting him. It’s sure to throw you into deeper water than you can swim in, you remind yourself, but you hit send, anyway.
Joel pours over the tiny screen of his phone, far too close to it, soaking in all the details. Seeing your legs enticingly stretching out from a far too short hemline has him realizing he’s seen too little of them because of the winter weather. The slip is a glimmering silk with lace trim that draws his eye to your chest. A wave of guilt washes over Joel for ogling you so openly, knowing you can’t see him. You should not be sending these photos, and he should not be absorbing every inch of them like a man starved. To hell with it, he thinks. You two are allowed something, anything, to keep you sane. It’s only a few text messages, he reminds himself, only playful fun, and you’re diving in just as much as he is.
Before he can even process the first image, a second one comes through. If he thinks the slip is tiny, these pajama shorts are rivaling it with a fury that has Joel falling deeper into trouble. The dressing room so kindly has two mirrors - the one you’re taking the photo in, and one behind you - granting Joel a clear look at how your ass practically hangs out of the shorts, the soft curve of it peeking out underneath. A sinful smirk spreads across his face and he shakes his head, pressing his fingers into his eyes. There is absolutely no chance the framing of the shot is by accident, and you’re continuing to play with him.
You: Thoughts?
Joel: Are you wearing them right now?
You: Maybe. Who wants to know?
Joel: You’re avoiding my question.
You: And you have a funny way of saying you loved my photos.
Joel: They look great. We both know that.
You: …and? That’s it???
Your stomach flutters, almost so hard you start to feel sick, awaiting his reply. Time stretches on a little longer than you’d like, until it turns into half an hour. You’re not letting this deter you, though. You know Joel is sitting somewhere - his office, maybe home by now - at war with himself. You’re at war with yourself, too. Some battles of self preservation, like this one, simply cannot be won.
You stare down at your phone, anticipating his reply, watching the little reply bubble with baited breath once he starts typing.
Joel: My first thought was that it’s a shame I can’t find an excuse to see you wearing them myself.
You: And why not?
Joel: You know why.
You: All you have to do is ask nicely and I’d wear them to movie night.
Joel: And what exactly are you expecting to happen if you do?
Your cheeks grow hot as you suck in a nervous breath, hesitating over your phone screen, gathering up courage.
You: That’s up to you.
Another long silence stretches, and you sit, tucking your legs underneath yourself on your bed, nearly bouncing with impatience. You bite anxiously at your thumb nail, and your heart plummets as Joel’s next message comes through.
Joel: There’s a lot of ways I could answer that, but it’s probably best we don’t find out.
You don’t get to see the several versions of apologies that Joel types out and subsequently deletes, unsure of himself. To be sorry is to admit there is something to be sorry about. The last thing he wants is for you to feel guilty that he had to screw his head back on right after today, remembering his place in this relationship.
Your hand grips your phone tightly for too long before tossing it down on your bed. You glance at yourself in the mirror across the way, seeing the pajamas you’d purchased today hugging your body, and suddenly wish you could rip them right off. Your eyes are glassy, starting to tear up, and you blink rapidly. Joel is right, but it doesn’t mean it has to feel right.
You lay in bed hours later, frustrated and too restless to sleep. Pathetically, you’ve found yourself scrolling through an article about Joel that was published online two years ago. You rub at your tired eyes, reflecting on the day as you read another description of his innovations in architecture.
You keep questioning where it all went wrong, why the tides turned so quickly for Joel today, what was going through his head. You understand, though, and you can’t fault him for this. Deep down, you know he’s going through the exact same thing you are. It’s an unprecedented situation that has gone too far, miles beyond what either of you expected. You naturally feel like Joel should have all the answers, but despite his age and experience, you get the sense that he’s as lost in this as you are, which has been all too easy to forget.
You pause on a photo of Joel attached to the article, one of him looking natural and at home in his brownstone. You recognize the living space where he’s posed next to his expensive, sleek, and absolutely ridiculous chair that is not a rocking chair, despite it rocking. It just happens to rock, Joel insists, and it’s far too modern for you to be telling him it’s a chair for old men.
You softly smile at the memory, picturing yourself right there in that room with him, and you're hit with how much you miss him. Not something on the surface, like some urge to be near him, but something deep and powerful, a yearning beyond your comprehension. It’s the type of missing him that you think you’ll never have a reprieve from, if you two stay as you are right now.
You send out a silent hope into the universe that tonight didn’t ruin what you have with him or change the way he sees you, even if you are disappointed it never went as far as you secretly wanted. It’s another step that cannot be undone, and the more of these you take, the harder it is to bounce back from. You respect Joel’s decision, in the end, to be the responsible one here. Even if you absolutely hate it.
When your phone lights up with a notification as you scroll on through the article, you’re surprised. It’s late, nearing one in the morning. Your lips part, that flutter in your belly swooping in as if it had never left while you stare down at the screen.
Tonight, late, late at night, Joel appears to be thinking about you, too. You can’t contain your ditzy grin, looking down at the hearts he’s just now adding on as reactions to your more sultry images from earlier. You taught Joel recently how to use the react feature for messages and photos on his phone, and while he’d been amused at the ha-ha’s and exclamation marks he could add onto his conversations, he never took to using it very much since then. Until now.
It seems completely silly - ridiculous and delusional, even - to be reading into it this much, but you know it’s no accident or random gesture from him. Joel doesn’t do those. It’s something surpassing words, a message for you, and only you, to decode. Knowing you’d see the deliberate choice in time of night, the specific photos he’s no doubt looking at this very moment. There’s meaning hidden there, in something so seemingly simple and harmless. You and Joel often find yourselves speaking in code to one another, dancing around things, and this is just another way of saying what words can’t - that maybe he’s going as crazy as you are, feeling as lost as you are, as deep in this as you are.
It’s as exhilarating as it is infuriating to keep up with, to constantly analyze or be left wondering. To search for meaning in every corner, knowing there’s a chance that you’re grasping at straws, that maybe all of it, this gesture included, hardly means anything.
Summary: Joel has been your safe place for your whole life, the one you could always run to. But one fight with your father and one rainy night change everything. For the better.
Warnings: +18 smut, MDNI, age gap, no outbreak, Joel Miller!dbf, Joel is 56 (s1 Joel), reader is in her early 30s, flashbacks to when reader was younger; teasing, soft!joel, fingering (f!receiving), oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, use of pet names (kiddo, darling, angel, baby, babygirl, good girl), use of “daddy”
Word count: 6k
Notes: sometimes you just need to write some Joel Miller smut to calm down and that’s okay, enjoy this thing I wrote in one night while staying up until 4am (let’s blame any mistakes on that) - yes you will find daddy issues in this one, don't @ me - lyrics in the title are from “illicit affairs” by Taylor Swift
Dividers credits: @uzmacchiato , @cafekitsune
|| JOEL MILLER FICS || MY FICS ||
Every single time it goes like this, an attack after the other, you just come back home to visit and instead you’re hit with resentment against you. Anger overflows you this time, you won’t be standing there while letting those words cut through you like knives, you won’t give them this power.
You slam the door behind you, and you know exactly where you want to go, it’s your body that is deciding.
The sky rumbles one more time as you get out of the porch, holding yourself in your hoodie, you didn’t even manage to get something else. It’s cold, the clothes attaching to your skin and wrapping around you like icy fingers, each step making you shiver even more under the devilish rain.
But there is a fire within you that is stronger than all this coldness. It drives you to the only place you know you can go, your brain can’t calculate any other route.
Joel, Joel, Joel.
He hasn’t been friends with your father in a long time, understanding perfectly why, but he had left you his number and he had been been there for you when nobody else would. You could call him in the middle of the night and he would pick up. You didn’t know if he did it out of affection or of pity for a lone child with no one else to listen to her.
Either way, he’s your safe place, the safe harbour that you can count on.
The puddles around the roads don’t matter when you have in mind only the warmth of his house, of him.
A little thrill crosses your body, convincing yourself that it is just the cold, it’s just a shiver, nothing else.
But your heartbeat rises when after the hundredth turn you see the safe harbour.
Joel’s house stands among other houses, with that cozy beige on the outside, and the sage green of the kitchen, that you love so much, having always pictured to copy that colour for your house. Until you started imagine Joel’s house as yours too.
It didn’t happen overnight, but throughout the years, when he would care more about you than anybody else, your father included.
And now you’re drenched in rain, puddles around you as you bite your lip at the thought of seeing Joel after such a long time. You’re not in your best clothes, but this will do anyway, you need this house, you need this place.
You can see a light from outside in the living room through the curtains, his shadow moving around the fireplace, already tasting that warmth.
And Joel must have seen you from those windows, disappearing from the living room, and opening the front door just a few moments later.
You take those steps under the porch, finally not being under the rain anymore.
“What you doin’ here, kiddo?”
His voice, deep as you remember it with that way of having always a softness when addressing you; there’s a sleek of silver in his hair, just like on his beard, and that really shouldn’t be making him look even hotter. But it does.
“Can I just come in... please?” Your voice instead a whisper, but Joel senses the desperation, and the trembling in your voice and your body too.
He gives a big sigh, shaking his head but opening more the door and taking a step on the side, “You’re shakin’ like a leaf, ‘course you can come in.”
And you don’t think you have ever been this grateful for something in your life, as you cross that doorway, Joel closing the door behind, passing his hand over his face as he sees your reddened eyes looking up at him, a puddle forming on the pavement.
“Come here, you need a warm shower and dry clothes.” He doesn’t ask, he never questioned your appearances at his home, not when you were younger and he won’t start doing that now.
He leads you to the bathroom, giving you clean cloths, a bathrobe and telling you to put your clothes in the washer-dryer even though he leaves a plaid shirt by the sink anyway.
“Thank you.” You utter, Joel just waving his hand, “ ‘s nothin’.”
Never a man of a lot of words, you think, when he’s closing the door behind him, leaving you alone, those footsteps becoming more distant.
The warm water is reassuring, finally having gotten rid of those drenched clothes, the soft whirring of the washer-dryer humming under the water rushing.
The perfume of sandalwood fills the air, knowing that now you will have the same perfume as him, thanking the rain if right now you actually needed a shower.
The bathrobe is soft around you as you dry your hair, looking at the objects on the sink. Hand soap, hand cream, products for his beard and hair, and a couple of bottles of perfume; you actually dare to uncap the tobacco vanille one, letting the spray on your chest and neck, feeling that perfume that would always cling onto your clothes when you would spend some time with him.
The washing machine is on your side, because it isn’t done yet with its programme so you will have to wear the shirt he has left you, a green one with darker and thin red lines. It is actually your favourite, this looks insanely good on him. But well, anything would look good on him.
The shirt reaches your mid thigh, being warm and cozy on your skin, like a hug. But you still miss something. Aside from you bra, you also miss a pair of panties.
Joel is single, he hasn’t lived with someone in a long time, so unless he got in a relationship last night, there won’t be any panties or bras in this house.
But you have another thing on your mind.
You leave the bathroom, the hallway could lead you to the living room, but instead you open another door. His bedroom door.
The bed looks inviting, a plaid thrown on it, looking so warm and soft, a hand brushing on it and daydreaming for a moment of laying there.
You snap out of it though, thinking about why you were here in the first place.
And well, of course you know that you shouldn’t be looking in his drawers, but once you started you surely won’t stop. T-shirts, socks and then finally what you’re searching, boxers.
They will still be big on you, unless you tie it on the side with an hair tie, which you always carry on your wrist.
You pick a pair black ones, and your fingers traces the hems of them a little longer, imagining that they were on him, cannot helping but closing your eyes and picturing him. The thrill from earlier comes back, and you have to snap out of that otherwise you will spend the entire afternoon in front of this drawer.
You wear them, doing the little knot on the side with the hair tie and it should stay on.
You can’t contain to not jump a little after having worn them, looking at yourself in the mirror just above the drawer.
The shirt paired with his boxers? Oh he will have to find out, he must find out.
You take a pair of socks too, and that is how you make your way to the living room.
Joel is adjusting the wood inside the fireplace, and he almost gets a stroke when he sees you.
The shirt falls on you so perfectly, the sleeves a little long, but he imagines that now you’re finally warm.
His look lingers a little longer on your legs, your thighs, his fingers holding onto the marble of the fireplace while instead he wishes he could grab that soft skin. He refuses that thought as soon as it makes its way in his mind, refusing it because he shouldn’t be thinking such things about the daughter of his former friend. He’s giving you a shelter and warm clothes, that will be all.
“My clothes aren’t ready yet, hope you don’t mind.” You say, Joel snapping out of his thoughts, “Oh of course, ‘s alright.”
He studies you, and a little shiver crosses your body as you’re standing by the doorframe.
“Ain’t you cold? Come here,” his voice being already like a warm hug, that way that he has of rolling the letters, of making everything sound like the best thing you could ever hear. You’re pretty sure he could read his grocery store list and you would still listen to it.
You take few steps, reaching the fireplace and warming up your hands, letting the warmth get to your legs too.
“Ya mind tellin’ me what ya were doin’ in the rain or...” he leaves the phrase hanging, not wanting to push but at the same time wanting to understand what is really going on.
“The usual,” you shoot, “finding a place where to hide after a fight.” You keep warming your hands not even looking at him.
“All your friends live too far?”
The ones who remained here actually live way closer than him, but they’re not him, you think as you rub your hands.
“Yeah,” but the little grin on your face doesn’t make him believe that, now that you’re looking at him again.
“Yeah, ‘course, kiddo, ‘course.” He says, sitting on the opposite sofa, the orange light falling on his profile.
Joel and his way of calling you like that, even now that you’re an adult and you’re not running in the living room or dangerously playing with his toolbox, opening it like it was a treasure.
That memory makes you smile, “Remember that time I took all the tools out of your toolbox and I hurt myself?”
How could he ever forget, the day he almost got a stroke for real, even though he was in his early thirties. He was keeping you for a couple of hours, having left that damn box way too close to the reach of a six year old.
He can still remember the pitched crying that had made his ears ring with fear as he ran from the other room to you, finding you on the floor, eyes filled with tears and humming “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
He had crouched down to you, taking away the hammer, and checking immediately your arm, that had gotten swollen after the hit. You had taken the tools out, but the hammer was too heavy and it had hit you.
“It’s alright, darlin’, ‘s alright,” he had kept you close once he had assured that nothing was broken, hugging you and then picking you up, going to the kitchen to take some instant ice.
He had kept you in his arms the whole time, opening that box with just one hand, your hand instead tight on the collar of his t-shirt, the tears wetting his neck.
When finally the box had collaborated, he had pressed the instant ice against the kitchen counter, until it was activated.
“Okay, angel, now ya gotta be brave.” He had let you touch the little bag with your fingers to feel that it was cold, protesting a little, “Yeah ‘s cold, but that’s what ya need, just for a second, nothin’ more.”
And honestly he would have preferred to take a bullet to his chest rather than seeing you flinching in pain as soon as he had applied the little bag.
“ ‘s okay, kiddo, ‘s alright,” Joel had whispered on your forehead, “Let’s count, one, two, three,” he had counted until ten before taking it away, “That’s it, that was all,” he had pressed a light kiss on your forehead, even lulling you in his arms, until the soft crying had faded away.
“You’ve been so brave, so brave.”
He had rubbed your back as he searched for the bruises cream among the medicines, finally finding it and letting it fall from its box.
He had to put you down on the couch to uncap the tube, crouching then down and handing you his hand, not taking your arm unless you did it on your own.
“This is gonna help with the bruise and the pain.”
He had waited for you moving your arm, uttering a “Thank you, angel,” as he gently took your hand and moved your arm to take a better look at it, then letting some gel on it and rubbing it with his ring finger, hoping to apply almost no pressure on it, hoping to be as delicate as possible.
“It’s cold.” You had whined, always hated the cold, “ ‘m sorry, baby, I know, just a second and we’re done.”
He had let the cream absorb and then you had raised your arms, your hands had done that grabby movement, wanting to be picked up.
Once you were in his arms again even the pain seemed to be stopping, Joel still apologising for the cold, but his voice was almost distant as he lulled you; his hand behind your head, cradling you, “You’re alright now, baby, all gone.”, and you had cried a little longer on his shoulder, not because of the pain but because he was doing everything that your father could never do.
“Shh ‘s alright, you’re safe, you’re safe.”
And his arms were the only place where you would feels safe, nothing coukd compare to that.
“You’re askin me if I remember the day I thought your dad was gonna kill me?” Joel half laughs, you giggling and turning to him, “Yeah that’s right.”
You turn at him, “How many years it’s been? Like twenty-five, twenty-six?” You wonder, him tilting his head side to side mentally doing some math, “Yeah probably,” Joel utters, fidgeting with his fingers, thinking how you always wanted to be in this house, and how when you had left for college he had to give you his number, because if anything happened you would have wanted to call him, you trusted him more than anyone else.
“God, then you’re old.” You stress the letters a lot, making them sound longer, Joel shaking his head and he can’t help but laughing, “Why thanks, that’s what I get for givin’ ya shelter and not asking’ questions.”
He never asked questions, he wouldn’t when he would hear you being a little drunk on the other side of the line, making sure though that you were safe, nor he wouldn’t when you called him at night just to hear his voice and he would talk and talk, until he could tell you were falling asleep.
“That and also me stealing your clothes.” You point at the shirt on you, adjusting the hems on the wrists a little.
“I guess that’s part of the deal.” Joel keeps playing, you being amused by him and you’re sure he’s not ready for what’s next.
“And do you wonder what else I’m wearing?”
He scans your body, and you can feel his eyes on you, the flames of the fire reflected in his eyes, “My shirt,” he counts on his fingers, “My socks,” and he stops there.
“Please tell me that you’re wearin’ somethin’ under my shirt,” he says, covering his eyes and ducking his head, the idea of you not wearing panties in front of him making him feel like he’s intruding.
“Well, why don’t you see it for yourself.”
And by the perfume now being stronger to his nostrils, he can tell that you’re closer, that you’re standing in front of him.
He’s still keeping his hand over his eyes, when he feels your hand wrapping around his and guiding it until it meets the soft skin of your thigh.
“Come on, Joel, you can look, I promise.”
He closes though his hand in a fist, letting your hand around his wrist, but not holding you.
Joel slowly opens his eyes, taking in how close you are to him, standing above him, his fist over your thigh.
He takes it away from your hand, letting it stay on his lap.
“Oh so I’m gonna have to show it, you’re not gonna do anything?”
And he has to pinch himself to understand that this is really happening, that he’s seeing you lifting up slowly the hem of the shirt. Inch by inch, until it is revealed a piece of black tissue.
And his mind works frantically, your clothes were all wet, so those... those are his boxers.
His breath itches when you have lifted up the hem enough for him to see what’s his, what’s on you.
Joel’s lips are parted but nothing comes out, not moving a single muscle, just his ribcage going up and down faster than usual.
And if he’s usually very controlled, he’s losing his fucking mind right now.
“You like ‘em?” Your fingers barely lingering on his chin, on that beard that you remember to be soft to your touch.
“You know, the washer-dryer was taking too long, so...” you leave the words hanging.
Joel’s stark look is all over you, but especially on those boxers, fighting his mind because he shouldn’t be looking at you like that.
“So ya took my stuff.” Not a single drop of anger in his voice though, it’s just a statement.
But you’re not too happy with that, “That’s all you have to say, Joel? Should I open my shirt?”
And Joel starts to feel dizzy, the room spinning for a moment, closing his eyes and breathing deeply to make it stop, maybe this is all a dream and it’s not really happening.
But when he opens his eyes again you’re still there, the light of the fireplace bathing you and defining your curves, and if he just raised his hand he could even touch you.
You take a step even closer, wanting to be on that lap so bad, wanting him to pat his hand on his thigh and then let you straddle him.
“Your clothes are probably dry by now.” He utters, and this time you take his chin between your fingers, soft beard under your fingertips.
You bow on him, until you reach his ear, hands going over his shoulders, “Something else is not dry at all though.”
Joel lists this as the third time that you’re trying to give him a stroke; he involuntarily sinks even more on the couch, legs wider and his knees can touch your legs now, rough jeans against cozy naked skin.
“What are you tryin’ to do?” He exhales, barely able to speak, damning how weak you’re making him. Where has all his control gone?
Your finger traces his jaw, drawing the little patch that resembles a heart, “Just being a good guest, saying thanks,” and he goes silent the moment you start kissing him on his neck.
Joel throws his head back, those warm and wet lips being soothing on him when they shouldn’t be, he should be pushing you away but you’re intoxicating him.
“What am I trying to do, Joel?” You ask back, breathing over his ear and his heart skips a beat, your knee having slouched against his thigh.
Control yourself, Joel repeats to himself, he really tries to.
You meet his eyes then, an unreadable look on him, but his jaw twitches at your fingers tracing his beard. He is not immune to your touch.
“You’re tryna get somethin’ from me, kiddo, that I can tell ya.”
A giggle leaves your lips, “I have been trying for quite some time.” Your fingers gracing his hair, the silver sleek shining under the light of the fire.
Joel moves a little from your touch, taking your wrist in his warm hand, thumb brushing gently on your pulse, “You don’t know what you’re sayin’, maybe you got fever with the cold outside, you’re not thinkin’ straight,” Joel tries to guess, the light in your eyes though not giving signs of being sick; there is just desire, lust, behind those eyes and in the way you touch him, fingers keeping on tracing that beard. You’ve always had an obsession for that, and now that it is powdered by that shade of silver, it’s even more beautiful, it’s sending sparkles down your spine.
“I don’t have fever, Joel.”
You take again his hand, bringing it onto your thigh, “Please, Joel.” You pledge from your lips, feeling those boxers having become wet with just the desire filling you.
“What do ya need, babygirl, tell me.” Joel tests the waters, this time letting his hand going up and down your thigh, exploring your skin. And it should burn him, should making him retract his hand, but instead he can go on with his touch. And Joel’s mind had never allowed him any thoughts on you, not even now that you’re in your thirties. He would look at your from afar, and that will be it, not daring to listen to his thoughts, just blocking them.
But the moment his hand is touching you, they come in full force, squeezing his eyes shut because still he shouldn’t, he repeats, this is not right.
And maybe it’s your perfume (actually his), your warm skin, or the way you look so gorgeous in his clothes, but he cannot help but thinking of holding you more, of letting you lay on the couch and giving you all that you want.
“Need you, Joel, please.” Desperate even, but Joel shakes his head, his touch being reassuring on you.
“And I need ya to be more specific.”
You exhale in trepidation, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and guiding him until the boxers.
“Please, daddy, please.”
That word falls from your lips without even noticing, that was not intentional at all. Or maybe it was, maybe that was exactly what you have been wanting to say for quite some time now.
Joel raises an eyebrow at you, as finally his hand is cupping the now damp tissue.
“Want me to call like that? Want to be called good girl?” He growls, and you’re already pulsing even though he’s just cupping you and keeping his hand still.
“Yes, please.” You exhale, Joel nodding and well, that wasn’t on his bingo card but he doesn’t mind. Quite the opposite. He can feel himself becoming harder against his jeans, but this is not about him at all, this is just about you.
“Are ya gonna be a good girl then?” He rubs gently his fingers on the tissue, taking a whimper out of you, trying to keep your hands to yourself and to not grab his wrist.
You nod, “Yeah? Then come lay down here, gonna take care of ya.”
And you might just melt at that, or even come, for the way his voice has become so deep but also so tender.
Butterflies flutter in your stomach as you lay down on the couch, Joel having gotten up and crouching on you, hand again on you.
“You’re so fuckin’ wet, babygirl, did a mess of my boxers, uh?” He wonders, keeping his hand flat but rubbing it, your body moving desperately against his touch.
“Take them off.” You pledge, Joel shaking his head, “Not yet.”
You whine at that, “Shh ‘s alright, breathe, baby, breathe.”
Well, you had actually forgotten about that, so caught up in the moment that the air got all sucked from your lungs.
His other hand falls on your chest, still covered, “There ya go, breathe.” His fingers still rubbing you and you almost trap his arm between his legs as you’re getting closer and closer.
He slowly pushes the tissue against you, until his finger is pressing on your centre, “Soaked, baby.”
You lay down even more comfortably, heart exploding with desire.
“Should we take them off?” His other hand going up and down on your thigh, now kneeling on the couch between your legs.
But you’re already so wet that you can’t think of an answer, you just push against his hand, grunting because you’re so close to come that you don’t want to take his touch away, not even to take those damn boxers off.
“Oh no time for that, ‘cause you’re fuckin’ close.” He utters speeding up his movements, his hand becoming wet in you even through the tissue.
“ ‘S alright, come babygirl, come for me.”
You move messily against him, until you can’t fucking take it anymore, until the only thing you can hear is your heart beating fast in your ribcage, and his deep voice calling you “babygirl.”
You come with almost a scream, a scream of pleasure but also of satisfaction because how long you had waited for that.
“There ya go, that’s a good girl.”
His fingers are still moving on you, but more softly, Joel taking you through that orgasm not letting go of the touch that you desperately need.
It’s when your breathing is back to normal that you grab his shoulder, urging him to hover you.
“Is it bad that I want to kiss you?” You whisper, not being afraid anymore of voicing the thoughts running in your head, your needs.
Joel ducks his head onto your shoulder, placing a chaste kiss on your cheek, “No, ‘s not.”
And you cup his face, and in those eyes you see all you have always craved, the warmth, the safety that only him can give to you.
His moustache tickles your lips, and you exhale on his lips, finally having that sensation, finally doing what you had been fantasising for so long.
It’s sweet and tender, his hands dipped onto the couch, and his body slouching on top of yours, hovered by his warmth.
And in the back of Joel’s head there’s the thought you shouldn’t be doing this.
But he pushes it away, deciding instead to push his tongue against your lips, just welcoming him and letting him deepen the kiss.
He leaves you breathless and aching for more when he kisses your forehead, a soft look on you.
And you can’t take that smile off your face, him shaking a bit his head but mimicking that same smile.
He can’t help but notice though how you’re wrapping your legs around him, slightly moving against him.
You’re not quite done, you want more.
“What is it, what does my angel need?” He whispers on your ear, kissing around the shell of it, lips descending onto your neck and the strong pulse.
You exhale already a moan, “More, Joel.”
Your hands reach the waistband of the boxers, but it is harder to take them off when he’s pressed onto you.
He keeps on kissing you, feeling those hands under him, but he takes his time.
He kisses you over the shirt, feeling the perked up nipples under his lips and then going lower, now slouching on the couch and not on you anymore.
His lips are all over your uncovered tummy, desire building in you again more than ever.
Joel stops his kissing above the waistband, his finger hooking under it, and looking up at you.
You just nod, but he shakes his head, “I need to hear it.” Voice even lower, and fuck, you thrust against nothing, Joel smirking a little at that.
“Just take them off, please.”
His fingers start to pushing them down, “Now that’s better.”
And he does it painfully slowly, still his ears ringing with the you shouldn’t be doing this.
His hands are warm on your thighs and your legs as he let the boxers shim down.
And Joel finally frees you from them, feeling them so wet in his fist.
“Sorry, about them.” You utter, Joel kneeling between you and looking down at the floor not because it’s where the boxers are now, but because he doesn’t dare to look at you, half naked on his couch.
He waves his hand, caressing your thigh, but still his look down.
You take that hand into yours, “Joel, look at me.”
But Joel squeezes his eyes, as he squeezes too your hand into his big one, “Babygirl, I-“
“It’s okay, Joel, I swear.”
He fights his thoughts, daring to slowly turning at you, opening his eyes and he exhales when he really sees you.
You’re a vision to him, in that shirt of his and your legs parted to welcome him, and you don’t even feel cold, no, you’re burning, you’re heated more than the flames in the fireplace.
He keeps holding your hand, while the other gently caress you on your leg, until your thigh and your hip, descending then and letting the back of his hand trace the same path.
His hand then goes on the inside of the thigh, this time laying between your legs so that he can kiss your thighs.
The sound of the kisses echoes together with the fire, and you could easily become addict to this.
And he sees you pulsing around and against nothing, “Gonna give you what you need, babygirl.”
You nod, and your muscles retract the moment he places his kisses on your tummy, beard tickling you and letting some giggles out of you and he can’t believe how sweet that sound is, how it feels like having honey poured onto him.
And you know that you’re gone the moment his nose brushes over your bush, lips going on the very inside of your thigh and you can feel being more sleek than ever, pushing against nothing.
You think you might be levitating the moment his tongue laps onto your lips, a hand immediately falling through his peppered hair.
Joel looks up at you, licking his lips and heaven and hell might be merged in the same place.
“Legs on my shoulders.” He orders gently, letting them rest immediately over his broad shoulders.
And he can’t believe he gets to look at you like this, all exposed for him, actually still dripping from the previous orgasm.
And he tastes you again, burying his lips and mouth onto your sleek folds, enjoying feeling you pulsing against him and your taste, he swallows the previous juices like it’s the first time ever in his life, tongue collecting everything; he leaves your hand, using his fingers to uncover your clit.
And you cry out the moment he starts kitten licking it, the tip of his tongue toying with it and you don’t know if you want to come already, scream, cry or all the above together.
You though tug his hair and he seems to enjoy that, happily humming over you, sending vibrations onto your skin.
“You taste so fuckin’ good.” He exhales, then sucking on your clit only to leave you all together, making you go crazy.
“Please, Joel,” you moan, kicking your leg over his shoulder to prove your point.
His hand goes over your tummy, “Would you like my fingers?” He checks, just to be sure.
And you nod eagerly, desperately even.
Joel nods, letting his finger going over your sleek folds, poking at your centre but not going in, not yet.
“Please, daddy.”
The tug on his hair is harder, and Lord forbid he will ever not do what you desire so much.
The tip of his thick finger goes among your wetness, and you feel like it’s the very first time. All the others were nothing, because this is all you ever wanted.
All you ever wanted was him.
Joel’s kisses are all over your tummy again, your hips, tracing a wet path on your thighs, as his fingers presses a little deeper.
It’s all wet and messy, the traces of the previous orgasm drenching his finger, coaxing it.
You move against him, the finger slouching in a little more, but still Joel is not moving it.
It’s only when he’s placed his lips onto your clit again that he starts pushing, always so gently.
In the back of his head there’s the worry that he could hurt you, but it goes away the moment you tug his hair again.
His other hand is sprawled on your lower tummy, pressing on it the moment he starts properly thrusting into you, your muscles welcoming him as if that’s all they’ve ever waited for; his mouth still makes love to you, kissing and licking, drinking from you.
And soon one finger becomes two, your moans becoming louder, that feeling of trepidation forming in your tummy.
You move against him, until he curls his fingers inside you, hitting the sweet spot and you think you might have just entered the gates of heaven, him pushing you through them while actually he’s pushing you over the edge.
“Joel, Joel,”
He doesn’t stop, your voice just charges him to give you more.
“Come for me, babygirl, come for daddy,” he breathes from your lips for just a second.
The long awaited orgasm shakes your body like electricity is passing in your bloodstream, shuddering under his touch, your body leaving moans that you had never left.
It’s loud.
It’s animal.
Primal.
“There you go, that’s a good girl.”
Joel breathes you in again, his mouth slowly moving from your wetness to your inner thigh, fingers delicately pushing into you, and your body trembles again.
He lets you ride the orgasm, and with his other hand he moves your legs so they’re not up on his shoulders anymore, brushing his fingers on you, up and down.
“ ‘S okay, breathe, angel, breathe.”
You wrap your fingers around his wrist the moment he starts to let his fingers out from you, trying to stop him from not giving you his fingers anymore.
“Hands off, babe, that was enough for tonight.”
Not as an order, but as a caring suggestion, having seen how you’re laying on that couch being exhausted.
That will be it for the night, he thinks, finally taking out his fingers and wiping them on his shirt.
Joel hovers you, kissing your forehead and then your lips, making you hold your breath, making you slow down that rushed heartbeat.
“Everything alright?” He softly asks, brushing his thumb on your heated cheek.
You nod, letting out a “Yeah” that is filled with tiredness but also joy.
He lays on your side, him being on the edge on the couch; and as soon as he does that, you’re curling up on his chest. Joel places a kiss over your hair, brushing your shoulder as he holds you in his arms.
And he questions everything that he’s just done, you shouldn’t have, the voice screams at him, but it gets quieter and quieter as he looks down at you, that peaceful look on your face.
It could have been ten minutes or an hour, when Joel leaves you, going to the bathroom to take out your clothes from the washer-dryer, folding neatly the jeans, your hoodie, and putting the panties and your bra on top of them.
He returns to the living room, leaving the pile of clothes on the opposite couch, only taking your panties.
You’re half asleep, with no intention of moving from there, so he just puts those panties onto you, one leg and then the other, pulling them up and then covering you again with his own shirt that you’re still wearing.
You barely moved as he did that, and he wonders if he should let you sleep on the couch, or if he could take you to the guest room.
And Joel in the end doesn’t do any of that.
He indeed takes you in his arms, one arm under your legs and the other behind your back.
“Just taking you to bed, kiddo, ‘s alright.” He says over your forehead as you slightly move on his chest.
And he takes the turn to his bedroom, laying you gently on his bed.
He is ready to leave you alone, after having brushed a hand on your hair, but your hand reaches over the bedsheets.
“Stay.”
And Joel is still conflicted, but the voice in his head is far distant now.
He lays down next to you, and he understands that you just want to be hugged like on the couch, wrapping his arm around you and letting your head over his chest.
“Sleep tight, angel.”
And there it is, the feeling of being safe, because no other place in the world could ever make you feel like his arms.
You rush to be by Elise's side while still reeling from your impulsive night with Joel. The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue through chapter 18 found on Tumblr here.
Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader
CW: OC death (not reader). Loss of a parent. Memory of child neglect. Regretting sex. All the angst in all the world. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only.
Length: 13k (I hope someone enjoys whatever the fuck is wrong with me.)
You held the paper plate with your peanut butter sandwich and carrot sticks tightly, delicately, working your way carefully around set. You had to be careful around here, there was so much to mess up, so many people to get in the way of. The gaffer had snapped at you the day before when you’d bumped into some lights, almost knocking one over, and you didn’t want to give him a reason to do it again. The director was a little nicer but you could tell that he found you annoying when you hovered and tried to learn, so you figured it was best to avoid him, too. But you had to find some place you could sit down and eat your lunch and not bother someone while not looking too alone. The set of Family Tree was big. That had to exist here somewhere, right?
Every other day on set, there had been at least one other kid without their parents and you could just hang out with them. You’d always been able to find someone to have lunch with, even if it was a different person every day. Today, everyone’s parents were there. Even Jennifer - who was the biggest kid on set and who loved to fawn over you and your ruffled socks and pink hair bows and the fact that you were just seven - was laughing with her mom instead of eating on her own and reading a magazine.
You gnawed on your lower lip before you stopped yourself. Your mom had snapped at you for that bad habit that very morning, reaching over and tugging your chin down sharply, pulling your lip from between your teeth as she dropped you off at the makeup trailer.
“You have to stop doing that,” she glared down at you. “You’ll chap your lip and chin and it’ll be a problem for the makeup team. You don’t want to be a problem, do you?”
You’d shaken your head, wanting to sink your teeth into your lip but fighting the urge and pressing your fingers into your thigh instead.
“Good girl,” she said. “No one will want to hire you if you’re a problem and then where would we be? Now, be on your best behavior, I have meetings to take today.”
“But Mom,” you tried to not sound whiney but you weren’t sure it worked. “All the other kids’ moms stay and…”
“And you can’t handle yourself?” She cut you off, putting her hand on your shoulder. “You’re my strong, smart, talented girl. You can handle working for a few hours on your own, I’ll be back to pick you up this afternoon, OK? Be a good girl.”
You were trying to be the good girl your mom asked you to be but how could you do that when you weren’t sure where you could have lunch without getting in trouble.
You looked around set, hoping something would jump out at you, and then something did: The door to the classroom that was set up for all the kids on the show to go to school.
In the few weeks you’d been filming, you’d learned that you had to have a few hours of class every day and it all happened here on set. Mrs. Williams was the teacher and she was really nice. She always wore bright colors and she didn’t care that you thought best when you were fidgeting and she smiled a lot. You liked her, you liked her more than anyone else you’d met since starting to work on Family Tree.
The door was open a crack and it creaked as you pushed your way inside and the sound made Mrs. Williams look up from her desk. She smiled when she saw you, big and honest.
“Hey there kiddo,” she said. “Are you looking for someone? We don’t have class for a few hours yet. Where’s your mom?”
“She… um…” you resisted the urge to bite your lip again. “She couldn’t be here today and I couldn’t find a good place to eat and I was wondering if…”
“Well come on in here, sweetie!” Mrs. Williams beamed, waving you in. “You can hang out with me until lunch is over, sound good?”
You nodded quickly and all but ran inside before she changed her mind.
Mrs. Williams pulled an extra chair up to her big desk at the front of the room and moved her own chair over and you joined her there, being sure to sit up straight and chew with your mouth closed as the two of you ate.
“So,” she said as she finished up her own lunch. “I haven’t gotten the chance to know you very well yet. Do you like to read?”
You nodded, your mouth full of sandwich.
“Well, I think we have some time before you need to be back at it,” she said, checking her watch. “How about we read for a bit? That’s my favorite thing to do after lunch. Does that sound good?”
You swallowed quickly. You always liked when your mom read to you but she didn’t always have time to the way you wanted. You weren’t about to miss this chance.
“Yes,” you said quickly. “Yes, please!”
“OK kiddo,” she laughed, patting your arm gently before giving it a squeeze. “I’ll get a good one for us. I don’t know that we’ll finish it today but, if we don’t, you can always come here any time you don’t have anywhere else to be and we can read it together, OK?”
She looked at you like you being there made her happy, like having lunch next to you had been a special treat.
“OK,” you smiled.
Mrs. Williams got up and went to a bookshelf in the corner and searched it for a moment before selecting a paperback and coming back to the desk.
“This,” she said, leaning in close, like she was sharing a secret with you. “Is one of my favorites.”
She showed you the cover, a little girl and a pig and a spider on the front, and then she opened it.
“Charlotte’s Web, by E.B. White,” she said. “Chapter one, Before Breakfast. ‘Where’s Papa going with that ax?’ said Fern to her mother as they were setting the table for breakfast.”
You left the rest of your sandwich on your plate and leaned into her, peering over her arm to follow as she read on the page. She adjusted to make it easier and, for the first time you could remember, you felt like you belonged.
September 26, 2025
The look on Joel’s face was odd.
You were sore from how he’d fucked you, oddly aware of your body for the first time in so long that it was an odd sensation to feel discomfort at all. It was almost pleasant, even though your pussy was raw and aching like a wound and your nipples were throbbing painfully. It was the most alive you’d felt in weeks, the hurt a welcome reminder that you existed.
Still, you’d expected to feel… better after Joel had given you what you wanted.
You weren’t sure why. It’s not like you’d tried to get him to be gentle. You’d begged him to hurt you - physically, emotionally - and he’d done exactly what you asked but it didn’t satisfy you.
He’d made you come so hard that your muscles felt tired, almost like you’d just done a workout, but you realized too late that wasn’t what you really wanted from him. When he was done with you, there was a moment where you’d both gone almost limp, you pressed against the wall with Joel tight to your back and still buried inside of you, and things felt good for a second, just a second. He was warm and you could feel him breathing and his hand was splayed wide against your chest to keep you against him and for that brief, shining moment, it was almost like you mattered. Like you belonged there, with him. Not because you were famous or rich or fuckable but because there was someone who wanted to keep you close even when they didn’t have any other use for you. You wanted to live in that moment for a while, even if it was a lie.
Then he pulled out of you, cold and abrupt and looked at you the same way he had before he’d fucked you again. Maybe worse, like you’d just confirmed every terrible thing he’d ever thought about you but never said. Like you were something foul he’d stepped in or rotten he’d eaten, disgusted by your proximity and all you had left to comfort you was the way he’d made you hurt like a bruise inside.
Whoever was on the phone was changing that, something almost like pity mixing with his distaste.
“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Yeah, we’re on our way.”
He hung up the phone without saying goodbye, odd expression still on his face. You had the strangest urge to shower, the slick of his come suddenly turning your stomach.
“Get dressed,” he said, stalking toward the stairs.
“Excuse me?” you started after him, not obeying on principle. “You don’t get to just tell me what to fucking do…”
He rounded on you, eyes dropping to your naked body for a fraction of a second before narrowing on your face.
“Will you just listen to me for once in your goddamn life and put on your fucking clothes?”
“Why?” You demanded. “Who was…”
“That was Esmo,” he cut you off. “She’s at the hospital with Ellie. Elise had a stroke.”
You shocked back from him like he’d struck you and his gaze softened ever so slightly.
“Get dressed, we’re going home.”
You moved quickly then, grabbing your discarded clothes from the ground but not bothering to put them on, just running up the stairs to your room and throwing on the first clean things you could find that would be comfortable on a plane.
You called Quinn as you did, telling her she’d need to contact the other producers and the director to get filming rescheduled. You shoved essentials into a carry on bag - passport, medication, tablet, laptop, chargers - and called the car service next. You ran down stairs, bag in hand, just a few minutes later. Joel was waiting for you by the door and he made your stomach clench. You hadn’t bothered to clean up that hurting place between your thighs and his come had turned cold on your skin.
When you left, he opened the back door of a waiting black SUV for you and you slid inside. He followed behind you and you blinked at him in shock, surprised he didn’t take the passenger seat like he usually did.
“Where to, miss?” The driver asked and it was only then that you realized you needed to figure out a way to fucking get back to Texas.
“Heathrow, I think,” you said, pulling your phone out of your pocket. It only had 25% battery left so you started fumbling for your charger next but Joel’s hand covered yours, moving it away before opening your bag and sifting through your things to find it for you. “Might end up being Gatwick, I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”
You found a travel agent in New York and called them, trying to keep from snapping when they asked you basic questions, pressing your fingers so hard into your thigh you were probably leaving a bruise but you didn’t care.
“And would you rather…” The woman asked but you cut her off.
“I’m sorry, I just…” you took a deep breath. “I don’t care, OK? I don’t care where it connects through, I don’t care what class, I don’t care how much it costs I just need to be in Austin, Texas as quickly as possible! Just…”
“Here,” Joel snatched the phone from you, not bothering to ask and you were about to scream or cry or do something when he pressed it to his ear, looking at his own phone in his hands. “I’m seein’ a flight in a few hours from Heathrow to New York, that available?”
You just sat there, watching him as he went through the options quickly and, when he started nodding a lot, you all but dove into your bag to grab your credit card, handing it and your license over before he needed to ask.
When he gave the woman your full name, you heard her laugh and watched as Joel frowned.
“Yeah, that’s her real name,” he said, voice heated and then waiting for a response before his frown deepened. “No, I ain’t kidding!”
You laughed once, the sound feeling odd and almost unhinged, before your clamped your hand over your mouth, eyes going wide. Joel just raised his eyebrows at you before looking back at the credit card.
“Look, just run the goddamn card, alright?” He said before reading the number off.
Just a few minutes later, he gave you back the phone and the cards, tickets purchased.
“We’re flying into New York first,” he said. “Then Austin from there. We’ll be there by lunch tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” you said. The phone was still warm where it had been against his skin. “I’ve never booked my own travel before and I know how fucking dumb that is and…”
“Not dumb,” he said, quirking his jaw before looking out the window.
You looked at him for another moment - longer than you should have, you were sure - and tried not to want what you couldn’t have. For him to kiss you gently, cradle you against his body and tell you that everything was going to be OK. The raw hurt in you made you look out the window instead.
The drive to the airport seemed long but, eventually, you were there and you ignored Joel’s rules for getting out of the car, in too much of a rush to pay things like that any mind. He cursed quietly before running to meet you, looking around quickly before snatching your leather duffle from you and slinging it over his shoulder with one hand and tucking you below his arm with the other.
“Sorry,” you said, not even caring if you sounded pathetic. You knew that if Joel laid into you in that moment, you’d crumble.
“S’OK,” he said. “We’re checked in, goin’ straight for security. We don’t have the usual escort, gonna have to stand in line so just stay close.”
You nodded against his side, hating just how good it felt to be pressed against him like this, your stomach turning at the thought you’d had just a few hours before. That you’d have given anything to be able to pretend that someone cared for you like this.
You hadn’t meant it to happen this way.
You didn’t have your usual disguise, just another stupid mistake you’d made that night. You kept your head tucked low as Joel guided you through the line, hoping no one recognized you.
But you had to separate from him to go through security and you heard the woman at the line next to yours gasp when she saw you and you ignored her.
The photos started next, most people at least trying to be subtle about it at first but someone standing on the other side of the scanner was blatantly holding their phone up as you passed through and you did your best to ignore them.
Joel was not so kind.
He stalked right past you to the woman standing at the end of the conveyer belt, waiting for her carryon bag, and held his hand out.
“Phone.”
“What?” She said.
“Give me your phone,” he growled more than said. “Or I’ll take it and snap it in half.”
“Joel,” you closed the gap between you quickly, looping your hand through his arm. “Don’t, it’s fine…”
“Ain’t fine,” he said, not looking at you. “She’s gonna give me that damn phone or I’m gonna take that damn phone but either way, that photo or video or whatever the hell she’s doin’ isn’t gonna see the light of day. We clear?”
The woman peered around him to security, who were busy with someone else.
“Sorry,” she said, handing the phone to Joel.
He took it and moved quickly, deleting the video and then emptying the trash, too, before handing it back.
“Fuckin’ Brits need to learn some manners,” he muttered, going to grab your bag and his before tucking you against his side again where you knew you were safe.
You let him lead you through the airport, the sound of the world outside just a drone in your head, the fact that you were moving and making progress the only thing keeping you from losing your fucking mind.
The plane had just pulled up to the gate when you got there and Joel looked around quickly, finding a quiet corner and guiding you to it.
“Stay here for one minute,” he said, his eyes locked on yours. “Need to go talk to the gate agent, let ‘em know who you are and that it might cause some disruption. Keep your head down, OK?”
“Yeah,” you nodded. “Yeah, OK.”
You paced in the little alcove Joel had found - it only took two long strides to cover the space but you did it anyway - until he returned.
“We’re boarding last,” he said. “They’re movin’ some folks around so we’ll be in the back row of first class, middle bit so we’ll be next to each other. Should be able to keep you from drawing too much attention.”
“Thanks,” you said quietly. He gave you a single, stiff nod, his eyes going over you again and again.
After a moment, you went back to pacing, tapping your phone against your palm.
“You said Ellie’s at the hospital?” You asked.
Joel was still watching you.
“With Esmo,” he nodded. “She’s got ‘er for now.”
“Did she say what happened?”
“Not really,” Joel said. “Just that Elise collapsed, Esmo called 911…”
You nodded, tears starting to pull at you and you tilted your head back to try to stop them, staring up at the ceiling tiles. After a moment, you looked at your phone and found Ellie’s number. It rang until it went to voicemail.
This is Ellie Williams and I’m probably ignoring you. Leave me a message in case I’m not.
“Hey Kiddo, it’s me. I’m getting there as fast as I can, I’m about to get on a plane but if you need me, text me, OK? I love you so much and no matter what happens, I’m going to take care of you. I’ll be there so, so soon. I love you.”
You went back to pacing, Joel going between watching the world beyond your little corner and you kept glancing his way, not able to disentangle what was happening now from what had just happened a few hours ago. You wanted to go back to that short lived moment where Joel was still inside of you and his hand was against your chest and he was warm against your bared skin and it seemed like you mattered to him. You wanted him to hold you like he had the night of the premiere, when he was safe and warm and didn’t seem to want to let you go.
“We’ll be there soon,” Joel said after you’d been pacing what felt like forever. “You’re doin’ everything you can.”
You looked at him for a moment, his hands in his pockets and his eyes soft on yours.
“I know,” you said eventually. “It just doesn’t feel like enough.”
After what felt like a small eternity, the gate agent came and got you, the two of you boarding the plane quickly. You kept your head down and hoped that the handful of people you passed on your way to your seat were too busy settling in for their flights to notice you.
The flight attendant came by almost immediately, offering you water and champagne and anything else you might want. You turned her down but Joel stopped her before she walked away.
“She’ll take the water,” he said. “Thanks.”
Joel waited for her to leave before nodding to the bottle.
“Actually drink that,” he said. “You need it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You asked, brows raised.
“Been a…” he seemed to search for the words. “Rough few hours. Not gonna be any easier when we get there. Should take care of yourself while you can.”
He watched you open the bottle and take a long drink, seeming satisfied then.
Once you were in the air - after you’d watched the inflight safety videos in a daze - he looked to you again with that odd look on his face, one that wasn’t harsh or cruel.
“What?” you asked, waiting for him to find something to pick at you for, some thread to pull.
“Should lay the seat down, get some rest,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye out, make sure no one gets photos.”
You considered him for a moment before you obeyed, taking a sleeping pill as the flight attendant made up the bed for you so you could settle in. You didn’t put up the barrier between your seat and Joel’s and you lay facing him, blanket pulled up to your chin, exhaustion starting to hit you.
“Joel?” You said quietly before you could think better of it.
“Hm.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
He looked you over for a moment and you suddenly felt exposed, more than you had when you’d begged him to fuck you and he’d given in.
“Know it’s hard,” he said eventually. “Don’t… don’t want to make it any harder. Go to sleep.”
“Thank you,” you said. “I know it’s not what you signed up for but… thank you.”
It was almost a shock when his hand found your shoulder, gently nudging you awake. It seemed like no time had passed but you’d slept the entire flight.
“C’mon,” he said gently. He looked tired and his eye were oddly soft. “Be there soon.”
You managed to eat a little of the breakfast the flight attendant brought over, the person across the aisle from you glancing your way every few minutes. You closed the partition between you and the aisle.
Joel had talked to the flight attendants while you were unconscious, arranging for the two of you to leave the plane before everyone else so you could clear customs quickly without causing as much of a stir and then, hopefully, make your connecting flight.
“Need to move fast,” Joel said, jaw set firm. “You up for that?”
“Yeah,” you said quickly. “Yeah, I’ll do anything.”
He looked at you for a moment.
“I know you will.”
Customs was nothing more than a fast formality and then you were all but jogging alongside Joel through the length of the airport, getting to the gate just as the final boarding call was announced.
The people on the plane noticed you that time. Joel stared daggers at them as you settled in as best you could already resigned to the fact that there were going to be pictures of you like this - fresh off a transatlantic flight, still woozy from sleeping pills and on the edge of panic - everywhere before you were even back to Texas at all.
You woke up more once you were in the air, pressing yourself against the wall of the plane as much as possible, foot bouncing impatiently. You kept pressing your fingers into your thigh, as though that feeling might distract you or give you some kind of control over anything at all, but it didn’t make a difference. Your mind raced, going over and over what might have happened to Elise, what the possible outcomes might be, what Ellie might have seen of her grandmother’s collapse.
What you’d been doing as your niece was afraid and your mother suffered and doctors tried to save her.
It was the last thought that wedged itself in your head, thoughts skipping like a scratched record. Ellie had been at the hospital, probably fucking terrified about what was happening to her grandmother and you’d been begging your body guard to fuck you so you could feel something besides numb. Elise was sick, maybe even dying, as you came to someone who obviously hated you calling you a whore just like you’d asked him to because if he called you anything else only to throw you away again you thought your heart might burst. That’s what you’d been doing when the people who mattered most in the world needed you, getting fucked like the slut he’d called you.
Your stomach turned.
“Excuse me,” you said quickly, all but hurdling Joel’s legs and running for the lavatory. You barely got the toilet lid pulled up before you vomited, everything you’d eaten since you’d left the house hours earlier coming up in a bile-laden rush. You choked on it, hacking and coughing, which only made it worse, hanging over the toilet until all you could do was dry heave.
You slumped to the floor then, panting for breath with barely enough room to sit on the ground in the tiny airplane bathroom. It smelled - like shit and piss barely hidden by antiseptic - but you didn’t care. Or some part of you didn’t, anyway. It was like the already tenuous thread that had been tethering you to any sense of control snapped. You started sobbing, going from choking on vomit to your own tears, trying to swallow as much sour air as you could.
You weren’t sure how long you sat there, trying to get control of yourself, knowing that everyone sitting around you probably knew exactly who you were and had noticed that you’d gone to the bathroom and then just stayed in there. You’d just started calming down when when there was a hesitant, almost gentle knock on the door.
“Sorry,” you managed, drying your eyes on the backs of your wrists. “Just… um…One second and…”
“S’me,” Joel said through the door. “I got you a water, some toothpaste. Can you open up?”
You sniffled one more time and managed to get to your feet in the tight space. You didn’t dare glance in the mirror because that would just make how awful you knew you must look in that moment feel worse. You took a deep breath before opening the door.
Joel looked you up and down, his normally sharp eyes oddly soft.
“You alright?” He asked after a moment.
You sniffled and nodded.
“Good,” he held out a bottle of water and a little tube of Crest. “Borrowed the toothpaste from a flight attendant, no extra toothbrush though, afraid you’ll have to rough it.”
You frowned a little and took it from him.
“How did…”
“I was here,” he nodded to the space just on the other side of the thin door. You winced at that. “Figured… Thought it’d make the rest of the flight easier if you had that.”
“Thanks,” you said quietly. “Just… I’ll just be another minute, OK?”
He looked at you again, something almost like pity in his gaze.
“Course. I’ll be here.”
For some reason, that meant more to you than you knew how to say.
October 5, 2025
“Wilbur never forgot Charlotte. Although he loved her children and grandchildren dearly, none of the new spiders ever quite took her place in his heart. She was in a class by herself. It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both.”
You closed Charlotte’s Web and set it down before sighing, looking at Elise next to you in her hospital bed. You trailed your fingers through her hair as gently as you could, dodging the stitches at the back of her head.
“Do you remember how much I loved that book when I was a kid?” You asked quietly, even though you didn’t need to worry about disturbing her. You snuggled closer to her all the same, trying to memorize how her skin felt when it was warm, focusing on how she smelled even though that was a little wrong after more than a week in the hospital. Tears pinched at the back of your throat. “It was because of you. You read me that book and you did all the voices and it was the first time anyone had done anything like that for me. You were the first person who made me feel like I was worth the effort. Everything I am now that’s worth anything at all is because of you.”
Elise didn’t react but you didn’t expect her to. The doctors had called it days earlier. They had tried everything, there was nothing more they could do, the person who had raised you and loved you was gone and it was just her body that was left.
You knew that. Consciously, you did. In truth, she was gone before you even got to Texas, the last words you’d ever said to her spoken as you tried to stay awake over FaceTime the day before you’d gotten the call.
They were good words, at least.
She had been there with Ellie, the two of them sitting at the kitchen table, both smiling and laughing. Ellie was making a show out of drinking tea out of her souvenir cup from their trip to London, her pinky up as she put her nose in the air, Elise joining in with an overwrought posh accent. You’d done the same on your end of the line, nearly midnight London time as you sipped on herbal tea in your pajamas, already worrying about making your early call time the next day and trying to think about anything besides the fact that you missed both of them so much it hurt.
“Alright kiddo,” Elise had said, picking up the iPad, smiling. “We should let you go, I know you have a busy schedule while you’re over there.”
“Yeah,” you’d smiled a little and sighed. “But God, I miss you guys.”
“Miss you too, honey,” her smile changed to something wistful and almost sad. “But you’ll be back before you know it! And just think of everything you’re doing while you’re there. You’re making something you’re proud of even though it’s hard and I’m so proud of you for doing it.”
You smiled wider at that, tucking your chin a little, praise from her somehow always meaning more than it did from just about anyone else.
“Thanks, Mama. Love you both.”
“Love you, Sissy!” Ellie popped her head over Elise’s shoulder, smiling wide.
Elise laughed and leaned her head in closer to Ellie’s and you had the briefest thought that this would make a great shot in a movie. Picture perfect happy family, even if the distance was great.
You didn’t bother to grab a screenshot. You regretted that now.
“Love you too,” Elise said. “We’ll talk with you tomorrow night, have a good day tomorrow.”
It had been so normal. You hadn’t wanted to hang up but you were happy when you got to flop down in your bed, your whole body tired. You thought you had time, you thought you had so much more time.
Now you wished you’d stayed on the call with them just for another few minutes. You’d given anything to have just another few words from her, just a few words of her saying anything at all.
“Hey Sissy,” Ellie said, a weight in her voice that was sadly familiar, so like it had been in the final days of Anna’s life. You looked over to find her standing just inside the doorway, a look on her face that matched the tone of her voice. “We brought you a sandwich.”
Esmo stood at her back, smiling tightly at you.
“Thanks,” you said, wiping your tears as discretely as you could as you gingerly got out of bed. You took the sandwich from Ellie and put your arm around her, going to the couch beside the bed and settling in with her. She leaned against you, huddled against your side like she did when she was little. You took a bite of the sandwich, the bread a little soggy but you didn’t mind. “You actually ate something too, right?”
“Yeah,” she said, her head on your chest. You tried not to think about Elise passing her to you in Anna’s hospital room when she was just a tiny bundle weighing all of 7 pounds 4 ounces. How you’d cradled her against your body and Elise had beamed as you held her and how, in that moment, you knew there was a point to everything that had ever happened to you because it brought you there, to that moment with the three greatest people you’d ever known. “We got burgers. Esmo even made me eat carrots with ranch.”
“You need your vitamins and minerals,” she said, an almost defensive edge to her tone. “I’m not going to let you not eat a proper diet just because you think you have a good excuse.”
Ellie sighed dramatically and you laughed once, briefly. Through it all, Ellie was still Ellie.
The two of you sat like that for a while. You trailed your fingers through her hair - the same texture as her grandmother’s - and held her close. Esmo left a little while later, staying at your house to help keep things running smoothly as you all dealt with this, but Joel, of course, stayed.
His presence had been constant since coming home from England. He was always around anyway, yes, but it was more noticeable in the confined space of the hospital room.
It was a blessing in a lot of ways. Ellie adored him, so much that when she jumped into your arms when you first got there, the second you put her down she went to hug him, too, before explaining what had happened.
She’d been doing her homework at the kitchen table. Elise said she felt odd and went to the bathroom. When she didn’t come back, Ellie went to check on her and found her unconscious on the floor. She’d hit her head when she fell, blood matting her hair and seeping out over the white tile. She screamed for Esmo, who called 911 and stayed with her until you got there the next day.
As things progressed, Esmo was kind enough to take Ellie back to the house for a while so she could get some rest while you talked to the doctors and then you were alone with Joel, the sound of the heart monitor and ventilator quickly fading to white noise. You sat beside the bed, watching as the machines kept the only real mother you’d ever known alive, Joel hovering close enough that you could feel him there.
“I’m sorry,” you said eventually, when you could pull your eyes away from Elise. “For everything before… I shouldn’t… I’m sorry.”
He considered you for a moment, his jaw clenched tight.
“Not like I wasn’t…” he seemed to search for the words. “An active participant.”
You laughed once, wetly.
“Yeah, well… I shouldn’t have put you in that position. It’s my fault. And even though it’s my fault, I would appreciate it if we could pretend that never happened. I think it’ll be easier for everyone.”
He was silent and your heart clenched but then he gave you a single nod before looking toward the door.
“Whatever you say.”
He didn’t talk to you much after that but he did talk to Ellie. He kept her distracted when he could, was a reassuring presence when he couldn’t. When the doctors said there was nothing more they could do, that she would be gone in a matter of days, you stopped going home to shower and change and take a quick nap, instead sleeping on the couch or in the recliner in Elise’s hospital room. Joel did the same, always close, silently standing guard as you watched her slip away. Sometimes, when it was just the two of you, he would go from watching you to abruptly standing up and going to hover in the hallway, like being that close to you for too long was painful or disgusting. Not that you could blame him for that. You just couldn’t process it then, putting how the only man who’d ever made you feel like you were worth protecting saw you in some far corner of your mind to deal with later.
“How much longer, you think?” Ellie asked after a while, still letting you hold her.
You sighed.
“I’m not sure. Probably not too much longer.”
She nodded against you and sighed, too.
“Does it make me an asshole to kind of just… wish it was over? Grandma’s already gone and this is just… it’s shitty.”
“No,” you pressed a kiss to the top of her head, her hair sticking a little to your lip balm. “You’re not an asshole. Stuff like this… it’s really hard. It’s OK to be ready to move on.”
It wasn’t long before a nurse came in and checked Elise’s vitals, nodding to herself and turning off the sound on the heart monitor before turning to you and Ellie.
“We’re right at the end,” she said, a kind but sad smile on her lips. “If there’s anything you’d like to say or do, now is the time.”
You and Ellie got up and went to the bed, her on one side of it and you on the other. Each of you took one of her hands, it still disorienting that she didn’t react when you did.
“Hey Grandma,” Ellie said, her voice thick. “I dunno if you can hear me but… I love you. I’m going to miss you. I already miss you. But I’m going to be OK. I’ve got Sissy and Justice and my friends at school… It’s OK Grandma, I promise.”
It seemed like she was waiting for that permission, things devolving quickly then. Her breathing slowed, her heartbeat, too.
“I’ll take care of everything here. We’ll be OK. Love you so much, Mama,” you said, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. “Say hi to Anna for me.”
It was like she slipped away, her whole body silent and still and you stood there with Ellie, holding her hands as though that would change anything at all.
Things moved oddly fast after that. You stayed with Ellie and doctors and nurses and administrators came and went. They declared her dead, something sickening in the finality of it. You filled out paperwork in a daze, looking at Elise’s body, still and cold. You held Ellie’s hand as you called the funeral home. You stayed until you thought you might choke on the sterile hospital scent and the sun was low on the horizon and Joel gently put his hand on your shoulder.
“C’mon,” he said, giving you a light squeeze. “Let’s get you two home. Hospital’s got it from here.”
You looked at Elise for a moment longer before getting up and moving slowly to her side. She already looked so different, so empty. You pressed a slow, soft kiss to her forehead that was already going cold.
“Alright,” you said, feeling as hollow as Elise looked. “Let’s go.”
You held Ellie’s hand on the way to the car and sat in back with her, the two of you wrapped around each other as you rode in silence back to your house. It was eerily quiet there, too, the air stale and room cavernous. The three of you stood in your entry, looking out on the living room to the pool beyond, like you were all afraid to take the next step.
“Are you hungry?” You asked her eventually. Your voice sounded lifeless. “I can make you a sandwich or something…”
“If I eat something I think I might just fucking puke.”
“Yeah,” you sighed. “Me too.”
“I think I might just go to bed,” she said.
“Want to sleep in my room?” You asked. “I’ll go with you. Or I can sleep in your room if you want.”
“No,” she finally looked at you. “I think I just… I want to be by myself.”
“OK,” you said, even though you desperately wished she wanted to be next to you instead. “But I’m here for you, kiddo. You’re stuck with me.”
She laughed a little but it was an empty sound.
“Yeah, I know.”
You watched her trudge to her room and close the door behind her before you sighed.
“I’m going to go lie down, too,” you said after a minute.
“You sure?” Joel said. His voice was oddly raw, enough that you looked to him. The usual hardness wasn’t in his eyes, the lines of his face gentle.
“Yeah,” you said after a minute. “Esmo will be here in the morning but you know the drill, help yourself to whatever.”
You didn’t wait for a response, just going to your room and closing the door softly behind you.
You considered getting changed but that seemed so final because she’d still been alive when you’d put that shirt and pants on and she wouldn’t be when you got dressed next. Instead, you just settled on the edge of your bed, staring at the photo on your bedside table, one of you and Elise and Anna and Ellie. The four of you together, the way it was supposed to be. Now, there were only two of you left.
You were thankful you had Ellie, at least. Without her, you weren’t sure you’d have the strength to keep going, not when it felt like so much of the best parts of your life were behind you. Ellie made you want to keep going. For her, you’d get through it.
It was something of a comforting thought, at first. But after a while, it shifted.
You loved Ellie so much, you would do anything for her and there was no blood tying you together. So how had your biological mother not been willing to do the same for you? How could she have traded your welfare for something as simple as money?
How was it she was still alive and someone as good and kind as Elise was dead?
Some part of you latched onto that thought, digging into the roiling heat of rage because without it there was nothing but darkness. Why was it Elise who had to die? How dare your mother keep living, keep needing you to take care of her the way you’d always done? How could you make sense of a world that would take one and leave the other?
You weren’t sure how long you sat there but when it felt like your blood might burn its way out of your skin you got up, stalking out of your room and toward the front door.
“You OK?” Joel said from your couch, sitting up straight when you came in and catching you off guard. You’d almost forgotten that you had a bodyguard.
“Fine,” you said, trying to keep your tone even so you didn’t take your anger out on him. “Going out.”
He stood up, frowning.
“You OK to be leavin’ the house?” He asked, his eyes ranging over you as he moved closer. “I’ll take you if you need to go somewhere but…”
“I need to go,” you said. “Whether you go too is up to you.”
He clenched his jaw but nodded slowly.
“Then let’s go.”
***
Joel wasn’t sure what the hell you were thinking but he doubted it was anything good.
You’d told him to take him to your mother’s nursing home but otherwise, you were silent, just staring determinedly out the window, your whole body tense. He considered taking you somewhere else but fuck if he knew where. You were hanging on by a thread, he could feel that. In hindsight, that had been true in England, too. He hadn’t been able to place it at the time, not until he saw it in this new context and recognized it for what it was. It was like you were behind the wheel of a speeding car, one that was still on the road but outside your control and Elise’s death had been the thing to send you careening off course.
He parked in front of the nursing home, the parking lot mostly empty. It was late, after 10, and he wasn’t sure what you were hoping to accomplish with this. If there was anything that you could do at all.
He sighed heavily.
“Siren…”
You looked at him. Your face was bare, no mascara lengthening your lashes or gloss shining your lips. You were so keenly human, a painful reminder of the very thing Joel had tried desperately to be in denial about for months now.
“I don’t know…” He began, but you cut him off.
“You can come with me or wait in the car,” you said. “But I’m going in.”
He clenched his jaw but nodded, opening his door when you opened yours, thankful that visiting hours at this place had to be over by now. The doors would be locked, someone would come to turn you away, and then he could take you home. It would be easy.
Or it would have been if you were anybody else.
The doors were locked, that much was true. But you pounded on the glass, palm flat and face pressed against it to look into the lobby. Joel caught your wrist as gently as he could, holding it as you looked to him and frowned, like you weren’t sure if you wanted to be offended or enraged.
“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” he said. “Why don’t we…”
The door opened then, a woman in fancy fucking scrubs standing there, frowning, holding the door against her side as though that would protect the people inside from you.
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking more at Joel than at you. “But we’re closed. If you’d like to learn more about our services…”
“My mother lives here,” you said, barely restrained disgust in your voice. “I need to see her.”
“Visiting hours are…” The woman’s eyes went wide, clearly recognizing you. “Oh.”
“Can I see her?” You asked. “Please.”
“Um,” the woman looked back over her shoulder, into the darkened lobby, and then back at you. “Yeah, she’s a bit of a night owl, she’s probably still up. Did you want to go to her apartment?”
“Please,” you said, before heading into the lobby before the woman could change her mind.
She led the way to the elevator and you followed, Joel sticking close to you the whole way. He had the disorienting feeling that the only threat in this place would be yourself.
Your mother’s room was on the fifth floor, a few doors down from the elevator. Joel hadn’t been to your mother’s room the few times he’d been here with you but he realized just how much you must be spending on this fucking place now that he was up here. Top floor apartment, prime location near the elevator but not so close that it would be noisy, probably the best facility in the city. All this for a woman who’d thrown you to the fucking wolves when you were a child.
“Give me just a minute to see if she’s up,” the woman said before she knocked briefly and letting herself inside. He heard her speak in some saccharine, patronizing tone as the door latched behind her and you started to pace in front of the door, lower lip between your teeth, arms crossed tight over your stomach.
Joel said your name. Your actual name, a word he used so rarely because it felt too intimate but you didn’t seem to hear him so he said it again and you stopped pacing, your eyes meeting his.
“Yes.”
“What are hoping to get out of this?” he asked quietly. “This gonna do anyone any good at all?”
You frowned.
“What do you mean.”
“I mean… Whatever it is you’re after here, I think it’s just going to hurt you and what’s the fuckin’ point of that. It’s not too late, we can say something came up, apologize, turn around and go home. Just let me take you home.”
“And do what?” You asked, dropping your arms almost pathetically to your sides. Joel realized then that you hadn’t changed while you were home, still in the wrinkled and stained shirt you’d worn the last three days you’d been at Elise’s bedside. Your arms hung limp as your eyes searched his, as though you’d find some kind of answer there. After a moment, you pressed your fingers to your thigh. “What am I supposed to do now, Joel? Nothing makes sense, I just need it to make sense and…”
“Alright,” the woman said brightly, opening the door. “You can head on in! If you need anything, I’ll just be out here…”
“Thanks,” you said - not even offering her your usual perfunctory smile that you offered everyone, like you were some robot that had been programmed to perform for everyone you might encounter - and you headed inside.
The apartment was bigger than Joel was expecting, with a wall of windows that looked out on the hills to the west. Your mother was sitting on the edge of the couch, back straight, chin raised as she appraised you. Her gaze was sharp and exacting and the TV was on in the background. It took you less time to place it than Joel, laughing once, dryly, and then he placed it, too.
She was watching Siren.
“Can I help you?” Your mother asked, plush robe tied tightly at her waist.
“Do you recognize me?” You asked, standing in front of her. You towered over her that way, the woman seeming oddly small and almost fragile from her place on the couch.
She considered you for a second.
“No,” she said, haughty. “Why, should I?”
The you on Siren spoke and you laughed again.
“Christ, your mind really is gone,” you said bitterly, stepping to the side and pointing to the TV. “How about her, hm? Recognize her?”
She frowned, eyebrows drawing together as she looked between the screen and you.
“But…” her voice trailed off and then she shook her head. “No, no, they told me my daughter was on that show, you’re too…too…”
“Too what?” You asked, stepping closer, brows raised. “Too old? Too independent to manipulate? Too what, Mother?”
She sat up straighter, defiant.
“I would remember if you were my daughter. My daughter would never behave this way.”
“Well guess what?” you said. “You’re wrong. But that’s OK, you were never really my mother, anyway, were you?”
“I don’t know…”
“No, of course you fucking don’t,” you stalked away from her, just a few long strides before you rounded on her again. “You never cared enough about me to do something like remember, did you?
“Here’s something else you don’t know. The only real mother I ever had - the woman who raised me when you just wanted to spend my money, the woman who loved me and cared for me when I fucked up - died today. Want to explain that one?”
“I…” Her eyes darted to Joel - not that he knew what the fuck to do - and then back to you. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean,” you hissed. “Why are you still alive while she’s gone? How dare you still fucking be here when someone who was good and kind and gave a shit about people is gone?”
“You watch your mouth young lady!” She stood up, the motion faster and sharper than Joel had expected from her. “I fed you and clothed you and housed you when I had nothing! You have no idea what I sacrificed for you so…”
“So you could take everything from me the second you were able to?” You cut her off, tears in your eyes. “So you could put me to work when I was five years old in an industry that chews people up and spits them out?”
“We were living in a car, do you remember that!” She yelled, loud enough that it shocked Joel. “We were living in a car and surviving of saltine crackers from the diner and someone came up to me and said they wanted to give me thousands of dollars to make you famous, what was I supposed to do? What did you expect me to do? What did you want me to do!”
“I wanted you to love me!” You yelled back before you stood there, silent tears streaming down your cheeks as you panted for breath. “That’s all I wanted, that’s all I ever wanted. I wanted to matter to you, I wanted you to love me and I would have rather stayed in that fucking car! Because if we’d stayed in that fucking car I would know that I mattered more to you than money but I didn’t! I never did, not to you, not to anyone but Elise and Anna and now they’re gone and we’re still here!” You dropped to your knees, collapsing under the weight of every invisible thing and it forced you to look up at her for the first time. “Why couldn’t you have just loved me? What’s so wrong with me that no one but them ever could?”
The door opened and the woman was there again, this time with two large men in scrubs at her back. You didn’t seem to notice but Joel moved to you then, placing himself between you and the employees.
“Why wasn’t it you?” You asked, so quietly that he barely heard it. “It should have been you, it should have been you and me who died and they should still be here.”
“We need to ask you to leave,” the woman said, tone short. It made you jump, like you’d forgotten you were somewhere anyone else could intervene. “Now.”
One of the large men moved to touch you but Joel stepped between you, shoving his hand back.
“I’ve got her,” he said, voice dark and low, before turning his attention to you. Your head hung low, palms up on your thighs, and your shoulders shook as you breathed. “C’mon, let’s go.”
He put his hand on your shoulder and you looked up at him, cheeks wet and eyes red and so broken it reminded him of the look on your face when your character on Siren put a gun to her head and tried to die. It was a look that, in hindsight, had always seemed too real to him.
“It’s OK,” he said, reaching out and cupping your cheek. You pressed your wet skin into his touch and closed your eyes before taking a trembling breath. “I’ll take care of you, s’OK.”
He moved from cradling your face to taking your arm as gently as he could and tugging you to your feet. Your body was loose, like you could barely hold yourself up, and you leaned against him, pressing your face into his shirt so firmly he could feel your tears on his skin. He turned with you slowly, arm securely around you, the two large men still too close for comfort.
“I said I’ve got her,” he bit out. “Move.”
The men looked to the woman, who gave a single, uncertain nod and the men stood to the side to let him pass as she moved in to check on your mother. Joel ignored them, guiding you to the elevator as you trembled against his chest. You stayed glued to him, fingers tight and grasping at his shirt, and he got you to the car quickly, lowering you into the passenger seat. You were reluctant to let go of him and he had to all but pry you loose and you looked up at him, eyes still wide and panicky, and he was reminded of you after you were nearly taken. Every layer of protection you had, every part of you that offered up some biting remark or misplaced rebellion, was gone. Instead, you were an open wound, raw and aching and he wasn’t sure how to fix it.
“Hey,” he said, taking your face firmly in his hands. You were breathing shallow and fast, fingers scrabbling over your thigh. He kept his voice gentle. “I’ve got you. Not gonna let anything happen to you, OK? Getting you out of here.”
You nodded quickly and he buckled you in before moving quickly for the driver’s seat. Joel fought to keep his attention on the road but it was hard. Your breathing was getting faster, harsher, and when he glanced toward you, your eyes were closed tight, a grimace on your face.
“How we doing over there?” Joel asked, trying to keep his voice calm and even.
“I…” Your voice broke as you panted for breath. “I can’t breathe, I can’t…”
Fuck. Joel couldn’t do much for you here, like this, and your house was another 20 minutes away at least.
But his was only five.
“Just hang on,” he said, changing lanes. “Try to focus on breathing deep and slow if you can.”
He let himself glance over to you again and your eyes were shut tight, a grimace on your face as you strained to breathe like he told you.
“I got you,” he said, more for himself than for you. “It’s gonna be OK.”
He parked in his driveway, thankful it was late enough that none of his neighbors were hovering outside, eyes prying and curious. He helped you out of the car and your legs trembled like you were a fawn, every step unsure and stumbling. Once you were inside, he separated from you and put his hands squarely on your shoulders, your eyes still closed so tightly it was etching wrinkles into your skin.
“Need you to open your eyes for me,” he said, trying to keep his own fear from slipping into his voice. You obeyed and then flinched away from the overhead light of his entry way. You were still all but hyperventilating and, as soon as you were at all adjusted to the light, your eyes were wide and wild, darting frantically as you searched for something familiar to latch onto. Joel gave you a single, firm shake and your gaze flew to him, afraid and uncertain. “It’s just me, just look at me, OK baby? You’re safe, it’s OK. Can you nod for me if you understand?”
You obeyed, nodding quickly and he nodded slowly in return, hoping that you’d match his pace and start doing everything a little slower and calmer but you didn’t.
“Gonna get you through this,” he said gently. “Try to breathe deep. Just…” He demonstrated, holding your gaze as he did but it didn’t seem to make a difference. At least, not in the way he wanted. The fact that you couldn’t seem to get your breaths to ease just seemed to be making you more afraid, your hands trembling as you stood frozen on the tile by his front door.
He decided to try a different tack, one that he’d learned in his brief stint in therapy after Sarah died and it felt like he was choking on his grief.
“Need you think about five things you can feel,” he said. “Can you do that? Focus on that for me, OK?”
You nodded and managed to swallow around your panting breaths, closing your eyes tight again.
“Now tell me,” he said. “Gimme a list.”
“Um,” you managed. “I… I feel…”
Your voice broke and you let out a small, broken sound. Joel clenched his jaw and adjusted his hold on you enough that he could press his thumb against your pulse at the base of your neck. Your heart was racing, fast enough that even he knew it couldn’t be safe. If he couldn’t get you to calm down, he’d need to take you to a hospital.
“Alright, gonna try something else,” he said. “You trust me?”
You opened your eyes and your gaze locked on his and he could practically see you thinking it through, whether or not you could trust him, whether or not you had a choice.
After a long second, you nodded quickly and he could see how your throat had to work to swallow.
“I’ve got you, alright?” He said, holding your gaze for a moment. “It’s gonna be OK.”
He didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he swept you up in one swift motion, pulling you close to his body as your sharp, quick breaths made your whole body tremble. Your fingers scrabbled against his shirt, grasping for something to cling to as he carried you - awkwardly - through his house and down the hallway to his bathroom.
He sat you on the sink and touched your face, brushing your hair back, your skin covered in a sheen of cold sweat and a peppering of goosebumps.
“Don’t move,” he said before turning his back to you for only a moment to start the shower. When he turned back, you’d actually obeyed, your fingers clinging to the granite of his counter, your eyes still wide.
“Here,” he said, tugging at your shirt. You let him pull it over your head and he cast it aside before he took off your shoes, tossing them away, too. He set you on the ground next and pulled your pants down, too, before guiding you in nothing but your bra and underwear to the shower. He tested it first, made sure it was hot but not scalding, before leading you into the water.
You flinched away from it for a moment before your body started to relax, the stiffness in your muscles easing and breaths slowing.
“There we go,” he said gently, watching the water run in rivulets over your skin. “Focus on that, deep breaths, you’re OK.”
You nodded, quick but less out of control, your eyes closed as he watched you take deep but still shuddering breaths.
“Can you tell me five things you’re feeling?” He asked, still watching you closely.
“Um,” your voice was wet. “The… the water…”
“Right, that’s good,” he said. “Gimme something else, baby, know you can.”
You nodded but your face pinched and your breath quickened again and Joel did the only thing he could really think to do: He kicked his own shoes off before he stepped in beside you, pulling you tight against him, your bare skin against his still clothed body. You gasped when he held you close, the water soaking both of you. He held your head in his hands, his thumbs tracing the arch of your brow down to your cheekbones, your eyes still closed tight.
“Look at me,” he said softly. You obeyed, your eyes finding his own immediately. “I. Have. You. I’m not gonna let anything hurt you or Ellie, OK? Not now, not ever. Don’t have to worry about any of those assholes ever again. You’re safe.”
You nodded. Your body seemed stiff again but you weren’t desperately gulping down air. He’d take that.
“Give me five things you can feel,” he said. “Focus on it.”
You nodded again, looking at his chest, water running off your nose and lips.
“I feel…” You said, your voice uncertain, but it was the first coherent thing you’d said in a while. “My bra, it’s wet. The water is warm. The tile… the tile is smooth.”
“Good,” Joel coaxed gently when you went quiet. “Two more for me, you’re doin’ good, doing so good baby.”
“I feel… less dirty,” you said before looking at him again, tears clinging to your lashes. “I feel you and you feel safe.”
You collapsed against him then and he caught you, cradling you against him as you buried your face in his chest and sobbed. He didn’t try to stop you, letting the salt of your tears mix with the water and seep through his shirt and into his skin.
It wasn’t lost on him that he was standing where, six years earlier to the day, he’d pressed a gun to his head after putting his daughter in the ground. He’d felt so hopeless then, so empty. There was no point he could see in living anymore - not that he’d really searched for one. Without Sarah, what point was there to find?
He wasn’t sure what he’d looked like then, to anyone paying attention anyway, but he imagined it was something like you had on the floor of your mother’s apartment, asking no one and nothing why you were still alive when Ellie’s mother was dead. He wasn’t who should be helping you now. He wasn’t equipped for it, that much he knew. He didn’t matter to you. But there was no one else that he could see to turn to, your friends far away and the only family who’d ever been there for you gone or dependent on you.
At least he’d had Tommy to pick him up off this cold, bloody tile. You had no one.
He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, holding you in the water, but you eventually relaxed in his arms. You weren’t crying anymore, weren't trembling. Your arms were around him and your cheek was pressed against his chest and your bare skin was soft below his hands, this quiet intimacy so different from that sickening moment a week before on another continent that seemed worlds away.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, so softly he could barely hear it.
“You’re OK,” he resisted the urge to press his lips to the top of your head. “I’ve got you.”
You pulled away from him then, just enough to look into his eyes. Your gaze wasn’t frantic now, just exhausted.
“You feeling better?” He asked. You nodded and he took a hand, pressing it to your forehead. “Don’t feel so clammy anymore, either.”
“That’s good,” you said softly.
“Ready to get out?”
You didn’t answer right away, some shimmering uncertainty in your eyes.
“I’ll still be with you. S’OK. Not going to leave you to handle it alone, you’re OK.”
“OK,” you nodded then. “I’m ready.”
Joel turned off the water and left you standing in the shower as he got you a clean towel from the cabinet. He left you to dry off as he went to change out of his wet clothes and find you something clean to wear, and he found himself moving quickly when he did.
You didn’t have a gun but what if you were in that same sad, terrible place he’d been? There were razors in his bathroom, glass, too. Plenty of ways for you to hurt yourself if you were determined and there was a sickening tightness in his chest at the thought of coming back to the bathroom and finding you bleeding onto the tile he’d laid on that long weekend with Sarah so many years before.
He almost ripped the door off its hinges but you hadn’t moved when he returned, the gray towel draped over your hunched shoulders and clutched tight at your throat.
“Here,” he said, holding up a pair of thin cotton pants and a thin oversized t-shirt he’d gotten at some giveaway years ago. He set them on the counter. “You OK to get out of the rest of the wet stuff on your own?”
“Where are we?” you asked instead of answering. Your voice was hoarse.
He hesitated in answering. Suddenly, having you here, in his space, was too intimate. It was different than your house, a place he worked that had been set up by some fucking interior designer, all curated and beautiful and impersonal. It was a building you lived in, not a home. This place, however, was keenly personal. He’d laid the hardwood in the living room, painted the ceilings when he stripped away the popcorn shit, installed the water heater. He’d hosted BBQs in the backyard and hung a wreath on the front door and made birthday cakes for his dead daughter in the kitchen, back when he was a whole person and capable of doing any of those things at all. His life, when he’d lived it, had been centered here. There was too much of him here.
There was too much of her here.
“My house,” he said after what he hoped wasn’t too much time. You flinched back from him in surprise ever so slightly at that, like you tried to stop the reaction but couldn’t in time. “It was a lot closer than yours, seemed… smarter to get you somewhere fast than get back to your place.”
You nodded slowly.
“Thank you.”
“Sure,” he said and then nodded to the clothes. “I’ll just… be out there.”
He stepped outside the door but didn’t go any further. He tried to breathe as quietly as possible, watching the shifting light that came through the slit at the bottom of the door, making sure you were still moving, that you hadn’t done something you couldn’t take back.
After what felt like a small eternity, you opened the bathroom door and shocked back when you saw just how close he was. Your clothes were balled up in your hands, your eyes cautious, like you were waiting for some rebuke.
“C’mon,” he said, jerking his head toward his room. “You should get some rest.”
You nodded and followed him, staring at the ground and you seemed surprised when he stopped at his bed, looking at him questioningly with your eyebrows drawn together.
“Don’t exactly got a guest room set up,” he said, holding his hand out. “Gimme your clothes, I’ll get them washed. You lie down.”
You hesitated a moment before you handed the bundle off to him.
“Thanks,” you said, eyes downcast again.
He just grunted, going to the laundry room. He tried not to think about doing Sarah’s laundry as he found the lingerie bag he hadn’t touched in years at the back of a cabinet, following the instructions laid out for him by his neighbor, Mrs. Adler, when his daughter had started wearing bras and he’d had no clue how to care for them.
You were in his bed when he went back to his room, your eyes trained on the door as you lay curled on your side, your head on his pillow. He watched you in return, feeling something like a predator caught watching its prey. He went to his low dresser and half leaned, half sat on the edge of it, crossing his arms.
He resisted the urge to trace over your shape under his blankets.
“What happened?” you asked softly.
“What do you remember?”
You frowned a little, eyebrows drawing together again.
“After Elise… We went home. Ellie went to bed. I just kept thinking… I remember going to my mother’s. I remember going upstairs, seeing her on the couch… The next thing I knew I was here and I couldn’t breathe and…”
Your voice trailed off for a moment.
“What did I do, Joel?”
He wasn’t really sure how to answer that but he did his best.
“Said some shit you’d probably been due to say for a long time.”
“Christ,” you breathed, closing your eyes.
“Think you had a panic attack after,” he said. “Probably for the best that you don’t remember all of that part, either.”
“Yeah,” you whispered, eyes still closed. “God, if you didn’t hate me before…”
“S’OK,” he cut you off, his heart clenching. He didn’t think he’d ever hated you. He almost wished he could. “We’ll just… stay here for a few hours, be back before Ellie’s up in the morning. Should get some rest, don’t think you’ve slept much in the past week.”
You opened your eyes - teary again, but not out of control at least - and looked him over.
“You’re sure?” You asked. He nodded once, stiffly. “OK. Thank you.”
“Sure,” he said, standing up straight again and heading for the door, though he wasn’t exactly sure where the fuck he was going to go.
“Joel?” You called after him, quiet and almost pitiful. He stopped but didn’t look back at you.
“Yeah.”
“Can…” your voice cracked. “Can you stay with me? I know it’s… it’s pathetic, I know it’s just your job to protect me but you make me feel safe. Can you just…”
He turned then. Your fingers were tight on the top of his comforter, clinging to the fabric like a lifeline.
“Yeah,” he said, going around the bed and lying down beside you, staying on top of the blankets as though that pathetic excuse for a firewall would make a goddamn difference. “I’ll stay.”
You rolled to face him and he watched you. Your eyes were locked on him, something desperate behind your gaze, like if he could touch it it would be firm and grasping, clinging to him. You didn’t say anything else and neither did he, the two of you just watching each other breathe and exist. He tried not to think about this odd reversal, how he had - for years - looked at your picture in his daughter’s room desperate for something to hold onto and now you were here, untethered from the world in much the same way he had been and looking for something to hold you to it.
He watched you until you fell asleep and the watched you after that, too, leaving only to move your clothes to the dryer before returning. You must have been exhausted, not stirring when he left or when he returned, your body so still he was almost afraid and he found himself almost obsessively watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest below his blankets.
Eventually, he started to fall into his own exhaustion, too. You were safe here, a place no one would think to look for you.You were close, close enough that he could feel the warmth of you next to him, smell your skin nestled in his clothes and blankets. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest to keep from touching you and let himself start to drift, falling asleep with you beside him.
He slept harder than he’d meant to, harder than he had in a long time. He jerked awake what could only have been a few hours later - the sky outside still dark - and you weren’t beside him.
He sat up quickly, his head swimming.
He said your name but there was no answer. There was no light coming from beneath the bathroom door but there was from the door to the hall. He frowned, getting up and going for the door. What the fuck could you possibly be up to? What were you even doing awake? Christ knew you needed the rest.
Joel didn’t have to go far to find you, just down the hall, your hand on the door to Sarah’ room.
His heart stuttered in his chest.
He wasn’t sure what disturbed him more, the idea of you just entering that sacred space without knowing what it was, touching things that weren’t yours to touch, existing in a space that had always belonged to Sarah and Sarah alone. Or if it was you finding out about her existence in this way, exposed to so much of her and so little all at once. That you’d see her books and her bedspread and half-used hair products and not her sense of humor or her kindness or her intelligence. It was wrong, anyone knowing her in only that way but there was something especially wrong about it happening with you.
You didn’t seem to notice him, a small frown on your face as your eyes traced the outline of the glitter-covered butterfly stickers on her door, your hand slowly starting to turn the knob.
But then, it didn’t matter which was worse. All that mattered was that you couldn’t open that door, not like this.
He closed the distance between you quickly, his hand covering yours as you opened the door just a slit and he yanked it shut, hard enough that the cracking sound was loud in his empty house. You gasped and jumped, wide eyes flying to him, ranging over his face again and again.
“The hell do you think you’re doin’.”
You were silent for a moment, deathly still. A wounded animal caught in a trap.
“I…” You you said quietly. “I was just…”
“I don’t give a shit,” he hissed, pulling you hand off the knob and all but throwing it against you. You clutched it to your chest, shrinking back from him in a way he didn’t think he’d ever seen you do before. His stomach twisted at that but he couldn’t seem to stop himself, pressing closer, making himself taller. “You think everything just fuckin’ belongs to you? That you can go wherever you want whenever you want, that it?”
“No,” you said quickly. “No, I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to do anything, I was just…”
“Not everything is about you!” He raised his voice and you flinched, taking a step back. “You keep fucking around in shit that ain’t yours! Stop puttin’ your nose where it don’t belong, stop making shit worse for everyone and just leave well enough alone!”
You stared at him, eyes so raw and open and brimming with tears that he stepped back from you, his chest getting tight.
He sighed.
“Look, Siren…”
You composed yourself quickly, wiping your eyes before straightening up.
“Let me get dressed and then we can go,” you said, an oddly hollow edge to your tone. “Once I’m home, the only shit I can fuck up is my own.”
A/N: Y'all I PROMISE this is the last big thing I'm throwing at them before mashing them together like my favorite Barbies.
Really. Truly. I mean it for real.
Thank you for sticking with this story while I take a million years to write it! I love and appreciate all of you and your lovely comments. Just knowing anyone wants to read something I wrote means so much to me it's hard to even say, so thank you for spending some of your time with these fools.
Summary: You’re cramping, cranky, and just needed to grab a few things. Joel’s mouth had other plans. What starts as a simple ride to the store turns into a slow spiral of sleazy muttering, tuna-fueled rage, and unsolicited period advice. You’re in pain. He’s insufferable. And somehow, you still end up in his van—a heat pad, a stolen shirt, and Joel’s version of comfort waiting in the back.
Warnings: 18+, smut, fluff, non specified age gap unprotected sex, fuck buddies, sleazy!joel (he’s back hehe), pinv, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie, period sex, size kink, slight descriptions of blood, praise kink, chubby/fat!joel, slight degradation, daddy kink (just once), joel says the most unhinged things, aftercare, no outbreak,
A/N: HAPPY NEW YEAR MY POOKIES!!🎉🥰 Can y’all tell I’m on my period rn lmao😭 I’ve ALWAYS wanted to write a period fic and I finally did it!! Also yes, I used a picture of Hopper for the header—SUE ME. We needed to see Joel Miller’s belly more 😔😔😔😔
Joel pulls up in that same beat-up truck—the one that sounds like it’s coughing up its last breath every time it moves, held together by duct tape and Joels stubborn will.
The passenger door creaks loudly as he opens it for you to slip in.
“Looking good, sweetheart,” he drawls, eyes flicking over you with that lazy smirk that always makes you want to roll your eyes and punch him into the ribs. “You do somethin’ different with your hair, or is that just bedhead?”
You don’t answer.
“Goddamn door’s stickin’ again,” he mutters, slamming it shut behind you with a grunt once you’re in. “Gotta hit it twice now. Like I’m tryin’ to put down a damn zombie. I swear, one of these days this whole piece’a shit’s just gonna fall apart while I’m drivin’. Hood’ll fly off, wheels’ll roll in opposite directions, and I’ll just sit there like an asshole in the middle of the road.”
Joel was a man of many words. Too many, as you always liked to say. There wasn’t a sentence he didn’t lace with a curse or a complaint, but that’s just what made him Joel.
He slaps the dashboard affectionately, like it’s a stubborn old dog. “But she’s got character, y’know? Can’t just toss her out. She’s earned her miles.”
You glance at the cracked windshield, tape curling at the edges, smelling the familiar faint scent of gasoline and old leather.
He’s already shifting into gear, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the back of your seat. The truck lurches forward with a wheeze, and Joel mutters something under his breath that sounds like a curse (once again).
You weren’t sure when exactly your life veered off of course—which wrong turn, which bad decision, which moment of weakness landed you here, tangled up with this sleazy, grumbling old man who smelled like motor oil and cheap soap and somehow still managed to get under your skin in all the worst ways.
Joel wasn’t your boyfriend. Hell, he wasn’t even really a friend. He was just…there. A warm body, a familiar mouth, an orgasm when you need it the most.
And yet, here you were asking your fuck buddy to help you run errands, as if that was something normal.
“Tommy called this mornin’,” he starts, like he has been waiting all day to talk about it. “Said he needs help fixin’ the fence again. I told him, ‘You break it every damn week, maybe stop leanin’ ya fat ass on it.’”
He snorts, clearly pleased with himself. “Didn’t like that much. Got all huffy. Said it’s not his fault the wind knocked it down. I said, ‘Bullshit. The wind didn’t eat three burgers and leaned on that damn thing.’”
You glance at him, unimpressed. He doesn’t notice.
“Then he starts goin’ on about how I never answer my phone. I said, ‘Maybe if you stopped callin’ me every time a nail pops loose, I’d be more inclined.’ Told him I’m not his damn handyman. He said, ‘You’re not doin’ anything else.’ I said, ‘Exactly. Let me keep not doin’ it in peace.’”
He shakes his head, muttering, “Idiot’s gonna be the death of that damn fence. Or me.”
He glances at you again, expecting a smirk, a laugh, something. But you’re just staring out the window, arms crossed tight over your chest.
Joel frowns, drums his knuckles against the steering wheel, a soft, rhythmic tap that fills the quiet. His eyes flick back to the road, then to you again.
“What about you, sweetheart?” he asks, voice casual but slightly unsure. “How was your day?”
You shrug, barely. “Forgot my eggs on the pan.”
He snorts. “Shit. Bet the whole house smells like rubber now.”
You nod, still not looking at him.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “One time I damn near burned my kitchen down doin’ that. Left the stove on, went outside to yell at the neighbor’s dog—little bastard kept barking like a maniac—came back in and the whole pan was blacker than my coffee.”
You shift slightly, arms still crossed, but your mouth twitches. Just a little.
Joel catches it. Keeps going.
“Whole place smelled like shit. Like scorched tires and disgusting rubber. Took a week to air it out. Had to throw the pan out too—thing looked like it’s been through a war.”
A quiet laugh escapes as a huff, involuntary and short.
Joel glances over, smug. “There she is.” He taps the wheel again, slower this time. “You alright?”
You don’t answer. Just shift again, pressing your hand to your stomach, feeling that sharp pain tearing through your insides.
Joel notices. But he doesn’t say anything. Not yet.
“Where d’you want me to take you, sugar? Grocery store? Liquor store? Straight to hell?”
You mutter, “Just grocery store.”
“Good. I was runnin’ low on stuff too.” He answers, looking at you, expecting a smile—a something. But you just look out of the window.
He asks again, slower this time. “You really good?”
You nod, but it’s tight. Joel doesn’t push—not yet. Just mutters, “Alright then,” and pulls out onto the road, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming on his thigh.
The ride to the store is mostly filled with Joel’s annoying voice: a steady stream of complaints about traffic, gas prices, and some guy who apparently parked too close to his truck last week. You let it just wash over you, eyes fixed on the trees and strip malls outside the window, while your stomach cramps in slow, mean pulses.
Inside the store, the fluorescent lights are too bright, buzzing faintly overhead like a swarm of insects.
You move through the aisles on autopilot, grabbing the essentials: a bottle of ibuprofen, a bag of chips you probably won’t eat, a chocolate bar you definitely will. You pause at the feminine hygiene aisle, grab a box of pads and one box of tampons—just to be prepared for everything.
And Joel…well Joel, of course, is nowhere near the checkout. You find him two aisles over, standing toe tp toe with a man in a hoodie, voice raised just enough to draw attention.
“I’m tellin’ you, it’s real damn fish,” Joel is saying, gesturing wildly with a can of tuna in one hand. “You think they’re just grindin’ up mystery meat and callin’ it tuna for fun?”
The other man scoffs. “I’m just sayin’, it don’t taste like fish. It’s like…fish adjacent.”
Joel’s eyes narrow. “You ever seen a cow in a can? No? Then shut the hell up.”
You sigh, stepping in before it escalates. “Joel.”
He barely glances at you. “Tell this guy tuna’s real damn fish.”
“I’m not doing this,” you mutter, grabbing his arm and steering him toward the checkout. “Come on.”
He lets you pull him away but not without a parting shot. “You’re the reason the country’s goin’ to hell, y’know that? Can’t even trust a man with a can opener anymore.”
You don’t respond. Just shove your items onto the band and pretend you don’t know him while he mutters under his breath about “fish truthers” and something about “goddamn grocery store philosophers.”
Back in the truck, you toss the bag into the backseat and climb in, settling into the passenger side with a sigh. Joel’s already midrant, one hand on the wheel, the other gesturing like he’s still in the store, still arguing with the guy in the hoodie.
“I’m tellin’ you, it’s fish. Tuna is fish. I don’t give a shit if it’s in a can or swimmin’ in the damn ocean.”
You don’t even care anymore.
Because this is Joel—a man who’d argue with a stranger over canned tuna like it was a matter of world security. A man who was always loud, always wrong, and always ready to throw hands over the dumbest shit.
But he could fuck. God, could he fuck. And when this whole thing started, that was the only part you let yourself care about.
The rest? The attitude, the mouth, the sleaze—you told yourself you could ignore. Just noise. Just background. Even while it’s annoying.
Joel keeps going, voice low and gravelly. “I swear, people get one opinion and suddenly they’re a damn marine biologist. ‘Oh, tuna’s not real fish.’ What’s next? Chicken’s not real poultry? My dick’s not real meat?”
You snort, but don’t look at him.
Joel catches it instantly. “You agree with me now, right?” he says, smug as hell. “Knew it. Knew you were on my side.”
You shake your head, staring out the window. “I’m not on anyone’s side. I just think it’s funny you almost fought a man over a can of fish.”
He scoffs, still grumbling about the tuna guy when his voice drops into something lower, lazier—familiar. His voice softens, just a notch. “You got everything you wanted, hon?”
You nod, slow. “Yeah.”
He watches you for a second longer, then shifts his gaze back to the road. “Need to go anywhere else?”
“No, but…thank you.”
“Oh, my polite girl,” he says, grinning all cheeky. He reaches over and pinches your cheek, rough fingers warm and calloused.
You huff, batting his hand away. “Don’t.”
He chuckles, leaning back against his seat. “Got adrenaline runnin’ through my veins. You should’ve just let me fight that dude.”
You glance at him. “You still there?”
Joel scoffs. “Ain’t lettin’ myself get disrespected like that. People piss me off,” he mutters. “Whole damn store full of idiots. Got me all wound up.”
He glances at you, then back at the road. “Could use a distraction. Somethin’ to take the edge off.”
You shake your head.
He smirks to himself, voice dipping into that slow, familiar drawl. “Could bury my face in somethin’ soft. Shut my mouth for a while. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
You don’t even look at him. “Shut up.”
That actually makes him pause.
“Woah,” he mutters, glancing over. “Usually you like my tone.”
You don’t respond, keeping yourself from insulting him.
He watches you for a second longer, then scoffs. “What, now you wanna get on my nerves too?”
You still don’t say anything.
Joel shakes his head, muttering, “What’s the matter with you today anyway?” Then, under his breath, half a joke, half a threat: “All stuck up. Need me to fuck it outta you?”
You roll your eyes while shifting, pressing your palm tighter against your stomach, jaw clenched.
Joel watches you for a second longer, then leans back in his seat with a low exhale. “Ah,” he mutters. “So that’s what this is.”
You glare at him. “Don’t.”
He grins wider. “You on your period, sugar?”
You roll your eyes. “Jesus, Joel.”
“What?” he says, all mock innocence. “I’m just observant. You get all quiet and mean, start holdin’ your tummy like that. I’ve seen it before.”
You mutter something under your breath and look out the window.
He leans in a little, voice dropping. “Y’know, I used to see this girl who loved gettin’ fucked on her period. Said it helped with the cramps. Said I was better than Midol.”
You groan. “You’re disgusting.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, but I’m not wrong.”
A beat of silence. The truck hums beneath you, tires rolling over cracked pavement.
Then Joel shifts, glancing at you again — slower this time. “You want me to take you home?”
You shake your head. “Don’t feel like being alone.”
He nods once, like that settles it. “Alright.”
Without saying anything, he reaches over—rough palm warm through the fabric and lays his hand over your tummy. Rubs once, slow and firm, like he’s done it before.
“C’mon,” he mutters. “Let’s go back to my van.”
You furrow your eyebrows.
He shrugs, voice low. “I’ll crank the heat. You can lay down, steal my last clean shirt, bitch about my mattress. I won’t even try anything.”
You raise a brow.
He smirks. “Unless you ask real nice.”
You roll your eyes, but he’s not done.
“Could even rub your tummy,” he adds, voice syrupy. “Or your thighs. Or whatever else’s achin’. I’m versatile like that.”
You snort. “You’re a menace.”
“Damn right I am,” he says, grinning. “But I’m a menace with a heated van and a soft spot for cranky girls who forget their eggs on the stove.”
You try not to smile. Fail.
He sees it. “There she is,” he says, satisfied. “Knew I’d get you.”
You sigh, long and slow. “Fine. But I’m not in the mood for your shit tonight.”
Joel taps the wheel, already pulling into a turn. “Good. I’ll keep it to a low simmer.”
You shake your head, but you don’t stop him. And he doesn’t ask again.
Joel doesn’t shut up the whole ride back.
He’s still going on about the tuna guy, about “idiots with opinions and no taste buds” and how “this country’s gone soft, that you can’t even trust a man with a can opener anymore.”
Every few minutes, he reaches over to poke your side, just enough to make you flinch and swat at him, which only encourages him more.
You’re too tired to argue, and the cramps are starting to dig in deeper, like something inside you is twisting just to be cruel.
By the time he pulls up to the van, the sky’s gone a dull gray, the kind that makes everything look washed out and tired. The van’s parked in its usual spot—half on gravel, half on dead grass, tucked behind a sagging fence that leans like it’s given up.
There’s a busted lawn chair tipped over in the dirt, a rusted grill that hasn’t seen fire in years, and a pile of wood that might’ve once been a table.
It’s a mess. But it’s Joel’s mess. And somehow, that makes it feel…familiar. Even safe in a twisted way.
He hops out and circles around to your side, opening the door for you with a dramatic bow.
“Ma lady,” he says, voice syrupy.
Inside, the van is exactly how you remember it.
Dim, cluttered, smelling like cigarettes, old leather, and something vaguely wooden. The red curtains are drawn, casting everything in a soft, crimson gloom. Then there’s a pile of laundry in the corner, a half empty mug on the counter, and a pair of boots kicked off near the door.
The bed’s unmade—sheets rumpled, blanket half on the floor—but it’s still comfortable. You know it.
It’s the same bed where Joel first pulled you down with that crooked grin and promised to show you some “lovin’ and care,” and then fucked your brains out.
You sit down on the edge of it now, letting out a low groan as you clutch your stomach.
Joel watches you for a beat, then makes a soft, exaggerated cooing sound. “Poor baby,” he says, like he’s talking to a wounded animal. “Need some water?”
You nod, and he moves to his tiny kitche, grabbing a bottle from the mini fridge. It’s not cold, but it’s water so you take it with a quiet “thanks.”
He eyes you for a second, then gestures vaguely towards your jeans. “You need to change or somethin’? I got a shirt you can wear. Big n’soft. Smells just like me.”
You raise an eyebrow. “That’s not a selling point.”
He smirks. “Sure it is. You love how I smell.”
You don’t answer that with a response, but when he tosses the shirt your way—a faded green thing that’s probably seen more oil stains than laundry detergent—you take it anyway.
It does smell like him. Cigarettes, sweat, and something warm and earthy underneath. You change in the cramped little bathroom, peeling off your jeans with a wince and tugging the oversized shirt down over your thighs.
When you come back out, Joel’s already stripped down to his boxers, scratching at his stomach with one hand and tossing his fannel into the laundry pile with the other.
“Gotta take a shower,” he mutters. “Sweat my damn ass off today arguing with that guy.”
You don’t look at him, but you can hear the way he grunts as he moves, the way the floor creaks under his weight. He’s big—broad and solid, with a belly that presses against the counter when he leans over it, soft and round and unapologetic. He doesn’t suck it in. Doesn’t hide. Just scratches his ribs and yawns like you’re not even there.
“You stay here, yeah?” he says, nodding toward the bed. “Look—heating pad.”
He pulls it from under a pile of flannels and plugs it in, testing it with his palm before handing it over. “Old man like me needs somethin’ warm for his back, but you need it more than me right now, hon.”
You take it without a word, pressing it to your stomach as you sink back onto the bed. The warmth is immediate, soothing. You close your eyes for a second, breathing through the ache.
Joel steps closer, leans down, and presses a kiss to your forehead—rough lips, scratch of stubble, the faintest scent of wood and sweat.
“Stay here, baby.”
You don’t argue, don’t roll your eyes. Just curl onto your side, the heating pad tucked against your belly, and listen to the sound of the water starting up in the tiny shower stall.
The van creaks as Joel moves, his body brushing the narrow walls, muttering something about how “these damn doors keep shrinkin’” as his stomach bumps the frame.
You don’t look, even while the door is open.
You’ve seen it before. The way he moves like he owns every inch of himself, the soft weight of him, the stretch of his skin, the way he doesn’t flinch when he catches his reflection. It’s not confidence, exactly. It’s just Joel. Unbothered. Unapologetic.
And somehow, that’s the part that makes you stay.
The water shuts off with a metallic groan, and a moment later you hear the soft thud of Joel’s feet against the floor, the creak of the bathroom door swinging open. Steam rolls out in a wave, curling into the cool air of the van.
He steps out, towel slung low around his hips, belly damp and flushed pink from the heat. His hair’s slicked back, droplets clinging to his chest hair, trailing down the curve of his stomach.
Then, his eyes land on you, curled up on the bed like a cocoon, Joel’s oversized shirt swallowing your frame. The heating pad hums faintly beneath the blanket, but your face is pinched, one hand still pressed to your stomach, the other curled into the sheets.
Joel’s expression softens. “Oh, honey girl,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “You look like hell, don’t you?”
You don’t bother answering. You’re too tired, too sore, too wrapped in the dull throb of your own body to do anything but breathe through it.
He crouches besides the bed, towel shifting slightly on his hips, and reaches out to brush your hair back from your forehead. His fingers are warm, still damp, and surprisingly gentle.
“There she is,” he says, voice low and fond. “My little grump.”
You close your eyes, letting him touch you. comforting. Familiar. His hand moves to your head, stroking slow, then down to your shoulder, thumb tracing lazy circles into the fabric of his own shirt.
“Hurts bad?” he asks.
You nod, barely.
He sighs. “Alright. Scoot over.”
You do, and he climbs onto the bed besides you, the mattress dipping under his weight.
The towel stays on (barely) as he settles in behind you, one arm draping over your waist. His hand finds your stomach, warm and broad, and he starts to rub in slow, steady circles.
“Like this?” he murmurs.
You hum, the pressure easing something deep inside you. He keeps going, patient and quiet, his breath warm against the back of your neck.
After a while, his hand drifts lower, to your hip, then your thigh. Kneading and soothing. His touch is firm but careful, like he’s trying to press the pain out of you with his palms.
You melt into it, tension bleeding out of your muscles one knot at a time.
Joel leans in, lips brushing your temple. “Told you I’m better than Midol.”
You don’t answer, but your body does—softening under his touch, breath slowing, eyes fluttering shut.
“You’re warmin’ up,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “Feelin’ better?”
You hum, eyes half-lidded. “A little.”
He leans in, lips brushing your temple. “Good. Hate seein’ you all curled up like that. Makes me wanna fix it.”
His hand drifts up, slow and warm, brushing the hem of the shirt. He pauses just beneath your ribs, thumb tracing lazy circles into your side.
“These girls also sore?” he murmurs, voice low and rough.
You don’t answer right away. Just let out a soft, miserable whine and nod, eyes still closed.
Joel hums, like he’s been given permission. “Yeah, figured.”
His hand slides up, careful and slow, until he’s cupping you through the fabric. No pressure, just warmth. His thumb strokes gently along the curve, feather-light.
“Mm,” he murmurs. “All swollen. Poor things.”
You let out a shaky breath, but you don’t stop him. You don’t want to. So he keeps going, slow and steady, massaging with the kind of care that makes your chest ache in a different way. Something that makes you feel safe and seen.
His hand quietly drifts lower, just a little—not quite crossing any lines, but close enough that your breath catches. He notices. Of course he does.
“Y’know,” he says, tone going sly, “I wasn’t kiddin’ earlier. Had a girl once swore up and down that a good fuck was better than any painkiller.”
You groan, but it’s half-hearted. “Joel…”
He grins against your skin. “What? I’m just sayin’. Could be medicinal. Therapeutic, even. I’m a giver like that.”
His hand slides a little farther, palm warm against the top of your thigh now, thumb pressing slow, soothing circles into the muscle.
“Bet I could make you forget all about that ache,” he murmurs, voice like honey and gravel. “Real gentle. Real slow. Just enough to take the edge off.”
You don’t answer, but your body does. Your hips shifting slightly, breath hitching and already a small pulse inside your underwear.
Joel chuckles, low and pleased. “That’s what I thought,” he says, brushing his nose along your jaw. “Feelin’ better already.”
There’s a pause—not awkward, just quiet and then you murmur, barely above a whisper, “I’d bleed all over your sheets.”
Joel’s hand stills for a second. Then he lets out a soft snort, amused but not mocking.
“Y’think I care?” he says, voice low and rough. “Sugar, I can throw ‘em in the machine. Hell, I’ll toss ‘em out if I have to. Ain’t like they’re made of gold.”
You don’t say anything. Just stare at his sheets, jaw tight.
He leans in, brushing his nose against your temple. “Ain’t nothin’ about you that’s disgusting. You hear me?”
You shift again, uncomfortable in a way that has nothing to do with your body. “It’s not exactly…sexy.”
Joel huffs. “Who said anything about sexy? I’m talkin’ about you. Hurtin’. Needing somethin’. I don’t give a damn what time of the month it is. You think I’m scared of a little blood?”
You glance at him, uncertain. He meets your eyes, steady and sure.
“I’ve seen worse,” he says, smirking. “Hell, I’ve bled more than that just tryin’ to fix the damn carburetor.”
You let out a reluctant laugh, small and shaky.
“You know i’m right” he murmurs, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “Ain’t nothin’ you could do that’d scare me off. You wanna lay here and groan, I’ll rub your back. You wanna cry, I’ll hold you. You wanna ride me bloody, I’ll lay down a towel and thank you after.”
Your face burns. “Joel.”
He grins, unbothered. “What? I’m just sayin’. You don’t gotta be embarrassed. Not with me.”
You look at him, really look, and there’s no judgment in his eyes. Just that same crooked affection, that strange mix of sleaze and sincerity that somehow makes you feel…safe.
You exhale, long and slow, and let your head fall back against the pillow.
“Okay,” you whisper.
Joel leans down, presses a kiss to your forehead again—softer this time, lingering.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Now stand up. Let me take care of you.”
Joel shifts behind you also standing up, the bed creaking under his weight as he leans over to the far end. You hear the soft rustle of fabric, the tug of a pillow being yanked free from under a pile of laundry, the click of the heating pad being unplugged and moved.
You blink up at him, glassy eyed. “What’re you doing?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just lays a pillow down near the end of the bed, smooths the heating pad over it, then tosses a towel on top.
“Gonna make you a little nest,” he says, glancing over his shoulder with a crooked grin. “Get you all warm and comfy. Then I’m gonna fuck the pain right outta you.”
You huff, but your body’s already responding—a slow, low ache curling in your belly, different from the cramps. Deeper. Thicker.
Joel pats the towel. “Lay down on your tummy, sugar. Right here. Let that heat hit you where it counts.”
You hesitate, but only for a second. Then you shift forward, letting him guide you down. The towel’s soft against your skin, the heating pad radiating warmth through the fabric, straight into your lower belly. You exhale, already feeling the relief.
Joel stands behind you, hands smoothing over your hips, adjusting you just so. “There we go,” he murmurs. “Nice and easy. Just like that.”
You bury your face into the sheets, the scent of him everywhere—smoke, sweat, soap.
Then he leans down, presses a kiss on your thigh, and whispers, “Just let go, baby. I got you.”
You feel the slow, deliberate tug of your panties being eased down.
“Is it… is it dripping blood?” You tense.
Joel pauses for half a second. Then he lets out a low, appreciative sound, voice thick with that familiar drawl.
“Nah,” he murmurs, leaning in close. “It’s drippin’ heaven, baby.”
You groan, burying your face into the sheets. “You’re disgusting.”
He chuckles, unbothered. “Yeah, but you’re still lettin’ me touch you.”
You don’t argue. You can’t. Not when his hands are back on your hips, warm and steady, not when his voice is in your ear, all gravel and heat.
He shifts behind you, the rustle of his towel hitting the floor barely audible over the sound of your own breathing.
One hand slides down, fingers brushing between your thighs, exploring your folds. “Already wet,” he murmurs, almost to himself. Then, lower: “Need me to prep you?”
You shake your head, barely. You just needed relief.
He exhales, rough and quiet. “Alright.”
He pushes in slow, careful, just the tip and then stills, breath catching in his throat.
“Jesus,” he mutters, voice rough. “You’re so damn tight like this.”
You whimper, hips twitching under his hands.
He leans over you, lips brushing your hip. “But feels like heaven, baby. All warm and snug and squeezin’ me like you missed me.”
You bury your face in the pillow, flushed and aching, but you don’t pull away.
He pushes in slow, inch by inch, his breath ragged, hands gripping your hips like he’s holding himself back by sheer force of will. You’re warm and tight around him, body pulsing with heat and ache, and he groans low in his throat.
Joel groans, rolling his hips just a little. “Could stay right here all night. Just like this. Deep and slow. Let you milk the pain outta both of us.”
You whimper, burying your face into the sheets once again, the stretch deep and aching but good. So good.
Joel stills once he’s fully seated inside you, chest heaving. Then, with a low grunt, he shifts—knees bracing on either side of your thighs, his body rising over yours.
And then he lowers himself, slow and heavy, until his belly settles against the small of your back, warm and solid.
You moan, the weight of him pressing you deeper into the heat of the pillow, the pressure on your belly somehow soothing and overwhelming all at once.
“Too much?” he murmurs, voice rough but careful.
You shake your head, breath shallow. “Just…heavy.”
He chuckles, low and fond. “Yeah, I know. Big ol’ bastard, ain’t I?”
You huff a laugh, even as your lungs work a little harder under him.
Joel shifts, just enough to take some of the weight off your ribs, his forearms bracing him up. “Tell me if it’s too much. I’ll hold myself up. Don’t want you passin’ out on me—not unless I earned it.”
You roll your eyes, but your body relaxes under him. The weight of him is grounding, comforting in a way you didn’t expect. Like being blanketed in heat and muscle and the steady rhythm of his breath.
The bed creaks again as he starts to move—slow, deep thrusts that rock the whole frame. The headboard taps the wall in time, a soft, rhythmic thud that fills the space between your moans and his low, filthy praise.
“Fuckin’,” he breathes. “You’re so goddamn soft under me. Like a warm fuckin’ peach, ripe and drippin’.”
You whine, half from the ache, half from the way his words go straight to your spine.
He chuckles, low and filthy. “That’s it, you just lay there, sugar. Let me do the work. Let me press all that ache outta that sweet little belly. Ain’t no Midol in the world that hits like this.”
You cry out, feeling him hit that one spot in you.
Deep, dragging thrusts that make your breath catch and your fingers curl into the sheets. Every inch of him presses into you, every roll of his hips sending a fresh wave of heat through your belly.
“Shit, girl… I’m stickin’ to you. Sweat, blood, all of it. My belly’s glued to your back like we’re welded together.” He murmurs.
You’re already so sensitive—from the cramps, from the heat, from everything he’s done to you tonight. Every stroke against your walls feels like too much and not enough all at once.
And then he shifts just right—hits that spot deep inside once again, and you gasp, a high, broken sound, and your thighs tremble.
Joel stills, just for a second. “Oh, baby,” he groans, voice thick with heat. “You gonna cum already?”
You can’t even answer. It’s already happening—your body clenching around him, breath stuttering, pleasure crashing over you like a wave you didn’t see coming.
Joel groans, low and guttural. “Fuck, that’s it. That’s my girl. So goddamn tight, milkin’ me already.”
You whimper, overwhelmed, and he leans in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, your jaw, your neck—his weight just pressing you down more.
“Didn’t even have to work for it,” he murmurs, voice all grit and honey. “Just slid in and you broke for me. That sweet little body was beggin’ for it, huh?”
You’re still trembling beneath him, body limp and flushed, breath catching in your throat as the last waves of your orgasm ripple through you. Joel stays buried deep, his weight a warm press on your back, his breath hot against your neck.
He leans in. “That helped? Made your cramps all better?”
You nod, still dazed, cheek pressed to the mattress.
He grins, slow and smug. “Told ya I’d fuck those cramps right outta that pretty little belly.”
Then he looks down again, and you feel the way his breath hitches—the way your hips twitch, the way the blood is dripping down his cock.
“Look at this fuckin’ mess,” he mutters, voice thick with heat. “All that blood and slick… drippin’ down my cock like you needed it.”
You cry out under him, body limp and flushed, when Joel grinds in again—slow, deep, relentless. The overstimulation sharp and sweet all at once.
“Sensitive?” he rasps, voice thick with heat. “Good. Daddy likes it like that.”
He shifts his knees wider, bracing himself, and then he thrusts deeper. So deep. You gasp, the pressure sharp and overwhelming, like he’s pressing into something you didn’t even know was there.
“Shit,” he groans, voice thick and ragged. “You feel that, baby? That’s me hittin’ the end of you.”
You whine out loud, hips twitching, the pillow under your belly pushing everything tighter, more intense.
Joel leans in, his belly heavy on your back. “Can feel your little womb flinchin’ around me,” he mutters, filthy and reverent all at once. “Like it’s beggin’ me to stay.”
You moan, overwhelmed, and he grinds in again—slow, relentless, like he’s trying to brand the shape of himself into you.
“You’re shakin’ like a leaf, baby.” He coos. Overstimmed, overstuffed, and still takin’ it. That’s my girl. That’s what I like.”
“Joel—“ you whimper, your head already floaty.
“I know, honey.”
The bed creaks beneath you both, the heat from the pad, the weight of him, the stretch—it’s all just too much and not enough. You’re drowning in it, in him, in the way he fills every inch of you.
Joel kisses your shoulder, then growls, “You’re gonna come again, baby. I can feel it. Gonna milk me dry, ain’t you?”
And with the next thrust—deep, slow, all in—you do.
Body shaking, cunt releasing all kinds of fluids and your breath knocked away.
“Second one’s always the messiest.“ he whispers, pulling out an inch and looking at all the mess you did. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that? Sweetest little thing I ever ruined.”
You’re wrecked. Muscles slack, thighs sticky, brain fogged. And before you can calm down, he moves again. Gentle, deliberate rolls inside your cunt and your body jolts like it wasn’t expecting more.
You gasps, voice all breath and disbelief: “You’re still? Joel… I can’t take no more…”
And he just leans in, mouth hot at your ear, hand now sliding up your ribs to hold you still.
“Shhh… hush now.” A low, lazy murmur. “You said that last time. And look at you—still here. Still takin’ it.”
He starts pressing in deeper, making you see stars.
“Mmm… this one’ll fix those cramps up real good. Better than any damn pill ever could.”
You try to speak, to protest, but all that comes out is a broken moan. Your legs twitch. Your breath stutters. And he feels it—the way your body starts to tighten again, even before your mind catches up.
He slows down, just enough to make you feel every inch, every drag of him inside you. His hand stays between your legs, fingers slick and steady, working your clit with maddening precision. You’re trembling, overstimulated, breath hitching with every pass of his thumb.
“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked. “I know it’s a lot. I know you’re sensitive.”
You whimper, hips twitching, trying to pull away—but he just follows, keeps you pinned with his weight and his mouth at your ear.
“But you’re takin’ it so good,” he breathes. “So fuckin’ good for me. Just one more. You can do that, can’t you?”
You shake your head, but it’s useless—your body’s already betraying you, clenching around him, grinding into his hand like it’s got a mind of its own.
“That’s it,” he whispers. “Let me feel you. Let me help. Gonna fuck those cramps right outta you.”
And then he adds: “That little belly will thank me later.”
You’re too raw, too full, too far gone—and he knows it. He wants it.
“Cum for me,” he growls, thrusts deep and slow. “Give me that third one. Let me feel you fall apart.”
And you do—again—with a cry that’s more sound than breath, your body seizing around him as he fucks you through it, coaxing every last wave of pleasure from your overstimmed, aching core.
Your thighs clamp under his hips, your cunt pulsing so hard it borders on pain. You sob through it, too sensitive, too full, and still he doesn’t stop, dragging it out until you’re writhing, begging, soaked and ruined.
He groans deep, guttural, and his hips stutter, grinding in deep, and staying there. His voice is a rasp: “Fuck… that’s it. That’s it, baby. Take it. Take all of it.”
You feel him spill inside you, hot and slow, his whole body pressed tight to yours, breath ragged against your neck. You’re shaking. Floating. Gone.
“God damn it—my fuckin’ back—” he grits out, voice cracking as he drives in deep one last time.
He groans, loud and low, like it’s being torn out of him, and you feel it—the heat, the weight, the way he spills inside you like he’s been holding it back for hours.
“Shit… that’s it… that’s it…” he mutters, forehead pressed to your shoulder, body trembling. “Gonna need a fuckin’ ice pack after this. Jesus.”
You can’t help it—you laugh between all that overstimulation, breathless and wrecked, still clenching around him.
He huffs a laugh too, catching his breath. “Don’t you dare laugh at me, woman. I just threw my back out makin’ you see stars.”
He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t move. Just stays there, heavy and warm, muttering into your skin.
“You good, darlin’?” he murmurs, voice low and warm. “Still breathin’? ‘Cause I ain’t sure I am.”
You hum something soft, too gone to answer, and he chuckles—a slow, wrecked sound.
Finally, with a grunt and a muttered “Alright, here we go…”, he shifts his weight, pulls out slow, and pushes himself up. His knees pop again. His feet hit the floor of the van with a heavy thud, and you groan because you can’t feel your body.
“Sticky little thing. You know what you look like down there? Goddamn…like strawberry cream pie, baby. Red white and split open and spillin’ sweet all over me.”
You sigh, dragging a hand over your face. “Ugh, Joel… you’re so disgusting.”
He just grins, slow and lazy, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.
“Yeah?” he drawls, dragging two fingers through the mess and smearing it along your thigh. “Then why you blushin’, huh?”
You try to glare at him, but your face is hot, your body still trembling, and you can’t stop the way your hips twitch when he touches you again.
“Shut up,” you mumble, voice thin and wrecked.
He grabs a towel, wets it from the bottle, then kneels between your thighs.
But before he even touches the towel to your skin, he leans in and drags his tongue through the mess he left behind. Blood, come, sweat all of it.
You gasp, hips twitching, eyes flying open.
“Joel—”
He just chuckles, low and wrecked, licking his lips like he’s savoring it.
“Tastin’ like honey,” he mutters, voice thick with heat. “Sweetest thing I ever put my mouth on.”
You groan, half mortified, half melting, and he grins like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.
Then he takes the towel and starts to clean you sweet and slow, gentle strokes, careful not to press too hard.
“Easy now,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you, darlin’. You earned it.”
He leans over, brushing your hair back from your face.
“Y’wanna stay like that, or y’want me to change you?”
You groan into the pillow. “Can’t move.”
He chuckles, low and fond. “Alright, alright. Let’s get you up, sweetheart.”
He slides an arm under your belly, the other under your chest, and lifts you slow—careful not to jostle you too much. You wince, legs trembling as you shift upright, and then you see it.
The sheets.
Blood and come smeared across the fabric in thick, dark streaks. A mess. Your mess.
You gasp, eyes going wide. “Joel—your sheets—”
But he’s already shaking his head, brushing a kiss to your temple.
“Don’t you worry ‘bout that. Sheets can be washed. You? You’re what matters.”
You blink at him, still dazed, still flushed, and he smiles, soft and crooked.
“C’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up proper.”
He helps you to your feet, one hand steady at your waist, the other grabbing a clean towel. The van rocks gently as you both move, and he groans again.
“Goddamn suspension’s worse than my knees.”
You laugh, leaning into him as he guides you to the little bathroom, and he mutters something about “gonna need a chiropractor and a cigarette” under his breath.
Btw guys, i finally have an Ao3 acc. I’m trying to post all my fics also there but i can’t promise anything because i’m struggling to understand that damn website lmao😭 but if you like to check it out here is the link!
I hope yall enjoyed sleazy!joel hehe and again, happy new year everyone! I hope you all started safely and happy and i hope this year will be just a little bit better! 🫶🏻
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Pairing: Old!joel Miller x f!reader
Summary: it feels like a dream—waking up in Joel Miller’s arms, taking care of him, building a quiet routine together. You think things might finally be okay. But then a knock on the door changes everything. Just like that, you’re back in front of your father, back in the place you swore you’d never return to. Joel tries to hold back, but when lines are crossed, he crosses them too. Now the town is whispering, and the silence between you is louder than ever. It’s your turn to speak. His too. Because this time, walking away isn’t an option.
Warnings: 18+, smut, fluff, angst, MDNI, age gap! (60s and 20s) oral m!receiving, sex ed (kinda), rubbing over panties, coming on tummy, protected sex, pinv, virginity taking, nipple play, fingering, slight grinding, praise kink, inexperienced!reader, soft!joel, pet names, real sweet!joel, outbreak, tommy and maria cameo, reader has an abusive household, abusive father, drunk father, implications of physical abuse on reader, bruises, details with blood, joel beats someone up until they’re bloody, crying, lot’s of guilt, kind of dbf!joel but not really
A/N: oh my gosh!! here it is!!! i honestly didn’t expect part one to do so well, but it meant the world seeing how much y’all loved it. thank you for every sweet comment and reblog—you have no idea how much i appreciate it. anyway… here’s part two of sweet ol’ joel and his stray kitten. this time, it’s gonna get a bit angstyy 🫣🫣
The morning light spills through the window in a hazy glow.
And in the hush of early morning, Joel hears the wind between trees and the floorboards creaking beneath the day’s first breath. His head still aches, pounds from last night, lashes heavy with sleep—but they flutter anyway, drawn to the warmth pressed against his chest.
You.
You’re curled into him, breath slow, cheek resting just above his heart. There’s softness to you now—a stillness. Not like the girl from yesterday, tear streaked face and asking to stay. Or like the girl who sat on the pillow, trembling body—trembling thighs, neediness in her voice, trying oh so hard to finally reach her high.
No. This version of you is something else—quiet, peaceful. The kind he wants to keep. You feel safe with him, even when he still believes he’s the last man who could offer that.
He keeps watching you, memorizing what he missed—your steady breath, parted lips, soft and still. And just for a moment, he lets himself wonder how it might feel to kiss you.
But he doesn’t. He won’t take what hasn’t been yet offered.
Still, the ache is there, in him. Not just in his body, but in his chest. In that one place where he keeps all the things locked away he doesn’t dare to say.
Your lashes suddenly flutter, and Joel wonders if he thought too loud—if the noise in his head stirred you. You sigh softly, shift against him, and when your eyes blink open, you smile up at him, warm and sleepy.
“Mornin’, bun,” he murmurs, voice still inked with sleep. “You had sweet dreams, hm?”
You nod lazily, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand. “Yeah. Dreamed ’bout you.”
Joel lets out a deep chuckle, his hand drifting to your cheek, fingertips brushing softly over your skin as the sound rumbles low in his chest.
“Dreamed ’bout me, huh? What’d I do in your dream?” He asks, teasingly.
You giggle, cheeks flushing, and shake your head—suddenly shy, and already regretting ever telling him about the dream.
“Nothin’. It was dumb.”
“C’mon now,” he teases, nudging your side, pinching your cheek slightly. “Don’t leave me hangin’. I wanna know.”
You bury your face into his chest, voice muffled. “You let me take care of you. With my mouth.”
And maybe yesterday’s lesson in front of the mirror made you feel a little bolder. Or maybe it was just that being with Joel—feeling safe with him—made every thought in your head feel steady enough to share.
But of course, the air shifts. Joel stills. His breath catches, and he swallows hard. What else could you expect? His honey bun just told him she had a wet dream about having him in her mouth. Of course he’s going to be speechless.
“Yeah?” he asks, voice low, almost hoarse. Then, softer: “Jesus, bug.”
“Sorry,” you whisper. “I shouldn’t’ve said that.”You look away, cheeks burning—suddenly really unsure if what you said was okey to share after all.
Joel turns to you immediately, hand brushing your arm. “No. No, don’t do that. Don’t take it back.”
“Yesterday… the way I touched you—that wasn’t just about wantin’ you. Not that I don’t want you, of course. But it was more than that. It was trust. About you lettin’ me in.” He tells you, voice soft. “And this—what you just said—it ain’t wrong. It’s just… it’s a lot. You’re a lot. And I’m tryin’ real hard not to mess this up.”
“I want this to feel earned. Not rushed. Ya know? Not like I’m takin’ more than you’re ready to give.” His hand brushes your chin. “But you sayin’ that, bun? Dreamin’ about me like that?” He shakes his head, a breathless laugh escaping. “You’re ruinin’ me, sweetheart.”
“Truly ruining me since yesterday.” He adds.
You want to react to what he says—you really do. But you glance down in that moment, and your eyes catch on the blanket—tented slightly over his lap. Your breath hitches.
Joel follows your gaze, then groans softly, dragging a hand over his face.
“Shit.” He curses. “Didn’t mean to—hell, you weren’t even touchin’ me.” Joel feels his cheeks heat up. “Old man like me, it’s been a long time since I got up just ‘cause someone said somethin’ sweet.”
Heat starts to pool—low, deep, curling in your belly like it’s wanting to get out. And for a moment, the room tilts—just slightly—like the world’s gone soft around the edges and you feel dizzy.
You reach for his hand immediately, lacing your fingers through his.
“Can I help you?” you ask, voice soft.
Joel freezes. His breath catches again.
“What?”
“I mean… if you want. I could—”
But he interrupts you.
“Bun…” His voice is thick, low, almost unsure. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Why not?”
He looks at you, really looks at you. Eyes going dark and searching. “’Cause I want to say yes. God—I want to say yes.”
“Then say it.” You shrug.
He shakes his head, eyes closing for a beat.
“It ain’t that simple. I gotta be careful with you. You’re not just some girl, baby. You’re… you’re important.” Then, quieter, more broken: “I’m supposed to… take care of you. Not make you do things like this…”
His voice cracks a little at the end, and your heart starts to ache. You pull back just enough to see his face—creased with worry, eyes dark with something deeper than desire.
Guilt. Fear. Maybe even love already.
“Joel,” you whisper, reaching up to touch his cheek, playing with his stubbles along the way. “You’re not making me do anything.”
He closes his eyes, leans into your touch like it hurts and he is searching for comfort.
“I know. I know. It’s just…” He swallows. “You’re young. You’re still figurin’ things out. And I—hell, I’m just some old man who’s already made too many mistakes.”
You shake your head, thumb brushing his jaw.
“You’re not some old man with regrets, Joel. You’re the man who makes me feel safe.” And you mean it.
He opens his eyes, still unsure, still worried. You nod to him.
“You’re killin’ me, bug,” he murmurs. “But if we do this… it’s gotta be slow. Gotta be right. I want you to feel safe. Always.”
You smile, small and sure. “I do.”
“I know you haven’t done other things yet… so you also never done this, right?”
You nod, eyes downcast, a little shy. Joel exhales—not out of frustration, just trying to steady himself. He tips his head back against the pillow, muttering under his breath:
“God, baby…” Then he chuckles, low and rough, trying to shake off the heat rising in his chest. “You’re makin’ me give you full sex ed ‘til you’re home again.”
You giggle, and he smiles at that sound like that’s the only thing that keeps him grounded right now. He shifts besides you, the sheets rustling as he pushes them over. Then he softly pulls his shorts down, revealing himself to you fully for the very first time.
Your breath catches and you sit up on the bed.
He’s hard, thick, flushed, the kind of size that makes your stomach flutter and your thoughts scatter. Big. And pulsing.
You blink, eyes wide, taking him in—he’s beautiful in a way that catches you off guard. Heat rises to your cheeks, and a slow, aching warmth blooms low between your thighs
Then you notice it.
A bead of…something glistens at the tip, catching the sunlight. And just as you’re watching, he twitches—just a subtle pulse, but enough to make your heart skip.
“Joel…” you whisper, voice small. “What is that?”
He huffs a breath, rough and low. “That’s pre-cum, baby,” he says, “Means I’m worked up. Real bad.”
You glance up at him, your fingers curling into the sheets. “Because of me?”
His jaw tightens, and his eyes meet yours. “All you, hon’. Haven’t been touched in a long time. And now you’re here, lookin’ at me like that…”
You reach out slowly, fingers trembling just a little.
You take his hard length into your hand, gently, real careful. He’s so warm beneath your touch—velvet over steel, pulsing with heat. You trace along his cock, watching the way his stomach tightens, the way his breath catches. He could come right on the spot just feeling your soft hands around him.
At the tip, that bead of slickness still glistens.
You hesitate, but then gently swipe your finger through it, curious.
Joel hisses—a sharp, guttural sound that makes your heart stutter. “Jesus,” he mutters, eyes squeezed shut. “You’re gonna kill me, baby.”
You glance up at him, eyes wide. “Did I do something wrong?”
He shakes his head, jaw clenched. “No. God, no. Just—feels real good. You’re doin’ perfect.”
You wrap your hand around him, this time with more confidence—thumb brushing over the slick at the tip again. He moans, hips twitching, and you feel the weight of him pulse in your palm.
So, you start to move—slow, unsure strokes, up and down, just watching him pulse in your hand with curiosity. Joels jaw is tight, eyes half-lidded, chest rising and falling faster.
“Like that?” you ask softly.
He nods, voice rough. “Yeah. Just like that. You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good, sweetheart.”
Then, another drop beads at the tip, slick and glistening.
You blink. “Oh…”
Joel chuckles under his breath, voice low and ruined. “Yeah, baby,” he murmurs. “That’s all you.”
Your gaze flick up to his, and something in your chest tightens. You want to taste him. The thought alone makes your cheeks burn, but the curiosity is louder than your nerves right now.
You shift, leaning in slowly, lips parting as you hover just above him.
Joel’s hand moves fast—gentle, but firm—fingers brushing your cheek as he sits up slightly, propped on one elbow. “Easy, bun,” he murmurs. “No rush.”
You pause, heart pounding.
He brushes your hair back, thumb grazing your jaw. “Just… try kitten licks first. Gets you used to the taste.”
You nod, swallowing hard, and lean in again. Your tongue flicks out, careful, tracing a slow line along the tip. He groans—deep and wrecked—and his hand tightens on the sheets.
“Atta girl,” he breathes. “Just like that.”
You grow bolder, licking a slow stripe from base to tip, tasting salt and heat and something uniquely him. He groans even louder.
“God, baby…” he rasps.
You glance up, lips brushing his skin. “Is this okay?”
He meets your eyes, breath ragged. “More than okay. You’re doin’ perfect.”
Another drop beads at the tip, and you catch it with your tongue.
“That part—right there? That’s the most sensitive. Just like your clit. You touch that, I’m not gonna last long.”
You hum softly, filing that away. Your hand wraps around him again, stroking gently as your tongue explores, each movement a little more confident than the last.
“Try a little tighter at the bottom,” he murmurs.“Tightness helps.”
You glance up, lips still brushing his skin, your hand gripping tighter.
He grunts, jaw tight. “Yeah—just like that.”
You follow his lead, your fingers curling around the base as your mouth moves over the tip. The combination makes him curse under his breath, hips twitching.
“Fuck,” he growls, voice fraying. “You’re drivin’ me fuckin’ insane.”
You pause, lips hovering just above him, heart pounding in your chest.
You glance up, eyes wide. “Can I…?” you whisper. “Into my mouth?”
Joel swears he sees heaven.
He exhales hard, chest rising with the effort to stay grounded. His hand finds your cheek, thumb brushing softly along your skin.
“Only when you’re ready, bun,” he murmurs, voice rough with restraint. “Just begin with the tip. Don’t rush.”
You nod, breath shaky, and lean in again—slow, careful. You part your lips and take him in, just a little, just enough to feel the weight of him on your tongue.
Joel groans, low and wrecked. “Jesus…”
You start with just the tip, like he told you. The weight of him on your tongue is unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. You breathe through your nose, slow and steady, and glance up to find him watching you—eyes dark, jaw clenched, like he’s trying not to fall apart.
His hand rests lightly on your head, not guiding, just there. A tether. A promise.
“Easy…” he whispers, voice frayed. “That’s it, bun. You’re doin’ so good.”
You hum softly around him, and he grunts. His hips buck, just barely, like his body’s moving before he can stop it.
You pull back slightly, then lean in again, taking a little more this time. Your hand wraps around the base, stroking gently in rhythm with your mouth. You feel him throb against your tongue, hear the way his breath stutters.
“The most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen, baby.” He murmurs.
You smile around him, just a little. You’re starting to understand the power in this, the way he falls apart for you, the way he praises you like you’re the only thing that’s ever made him feel that way.
You try to take a little more of him, slow and careful, but it’s too much too fast. Your throat tightens, and suddenly you’re pulling back, coughing softly, eyes watering.
Joel’s hand is there in an instant, as he guides you away. “Hey—hey,” he murmurs, sitting up, cupping your cheek with both hands. “You okay?”
You nod, swallowing hard, blinking back the sting. “Yeah.”
He brushes his thumb along your cheek, eyes searching yours. “You can stop now, bun. You don’t have to prove anything.”
Your heart sinks. You look up at him, lips still wet, voice barely a breath. “But I wanna.”
Joel exhales, like the air’s been punched out of him. “Gosh, bug…”
He leans in, presses his forehead to yours.
“Okey,” he murmurs. “Only if you don’t go that deep. One more choke and you’re done. Got it?”
You nod again, a little smile tugging at your lips. “Got it.”
Your mouth moves over him again, slow and steady, as you take him in again. His tip only, while your hands work with the rest of his length.
Joel lies down again, when he made sure that you’re okey.
You start by carefully bobbing your head, each bob matched by the soft glide of your hand. He’s panting now, voice frayed, whispering praise between clenched teeth.
But your own body starts to ache too—hot, tight and desperate. You can’t ignore it anymore.
Without thinking, you shift, swinging one leg over his leg. The muscle beneath you is firm, solid, and the pressure makes your breath hitch. It’s nothing like the pillow you used yesterday.
You start to move—just a little. A slow grind, testing the friction. It sends a jolt through you, and you gasp softly around him.
Joel groans, his hips twitching. “Bun…”
You pull back, lips slick, breath shaky. “I—I needed something,” you whisper.
His eyes are dark, locked on yours. “You usin’ me, baby?” he rasps, voice thick with heat and awe.
You nod, cheeks flushed. “Feels good.”
He exhales, wrecked. “Fuck.”
You smile, then lean down again, taking him back into your mouth as your hips begin to move in slow, desperate circles against his thigh. Joel’s fingers tighten on the bedsheets, and you feel it: the subtle shift of his hips, the way he starts to move with you. Just a little at first. A slow, upward roll of his hips into your mouth.
He’s trying to be careful. You can feel it in the way he holds back, the way his muscles tremble beneath your touch.
“Christ,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “You feel too good, bun. Can’t—can’t take much more.”
You hum around him, and he bucks again—sharper this time, then stills, jaw clenched like he’s fighting himself.
But his control is slipping. You can feel it in the way his leg flexes beneath you, the way his hips twitch, the way his breath stutters every time your tongue flicks just right.
“You’re gonna make me lose it,” he whispers. “You and that sweet little mouth… grindin’ on me like that…”
You pull back, lips slick, breath coming fast. Your thighs are trembling from grinding against him, and your heart is pounding like it might break through your ribs. You release a moan and look at him.
“I want it… in my mouth.”
Joel’s whole body goes still.
He stares at you, jaw tight, chest heaving. Then he shakes his head slowly, voice low and rough. “Not happenin’, bun.”
Your brows furrow. “Why not?”
He sits up again and cups your cheek, thumb brushing your lips. “Because you’re not a place I finish in. You’re not a goddamn dump for me to lose control in.”
You blink, stunned by the intensity in his voice.
“I’m already doin’ too much,” he murmurs. “Ain’t gonna ruin you like that.”
You swallow hard, too dizzy to answer his words, throat tight. “Then… where?”
He hesitates, then gestures towards your belly, voice barely above a whisper. “Your tummy. If that’s alright. I just… I need to see it.”
You breathe in, slow and deep. “That’s okay,” you say. “I want that.”
He nods, still watching you like you might vanish. “Alright,” he says. “We’ll do it slow. You tell me if anything feels off. Promise?”
“Promise,” you whisper.
He eases you on your back, guiding you down onto the bed with a gentleness that makes your chest ache. His hands are warm, steady, reverent as they slide along your thighs, pushing your dress up inch by inch until your tummy is bare to the cool air.
Joel settles between your legs, kneeling, his eyes drinking you in like he’s memorizing every inch.
One hand wraps around himself, slow and deliberate, and your breath catches at the sight of it—how big he is, how flushed, how desperate. You crave him in your mouth again.
But then his other hand moves—sliding between your thighs, cupping you over your underwear. You gasp, hips twitching, and he groans low in his throat.
“Still so worked up, huh?” he murmurs, thumb brushing over the damp fabric, focused on your clit. “Knew you were grindin’ for a reason.”
You nod, breathless. “I couldn’t help it.”
He leans in, pressing a kiss just below your navel. “I know, bun. I felt it. You were so good for me.”
His hand moves in a rhythm, slow circles over your clothed heat, while the other strokes himself in time. His eyes never leave yours.
“Wanna see you come,” he says, voice rough. “Wanna feel you shake before I let go.”
You whimper, hips lifting into his hand, and he groans again—like the sound of your need is too much for him to bear. You start trembling beneath him now, hips bucking into his touch, breath catching with every pass.
“Easy now,” he murmurs, voice rough but soft. “Just let it build, bun. Don’t fight it.”
You moan out, eyes fluttering shut. The pressure is unbearable—in the best way. Every circle of his thumb sends sparks through you, and the sight of him—jerking himself off, eyes locked on your face—is almost too much.
“That’s it,” he whispers. “You’re doin’ so good. Just breathe for me.”
Your fingers clutch onto the sheets, thighs tightening around his hand. He leans in, brushing his lips over your stomach, your hip, your thigh—anywhere he can reach.
“Cum for me,” he whispers. “Let go, bun. Wanna see you fall apart.”
And when you do—when your body arches and your breath catches and you cry out his name—he follows, with a broken sound and a shudder that runs through his whole body. His release spills warm across your belly, painting your skin white, while he still murmurs to you, even as he falls apart.
“Good girl… so good for me… you’re okay, I’ve got you…”
You lie there, breath shaky, dress bunched around your waist, skin flushed and slick with warmth. Your fingers drift to your belly, tracing the mess he left behind. It’s sticky, cooling, and somehow…beautiful.
Joel watches you, eyes soft, chest still rising and falling with the aftershocks.
“You’re all messy now,” he murmurs. “M’messy girl.”
You glance at him, cheeks warm, but you don’t look away. He leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
You whisper, “Yours?”
He stills, just for a second. Then his voice comes quiet, careful. “Only if you like.”
You nod, barely a breath. “I like.”
Joel exhales, like he’s been holding that breath for years. He pulls you close, tucks your head beneath his chin, and wraps an arm around your waist.
“Then yeah,” he murmurs. “Mine.”
Then he groans softly, the sound low and gravelly in his throat as he shifts beneath you. He pulls back, eyes flicking down to the mess across your stomach. His jaw tightens, just a little.
“Hold on,” he says, quiet. “Let me get you somethin’.”
You watch him move—still bare, still sweaty—as he grabs a towel from the bathroom. He runs it under warm water, wrings it out, then kneels besides the bed. He’s careful when he touches you. Real gentle. He presses the cloth to your skin, slow and steady, wiping you clean with quiet focus.
“There we go,” he murmurs. “You did so good, bun.”
Your cheeks flush again, but not from embarrassment. From the way he says it—low and sincere, like it matters.
“So good for me,” he adds, kissing your now clean tummy. “Takin’ me like that. Bein’ so sweet.”
Then, he stretches, joints cracking, and throws the towel to the side.
“Alright,” he says, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m gettin’ up before I pass out right here and wake up with a crick in my back.”
He stands, bare feet hitting the cool floor, and pads towards the bathroom. Just before he disappears through the doorway, he glances back over his shoulder.
“You comin’?”
—
The kitchen is quiet, save for the soft clink of bowls and the low hum of the morning. You’re already moving with purpose, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, flipping through the motions like you’ve done this a hundred times before. The flour’s open, the eggs cracked, the pan is warming on the stove.
Joel stands besides you, fork in hand, already chewing on a bite of pancake.
You glance up at him with a smug little smile. “Told you I can do them well.”
He grunts his approval, mouth full, and gestures at the plate like it’s gospel.
The kitchen’s a mess, but it’s the best damn morning he’s had in years—and it’s not because of the pancakes. It’s because of you.
And then—five sharp knocks at the door.
The sound slices through the warmth like a blade. Joel freezes, fork halfway to his mouth. You both go still.
And suddenly, the peaceful moment shatters.
The spoon in your hand clinks against the edge of the mixing bowl, batter dripping onto the counter. Your breath catches in your throat as your eyes snap to Joel, wide and full of panic.
The color drains from your face.
“S’alright,” he says, voice low and even. “S’just Tommy.”
You shake your head, already backing away from the counter. “That’s also what you said yesterday.”
Joel’s eyes flick to you—bare legs, dress hanging loose on your frame, flour still dusted on your cheek. You look soft. Young. Like something that shouldn’t be seen in a place like this, in his house, at this hour.
He swallows hard. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I know.”
Another knock. Slower this time. He can hear the weight begind it—Tommy’s not just stopping by, he is sure. Joel takes a breath, rubs the back of his neck, then glances towards the hallway.
“Maybe…maybe go into the bedroom, yeah?” he says, voice quieter now. “You can never know.”
You nod immediately, already moving. Your bare feet paddle across the floor, quick. You disappear down the hall, and the bedroom door clicks shut behind you.
Joel stands there for a second, staring at the door. His chest is tight. His hands are cold.
Then he turns, walks to the front door, and opens it.
Tommy stands on the porch, hands on his belt, hair pulled back into a bun, face drawn tight with concern. His eyes flick past Joel, scanning the room behind him.
Joel steps aside, opens the door wider. “Mornin’.”
Tommy steps in, boots heavy on the floor. “You’ve seen Cooper’s girl?”
Joel’s stomach twists. “No?” he says, too quickly. “Why?”
Tommy sighs, rubbing his jaw. “She’s been missin’ since yesterday. Her dad’s losin’ it. Tellin’ everyone you took her.”
Joel’s brows pull together, he swallows. “What?”
“Yeah,” Tommy says. “He’s out there yellin’ at anyone who won’t listen. Said you lured her in. Said you been sneakin’ around with her.”
Joel’s mouth goes dry. “That—” he starts, but the words don’t come.
“I know—ain’t true, and he is probably just drunk again. I just wanted to let you—“
Tommy gets cut off by a sneeze.
Small. High pitched. Muffled, but unmistakable.
From his bedroom.
Tommy’s head turns. His eyebrows lift, slow and sharp. He looks at Joel.
“Joel,” he says, quiet. Flat.
Joel’s whole body lock up. His breath catches. It feels like the air’s been sucked out of the room. It’s not just that you’re here. It’s what it looks like. What it sounds like. And the truth—your truth—isn’t his to tell. You made him promise. No one could know.
But now Tommy will know.
And Joel knows Tommy would never believe he took you. He knows his brother wouldn’t buy into the lies your father’s been spreading. But when he’ll see you—dress rucked up your thighs, lips swollen, cheeks flushed—there’s no mistaking of what’s happening here.
Joel’s heart sinks at the thought.
“Tommy—” he starts, but his voice cracks.
Tommy’s already moving. Three long strides and he’s at the bedroom door. Joel doesn’t stop him. Can’t. He just stands there, frozen, as his brother turns the knob and pushes the door open.
You’re standing there.
Eyes wide. Shoulders tense. But you try to smile—bright and friendly, like nothing’s wrong. Like you can cover it all up with charm. Like Joel didn’t just come all over your tummy only thirty minutes ago.
“Mornin’,” you say, voice light. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
Tommy stares at you. Then back at Joel. His face hardens.
“God damn it, Joel,” he mutters, grabbing your hand—rough, and firm—pulling you towards the kitchen. “She’s a damn kid.”
Joel’s lips part, but no sound comes out. His throat tightens. His lip trembles. It feels like every word Joel knows, just disappeared in seconds.
He wants to say something. Anything.
So, you voice cuts through the silence.
“Ain’t no ‘damn’ kid.” You pull away from Tommy’s grip and mimic his cursing with your fingers. “We were just hanging out,” you say, loud and clear. “Joel was showing me how to carve wood. Because I always wanted to learn it.”
Joel’s chest aches. He can’t believe the kind of fool he is being right now. He wants to kiss your skin. Wants to hold you. Wants to thank you for being so brave when he can’t even speak up.
Tommy exhales hard through his nose, hands on his hips. “Well, I promised your father I’d bring you home safe, so…”
Joel’s eyes flick to you. He sees the way your shoulders tense, the way your jaw tightens even as you try to look calm. He knows what’s waiting for you on the other side of that door. He knows what your father is capable of.
His throat works around the words he wants to say, but they just don’t come. Only a shake of his head.
“Okay,” you say quietly. “I’m coming. Wait for me at the door.”
Tommy mutters something under his breath—something Joel doesn’t quite catch, but it’s laced with disappointment. He gives his brother one last look, sharp and tired, then turns and steps outside, leaving the door open behind him.
The silence that follows is thick.
You turn to Joel. Your voice is barely above a whisper. “Joel… are you okay?”
He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are on the floor. Then they lift to meet yours, and they’re full of something raw and breaking. Almost glassy.
“I—I can’t let you go,” he says, voice cracking, shaking his head.
You step closer, your hand brushing his arm. “I have to,” you whisper. “He won’t leave us alone. He won’t leave you alone.” You know Joel kept you safe—again and again, without hesitation. He stood between you and the worst of it, even when he didn’t have to.
But now it’s your turn.
You won’t let your father drag Joel into this mess. You won’t let him twist things, poison the air around something this good. Something that makes you feel alive.
It’s scary, thinking about what might happen when you walk through that door again. You could tell Tommy the truth—lay it all out, every ugly piece of it—but that would only make things harder than they already are.
You know how this town works.
How people talk. How fast things spread.
And with your father already telling folks Joel kidnapped you…you can’t pour more gasoline on a fire that’s already burning.
Even if it terrifies you. Even if staying quiet feels like swallowing glass.
Joel’s jaw clenches. He looks like he wants to finally say something—stay, don’t go, I’ll protect you—but he doesn’t. He can’t. Because he knows what it would mean to say those things. He knows what it would make him.
And he won’t be like your father.
He won’t be another man who cages you.
So he just nods, barely. His hands are fists at his sides.
You reach for the doorknob, then pause. You look back at him one last time.
And then…you’re gone.
—
Joel doesn’t move.
He just stands there, staring at the door. Staring at the spot where your hand brushed the wood on your way out. The silence that follows is gutting, uncomfortable. The silence that follows is gutting—thick and uncomfortable, like the kind that clung to Joel when he first moved into the house. Back then, he was still just a vessel of a man, hollowed out by loss, unable to hold onto the things he loved. Still only a shadow of what he truly wanted.
He turns, slow, and walks back into the kitchen.
The warm and sweet smell of pancakes cling in the air and they land in Joel’s nose, not letting him go. The bowl’s still on the counter, batter half-mixed, spoon resting like you only just stepped away for a second.
But you didn’t. You’re gone.
Joel exhales, rough and shaky. Picks up the spoon. Puts it down. His hands feel too big, too useless. He moves through the kitchen like a ghost—opening cabinets, closing them, touching things just to feel something. The coffee you made him sits cold on the table. He stares at the ring it left behind.
You were here. You were laughing at the way he called you ‘honey bun’. Humming. Kissing his cheek, touching his hand.
And he let you go while he promised to keep you safe.
Back to the father who spends his time picking you apart. Who doesn’t see anything other than the bar.
He presses his palms to the counter, head bowed. His shoulders shake once, barely. “Should’ve kept you,” he mutters. “Should’ve just…kept you.”
But you asked him not to be like your father. And he promised.
Promised he’d never take your choices from you. Never silence your voice. Never make you feel small just to keep you close. And even now—when everything in him is begging to run after you, to drag you back and lock the door and keep you safe—he doesn’t move.
Because he knows what it would mean if he did.
He also knows that this is different. That what your father does isn’t just cruel—it’s dangerous. That silence, in his case, is a kind of violence too. That someone should speak up. That someone should save you.
But he also knows this:
You didn’t ask him to save you.
You asked him to trust you.
There’s nothing to do but think—just think—looping through the same scenes over and over. What might be happening right now. What might be happening to you. Joel flinches. Stands up too fast. His body already moving towards the door, towards your house. But halfway there, he stops. Stares at the path. And then slumps back inside, like the weight of it all is too much to carry.
And when the morning breaks, pale and cold, Joel wakes to the same silence. No footsteps. No humming. No trace of you in the air.
Just compete absence.
He sits up slow, body aching, heart even heavier than before. The kitchen is still a mess—batter dried in the bowl, flour dusted near the rug. He couldn’t possibly bring himself to lay a hand on the last thing you held.
He rubs his face, mutters, “Christ.”
He leans back, rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. He can’t believe the position he’s in. Can’t believe how fast everything spun out. One minute you were in his arms, warm and safe and smiling. The next, you were walking out the door with Tommy, and he just stood there. Frozen.
He swallows hard.
She trusted me.
And I let her down.
He stands there, staring out at the path that leads to your house. The distance between them feels longer than it should. Like a canyon.
Joel breathes in deep. Holds it. Lets it out slow.
“Fuck this,” he mutters, already grabbing his jacket off the hook and putting it on.
He’s not going to drag you out, nor is he going to make a scene. He just needs to see you. To look into your eyes and to know that you’re okey.
That’s all. And that’s enough for him.
He pulls the door open, steps out into the cold morning air, and starts walking with big deliberate steps.
The porch creaks under Joel’s boots as he stops at your door. The morning is still, but he can already hear the town whispering. He stands there for a moment, jaw clenched, eyes scanning the windows. Curtains drawn. No movement. Absolute no sound.
He can’t tell if that’s a good sign, or a bad one.
He shifts his weight, breathes in deep through his nose, and exhales real slow. He knows he is not here to fight. At least, that’s what he tells himself over and over.
But his fists are already tight besides his hips.
He knocks—three times. Firm. And for a second, he lets himself hope it’ll be you who answers. That you’ll open the door, sleepy eyed and safe, so he can breathe again.
But the door swings open, and the smell hits him first.
Liquor. Sharp and sour. It clings to the air like rot and makes his way into Joel’s nose. Your father stands there, already scowling, eyes bloodshot and already looking to pick up a fight.
“Well, well,” he mutters, voice thick. “Look who finally grew a pair.”
Joel swallows hard, trying to keep his voice steady. “Mornin’. Just stoppin’ by. Everything alright?”
Your father leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
Joel nods, eyes flicking past him, trying to see into the house. “She around?”
“She’s sleepin’,” your father snaps. “Not that it’s any of your goddamn business.”
Joel’s jaw tightens. “She’s got patrol tomorrow. Five am. I just came to let her know.”
“That so?” Your father smirks. “Funny. Thought that was Maria’s job. Or Tommy’s.”
Joel forces a shrug, trying to piece together a lie in his head. “Tommy sent me.”
“Bullshit,” your father spits. “You think I don’t see what’s goin’ on? You think I’m stupid?”
This is what he feared the most: that your father would test Joel’s nerves—and that Joel wouldn’t walk out of here a saint.
Joel’s eyes narrow. “I think you’re drunk.”
Your father steps forward, his face just inches away from Joel, breath hot and sour. “I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doin’ with my daughter, but it ends now. You hear me? You stay the fuck away from her.”
“You’re a goddamn predator,” your father growls. “Sixty years old and sniffin’ around a girl half your age. You think that’s love? You think that’s real?”
Joel’s fists clench again. His pulse is pounding in his ears. His heart starts to beat faster. He already feels the tingling beneath his skin, like he wants to just put a fist through his god damn head.
“You don’t know a damn thing about her,” he says, voice slightly shaking. “You don’t know what she’s really like. What you’ve done to her.”
Your father laughs, bitter and loud. “Oh, I know exactly what I’ve done. I raised her. Fed her. Kept her in line. You? You’re just some washed up old man who can’t keep it in his pants.”
And in that moment, Joel decides the best thing he can do is turn around and walk out of the house. He knows his anger—knows how it builds, how it blinds—and he’s certain that if he stays, he might do something he can’t take back.
“That’s what I thought,” your father sneers. “Go be a pedo somewhere else, you sick fuck.”
Joel stops.
The world goes quiet. The pulsing in his ear go louder. His breath catches. His vision narrows. The porch, the trees, the sky—they all blur.
And then he turns.
Three strides. That’s all it takes.
His fist connects with your father’s jaw, a sickening crack echoing through the air. The man stumbles back, hits the floorboards hard.
And Joel doesn’t stop.
He drops to his knees, one knee on each side of his body and slams his fist down again. And again. Blood splatters across the porch, across his knuckles, across his face.
“You don’t talk about her like that,” Joel growls, voice ragged. “You don’t touch her. You don’t look at her.”
Your father tries to raise an arm, but Joel knocks it aside and drives another punch into his ribs. The man wheezes, starting to cough blood, the fluid running down his face. Joel’s face is twisted, eyes wild. He’s not thinking. He is feeling every bruise on your body that he saw, every tear that you cried, every single time you came into his house and every time he stayed silent when he should’ve spoken up.
“You think you’re a man?” Joel snarls, breathing out loudly. “You think beatin’ her makes you strong?”
He grabs the man’s collar, slams him back down. “You’re not a father. You’re a fuckin’ coward!”
You should be horrified.
You should be screaming, begging him to stop, turning away from the blood and the violence that unfolds in front of you. From the sound of your father’s ribs cracking and Joels fists connecting with his face.
But you’re not. You’re still. Watching. Just besides the staircase.
Because for the first time in your life, someone is fighting for you. Not to control you. Not to punish you. But to protect you.
And it’s not just anyone.
It’s Joel.
The man who held you like you were something fragile. Who kissed your bruises like they were sacred. Who let you go when it broke him to do it—because you asked. And now he’s here, beating for you. Burning for you. Ignoring consequences, ignoring everything just to keep you safe.
And all you can feel is this strange, aching warmth in your chest. Not fear. Not guilt. But something like relief. Like justice. Like finally, finally, someone sees you—and they’re not turning away.
You step forward, barefoot on the porch, heart pounding.
“Joel.”
Your voice.
It cuts through the haze like a blade.
Joel freezes, fist still in the air, blood dripping from his knuckles. His chest heaves, while his ears ring loud. He breaths to his mouth like a wild animal.
He slowly turns his head.
And there you are. Standing in the doorway, barefoot, wrapped in a sweatshirt too big for you. Your eyes are wide, lips parted but you look unfazed of the bleeding body that’s lying and coughing under Joel. There’s a bruise on your cheek. Another on your arm.
Joel sees them. And everything else disappears.
He doesn’t see your father anymore. Doesn’t feel the blood on his hands. All he sees is you.
“Fuckin’—” he mutters, and slams one last punch into the man’s face. The hardest of them all. Joel then stands up, stumbling back.
You rush to him, hands reaching to his chest.
He looks at you, dazed. “Oh, honey bun…”
You step into him, arms wrapping around him. His arms wrap around you, strong and tight. He holds you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. Like if he lets go, the world will fall apart again.
“Joel,” you whisper, voice cracking. “You came.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, cupping your cheek with a bloodied hand, the metallic smell filling your nose. “I’m so sorry, baby. So sorry. That I let you go. That I didn’t stop him. That I—”
“Joel,” you say again, firmer this time, interrupting him.
And then you kiss him.
Soft. Shaky. Your lips press to his like you’re trying to breathe him in.
Joel stiffens beneath you, caught off guard, his breath hitching against your mouth. For a heartbeat, he doesn’t move—like he’s afraid to believe this is real. But then he exhales, low and shaky, and something in him gives.
He kisses you back, slow and aching, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. His hand rises to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair, grounding himself in the feel of you. His other hand settles at your waist, not pulling, not pushing—just there, steady and warm.
When he finally pulls back, it’s only by an inch, just enough to rest his forehead against yours.
“You’re safe now,” he whispers.
And this time, he means it.
Your father suddenly groans, face swollen, lip split, one eye already purpling. He shifts, coughing, and mutters through cracked teeth:
“You’re dead, Miller…I’m goin’ to the council. You’re fuckin’ done.”
Joel doesn’t look at him.
He just says: “C’mon, let’s get you outta here.”
—
When you reach his house, he opens the door for you, lets you step inside first. The warmth hits you like a wave. It finally feels like peace again.
“Sit down,” he says gently. “I’ll be right there.”
You nod softly, and sink onto his couch, pulling your knees up, wrapping your arms around them while Joel disappears into the bathroom. You hear the water running, the soft scrape of soap against skin. You know he’s scrubbing the blood from his hands. Hard. Like he’s trying to erase the memory of it.
And you feel it, all at once.
Not guilt. Not fear. But a deep, aching sadness that settles behind your ribs like something bruised. Not for yourself—but for him. For what he had to become in that moment. For the fury he had to unleash just to make the world safe for you, even for a second.
When he comes back, his knuckles are raw and red, but clean. He dries them on a towel, then tosses it aside and walks over to you.
He crouches down in front of the couch, elbows on his knees, hands clasped.
“You warm enough?” he asks, voice low.
You nod, silently.
He watches you for a moment, eyes searching your face. Then he takes a breath.
“You know I’d never ask you to do something you don’t want to,” he says. “You know that, right?”
You glance at him, wary. “Yeah.”
He nods. “Good. ‘Cause I need to talk to you about somethin’. And I need you to know it’s comin’ from a place of care. Not pressure.”
You shift slightly, pulling your pullover tighter around you.
Joel’s voice softens. “I think… I think we should tell Tommy.”
You go still. “Joel—”
He holds up a hand, gentle. “Just hear me out, bun.”
“I know you didn’t want anyone to know,” he says. “And I kept that promise. I did. But after what I saw today… after what he said, what he did—” Joel’s voice catches. He swallows. “I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t keep quiet and watch you go back to that house like nothin’s wrong.”
You look down at your hands. “It’s not that easy.”
“I know,” he says softly. “I know it ain’t. But Tommy—he’s not like your dad. He listens. He cares. And if he knew the truth, he’d help. He’d want to help.”
You shake your head. “What if he doesn’t believe me?”
Joel leans in, voice low and steady. “Then I’ll believe you loud enough for the both of us.”
You blink, tears welling.
“You don’t have to carry this alone anymore,” he says, hand landing on top of your thigh—squeezing once. “You’ve been strong for so long. Too long. Let someone else be strong for you now.”
You sniff, wiping your cheek with your sleeve. “I’m scared.”
Joel nods, he stands up and sits down besides you. He takes you into his arms. “I know, baby. I know. But you’re not doin’ this alone. I’ll be right there. Every second. You just say the word.”
You pull away to look at him, really look. And for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel small. You feel held.
“Okay,” you whisper. “Okay. I’ll tell him.”
Joel exhales, slow and shaky. He reaches for your hand, cradles it in his own.
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs.
You squeeze his hand, then look at him, eyes searching.
“What about you?” you ask quietly. “You beat him…they won’t understand.”
Joel rubs his forehead, sighs. “We’ll somehow handle this, yeah? The most important thing is now that you speak up.” You nod, but your eyes stay on him.
“I don’t want them to hurt you for protecting me.”
Joel leans forward, presses his forehead to yours. “If there’s a price to pay, I’ll pay it. But I ain’t lettin’ you go through this alone. Not again.”
—
The expected knock comes like a ripple through still water—three slow, deliberate thuds against the door just thirty minutes after.
Even while it’s expected your fingers still tighten around the edge of the blanket draped over your lap while hour heart begins thudding in your chest, not from fear exactly, but from the weight of what’s about to happen.
Joel doesn’t move at first. He’s standing near the window, arms crossed, jaw tight. His knuckles are still raw, the skin split and crusted with dried blood. He glances at you, his eyes softening just a little.
“It’s okay,” he says, voice low and steady. “We’ll just tell them.”
You nod, but your throat is too tight to speak.
He walks to the door and opens it without a word. Tommy and Maria stand on the porch, framed by the pale morning light. Tommy’s face is hard, unreadable. Maria’s eyes flick past Joel immediately, scanning the room until they land on you.
Joel steps aside.
And they walk in without being asked.
Tommy’s boots thud against the floorboards, heavy and slow. Maria’s steps are quieter, but no less certain. They don’t speak right away. Tommy’s eyes land on you—sitting small and on the couch, blanket clutched around your shoulders—and something shifts in his face. Not surprise. Not quite anger. Something heavier.
He and Maria sit down on the opposite couch, facing you. Joel stays behind you, standing like a wall between you and the rest of the world.
“You wanna tell me what the hell happened?” Tommy says, eyes locked on Joel. His voice isn’t raised, but it’s sharp. Accusing. Protective.
Maria reaches out and touches his arm—just a light press of her fingers. A silent reminder to breathe.
“Look—I know how this looks,” he says, voice rough. “But she came to me cryin’. Bruised up. From that goddamned scum that her father is.”
Tommy’s eyes narrow. He scans Joel’s face like he’s trying to read between the lines.
Maria’s gaze drops to your arms. You hadn’t realized the blanket had slipped down a little, exposing the edge of a bruise near your wrist. She doesn’t say anything. Just looks. Quietly. Carefully. Analysing.
Then she murmurs, almost to herself, but loud enough for Tommy to hear: “I told you.”
Tommy exhales through his nose, but says nothing while Maria turns to you, her voice softer now. Measured. “You wanna tell us what happened, sweetheart?”
You glance up at Joel. He gives you a small nod—barely there, but enough. His eyes say it all: You’re safe. Say what you need to say.
“He gets drunk… really often. And—and he takes it out on me.” Your voice is shaky. Small.
You swallow hard. Your hands tremble as you push the sleeve of your pullover up, revealing the bruises along your forearm. Some are old. Some are newer. All of them are ugly.
“I didn’t know what to do,” you whisper. “I was scared.”
Maria nods slowly. Her eyes are glassy, but she doesn’t cry. She just reaches across the space between you and rests her hand gently on your knee. Tommy rubs his forehead, sighing deep from his chest.
“I should’ve looked better,” he mutters. “Hell, I. knew he was too often in that damn bar. I just… I didn’t think…” He trails off.
Maria squeezes your knee gently.
“You’re okay now,” she says. “He’s already in a cell. All the other details—we can talk about them when you’re feeling stronger, okay?” She glances at Tommy, who nods.
“Probably best to let the folks vote on what happens with him,” he says, voice low.
Maria agrees with a quiet hum.
You take a breath. Then another. And then you speak again, a little louder this time. “And Joel didn’t do anything wrong. He protected me. He kept me safe. That’s why he beat him.”
Tommy’s eyes flicker to Joel, who’s still standing behind the couch. His jaw is clenched, his eyes downturned. He looks like he’s holding something in—something sharp and heavy.
“I couldn’t possibly look away,” Joel murmurs.
Tommy leans back, arms crossed. “Alright. Ain’t gonna get you off the hook that easy, Joel. You beat a goddamn man bloody.”
Joel nods once. “I know.”
Maria glances at Tommy, then back at Joel.
“Nothing harsh, probably,” she says. “It still falls under defense. I’d say… community hours. Longer patrols. Something useful.” She smiles—just a little. It’s the first warmth in the room.
Then she turns to you. “And you, sweetheart,” she starts, her voice lifting, “you can have the house now.”
Your eyes widen. “Really?”
Maria nods. “Yeah. Until everything’s settled, it’s yours. I’ll come by a few times, check in on you—if you’d like.”
You nod, stunned. “I’d like that.”
Maria’s smile softens. “And I have to say—you’re incredibly brave. For talking about it. For surviving it.”
Tommy grunts in agreement. “Yeah,” he says. “Takes a fuckin’ mountain of braveness to speak up like that, hon.”
You laugh—just a little. It slips out before you can stop it. A small, breathy sound. But it’s real.
Tommy stands, stretching his back with a groan.
“And you, old man,” he says to Joel, “you can rest now.” He winks.
Joel swallows hard. Nods. Doesn’t say anything.
But you see it—the way his shoulders drop just slightly. The way his hand brushes the back of the couch, like he needs something to hold onto. Then Maria gives your knee one last gentle squeeze before pulling her hand back. She straightens, smoothing the front of her coat, and glances at Tommy.
He meets her eyes. Nods.
“We’ll let you two be,” Maria says softly, her voice careful not to disturb the fragile quiet.
Tommy lingers a second longer, eyes flicking between you and Joel. There’s something unreadable in his face—something that looks a little like worry, and a little like understanding.
Tommy steps towards the door, but then pauses. He turns back to Joel, looks at him. Maria pauses too when she sees him turn back. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks at Joel—really looks at him.
Then he steps closer.
Tommy rests a hand on Joel’s shoulder. Not rough. Not soft either. Just…solid.
“I ain’t blind, you know,” Tommy says, voice low. “I see what’s goin’ on.”
Joel doesn’t answer. His jaw ticks once. His eyes flicker, but he holds Tommy’s gaze.
“I see the way you look at her,” Tommy continues. “And I see the way she looks at you.”
You feel your breath catch, but you don’t look away. You just watch them—two men who’ve seen too much, lost too much, and still somehow keep showing up.
“I ain’t here to judge it,” Tommy says. “Ain’t my place. And hell, I know you, Joel. Better than most.” He squeezes Joel’s shoulder once. “You’re a stubborn bastard. But you don’t give your heart easy. And when you do… you don’t let go.”
Joel’s throat works around something he doesn’t say.
“So I’m gonna say this once,” Tommy says. “I trust you. I trust you to keep her safe. To do right by her. No matter what anyone else says.”
Joel’s voice is hoarse. “I will.”
Tommy nods. “Good. Don’t let me down, brother.”
He lets go of Joel’s shoulder and turns to you. His expression softens. “You got someone who’d burn the world down for you,” he says. “That’s rare. Don’t let it scare you.”
You nod, eyes stinging again.
Maria opens the door, but before she steps out, she looks back at Joel. “You’re not alone either, you know,” she says. “Don’t carry all this by yourself, old man.”
Joel gives a small nod. It’s all he can manage.
Then they’re gone.
The door clicks shut behind them.
—
Two weeks pass.
The house is yours now.
It still smells faintly of him—of old tobacco and something with liquor—but each day, that scent fades just a little more. You’ve thrown open the windows, let the wind sweep through the rooms for a cleansing. Maria brought you new curtains. And you decorated the walls so they’re no longer bare. You’ve hung little things—pressed flowers in frames, a sketch Maria gave you, a string of dried herbs above the kitchen window. The silence here is different now. Not hollow. Not haunted. Just quiet. Peaceful.
Your bruises are slowly but surely fading. The deep purple has softened to yellow, then to nothing. Your ribs don’t ache when you breathe anymore. You are finally able to sleep through the night.
Maria comes by every few days. She never stays long—just enough to drop off a basket of food, or a new blanket she stitched, or a book she thinks you might like. Her presence makes the whole place feel more alive. She never asks too many questions. Just smiles, touches your arm, gives you greetings from tommy, and reminds you that you’re not alone.
And Joel…
Joel stays away.
Not because he wants to. You know that. You can feel it in the way he lingers just a little too long when he passes your house on patrol. In the way you find things on your porch in the morning—wildflowers bundled in twine, a tiny wooden fox carved with careful hands, a jar of honey with a note that just says “for your tea.”
He’s giving you space, you know that too. He hasn’t knocked, hasn’t asked to come in. But he’s there. Always just close enough.
You see him sometimes, working his community hours. Fixing fences. Hauling lumber. Splitting logs behind the stables, sweat glistening on his brow, his shirt clinging to his back. That poor old man, you think. But then you see his arms flexing with every swing of the axe, and you catch yourself staring. Too long. Too openly.
Sometimes he catches you.
He never says anything. Just gives you that look—quiet, unreadable, but warm. Like he’s glad you’re there. Like he’s relieved you’re still looking.
You always look away first.
Your father is still in the cell. The town will vote next week on what happens to him. You hear whispers when you walk through the town—some sympathetic, some sharp. But you never listen too closely.
And the guilt…the guilt still lingers. It creeps in during the quiet moments, when the kettle whistles or when you fold laundry and your hands remember flinching. You think about the years you lost. The girl you had to become just to survive.
But you also feel something else now.
Freedom.
It’s in the way you walk barefoot across your own floor. In the way you hum while you sweep. In the way you leave the door open just because you can.
You’re not healed. Not yet, but you’re healing.
And for the first time in your life, you feel like you.
But on one particular night, the quiet feels too loud.
You miss him. Dearly.
Not just his voice or his hands or the way he made you feel safe. You miss the way he looked at you like you were something fragile. You miss the way his presence filled a room without ever demanding it. You miss the way he said your name like it meant something.
And you missed the way he made you feel—inside.
So you go to him.
You don’t knock. You know he wouldn’t mind.
You tip toe into his house like stray cat once again.
You tiptoe across the floor, heart thudding in your chest. His bedroom door is open. You pause in the doorway.
He’s asleep.
One arm thrown over his chest, the other resting besides him. His face is turned slightly towards the window, shining in moonlight. He looks older like this. Softer. The lines around his eyes are deeper, but his mouth is relaxed. Peaceful.
You step closer.
The floor creaks beneath your foot, and he stirs—just a little. His brow furrow, but he doesn’t wake. You slip quielty under the blanket.
It smells like him. Feels like him. Warm and worn and safe.
You press yourself against his side, burying your face into his chest. Your hand finds the fabric of his shirt, fingers curling into it, needy. “Missed you,” you whisper.
His breath catches.
Then his arm moves—slowly, sleepily—wrapping around you. Pulling you in.
“Oh, bunny…” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep. He presses a kiss to your forehead, then another, softer one to your temple. His lips linger there, as if he is taking in your warmth.
You tilt your head up.
And he kisses you—just a brush of lips. Gentle. Testing if you’re really here and if it’s not just a dream he is having.
You kiss him back, feeling his soft lips on you, his hands exploring your body. You missed the immediate calmness Joel radiates. The one where every inch of your body melts to him, and your mind goes all hazy, thinking about nothing but Joeljoeljoel.
Joel pulls away, groaning while his hands pull you up so your body is on top of him.
“How are you doin’, babygirl?” He asks, gently brushing through your hair.
“It was strange,” you say, voice low. “Being alone. I thought I’d hate it. But… I didn’t. I liked the quiet. The space. I needed it.”
Joel nods, watching you carefully.
“But I missed you,” you add, glancing at him. “Missed your voice. Your coffee. You’re everything.”
He smiles, just barely. “Missed you too, bun. So fuckin’ much.” He places a kiss on your forehead. “But you needed that time. After everything… I didn’t want to crowd you. I figured you’d come back when you were ready.”
You look at him, eyes soft. “And now I’m here.”
He nods, quiet for a beat.
“Yeah. Now you’re here. Makin’ me one happy bastard”
You giggle at that, and you look up, brushing your nose against his.
Then you kiss him again—real slow, real unhurried, like you’ve got all the time in the world. His hands settle on your hips, grounding you, then they move on your back. He draws big, soft circles on there. You deepen the kiss, just a little. And then your hips begin shift—tentative at first, a slow press of warmth against his crotch.
His breath hitches.
“Bug…” he warns, voice low.
You lean down, your hair brushing his cheek.
“Take me,” you whisper. “Please.”
He freezes.
You don’t know what possessed you to say that. Maybe it was the silence, thick and humming with everything you couldn’t say. Maybe it was the way your body still remembered the heat of his hands, the sound of your name in his mouth, the way he looked at you like you were something precious while trembling because of his hands.
His hands tighten on your hips, then still. He reaches over, flicks on the nightstand lamp. The soft amber light spills across your face.
He looks at you. Really looks.
Your cheeks are flushed. Your lips parted. Your eyes wide and glassy with something between nerves and need. You look like you did that first night—when he found you trembling and desperate and burning all at once.
He exhales, a low, rough sound from deep in his chest. “I see you picked up right where we left off with ruinin’ me,” he mutters.
You pout, just a little. “You like it.”
“Babygirl…” he groans, sitting up slowly, pulling you into his lap. His hands settle on your waist. “That ain’t no small thing. Literally.” He tries to lighten the mood with a sarcastic line but fails.
You raise an eyebrow. “You’re about to say it.”
“You’re young,” he starts, but you cut him off.
“You’re young, I’m old, i’ve made mistakes, blah blah blah, ugh.” you say, rolling your eyes.
His eyebrows shoot up, his voice firm. “Now watch your tone. I’m serious.”
You go quiet.
He sighs, brushing your hair back from your face. “Ain’t somethin’ quick. Ain’t somethin’ you just ask for, hell—you’re still a virgin.”
You look down, cheeks burning, maybe it wasn’t a good idea after all.
“No, baby,” he says quickly, voice softening. “I didn’t mean it like that. Hey—look at me.” His hands find your face, and they cradle you. “There’s nothin’ wrong with it. Nothin’ wrong with wantin’ it.”
“Then what’s the problem?” you ask, voice small.
He leans back, runs a hand through his hair. His fingers tremble.
“The problem’s me,” he says. “Already had trouble holdin’ myself back two weeks ago. And now… if you want to take it a step further, I’ll break.”
His voice cracks.
“And?” you ask.
He looks down.
“And I’ll be the old man who ruins your first time.”
You shake your head. “Joel,” you whisper. “I don’t want to hear that anymore. Seriously.”
You cup his face in your hands. “I don’t care how old you are. You think those boys my age wouldn’t ruin it? You think I’d be here if I didn’t feel safe?”
You kiss his cheek. Then his forehead. “You told me I’m yours.”
He nods, voice barely audible. “I did.” A beat. “And you are,” he says, pulling you closer. His hands slide up your back, holding you like you might vanish. “You are.”
You rest your forehead on his shoulder, breathing him in.
“Then please,” you whisper. “Don’t hold back. I want it all.”
And you do. All of him.
He shudders. His arms tighten around you. “This is your first time, bug. This ain’t just a night.” he mutters, voice breaking again. You roll your eyes, sit up slightly, your hand on his chest, your eyes steady on his.
“Joel,” you say softly. “Do you want me?”
He freezes.
“Baby…” he breathes, like it hurts to even hear the question.
“No,” you say, firmer now. “Tell me. Do you want to take me?”
His eyes close. His jaw clenches. And then, finally, he exhales—like he’s been holding his breath for weeks. “God,” he says, voice breaking. “There’s nothin’ I want more than that.”
You feel your insides warming at his words. You look at him—really look—and he’s already looking back. Like he’s seeing you for the first time. Like he’s terrified and in awe all at once.
You reach for his face, thumb brushing his cheek. “Then do it, Joel,” you whisper. “Without guilt. I’m right here.”
He exhales, slow and heavy.
His hand dips lower, landing on the underwear beneath your shorts. His fingertips slowly caress the dampness on the fabric making you close your eyes and breathe.
“…You haven’t touched her since, have you?” His voice is low, almost disbelieving. His fingers press gently over the damp fabric. “You’ve been neglectin’ her… waitin’ on me.”
You nod, barely, your voice a whisper. “Mhm. Waited for you.” Joel stills, like the words hit somewhere deep. You swallow, eyes flicking to his. “Every time I saw you working… the way your hands moved, the way you looked…”
You trail off, breath catching. “I wanted to. I did. But I—I wanted it to be your hands.”
His breath leaves him in a shudder, he releases a sigh.
“Alright,” he murmurs. “If we’re doin’ this… we’re doin’ it slow. Real slow.”
You nod against his chest.
“I mean it, bug,” he says, tilting your chin up so you’re looking at him. His eyes are soft, but serious. “I ain’t gonna rush you. Not a damn second of this.”
You nod again, and he brushes his thumb along your cheek.
“There’s some things we gotta talk about first,” he says. “Not to scare you. Just…so you know.”
You sit up a little, still straddling his lap, your hands resting on his chest.
“It might hurt,” he says gently. “First time usually does. Might be some bleedin’. That’s normal. But if it’s too much—if you wanna stop at any point, you tell me, alright?”
You nod, but he waits.
“Say it,” he says softly.
“I’ll tell you,” you whisper. “If I want to stop.”
He nods, satisfied.
“Good girl.”
His hand moves to the drawer besides the bed. He pulls out a small foil packet and holds it up between two fingers.
“We’ll use one of these,” he says. “Condom. Keeps things safe. Clean. I’ll take care of it.”
You blink, then squint at him. “Wait… why do you even have those?”
Joel clears his throat, suddenly looking sheepish. “Tommy gave ‘em to me. Said I should…y’know. Get outta my shell.”
You stare at him—then giggle, the sound bubbling up before you can stop it.
Joel groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Ain’t funny.”
“It’s a little funny,” you whisper, still smiling. “You’re blushing.”
“I ain’t—” He scowls, but his ears are pink. “You’re impossible.”
He kisses your cheek, then his eyes turn serious again. “I ain’t gonna do nothin’ you don’t want,” he says. “Not ever. You say stop, I stop. You say slow down, I slow down. You say not tonight, I’ll hold you and that’s it.”
You smile, eyes stinging a little. “I know,” you whisper. “That’s why I’m here.”
He leans in, presses a kiss to your forehead.
“You really sure?” he asks. “Not just ‘cause you think I want it. Not ‘cause you feel like you owe me.”
“I’m sure,” you say. “I want this…and it’s not because I have to, Joel. It’s because I can finally feel like I can choose.”
He swallows hard, eyes locked on yours. There’s something in his expression—something raw and aching. Like he’s trying to hold back a tide of emotion and failing, just a little.
“Alright,” he says, voice rough, a little broken. “Then I’m yours. However you want me.”
So, he kisses you first.
Not rushed. Not greedy. Just slow. Reverent. Like he’s trying to memorize you—the shape of your mouth, the way your breath catches when he deepens the kiss, the soft sound you make when his tongue brushes yours. His hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking gently, and you melt into him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
Then, carefully, he shifts.
His hands slide to your hips, guiding you as he rolls, easing you beneath him with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. He hovers above you, braced on his forearms, eyes searching yours.
“Wanna see you,” he murmurs, voice thick. “Wanna take my time.”
You nod, breathless, and he leans in again—this time kissing your neck, your collarbone, the soft skin just below your ear. Each press of his lips is slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring every inch of you. His stubble scrapes lightly against your skin, and you shiver, your hands sliding up his back.
His hand starts to trail lower, slow and sure, until his fingers land inside your underwear and brush through the slick heat. You gasp, hips twitching, and he stills—not pulling away, just waiting.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “You’re alright.”
You nod, breath shaky, and he strokes again—featherlight, just enough to make your breath catch. Then his thumb circles your clit, and your whole body jolts.
“There she is,” he murmurs, smiling against your neck. “Still so sensitive.”
You whimper, your hips rocking without thinking.
“My poor bun is so needy, huh?” He asks, placing a breathy kiss on your cheek. You can’t do anything but nod needly, a whine leaving your lips.
Then his fingers trail lower, teasing your entrance, and he pauses.
“Gonna put one in,” he says. “Just like last time. Let’s see how you take it, yea?”
You nod, breathless, and he eases in—slow, careful, watching your face the whole time. The stretch is still unusual but not painful. Just…full.
You gasp when Joel starts to thrust in, your thighs trembling, and his free hand comes up to cradle your cheek.
“You’re okay,” he murmurs. “Doin’ so good, baby.”
He starts to move, slow and shallow at first, letting you adjust. Then he curls his finger just slightly, and your back arches when he brushes something deep inside you that makes your whole body light up.
“There,” he says, voice low and rough. “Remember what this is called?”
You gasp, eyes fluttering. “G-spot.”
He grins, presses a kiss to your jaw. “That’s my girl. Knew you’d remember.”
He curls his finger again, slow and deliberate, and your breath stutters, rubbing over that spongy spot that makes your eyes roll.
“Feels good, don’t it?” he murmurs.
You nod, barely able to speak. “So good.”
“Yeah,” he says, watching your face twist with pleasure. “She’s been waitin’ on this. On me.”
His fingers move with a rhythm inside you, slow and steady, when his other hand slides up your side. He pushes your dress higher, bunching it around your ribs, and then he sees you.
His breath catches.
“Oh, baby…” he murmurs, voice cracking. “They’re hard already, bun…” His thumb brushes over your nipple, featherlight, and you shiver. “You ever touched these before?” he asks, eyes flicking up to yours.
You shake your head, cheeks burning. “No.”
He groans, like the answer physically hurts him.
His hand cups your breast, thumb brushing again, slower this time. “Saw ‘em that first night,” he says, voice low and wrecked. “You remember? You were sittin’ in front of the mirror, that little dress on… they were already perked up. Couldn’t stop starin’.”
You nod, breath catching. “You touched them. Through the fabric.”
“I did,” he whispers. “Rubbed my thumb right over ‘em. You gasped so sweet, like you didn’t even know they could feel that good.”
He leans down, mouth brushing your skin. “Been thinkin’ about this ever since. About how you’d feel. How you’d sound.”
He kisses the swell of your breast, then the peak, lips soft and reverent.
“So fuckin’ soft,” he breathes. “So warm. You’re killin’ me, bun. You really are.”
His mouth closes around your nipple, slow and deep, and you cry out, your back arching. His fingers inside you curl just right, and your whole body tightens.
“Joel—”
“I know, baby,” he murmurs, voice shaking. “I know. I’m right here. Just let me love on you a little longer.”
Your breath stutters, caught somewhere between a gasp and a sob. His fingers keep moving, slow and sure, curling deep inside you with a rhythm that’s just right—like he’s listening to your body more than your words.
You clutch at his shoulders, your thighs trembling.
“Close—” you breathe, voice cracking.
“I know, bug,” he whispers, lips brushing your skin. “I got you. Just let go.”
The pressure builds, hot and unbearable, and this time you don’t fight it. You let it crest, let it take you. Your body arches, a cry slipping from your lips as you come around his fingers—tight and pulsing and overwhelming. It’s not loud, not wild. It’s deep. Shaking. Like something breaking open inside you.
Joel holds you through it, his hand never faltering, his mouth still soft on your chest.
“There you go,” he murmurs, voice rough with awe. “That’s it.”
You collapse against the mattress, breathless, your skin flushed and damp. He slows his hand, easing you down, then stills completely, just holding you.
You feel his forehead press to your shoulder, his breath warm and shaky. “You alright?” he asks, barely audible.
“Yea—yeah. That was good.” You say breathless.
He smiles softly, brushing the damp hair out of your face.
He watches you for a beat longer, then leans over to the nightstand. You hear the soft crinkle of foil as he grabs the condom, and he glances back at you.
“You ever seen how these are used before?” he asks, not teasing—just checking.
You shake your head. “Not up close.”
He nods, then tears the packet open slowly, deliberately. “Alright. Watch, then. Just so you know how it works.”
You do. You watch as he pulls down his shorts, his cock jumping free—once again, droplets of pre-cum formed on the tip. He rolls the condom on, his movements careful, precise. And there’s something strangely intimate about it—not clinical, not awkward. Just…real. Human.
When he’s done, he settles between your thighs again, his hand trailing down your side. He softly pulls down your panties, placing a kiss just above your mound.
“Still okay?” he asks.
You nod. “Yeah.”
Then, he leans in, kisses you—soft and slow then shifts his weight, one hand sliding between your legs. His fingers find your clit again, rubbing in slow, gentle circles, and you gasp, hips twitching.
“Just wanna make sure you’re still nice and ready,” he murmurs. “Don’t want nothin’ to hurt.”
You nod, breath catching.
He lines himself up, the head of him nudging against your entrance. He pauses, eyes locked on yours. “Gonna go slow,” he says. “Just the tip, baby. Let’s get you used to it, yea?”
You nod again, and he begins to press in — slow, careful, inch by inch. The stretch is intense, unfamiliar, and your breath catches in your throat.
You gasp, your hands tightening on his arms.
Joel stills immediately. “S’only the tip, baby,” he says softly. “You okay?”
You nod, but he waits. “I’m okay,” you whisper. “Just…full.”
He leans down, kisses your cheek. “I know. You’re doin’ so good.”
He stays still for a moment, just the tip of him inside you, his breath coming in shallow pulls. His eyes are locked on yours, searching, waiting.
“You’re squeezin’ me so sweet, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough with awe. “Can’t believe this is real.”
Joel leans down, presses a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth.
“Gonna go a little deeper,” he whispers. “You tell me if it’s too much.”
You nod, and he shifts his weight, one hand sliding down to lace his fingers with yours. He squeezes gently, grounding you, and then he starts to mov—slow, careful, easing in inch by inch.
You gasp, your brows knitting, and he stills again.
“You okay?” he asks, eyes flicking to your face. “Talk to me, bun.”
You nod, breath shaky. “Yeah. Just…so full.”
That’s the only thing you can say about his length inside you. Full. Stretching you to the brim.
“Oh, baby.” he says softly. “You’re doin’ so good.”
He kisses your temple, then your shoulder, and with one more slow push, he sinks the rest of the way in. You whine out, your body arching, and he groans—low and broken against your skin.
“All the way inside now, bun,” he breathes. “You’ve got me. Every inch.”
You cling to him, your heart pounding, your body adjusting around him. He doesn’t move, just holds you—one hand in yours, the other stroking your side, his forehead pressed to yours.
“Still with me?” he murmurs.
You nod, eyes glassy. “Yeah.”
He exhales, shaky and slow. “Okay. We’ll stay right here. Just breathe with me.”
You’re still adjusting, your body wrapped around him, in a way that makes your breath catch. Joel hasn’t moved—not really. He’s just holding you, breathing with you, his forehead resting against yours.
And then you whisper, voice barely there, “Move. Please.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, the sound low and frayed.
“Already feelin’ good, hm?” he murmurs, brushing his nose against your cheek. “S’alright. Just tell me—”
“Just tell me if it’s too much, if you wanna stop, if anything don’t feel right,” you cut in, mimicking his voice with a breathless little grin.
Joel stills.
Then he lifts his head, eyes narrowing just slightly.
“That’s the second time you interrupted me, honey,” he says, voice low and tight.
Before you can answer, he draws his hips back —just a little and thrusts into you once, slow but deep. You gasp, your eyes widen, your whole body jolting.
“Not gonna stay nice if you do it again.”
His voice is rough, teeth gritted, but his hand is still holding yours, his thumb stroking your knuckles. He’s still there—still Joel, but something’s cracked open now. The hunger. The heat. The part of him that’s been waiting too long to feel this.
He watches your face as he starts to move—slow at first, just a gentle roll of his hips, easing in and out with careful precision. You gasp, your fingers tightening around his, and he groans low in his throat.
“There it is… yeah. You’re startin’ to melt around me, huh?”
You can do nothing but mindlessly nod.
He finds a rhythm, steady, deep, unhurried—and your body responds before you can think. Your thighs tremble, your breath stutters, and he feels it.
He breathes, voice rough. “You’re takin’ me so sweet, bun. So fuckin’ sweet.
You whimper, your back arching, and he leans down, kissing your neck, your shoulder, your jaw.
His thrusts stay slow, but deeper now, more deliberate. He watches every flicker of your expression, the way your mouth falls open, the way your brows knit, the way your eyes flutter shut.
The whole room fills with your moans.
“You okay?” he asks, voice strained.
You nod, breathless. “Yeah. Feels…so good.”
He exhales, shaky. “Good. Just hold on to me.”
He presses his forehead to yours, his hand still gripping yours tight, and keeps thrusting slow.
“Joel.”
His rhythm falters for just a second when you say his name like that—soft, wrecked, barely a breath. He lifts his head, eyes locking on yours, and nods, his jaw tight, his breath ragged.
“I know, bun,” he murmurs, voice thick. “I know.”
But he doesn’t stop. He can’t.
His hips keep moving, slow and deep, and you feel every inch of him, every careful thrusts like a promise.
He reaches down now, feeling himself getting close. His fingers find your clit—slow, careful—and the second he touches your bud, you whine out loud, high and helpless.
“You’re so fuckin’ soft here,” he breathes, voice low and frayed. “So swollen. S’good?”
“Mhm, Joel.” All you can do is nod, eyes fluttering shut.
Then he thrusts a little deeper, a little firmer, making you moan louder around him.
“Didn’t know it could feel so good…” your voice barely above a whisper.
He chuckles, low and warm. “Yeah? S’posed to, baby. I’ve got you.”
Every thrust makes your breath catch. His hand is still laced with yours, his forehead pressed to yours, and you can feel the tension in his body. Every muscle tight. Every breath ragged.
But then he stills, just for a second, and you feel it—the way he’s holding himself back.
“Joel?” you whisper.
He shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck, baby… it’s been a long time.”
You blink up at him, dazed. “You’re close?”
He nods, jaw clenched. “Too close. But I want you to come first.”
You open your mouth to speak, but then his hand on your clit starts to rub tighter and faster circles, making your body jolt.
“Joel—” you gasp, hips twitching.
“I know,” he murmurs. “I know, bun. Just let me take care of you.”
He keeps moving inside you, just enough to keep the rhythm, while his fingers work you with quiet precision. His eyes are locked on your face, watching every flicker of sensation, every gasp, every tremble.
“You’re so close,” he breathes. “I can feel it. You’re squeezin’ me so tight, baby…”
You whimper, your body arching, and he groans—low and broken. “God, you’re gonna undo me,” he mutters. “But I need to feel you come first. Need to feel you fall apart around me.”
You cry out, hips jerking.
“Please”
“Shh, baby,” he breathes, voice shaking. “I know. I’m right there too.”
His fingers move in slow, steady circles, matching the rhythm of his hips. You’re already so close—the pressure building again, tighter this time, sharper.
“Gonna come… I think,” you whisper, barely able to speak.
Joel groans, forehead pressing to yours. “Good, baby. Gooood,” he murmurs, his voice thick with awe. “That’s it.”
His thumb moves just right, coaxing, guiding. “Remember to chase it,” he whispers. “Feel it, bun. Don’t hold back.”
You cling to him, your body trembling, and then it hits—hot and deep and overwhelming. You cry out, your body clenching around him, and Joel curses under his breath, his rhythm faltering.
“Fuck—” he groans. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”
You feel him lose control then—his hips snapping forward, deeper, rougher, and he gasps against your neck.
“Can’t—can’t hold it,” he chokes out. “You feel too fuckin’ good.”
You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer. “It’s okay,” you whisper. “I want you to.”
He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his whole body shuddering as he thrusts deep one final time. You feel it—the way he stills, the way his muscles lock, the low, guttural sound he makes as he comes, spilling into the condom with a broken gasp.
His weight settles over you, heavy and warm, both of you slick with sweat, your chests rising and falling in sync. The room is filled with nothing but your breathing—ragged, uneven, real.
You slide your hand up, fingers threading into the damp curls at the nape of his neck. You stroke gently, grounding him, and he melts into it, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to your throat.
Neither of you speaks. You don’t need to.
He stays there, wrapped around you, his lips brushing your skin like a prayer, like a thank you. And you just hold him, your fingers in his hair, your heart still racing.
Joel hasn’t moved much—just shifted enough to ease his weight off you, but he’s still close, still inside the moment. His fingers brush your cheek, tentative. “Was that…okay?” he asks, voice low, uncertain. “I didn’t go too far?”
You blink up at him, stunned. “Are you kidding?”
He looks down, brows drawn, like he’s bracing for something.
You smile, soft and a little dazed. “Joel…that was more than okay.”
He exhales, shaky, and leans in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he murmurs. “Just…didn’t wanna mess it up. Didn’t wanna hurt you.”
“You didn’t,” you whisper. “You made me feel safe. Wanted. Like I mattered.”
His throat works around something he doesn’t say. Instead, he presses another kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth.
He swallows. “You’re mine now,” he says, voice low, almost shy. “Forever… if you want.”
You smile, fingers still stroking the back of his neck.
“You’re mine too, old man.”
He huffs a soft laugh, the sound muffled against your skin. “Yeah,” he says, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “Guess I am.”
And then he just holds you tighter, like he’s never letting go.
You weren’t a stray cat anymore.
Joel kept you now. Forever.
OH MY GOD🥹 this took sooo long but i’m proud of it. Hope it meets yalls expectations!! Also my last fic for this year😭😭
(No pressure tags) if you liked the first part, you may like the second: @mabelmiller @furiousprincesskingdom @elkenenvy @alpacinolover1213 @claredevee @lambs-fav-fics @spicytunarolllll @zoot3577 @cuteanimalmama @pookiewrldfics @zeida
Summary: you tiptoe into Joel Miller’s home like a stray cat, always giving him a heart attack, always flashing those doe eyes, tear-spilled and aching, and making his heart twist. So he protects you—cares for you, cooks for you, calls you pet names. But that night feels different. Heavy. There’s an ache crawling through your body, one you don’t understand and can’t quiet. You try. You fail. And when you get caught—by the same man who just called you “kiddo”—you can’t help but ask him for help.
Warnings: 18+, smut, MDNI, age gap! (60s and 20s), pillow grinding, masturbation, really inexperienced!reader, one (1) light thigh spank, fingering, joel teaches you how to touch yourself with a mirror, soft!joel, like the sweetest Joel, he is super flustered, fluff, pet names, lot’s of praise, joel calls reader kiddo/kid, implications of abusive household, implications of abusive father, drunk father, outbreak, kind of dbf!joel but not really
A/N: if anyone can still remember this from the poll i made monthsss ago, you are a real one🤞🏻 but i loved writing this, it’s filthy but also so incredibly soft, sweet and joel is just a sweet old man :((( (he is alive and well) anyways, i hope yall enjoy this!!🫶🏻
“Jesus Christ, girl. Told ya not to scare me like this.” He huffs out, boots creaking on the old wooden floor as he turns to face you. “Sneakin’ up on me like a damn cat.”
The light outside is slowly fading, as his eyes scan you—quick, instinctive. He takes in the flushed skin, the way your dress hangs crooked on your frame, the tremble in your fingers. Then his gaze lands on your tear streaked cheeks, and something shifts.
His whole face tightens in worry.
“Did ya daddy say mean things again?” He pinches your chin in his hand, making you look up to him.
You can only nod, unable to speak—because if you did, you were sure the knot in your throat would unravel, and you’d sob, just like you did hours before coming to Joels house.
He softly coos, one arm wrapping around your body as he pulls you into his chest. “Oh, babygirl,” he whispers, resting his chin gently on top of your head. “I’m sorry.” Then he presses a kiss there, steady and long.
His words sink deep into your bones, steadying your heart—not with judgment, but with understanding and care.
“S’okey.” You mumble, burying your face into his flannel shirt further, taking in his musk.
“Hell, I probably stink, don’t I?”
Joel just came back from chopping wood. His hands were rough—calloused, streaked with dirt as usual. Sweat clung to his skin, glistening along his neck and brow, soaking into the collar of his shirt. The scent of him was musky, edged with pine and smoke, but also of course, a hint of sweat lingering behind.
You loved burying your head into his chest.
“Not really,” You mumble. “Can I stay here tonight?” You ask, pulling away from his embrace and locking eyes with him—the question making your cheeks all flushed, a hint of embarrassment behind them.
“We can’t keep doin’ this, bug.” Joel murmurs, finger twirling a strand of your hair. “You come back every single time, like a damn stray cat.”
You roll your eyes at that, but a smile tugs on your lips.
“What? it’s true. I feed her, give her some milk and she always tip toes into my house back and gives me a near damn heart attack.”
You couldn’t quite pinpoint when it all began.
Maybe it started when your dad and Joel, being neighbors, began visiting each other—trading food, clothes, medicine like good old friends. Or maybe it was when you and Joel started talking about everything and nothing, while you found yourself trusting him with things you hadn’t told anyone else. Then again, it might have been that night you tiptoed into his house without asking, desperate for a place to stay after your dad had been cruel to you again.
Even then, he never asked questions. Even then, he knew what you needed in that moment, as if he could read you.
They all say in town: Joel Miller is a rough, stern, stubborn, and gruff man. But you always saw the opposite. You saw the way his fingers shifted patterns on your skin, careful not to let his dry hands scrape you. The way he’d place a cold hand on your forehead and leave it there—steady and quiet—until your migraine melted away. You heard his voice becoming softer when he talked to you.
And then there were the quiet actions. Like replacing the kitchen clock with a quieter one, just because you once told him—without meaning to—that the ticking reminded you of the one in your father’s room: loud and fast.
Or how he never locks the door anymore. Always leaves the porch light on, so you know—you can come in, even if it’s the middle of the night.
You sometimes wished he was your father.
“I tell ya what. You help me with bringing those logs inside and then you can stay here.”
You nod, eagerly.
So, he gestures towards a pair of worn boots by the step—his, clearly too big for you, but the only option he’s got.
“Go on,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “Slip into those. Ground’s cold.”
You glance down at the boots, then back up at him, one brow raised.
He sighs, already exasperated. “Why ya always gotta come barefoot anyways? Ya gonna catch a cold.”
You roll your eyes, a little smirk tugging at your lips. “I’m fine.”
And before he can argue, you step past him, bare feet brushing over the cool stone, then the grass, then the packed dirt of his garden path.
Joel watches you go, but then shakes his head, chuckling. He can’t stay mad at you. Never.
The wood’s already stacked neatly near the shed, thick logs piled in a criss-cross pattern. You bend to grab one, arms wrapping around the weight of it, and carry it back towards the house. Joel moves the same, grabbing two—instead of one—and moving them into his house.
You come back for another, but as your foot shifts on the ground, something sharp presses into your sole. You hiss, stumbling slightly, and glance back at him.
He’s already shaking his head.
“Told ya to wear the boots, honey bun.”
You stick your tongue out at him, giggling as you hobble a step, then straighten and scoop up the log anyway. Joel smirks, eyes accidentally lingering on your legs as you walk back towards the house, the hem of your dress swaying with each step.
You’re halfway through stacking the last of the wood before Joel disappears into the hallway. You don’t think much of it—just keep moving, barefoot on the cool floor, arms full of logs that leave little flecks of bark on your dress.
When you place them down, and turn around, he’s back. Holding something.
A pair of thick, worn, brown socks.
He tosses them onto the couch, then goes to close the door to his garden. He jerks his chin towards his couch. “Sit.”
You blink. “What?”
“Sit down, kiddo.” His voice is calm, but firm. “You been runnin’ around barefoot like a damn forest sprite. Floor’s cold. You’re gonna catch somethin’.”
You roll your eyes, arms crossed. “I’m fine.”
Joel gives you a look—that look—the one that says, “I could bend you over and spank you,” and you know better than to argue. With a huff, you drop onto the couch, legs swinging slightly.
He kneels in front of you, knees popping—followed by that quiet dad groan he always makes as he lowers himself. His hand comes up, wraps around your ankle real gentle but firm.
You try to pull back, but he doesn’t let you.
“Quit squirming. Let me take care of you.”
You go still, cheeks flushing.
He slips the first sock over your foot, slow and careful, as if you’re something fragile. His fingers brush your ankle, your calf. He doesn’t look up, his eyebrows are pinched, concentrated
“Can’t have you gettin’ sick. Cold floor like this’ll mess with your stomach. You’ll be cryin’ to me about cramps in a day or two.” He murmurs.
You snort. “You sound like an old man.”
He smirks, sliding the second sock on. “Yeah, well. Old man knows how to keep you warm, bug.”
When he’s done, he pats your knee, then leans in—just a little and presses a kiss to the inside of your ankle. Soft. Barely there.
Your stomach does a small flip. And your toes curl against the rug, like your body’s reacting before your mind can catch up. It’s just a kiss, soft and low on your ankle, but it sends something warm skimming up your spine.
Then he stands up slowly, “There. All better.”
You wiggle your toes in the socks, quiely recovering from the kiss. They’re too big, smell like cedar and laundry soap—just like Joel smells whenever he changes clothes. You don’t say thank you. You don’t have to.
Joel’s already watching you with that quiet, unreadable look—the one that says he’d do it all over again, every day, just to keep you safe.
Then he clears his throat, voice low and lazy.
“Whatcha want to eat, huh, hon?” You glance up. “We can make some pasta,” he adds, already turning towards the kitchen.
You hop off the couch, socks slipping slightly on the floor, and trail after him. “You always make some pasta.”
Joel shrugs, pulling open a cabinet. “It’s easy. And you love my pasta.”
You climb onto the counter, legs swinging, watching him move m—sleeves pushed up, hands steady, the taught rhythm of someone who’s done this a hundred times before. He grabs a pot, fills it with water, sets it on the stove.
“You gonna help or just sit there lookin’ all cute?” he mutters, not looking at you.
You grin. “I’m moral support.”
Joel snorts, tossing you a clove of garlic. “Then start peelin’, bug.”
So, you do. Slowly. While watching him out of the corner of your eye as he moves around the kitchen and hums under his breath. The silence between you isn’t awkward…it’s warm. Familiar.
And when he brushes past you to grab the salt, his hand grazes your knee. He doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t even look at you.
But you feel it. And so does he.
Slowly, the air starts to smell like olive oil and tomatoes. The kitchen, warm now, feels like home—the kind you never had, but Joel made for you.
He glances over his shoulder at you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’re gettin’ more garlic on the floor than in the bowl, bun.”
You shrug, grinning. “You’re the one who made me help.”
He chuckles, shaking his head as he stirs the sauce.
Then—suddenly—a knock on his door.
Your heart jumps. The garlic slips from your fingers, forgotten. You freeze, eyes wide, breath caught in your throat.
Joel looks up, brows furrowing. “Relax,” he says, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “It’s probably just Tommy.”
But you’re already sliding off the counter, feet hitting the floor with a soft thud, knowing what it could mean if your father finds you. You duck behind the counter, heart pounding, curling in on yourself like instinct. Joel watches you for a beat, something unreadable flickering across his face.
“Alright,” he mutters, more to himself now. He walks to the door, slow and steady, and opens it just a crack. And the smell hits him first—sharp, sour, unmistakable. Then the voice.
“You’ve seen my girl, Miller?”
Joel’s jaw tightens. Your father stands on the porch, swaying ever so slightly, eyes glassy, breath thick with liquor. His shirt’s half untucked, belt askew, like he got dressed in the dark.
Joel doesn’t blink. “Nah,” he says, voice flat. “I was home all the time.”
Your father squints at him, leans in too close.
“You sure?”
Joel’s eyes narrow. His voice drops, low and dangerous. “You callin’ me a liar?” And hell, he could punch the shit out of him if you weren’t behind the counter.
There’s a beat of silence. Then your father scoffs, mutters something under his breath, and stumbles back down the steps, disappearing into the dusk.
Joel watches him go, jaw clenched, hand still on the doorknob, trying to calm himself down from the anger he is feeing. Only when the sound of retreating footsteps fades does he shut the door, slow and deliberate. The lock clicks into place.
He turns around.
You’re still crouched behind the counter, peeking up with wide, sad eyes. Your hands are clenched in your lap, shoulders drawn tight.
Joel’s face softens instantly, the anger washing away as fast as it came. He crosses the room in a few strides and kneels besides you, his knees popping as he lowers himself down.
“You stayin’ here tonight,” he says gently, “Maybe even tomorrow.”
You don’t answer. You just throw your arms around his neck, burying your face into his chest. He catches you so easily, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other wrapping around your waist.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispers, pressing his lips to your hair. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt you here. I got you.”
You nod against him, breath shaky, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, brushing a thumb under your eye. “It’s alright now. Let’s keep cookin’, yeah? My tummy’s grumblin’”
You manage a small smile. He helps you up, steadying you with a hand on your back, and guides you gently back to the counter.
The garlic’s still there, waiting. The water’s boiling. And Joel—Joel is right beside you, like he always is, and always be.
—
The pasta’s gone cold, but neither of you seem to notice.
You’re sitting across from Joel at his little wooden table, legs tucked under you, fork still in hand.
Joel leans back in his chair, watching you with that unreadable look. You can feel it—the way his eyes linger, the way his fingers tap slow against the rim of his glass.
You set your fork down. Swallow hard.
“You know…” you start, voice soft. “I don’t really trust people. Not anymore.”
Joel’s brow furrows, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“But I trust you.” You look up to meet his eyes. “With everything.”
He shifts in his seat, like the words hit somewhere deep. He looks away, jaw tight.
“Don’t do that,” he mutters. “Don’t go puttin’ that kind of faith in me. I ain’t no good man, baby.”
You shake your head, voice steady now.
“Well… you’re better than my father.”
That lands like a stone in the room. Joel’s eyes snap back to yours, something raw flickering behind them. He doesn’t speak right away. Just stares at you, like he’s trying to figure out what to say that won’t break the moment.
Finally, he leans forward, elbows on the table, voice low. “That ain’t sayin’ much.”
You smile, sad and small. “It’s sayin’ enough.”
Joel exhales, long and slow. Then he reaches across the table, rough fingers brushing yours. He doesn’t grab your hand—just lets his rest there, close enough for you to choose.
And you do.
You slide your hand into his, and he closes his fingers around yours tightly. You expect him to let go, to change the subject.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he lifts your hand slowly, eyes never leaving yours, and presses a kiss to your knuckles—soft, sweet, delicate, like he’s done it a thousand times in his head but never dared to do it for real.
Your heart warms.
It started with safety. With wishing he was the kind of man who could’ve raised you. But now, when he looks at you like that, and kisses you— you know it’s something else entirely.
And then there is another thing. The one where Joel makes you feel different. Not in your heart but rather…down there. Deep in your belly, where butterflies loom whenever you look at his calloused hands, whenever he stands in front of you—broad shoulders and as a big man who could handle anything.
A giggle slips out before you can stop it.
Joel raises an eyebrow. “What’s funny?”
You shake your head, cheeks warm. “Nothin’. Just… your hands are so big.”
He laughs, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes—something darker, deeper. “Yeah? That a problem?”
You shrug, trying to play it off, but your tummy does a little flip as his thumb brushes over your knuckles again, slow and absentminded.
The room is dim now, the outside fully dark. And if it weren’t for the gentle brushes of his thumb over your knuckles, it would be the silence that let’s you a yawn slip. Stretching your mouth wide before you can stifle it.
Joel catches it instantly.
“Looks like somebody’s tired already?” he says, voice low and teasing.
You blink at him, eyes heavy, lips curved in a sleepy smile. “M’not.”
He chuckles, his hands leaving yours before standing up and offering the same hand. “C’mon, honey bun. Let’s get you tucked in before you fall asleep on my damn table.”
You take his hand without hesitation, letting him guide you down the hall—his thumb beginning to brush over your knuckles again.
He stops in front of the small door and pushes it open with a quiet grunt. The hinges groan slightly, like they haven’t been used in a while. The room beyond is cozy, if a little dusty—a twin bed tucked against the wall, a faded quilt folded neatly at the foot, and a big mirror leaned against the other side of the room.
Joel steps inside first, flicking on the light. Dust motes dance in the glow.
“S’been a while since you were here,” he murmurs, running a hand along the edge of the mirror. His fingers come away gray, and he wipes them on his jeans with a quiet huff. “Should’ve cleaned up better.”
You smile, stepping in behind him. The room is small, but it’s yours. Always has been. He never says it out loud, but he keeps it ready—just in case.
Joel walks over to the bed, pulls the blanket back with a dramatic flourish, and pats the mattress. “Alright, bug. Hop in.”
You climb in, the sheets cool against your skin, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight. Before you can settle, Joel grabs the edge of the blanket and throws it over you, tucking it in tight around your sides.
Then, with a grin, he starts rolling you—gently, playfully—wrapping you up like a burrito, like a cocoon. “There we go,” he mutters, half to himself. “All wrapped up. Ain’t goin’ nowhere now.”
You giggle, squirming a little under the snug weight of the blanket. “Joel!”
He chuckles, crouching beside the bed, one hand braced on the mattress, the other smoothing your hair back from your face.
“You always do this,” you murmur, eyes soft.
Joel grins. “You always giggle.”
You peek up at him, voice quieter now. “You always kiss my forehead.”
Joel’s expression shifts—something tender flickering behind his eyes. His voice drops, warm and low. “And I always will.”
He watches you for a beat longer, then leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead—slow, gentle, lingering just a second too long. A silence settles between you, thick with something unspoken. Then he clears his throat gently.
“I’ll be downstairs,” he says, softer now. “Still need to work on somethin’. If ya need anythin’, just come down, yeah?”
You nod, cheeks warm, eyes already heavy.
“Okay.”
“Night, honey bun,” he whispers.
And then he stands, walks to the door, and slips out without another word, closing it behind him with a soft click.
—
It hits you just minutes after the door clicks shut. A slow, pulsing ache deep in your belly. A thrum of want, right where your hands have never wandered before.
You shift on the bed, the sheets cool beneath your thighs, the air still holding the warmth of where he was. Your fingers twitch at your sides, unsure. You glance towards the door, half-expecting him to come back. He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t.
The silence stretches.
You sit up, then lie back down. Pull the blanket up, then push it off again. Your skin feels too tight, like it’s holding something in. Like something wants to release, but it can’t.
Your eyes flick to the mirror across the room. You don’t recognize the girl staring back—flushed cheeks, parted lips, pupils wide like she’s seen something she wasn’t supposed to.
You think of Joel.
His voice…low, steady, rough. The kind that settles in your chest and stays there.
His hands—big, calloused, careful. The way they brushed over your hand, the way he kept you wrapped up around his chest. The way he looked at you—not like you were fragile, but like you were worth protecting.
You close your eyes and breathe him in, even though he’s gone. The scent of him still lingers—soap, cedar, something with wood.
Your hand moves without thinking. Just resting. Just curious.
You’re not sure what you’re doing. But you know what you’re feeling.
You never touched that place. But today, something in your body wants more. Something aching to be touched, something that makes your pulse go faster, your breathing deeper.
So your hand starts moving—slow strokes over your damp panties. Your cheeks burn as the first waves of pleasure stir beneath your skin, soft and startling.
It feels good.
Too good.
A spark flares, sharp and sweet, and for a moment you think—maybe this is it. This is what your body wants. But it fades too fast. Dissolves before it can crest. You’re left with a pulse that won’t settle and a need that won’t quiet.
So you try again.
Stroking up and down. Left and right. Your body responds—hips shifting, breath catching. It’s good. More than good. But it’s not enough. Like trying to drink from a glass that’s just out of reach. You taste it, but you’re still thirsty. Your breath comes out in sharp waves and your hand moves faster, chasing something that’s there something you are not quite sure how to reach.
But you fail. The burning sensation on your cheeks grow, and you’re breathless when you let your hand fall.
You shift again, restless. Your thighs press together, trying to chase that feeling. Your gaze drifts across the bed, landing on the pillow near your hip. You hesitate. Then, slowly, you pull it between your legs, the fabric cool against your skin and the now, more dampened fabric.
You close your eyes, hips rocking against that feeling.
You don’t know what you’re doing—only that it feels good. You sit up, straddling it. The pillow is soft beneath you, and your hips begin to move faster without permission. You bury your face in the sheets, breath catching, heart pounding.
And somewhere in the dark, his name flickers on your tongue.
Joel stands at the kitchen sink, cleaning the dishes from the pasta. He should’ve gone to bed by now, leave all of that and just relax. But something’s keeping him up—a restlessness in his chest he can’t shake. If it’s guilt, or love—he can’t decide.
He thinks of you. The way you looked at him tonight, the way your eyes peaked from behind the counter. The way you wrapped your arms around him like he is the only person that can save you.
He runs a hand down his face, exhales slow. “Get a grip,” he mutters to himself. “She’s just a kid.”
Still, it lingers. He folds the same dish towel twice. Stares out the window like it might give him answers.
And when he finally heads to the hallway, to wash his face, put on his something more comfortable—he hears it.
Upstairs, Joel freezes.
He’s halfway to his bedroom when he hears it—your voice, muffled but clear, calling his name in a tone that makes his stomach twist. It’s not loud, but it’s enough. Enough to make his heart lurch.
He doesn’t think. Just moves.
Two long strides and he’s at your door, pushing it open with a sharp breath.
“Baby?” he calls, voice tight with worry. “You okay—”
Then he sees you.
You’re on your knees, straddling the pillow, frozen mid-motion. Your breath catches. Your eyes go wide. Your mouth is parted, lips swollen, cheeks flushed a deep, blooming pink.
Joel stops dead in his tracks.
His heart drops straight into his boots.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, voice low and stunned. He turns his head, suddenly aware of what he’s walked into. “Sorry, I— I didn’t mean to barge in like that.”
But then you say it again.
“Joel,” you breathe, voice trembling, needy. “Please.”
He doesn’t know what you’re asking for. Doesn’t know if you know. But the sound of it—the way you say his name like it’s the only word you’ve got left—hits him like a punch to the chest.
His cheeks flush hard. His hands find his hips, like he needs something to hold onto.
“Gosh,” he says, voice rough. “The hell are ya doin’, bug?”
He doesn’t even know why he asks. He sees it. Clear as day. But his brain’s still catching up to his heart, and his heart’s caught somewhere between panic and something he doesn’t dare name.
You sink down on the pillow slowly, heart pounding, shame already rising in your throat. “I… I can’t help myself,” you whisper, voice thin and breathless. “I’m sorry.”
His eyes flick back to you, going soft. “S’alright,” he says, voice low. “I’ll just—”
“Will you help me?”
The words tumble out before you can even stop them.
Joel freezes. Really freezes. His whole body goes still, like the air’s been knocked out of him. He looks at you, disbelief written on his face, and something shifts. His mouth parts, but no sound comes out. He’s searching for words and finding none.
“I don’t know what I’m doing…” you whimper, voice cracking. “I just—I don’t know how to make it stop.”
Joel’s hands fall from his hips. He rubs his forehead, dragging his palm down his face like he’s trying to wake himself up from a dream.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes. “Nah. Not happening.“
“Please, Joel.”
He shakes his head, backing towards the door. “No, baby. I— I can’t. You can just… do whatever you need. I’ll leave ya alone.”
He turns, hand on the doorknob, already halfway out.
And then you say it.
“It hurts…”
Just two words. Barely a whisper. But they hit him like a bullet.
Joel stops.
His jaw clenches. His eyes squeeze shut. He curses under his breath—not at you, god, never at you—but at himself. At the way his heart twists. At the way his body responds, his cock wakes up in his pants. At the way he wants to help you, even while he knows he shouldn’t.
So, he turns back around.
Steps into the room again, slow and quiet. He walks awkwardly and sits down besides you, careful not to touch.
His eyes land on your flushed skin, sweat on your forehead, the way your hands are gripping the pillow as if it’s going to run away from you. And then the small wet spot you left—on his pillow. His. Joel’s head turns into mush.
“W-what do ya want me to do, bug?” he asks, voice almost broken.
You should be embarrassed. You should be hiding your face, pretending it didn’t happen. You shouldn’t be asking him for help. But you don’t feel shame anymore. Because it’s Joel. And with him, you don’t feel ashamed. You feel safe.
You look at him, eyes glassy, lips parted. “Touch me.”
Joel flinches. His jaw tightens. He shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut. “God, baby… it ain’t right to do things like that when you’re visitin’ someone.”
He rubs his face, voice cracking. “You’re young. You’re hurtin’. And I’m supposed to be takin’ care of you, not—” He stops himself, breath shaky. “Not this.”
You look at him, heart breaking a little, eyes wide and wet, voice barely a whisper. “But you said you would help me with anything.”
Joel freezes. That line hits him like a punch in the ribs. And he swallows hard, jaw clenched, eyes flicking away. “I did,” he murmurs. “I did say that.”
Why did he have to say that, for fuck sake.
He rubs his palms together, like he’s trying to scrub the guilt off of his skin. “Didn’t think it’d be this, bun. Didn’t think you’d be askin’ me for somethin’ like this.”
Silence stretches between you two. His eyes on you. On your skin. On your dress that’s hitched up. And on the small bit of your underwear that he can see. He lets out a shaky breath, seeing the way the fabric is completely soaked. He huffs, soft and low.
“Y’really are needy, aren’t you, huh?” His voice is deep, but soft.
You nod your head silently, shifting your hips to show him the mess you made. He swallows, muttering something under his breath that comes close to “christ.”
“Ain’t gonna touch you,” he says, finally. “But you can listen to my voice, yeah? Let me take care of you like that.”
You blink at him, confused. Lips parted, brows drawn.
Joel sees it immediately—sees the flicker of doubt, the question in your eyes—and his heart damn near cracks. He knows you’re just needy, just desperate to feel something. And he feels like a real bad man for denying you.
“I just…” he starts, then stops. Rubs a hand over his mouth. “I don’t wanna mess this up, bun.”
You tilt your head, still quiet. Still waiting. Like a cat.
“You’re all soft right now, all sweet. All needy.” he rambles, “and I know you trust me. I know you feel safe. And I ain’t gonna take that and twist it.”
He shifts, nervous. His hands twitch like they want to reach for you—but fhey don’t. They can’t.
“So I’m gonna talk you through it. Just my voice. You’ll still feel good. I promise. But this way… you’ll know I ain’t just takin’ advantage.”
You nod, slow, understanding what he is trying to say. You see it in his eyes, guilt written on them. You don’t want to make him feel bad. So, the tension in your shoulders eases, and you trust Joel to make the ache go away.
“Okay,” you whisper. Joel exhales, shaky and repeats: “Okay.”
“Alright then,” he murmurs. “Do what you were doing before I came into the room.”
You hesitate, eyes flicking to his. He nods, just once. “Go on. I’m right here.”
He shifts where he’s sitting, his body turning towards you. Now, his whole attention is on you.
So you move—just like before. Still unsure, still not a damn clue what you’re doing. Your hips begin to buck in that familiar rhythm, slow and searching. A soft whine slips from your lips as the now cool, damp pillow brushes against your aching heat. The sensation is new, startling, and you want to chase it.
You glance at him, eyes wide, waiting.
He sees it—the unsureness in your gaze. The need. And his voice comes low, steady, like a hand on your spine. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Just like that. You’re doin’ good. So damn good.”
You inhale sharply. The words settle over your skin. You hadn’t expected it to feel like this—how his voice alone could make your body respond, how praise could feel like touch. You move again, tentative. His voice follows you, steadying.
“Go slow, baby. No rush. Let yourself feel it.”
Each slow grind of your hips draws a quiet squeak from the mattress, rhythmic and raw. Your breath stutters, a whine escapes your mouth.
He hears it, so his voice dips lower. “You’re so beautiful like this. So sweet. Look at you.”
And Joel feels guilt in his chest rising from the words that leave his mouth. He swallows hard, jaw clenched. His voice is steady, but his hands are clenched into fists at his sides, like he’s holding himself back from reaching for you.
You glance at him, always. Only at him, awaiting something. Cheeks flushed, lips bitten bloody.
He gives you a nod, eyes warm but careful—not trying to let you see the guilt. “Keep goin’. I’m right here, bun.”
You move faster, shaky, needy, guided by his voice.
The tension starts to build, hips stammering in that rhythm he coaxed from you with nothing but words. You’re right there, teetering, the edge rising up to meet you—
And then it’s gone.
The pressure breaks, not into release, but into absence. A gasp tears from your throat, sharp and helpless. You freeze, blinking hard, chest heaving.
Frustration prickles at your skin.
“I—I can’t,” you whisper, voice cracking. “It’s not working.”
Joel’s jaw tightens, he sees the frustration. Sees the way your hips messily buck, your chest rising up and down quickly.
“I wanted to,” you whisper. “I really tried.”
He nods, brushing a hand down his face, like he’s trying to steady himself. Then, quieter: “I know. I saw you.”
Your breath hitches, frustration bubbling up in your chest. You blink fast, trying to swallow it down, but the words slip out before you can stop them.
“I—I never did it.”
Joel stills. His brow furrows. “What?”
You look away, cheeks burning.
“Touched myself I mean,” you whisper. “I tried before, but… I don’t have any privacy in that goddamn house. Someone’s always around. I never—” You shake your head, voice cracking. “I never got there.”
Joel’s face softens. He nods, slow and quiet, like he’s piecing it all together.
“That’s why you’re so worked up, huh?”
You nod, eyes downcast, lips trembling. You feel embarrassed for making such a scene tonight—keeping him up, begging him to touch you. But you don’t know any better. You don’t have anyone else.
He hesitates, then shifts closer, voice low and careful. “Can I… can I try somethin’ else?”
You look up, confused. He swallows hard.
“Still not gonna—” He stops, starts again. “Still not gonna take more than you give me. But maybe if I just…”
He lifts his hands, palms open, hovering over your hips.
“Just here,” he says. “My hands. That’s all. I’ll guide you. Help you move. Nothin’ more.”
You whisper, “please,” and reach for him without hesitation, your fingers curling around his hands like you need him to stay grounded. Joel exhales hard by your reaction, as if the wind’s been knocked out of him. His hands settle on your hips, warm and trembling.
“Fuck,” he mutters, voice thick. “You’re going to fuckin’ ruin me, bug.”
You blink up at him, breath catching, feeling the throbbing get worse now that his hands are on you.
He shakes his head, eyes locked on yours. “Always fuckin’ using those eyes on me,” he murmurs. “Always knowin’ you get what you ask for, don’t you?”
You blink up at him, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you squeeze his hands.
“I just look at you.”
Joel huffs a breath, something like a laugh but heavier. “’Course you do, baby.”
His gaze drops, catches on the slow, unconscious roll of your hips on the pillow—like your body’s still chasing the rhythm, even if your mind hasn’t caught up.
He swears under his breath, voice thick.
“C’mon then,” he says, shifting closer, hands squeezing gently on your hips. “Let’s get you there.”
You start moving your hips again, while Joel’s hands guide you, slow and sure now, his voice a low hum in your ear. And every time you falter, his grip reminds you: he’s here. He’s watching. He wants this for you.
And somehow, that makes it easier. Makes it deeper.
The friction is good, but it’s his hands that make you tremble. His hands that coax the heat higher. His hands that tell you it’s safe to fall apart.
“There we go,” he murmurs. “Movin’ so good for me.”
You whimper, chasing that edge again, feeling it coming closer and closer. He leans in, lips brushing over your cheek.
“Sweet little thing,” he breathes, “So fuckin’ good for me.”
Something in you breaks open at that—soft and aching. You can’t help it. You lean forward, forehead pressing to his shoulder, breath hot against his neck.
Joel stills, just for a second. Then his hands tighten firmer on your hips.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “You rest right there, baby. I got you.”
You nod against him, breath trembling. He keeps talking, voice low and steady, every word a touch. You feel more wetness soaking the pillow, more mess forming between your legs. And he notices it.
“Didn’t know you had all that in you, honey bun.”
You bury your face further into his neck, heat rushing to your cheeks. You don’t say anything—can’t. Your body’s trembling, and his words only make it worse. Or better. You’re not sure anymore.
And he also notices the way your hips go faster, the way your thighs clench, the way your breath hitches.
“You’re shaking, baby. You gonna make another mess for me?”
And it hits you right in the chest. You whimper, barely, and lift your head. Your eyes meet his—wide, glassy, desperate. You nod. Just once. Small. Needy. Like you’re asking permission and giving it all at once.
Joel groans, his hands tightening on your hips.
“You’re doin’ so good. So proud of you. Let it come, bun. Let it take you.”
“J-joel.” You whimper out.
“M’right here. M’right here, baby.” He whispers, gently squeezing your hips and moving you against the pillow faster.
“I think—it’s coming, Joel.” You whimper, breathless.
Joel nods, his hands guide you on the pillow with a steady, fast rhythm, with the right amount of pleasure. You fall back to his neck, releasing a hiccup, hands holding down on the sheets, feeling that coil in your tummy finally about to snap and then—
…It’s gone again.
You freeze, breath caught in your throat, eyes wide with disbelief. Your face stays buried in his neck, hot with frustration, your breath hitching in little gasps.
“It’s gone.” you whisper, voice cracking.
Joel holds you tighter, one hand smoothing slow circles down your back. He doesn’t say anything at first—just breathes with you, steady and warm.
“What am I gonna do with you, bug, huh?” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.
You lift your head, eyes glassy, almost crying lips parted.
“Please,” you whisper. “Do something. I don’t care what. Just… please.”
Joel’s jaw flexes. He looks at you, then away, scanning the room like he’s searching for an answer. That’s when his eyes land on the mirror. On the long, full-lengthed one, leaning against the wall. He stares at it for a beat, then huffs a breath.
“Your father’s gonna kill me,” he mutters.
You blink, trying to figure out what he is thinking. “No,” you say, voice trembling but sure. “You’re stronger than him.”
Joel lets out a low, humorless chuckle. “You got no idea what you’re sayin’, baby.”
Then, you put your hand on top of his again, squeezing gently. “I do. I trust you.”
Joel’s mind spins with possibilities—how this idea could play out, how it might shift the shape of your relationship, how it could make him look like something he’s not. Like he’s crossing a line. Like he might ruin you. He looks at you for a long moment, searching. Then he nods. Slow. Decisive.
“Alright,” he says, voice almost broken. “Let’s try somethin’ different.”
He stands up, the bed dipping as he rises. Then he turns, reaches a hand out to you.
“Let me show you somethin’.”
You blink up at him, confused, but you take his hand. He pulls you up slowly, the pillow that just sat between your legs, now completely wet and ruined laying there in the corner. He steadies you when your knees wobble, and pulls down your dress again.
Together, you walk across the room, his hand warm around yours. The mirror looms ahead—tall, full-length, catching your reflection in the dim light.
He steps behind you, his hands resting on your hips. You meet his eyes in the mirror.
“You trust me?” he asks.
You nod, almost too quickly. Because you do. You trust him with everything you have.
He leans in, lips brushing your ear.
“Then let me see you, baby.” A shiver runs down your spine. “Can I take your panties off?”
Your breath catches. No one’s ever asked you that before. No one’s ever seen what lies behind the fabric.
And for a second, you freeze. Not because you don’t want it—but because it’s him. Because it’s real. Because this isn’t about being used. It’s about being seen. Because you trust him.
You nod. Slow. Careful. Then whisper, “Okay.”
Joel nods, pushing your dress up and hooking into the waistband of your panties, slow and deliberate. He kneels as he draws them down your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours in the glass.
His eyes land on your pussy, and he licks his lips without even noticing.
“There she is,” he murmurs. “So god damn pretty.”
You let out a shaky laugh, burying your face in your hands. “Joel…”
“What?” he says, looking up and grinning. “I’m just tellin’ the truth.”
You peek down at him through your fingers, cheeks burning, but your cunt still pulses. Still asking. Still open for him.
“Sit,” he says softly, guiding you down.
You lower yourself onto the floor, the plush rug cool against your thighs. Joel kneels behind you, his presence a wall of heat at your back. Then he shifts, legs sliding out on either side of yours, bracketing you in.
You’re nestled between his thighs now, your back against his chest, his arms resting loosely around your waist.
He leans in, his voice a low murmur against your ear.
“There we go. You okay?”
You nod, breath catching, looking at yourself in the mirror.
Then, with slow hands, he reaches down, his palms gliding over your thighs. He nudges your knees apart, spreading you gently until your legs rest over his.
“Just like that,” he says. “Let me hold you open.”
You glance at the mirror, at your swollen pussy, then to Joel. Your cheeks flush, but you don’t look away. Not this time.
“I don’t want you to just feel it. I want you to watch how your body moves. Watch how it wants this. You ain’t broken, bug. You’re just learnin’.”
You nod, but your voice is small. “I don’t even know where to touch.”
Joel’s hands settle on your thighs, grounding you. He leans in, his voice a low hum in your ear. “Then I’ll show you, baby. Just once. So you know where to start.”
Joel’s hand hovers just above your center, not touching yet.
“Before we get there,” he murmurs, “you gotta learn how to tease yourself. Build it up slow. That’s how you make it last.”
“I know you’re already worked up with two ruined orgasms…” his eyes softly find yours in the mirror. “But I want you to also learn it for other times, yea?”
You nod before you even realize it, breath catching in your throat. You don’t fully understand what he means—not quite yet—but you trust him. You trust that whatever he’s teaching you, it’s not just about your body. It’s about you.
“Okay,” you whisper, voice shaking. “I’ll try.”
He smiles, just a little. “That’s my bun.”
And when his hands return to your hips, guiding you again, you let go of the fear. You let him lead. You let yourself feel. He brushes his fingers along the inside of your thigh, featherlight. You shiver.
“Start here,” he says. “Skin’s soft. Sensitive. You touch yourself here, you’re tellin’ your body what’s comin’.”
He drags his fingertips up, tracing the curve of your thigh, then across your hip, your lower belly.
“Then here,” he whispers. “Your mound. Just a little pressure. Not too much. You’re not tryin’ to rush it—you’re sayin hello.”
You watch in the mirror, mesmerized by the way his hands move, by the way your body responds.
“You feel that?” he asks, his palm resting just above your center. “That heat?”
You nod, lips parted.
“Good,” he says. “Now we go lower.”
His fingers dip between your folds, still avoiding your clit, just gliding through the slickness there.
Joel’s fingers glide through your slick, slow and deliberate. He doesn’t rush—just lets himself feel you, lets you feel it.
He groans, low and wrecked.
“Goddamn, baby…” he murmurs. “You’re soaked.”
You squirm, cheeks burning, but you don’t look away. Not this time. You watch how his big fingers explore your cunt, how the pleasure feels tingly.
He pulls his fingers back, glistening with your arousal. Then, without a word, he brings them to your mouth.
“Open,” he says, voice rough.
You do. Lips parting, breath trembling. He slides his fingers past them, slow, letting you taste yourself.
His eyes stay locked on yours in the mirror.
“Tastes sweet?” he asks, voice low and wrecked.
You nod, your heart beating faster, your tongue curling around his fingers. His fingers are big, and you need quite a while until you suck your arousal off.
He groans, deep in his chest. “Good.”
Joel watches you suck his fingers, slow and shy, your tongue curling around the taste of yourself. His breath is ragged behind you, chest rising and falling against your back.
Then, he pulls his fingers free again, slick and warm, and you gasp like you’ve lost something.
Suddenly, he pulls away from you and mutters, almost to himself: “Hang on.”
He reaches for his glasses tucked into the collar of his shirt. Slips them on with one hand, slow and deliberate. You catch his reflection in the mirror—the way his eyes narrow behind the lenses, the way his jaw tightens.
“There,” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked. “Now I can see exactly where she is.”
His hand slides down, slow and deliberate, until his fingers hover just above where you ache. Then, just when you least expect it; his fingers part you gently. The cold air meeting your slick coated cunt.
You shift in front of the mirror, thighs trembling, eyes flicking up to meet his in the glass.
“See this right here?” He taps on the little nub once, featherlight. You jolt. “That’s your clit, baby. That’s where all that ache’s comin’ from.”
“This little thing’s what makes you fall apart. You ever touched it like this before?” he asks.
You shake your head, quietly, your cheeks flushed.
“That’s alright,” he taps on your little clit again. “You feel that? That little twitch? That’s your body beggin’ for more.”
A gasp leaves your mouth when he gives you one rub. You squeeze your eyes shut, your head falling back against his chest. And suddenly, Joel lands a spank on your thigh making you jolt against him and open your eyes wide. “Keep your eyes on the mirror. I want you to see what I see.”
His hand smoothes over the spot. “Easy bug,” he murmurs. “Didn’t mean to scare ya. Just want you here with me.”
His hand stays steady between your thighs, fingers gliding through your slick, slow and reverent. You’re trembling, breath shallow, eyes locked on the mirror like he told you.
Joel’s voice is low, almost hypnotic.
“Slow circles,” he murmurs, brushing over your clit with the lightest touch. “Not too fast. Not too hard.”
You twitch, hips jerking, but he holds you still.
“Just like this,” he says again, rubbing in a lazy rhythm. “Slow circles. That’s how she likes it.”
You whimper, your head falling back again on his shoulder. You feel the pleasure in your tummy slowly building—just from feeling his middle finger on top of your clit. And he doesn’t stop.
“There she is” he whispers. “All swollen and pulsing.”
He keeps rubbing, patient and precise, and your body starts to melt into his.
“She’s real sensitive,” he says. “You rush her, she’ll shut down. But you take your time…”
He presses just a little firmer, and you gasp.
“That’s it,” he breathes. “That’s the spot. You keep her there, she’ll take you all the way.”
His fingers never stop moving, and his voice keeps repeating, grounding you in the rhythm.
“Slow circles. Soft pressure. Let her talk to you.”
Joel’s fingers keep working you in slow, deliberate circles, never rushing, never faltering. The pleasure builds like a storm, tight and trembling in your belly. Your thighs are shaking, your breath coming in ragged gasps.
You can’t hold it in anymore.
“Joel,” you whine, the sound broken, desperate. “I—please—”
He stills. Just like that.
You cry out, hips jerking, chasing the friction he’s stolen. But his hand stays still, warm and maddening between your legs.
He leans in, “Now you continue,” he says. “Let me see if you listened.”
You blink, dazed, your whole body buzzing.
“Wha—?”
He guides your hand down, curling your fingers over your clit, still slick from his touch.
“You’re so close, baby,” he murmurs. “Don’t stop now. Show me you remember.”
Your hand trembles, but you start to move, mimicking the slow circles he taught you. Your breath catches. It’s not the same as his touch—but it’s yours. And it’s working.
Joel watches you in the mirror, his hands resting on your thighs, grounding you.
“That’s it,” he says, voice thick. “Look at you. So fuckin’ pretty like this. Wrecked and tryin’ so hard.”
You whimper again, your body arching, chasing the edge he left you on.
“Keep goin’,” he whispers. “You’re almost there.”
Joels hand circle your thigh and before you even notice it, his other hand is gently rubbing on your nipple over the fabric. You gasp, trying to keep the rhythm of the circles on your clit, but it’s hard to do when you feel his hands and his gaze watching you.
Your breath stutters. Your legs shake. Your vision blurs.
“Joel,” you gasp, voice breaking. “I—I think—”
And then it hits.
Your body arches, a cry tearing from your throat as the orgasm crashes over you—sharp and deep and endless. You collapse back against him, your whole body trembling, your hand falling away from your center.
Joel catches you, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you close. A hand sneaks down to cup your cunt, pressing his palm on your clit to make you ride out your orgasm. You bury your face in his shoulder, breath ragged, heart pounding.
“There you go,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “That’s it, baby. You did so good.”
You whimper, still shaking, overwhelmed. Your first orgasm.
“Shh,” he soothes, rocking you gently. “I got you. I got you.”
He presses a kiss to your hair, his voice warm. He slowly removes his hand, making sure that the throbbing slowly fades away.
“First one always hits hard,” he says. “You held on so long. Now you let it out, bun. You earned that.”
You’re still trembling, your body boneless and warm, your breath slowing in Joel’s arms. He doesn’t rush you. Just holds you there, your back pressed to his chest, his hands gentle on your thighs.
One of them drifts up to your waist, rubbing slow, soothing circles into your skin. The other stays low, massaging the sore muscles of your inner thigh, where you’d tensed so hard.
You melt into him, your head resting on his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed.
“Did so good,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “So proud of you, bug.”
You hum, barely awake, your voice a sleepy whisper. “Thank you.”
Joel smiles, soft and warm.
“’Course, baby,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Ain’t nothin’ I wouldn’t do for you.”
You sigh, content, your fingers curling around his wrist where it rests on your belly.
For a while, there’s nothing but the sound of your breathing, the weight of his arms, and the quiet hum of something new blooming between you.
And then your voice comes out, soft and sweet, but bold.
“Now I want one from you.”
He stills, breath catching. Joel looks at you in the mirror, searching for your eyes. Then a low chuckle rumbles in his chest.
“That so?” he says, voice rough with restraint. “You really bringin’ me to my limits today, aren’t you, bug?”
You smile into the mirror, still dazed, still glowing. Joel’s always been careful. Too careful. He’s guided you, watched you, whispered praise—but never let himself touch you the way you crave. And you understands why. You know he’s afraid of taking too much, of being too much.
“You said you’d do anything for me,” you whisper, the words soft but sure.
Joel groans, tipping his head back with a quiet curse.
“Y’gonna always play that card now?” he mutters, but there’s no heat in it. Just awe. Just surrender. So, this time—Joel does not argue, he doesn’t let guilt take over him. His fingers find their way down, on your clit and resume their slow, sweet rhythm, just like before. You twitch beneath his touch, still sensitive, still trembling.
“You still sensitive, hm?” he murmurs, watching your body react, watching your eyes flutter in the mirror.
He spreads your pussy lips, creating a v-shape with his fingers. Your cheeks flush again, looking at your aching cunt—your hole clenching.
“So fuckin’ sweet,” he murmurs, then goes back to rubbing your clit.
But you wonder. What does it feel like? When something is inside, when the pleasure comes from there instead of your clit. And then you wonder: how would his big fingers feel in you, and you can’t help but arch your back, a whine escaping from your throat.
“Inside.” You mumble out before you can stop yourself.
Joel stills, his breath catching. His eyes flick to yours in the mirror, dark and steady.
“You want it inside?” he asks, voice low, reverent.
You nod again, cheeks flushed, body aching.
Joel leans in, lips brushing your ear.
“You sure, baby?” he asks, “It might hurt a little. First time always does.”
Your breath stutters. You hadn’t thought about that. Not really. But you nod anyway. Because it’s him. Because you want to learn. Because you want it to be him who teaches you.
Joel leans in, lips brushing your shoulder.
“I’ll go slow,” he murmurs. “Real slow. You tell me if it’s too much, yeah?”
You nod again, more certain this time. Your body aches, but your heart is louder—beating with trust, with want, with the quiet hope that this will be different. That he will be different.
He nudges his middle finger against your opening, and your breath hitches.
“Relax for me, bun.” He gently coaxes. “I wanna feel you take me in soft.”
You try to breathe, slow and deep, but your body’s tight—nerves coiled, thighs trembling. You’ve never done this before. Never let anyone in.
But Joel’s voice is there, smooth, wrapping around you like a blanket. “That’s it, baby. Just breathe. You’re doin’ so good.”
His finger presses again, gentle but sure, and this time your body yields—just a little. Just enough.
It’s strange at first. Not painful, not really. Just… full. New.
You gasp, eyes fluttering shut, but Joel’s hand is on your hip, grounding you.
“You okay?” he murmurs, still. Waiting.
You nod, breath shaky. “Yeah. Just… it feels weird.”
“First time always does,” he says, voice warm. “But you’re takin’ me so well, bun. So fuckin’ sweet for me.”
And with that, he eases in a little more, slow and careful, watching your face in the mirror the whole time. When his whole finger is in, he hums.
“Tight little thing, aren’t you?” Kissing your temple, he presses in just a little deeper, slow and careful. “You’re makin’ it real hard not to lose my mind here, bun. You feel what you’re doin’ to me?”
Your body jolts when he curls his finger just right, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat before you can stop it. Your thighs twitch, your breath stutters, and your eyes fly open—wide, startled, overwhelmed.
Joel’s watching you in the mirror, gaze dark and steady, lips parted like he felt it too.
“There,” he murmurs, voice thick. “That little spot right there?”
He presses again, slow, and your hips buck before you can stop them.
“That’s your G-spot, bun.” He kisses your temple again, his free hand stroking your side. “Feels good, don’t it?”
You nod, breathless.
Joel’s fingers start working you slow and sweet, in and out while rubbing your clit with his thumb. Your body trembles, your breath catching with every stroke. You’re close again, the pleasure building fast, and you can’t hold it in.
Your body arches into him, still trembling, still so sensitive. The second wave is building fast—hotter, sharper, like your body’s been waiting for this all along.
His voice right at your ear. “That’s it, baby. Let me take care of you.”
You whimper, your hips rolling into his hand, chasing every stroke.
“You’re gonna soak my hand, aren’t you? Gonna make a mess all over me.”
You nod, breathless, your fingers digging into his thigh. You can’t even process all the dirty things he is saying into your ear. It feels like you’re floating.
“Please,” you whisper. “Don’t stop.”
His breath catches, and his hand stills for just a second—just long enough to feel the way you clench around him, desperate and trembling.
He murmurs, voice thick. “You beg so fuckin’ sweet.”
He curls his finger again, slow and deep, dragging it right over that spot that makes your thighs shake.
“Oh, bun… you’re right there, huh?” He asks, “So close I can feel it. You’re flutterin’ around me, squeezing me so tight. Cunt’s begging to come.”
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t rush. Just keeps that steady rhythm, dragging his finger over that spot again and again.
“Come on, baby. Let go for me. Wanna feel you make a mess on my hand.”
Your breath catches—then breaks. The pressure snaps, and you fall.
Your whole body seizes, thighs clamping around his wrist, a cry ripping from your throat as your orgasm crashes through you—hot, blinding, endless. Your cunt pulses against his finger, and wetness gushes out of you.
Joel holds you through it, one hand on your belly, the other still deep inside you, grounding you as you ride it out.
“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs. “So good. So fuckin’ good. You’re perfect. You hear me?”
You nod, tears slipping down your cheeks, your body limp and warm. He kisses your temple, his voice soft now, reverent.
“You did so good for me. My sweet girl.”
Slowly, carefully, he begins to ease his finger out. You whimper at the drag, the sudden emptiness making your body clench around nothing.
“Shh, I know,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. “You’re so so good.”
Joel wipes his finger on his jeans as you sag against him, your legs barely holding you up. He catches you without a word, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you back into his chest.
Your heart’s still racing, but his hands are warm, his voice soft, and you feel yourself start to come back—slowly, gently, safely.
You’ve never felt this way before. Not just the pleasure, but the after. The way he holds you like you’re something fragile and precious. Like he’s proud of you. Like he’s not going anywhere.
The room slowly begins to fill with silence, the kind that hums with everything unspoken.
And then you shift, just slightly, and feel it—wetness, warm and unexpected, seeping through the fabric of his jeans where you’re sitting in his lap.
You blink, dazed, and glance down. Then up. You turn around.
Joel’s face is flushed, his jaw tight, eyes flicking away like he’s been caught.
You tilt your head, lips parting. “Joel…?”
He exhales, low and rough, then meets your gaze.
“Couldn’t help myself, bun,” he murmurs, voice thick with something between awe and apology. “You—watchin’ you like that… callin’ out for me… I just—”
He shakes his head, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.
“You undid me.”
You blink, lips parting, and then something soft blooms in your chest. You reach up, cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing the stubble there.
“You came… just from me?” you whisper, wonder in your voice.
He nods, eyes searching yours.
“Yeah. Just from you.”
You smile, slow and sweet, your heart fluttering. You lean in, pressing your forehead to his.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” you whisper, and it’s not a joke—it’s the truth.
Joel lets out a shaky breath, his arms tightening around you.
“You’re somethin’ else, baby,” he murmurs. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”
You nuzzle into his neck, your voice barely a breath.
“I like that I can make you feel good too.”
He kisses your temple, ”You do. More than you know.”
Then he murmurs, voice low and a little rough: “C’mon, let’s get us both cleaned up.”
You nod, barely awake, but you don’t move. You just hum and nuzzle into his chest. Joel chuckles softly, his hand smoothing over your waist. Then, after a beat, he adds—almost shyly:
“And then… maybe you’d like to sleep in my bed tonight?”
You blink up at him, eyes soft, lips parting.
“Yeah,” you whisper. “I’d like that.”
Joel exhales, something easing in his chest. He presses a kiss to your temple, his voice low and steady.
“Good,” he murmurs. “’Cause I ain’t gonna let you go back to your father anyways.”
You look up at him, and he’s already watching you, jaw tight, eyes soft.
“You’re safe here,” he says. “With me. Always.”
PART TWO!
okey so this is HALF proofread…if you find mistakes or something doesn’t make sense, just ignore or let me know🥹 I feel like i’m using the word “like” too much…
Well anyways, i know this took a hot minute…i’ve been sick. forgive me pookies 😩 If you liked this, i’d love to hear your thoughts! Comments, messages, little keysmashes…i cherish all of it. you make it worth it 🫶🏻
Summary: Joel saves you from a creep at the bar. You repay him with how you see fit.
Word Count: 10.9k
Warnings: 18+. MDNI. P in V sex. Assplay. Age gap. Reader is in her 20s, Joel’s in his late 40s/50s. Reader is a teacher. Size difference. Slight dom/sub undertones. Dirty talk. Squirting. Panty sniffing. Choking. No Outbreak.
Banner: by @cursed-carmine
Authors Note: it has been a million and one years since I’ve written and i have never written for Joel before so be kind ! I would also love to practice writing drabbles bc this initially was supposed to be a drabble but I lost control lol. so send me and gnarly imagines you have about frank castle and joel miller (and fuck it even Arthur Morgan) and we’ll have a ball <3
ao3 link [coming soon]
Tequila has never been your friend.
The ritual of licking the grainy salt, shooting the shitty well tequila, immediately following with a soggy lime wedge usually led to a terrible burn in your belly and immediate regret— because once that tequila worked its magic, it usually led you and your burnt out group of teacher friends to order another round.
And then another, because fuck it you guys, we work with kids for a living! At least three of us here had a chair thrown at us this week!
And by the time the third round of that dark, shitty well tequila gets ordered, your brain is already becoming mush and you really don’t mind that your group is being the loudest in the small dive bar. In fact, you really don’t mind— especially when it catches the attention of the regulars who love to buy a group of pretty young girls their next round. A free drink is a free drink, and typically the men that hit on you and your girls know there ain’t a chance in hell any of you would give in to them. Sure, there are some that give it their all— “c’mon, my wife don’t got it any more”— or “give this ol’ man a chance, baby” — but typically with a bat of your lashes and the excuse of having a nonexistent boyfriend, they let up.
But that isn’t the case tonight.
Mike, you think is his name, can’t be younger than 50. He has a belly rounder than you’d ever seen and a nose as red as Rudolph’s. Surely, a sign of his drinking habits throughout the years. He’s bought the latest rounds of drinks after approaching your table, words already slurred and breath so horrifying you’re afraid that if he lit up a cigarette, his breath would catch fire.
But a free drink is a free drink, and your girls weren’t ready to tell him to kick rocks just yet.
You, however, were ready to tell him to fuck off.
It had been a long week. Between the usual troublemakers in your class and a surprise observation from your admin, your free time was being consumed by conference prep. Hours after school were being spent making copies, scheduling with parents, making sure the kids desks were neat… it was stressful.
And to top it all off, the fucker took it upon himself to plop his ass right next to you.
You know the type. He was probably on his third divorce, and spent a little too much time at the bar during his free time. It disgusts you to even think that this guy is probably thinking about what it would take to get you home.
With an arm slung around the back of your seat in the booth, he’s asking alllll about what it’s like to be a teacher these days. And much to your annoyance, your friends have begun not so secretly taking pictures—no doubt making it into the shared album by the morning.
“Now sweetheart,” Mike (or maybe Matt? You couldn’t keep it straight.) slurs, and your nose crinkles at the smell of the cheap beer on his breath. “M’tellin’ you. If had a teacher like you growin’ up—‘
God, there it was. Guys always think that line works, as if hearing it for the millionth time would finally land them on your roster.
“—Would’ve paid real close attention in class.”
Gag.
Your smile grows tight as you squirm towards the edge of the vinyl booth. “Alright!” You exclaim loudly. “With that note, m’gonna go get a Diet Coke. Somethin’ to wash the tequila down.”
“Baby I can go with ya—” Mike groans as he moves towards you, but you smile as sweetly as you can and cut him off before he can inch any closer.
“Jess, I’m sure Mike would love to hear about how that kid told you to fuck off last week.”
Mike snorts. “Names not Mike. S’Matt.”
“Matt, sorry.” You aren’t sorry. You’re already halfway to the bar as you say that.
Jess, who is the main instigator of the night out, is a social butterfly who isn’t scared of a damn thing. She can handle a few questions from Matt.
The Rusty Spur was usually packed tighter than a can of sardines, but tonight is bad. To your right is one bachelorette group cornered towards the end of the bar, sticking out like a sore thumb in their pink cowboy hats, multiple groups of guys dressed in business casual; shirtsleeves rolled up and collars unbuttoned—and to your left, at least a dozen frat boys hogging the pool tables, the scent of their cheap cologne making your lip curl in distaste.
And to your front, the line looks to be a million people deep. With a groan, you stretch to your tiptoes and attempt to look over the shoulders of the people in front of you. God, you just needed some Diet Coke to get rid of the taste of tequila out of your mouth and to clear your head. And to close out your tab, you suppose—your iPad and shower were singing their siren song to you right about now.
Given that you were currently more than a few drinks deep and growing more and more irritated by the lengthy line of tall frat boys, you rise to your tippy toes once again and tilt yourself to the left, attempting to get a look to see if any progress is being made to get to the bar.
God dammit, everyone is so tall!
Leaning juuuuuust a bit further left, another tall body rams itself into your side; and suddenly your center of gravity is just…gone. Your wedges fail you—you knew wedges were the wrong choice—and your body is falling faster than you can process.
“SHIT!”
Not only is your head pounding, but now your tailbone is pounding—and soaked in god knows what kind of liquid. With reddened cheeks, and tears of embarrassment forming in your eyes, you look up to see what asshole shoved into you; only to meet the eyes of fucking Mike.
Before you can push yourself off of the bar floor and tell him exactly where he can shove it, you feel a pair of hands grab onto your shoulders, gently lifting you up and onto your feet
“Hey, easy,” a voice says in your ear. Low, unbothered, with a slight drawl to his tone. Not slurred at all—unlike Mike who had been breathing down your neck for the last hour.
Slightly disoriented, you blink slowly; craning your neck to get a good look at the stranger, and your eyes lock on someone who is entirely unlike the other guys here. Not even close.
This boy… no… man… is tall. Broad, biceps being hugged perfectly by his t-shirt. Deep set wrinkles frame his eyes, but their deep chocolate shade is enough to momentarily make your tongue forget how to even form legible words. You’re pretty sure if you even tried to talk, nothing would come out. As if his eyes weren’t enough of a distraction, the scent of the bar was quickly replaced with a distinct aroma of wood pine and spearmint. It’s clear by the calluses on his palms and the slightly paint-stained shirt that read MILLER CONSTRUCTION, whoever he is, is a man.
If you hadn’t known any better, you’d think that your damn jaw was slack, drool pooling all around the two of you.
He’s still holding onto your elbow, unsure whether you’ll fall over again if he lets go of you. You’re sure you must look like a mess, but the stranger has an unreadable expression as he finally steps back, releasing his grip on your arm.
“You alright miss?” He reaches beside him to the bar, grabbing a napkin and politely handing it to you.
Texan, you think. Of fucking course.
“Mostly,” You grumble, accepting the napkin to wipe your hands. “This jackass won’t leave me and my friends alone. And now he just…”
You gesture to him, and the stranger rolls his eyes and turns his attention to Mike, who seems blissfully unaware that he just body slammed you to the ground. The stranger, whose expression remains unreadable, glances over at the perpetrator, visibly eyeing him up and down. If you had to guess, the stranger was thinking of a way to get this man kicked out of the bar.
“Matt.”
Mike turns suddenly, beer spilling over the sides of his pint glass—adding to the mess you had just landed on. His face of stupor quickly turns to a toothless grin as he recognizes the stranger who just pulled you up from the mess.
“Joel!” He instantly steps towards Joel, both arms wrapping around Joel's shoulders. From the way Joel tenses up as Mike slaps his back with one hand, it’s clear that Joel does not like him. “S’been a few weeks since ya been out, buddy!”
Joel gently, but with a firm movement pries his arms off his shoulders and takes a step back. “Has been, friend. You knocked this lady over.”
He says it evenly. With authority. He says it in a way that shows you that his moral compass wouldn’t allow this to happen on his watch, whether you were a stranger or not.
“Pssssh,” Matt breathes, waving a hand. “This….” He gestures to you, a look of disgust blooming in his eye, “bitch had it comin. Been buying her and her slutty friends drinks. Won’t even gimme a damn feel.”
As if things hadn’t gotten enough out of hand when you landed in dive bar liquids on a dirty hardwood floor, you’re now frozen in disbelief as this complete degenerate decides to insult you. And to a complete stranger—Joel—now involved.
If you weren’t red as a tomato before, you’re sure that now you’re going as red as a bad sunburn. If the fall hadn’t embarrassed you enough, now this fucker is really going for the gold.
That moral compass of his leads Joel to the most obvious next step. You watch half in horror and half in awe, as he takes two decisive steps forwards and grabs Matt by the collar, yanking him towards the door. Matt nearly topples over his own boots as Joel grabs him, a grunt escaping his lips. The pair brush past you as Joel easily pushes Matt towards the door.
Maybe it’s the tequila—but watching Joel move around a huge dude like Mike like it’s nothing—it’s really fucking hot. You’re moving with them before you even realize you’re walking.
“Time to go home, Matt.” Joel says evenly, giving him no other option but to follow. “We ain’t dealin’ with your shit for the rest of the night.”
Matt clearly isn’t happy as Joel escorts him out. “The FUCK, Miller?!”
Getting closer and closer to the door, the bouncer at the door sighs and stands when he notices the disruption. Clearly it’s not Matt's first rodeo with getting kicked out of a bar.
“Fuckin’ disrespectful is what you are,” Joel says flatly, shoving him towards the bouncer. “Matt’s at it again. Pushed the poor lady.”
“Shit man, one more time and you’re gettin’ 86’d from the Spur,” the bouncer groans, grabbing Matt by the arm. “Swear to god.”
The cool night air hits your face as a second bouncer swings the door open, following the pair outside to ensure that it’s handled. As the door swings back shut, your lungs deflate with a breath you didn’t notice you had been holding.
“Such a damn idiot,” Joel murmurs to himself, finally turning to you. His eyes dart down and up at you quickly; no doubt thinking about what a wreck you probably look like at the moment. “You okay?”
“Better,’” You reply, hiking your bag over your shoulder. “I—I—thank you. You didn’t have to do that. Joel, right?”
He nods, holding his hand out for you to shake. Those calluses on his palms once again meet your skin, sending a momentary spark down your spine.
“Yeah, Joel. And m’happy to. Matt’s been pullin’ shit like this for years. Ain’t funny nor cute.” He pulls his hand away, looking you over once again. The way he does it doesn’t feel like he’s checking you out; more like he’s looking to see if you’re hurt. “M’sorry about your skirt. I wouldn’t wanna know what’s been spilled on these floors.”
Your hands swipe the back pockets of your skirt; face turning to a wince when you feel the damp spot on your ass.
“It’s a good thing I own a washer and dryer, I guess.”
He huffs out a chuckle, the lines in his face deepening as he does so. You weren’t one to typically be enamored with someone older, but Joel is so… effortless. Soft, yet tough.
You introduce yourself, heart stopping for a moment as he repeats your name. Why does it sound so much better coming from him?
“I, uh, can I get you a beer?” You ask, thumb pointing to the bar. “You really didn’t have to—“
“—I’m okay, promise,” Joel interrupts, lip pulling into a small smile. “Like I said, Matt has been doin’ shit like that for a long time. Needs to learn his lesson.”
Just like Joel wouldn’t bend his moral compass, even for strangers, you weren’t going to back down now. Especially when the stranger who jumped in to defend you was hot.
“I don’t think m’gonna take no for an answer tonight.” You’re already taking out your card; feet moving you back towards the bar—the scene of the crime. “You had a Coors banquet, yeah?”
You’re half-expecting him to double down on his refusal and return to his seat at the bar, but to your surprise—he doesn’t.
“I did.” Joel replies, clearly amused by your forwardness. He follows you to the line, hands in his pockets as he does. Respectful. God, that’s such a turn on.
With the line beginning to thin out, you shift on your feet and look up at him. How did Joel know that asshole anyways? Asking him some questions wouldn’t hurt, especially since there’s still a line.
“How do you know Mike anyways?” You ask, tilting your head out of curiosity.
“Re-did his kitchen a while back for him and his wife. Was a pain in the ass then, still a pain in the ass now.”
“Wife, huh?” An amused laugh passes through your lips at the revelation. “Didn’t see a ring, and he definitely didn’t mention a wife.”
Stepping forward in tandem with you as the line moves, you note how he stands just close enough to hear you, but far enough to let you take the lead.
Joel shrugs nonchalantly. “And that doesn’t shock me either. Yourself and your friends are pretty. Sucks that he had to go and be an asshole about it, though.”
Pretty.
Joel thinks you’re pretty.
“Most guys are.” Another step forward to the bar. Not too far, now. Your inner monologue tells you to keep the conversation going, dammit! “So you do… residential construction?”
“Mostly residential, but we’ll take a few commercial gigs if it fits. My brother and I own the company together,” he explains easily. You’re just thankful that this stranger has either not noticed your flushed face, or is too nice to say anything about it. “It’s a good gig. What do you do?
Another step. One more person in front of you.
Keep it going.
Fiddling with your card in your hand, you answer, “I’m a teacher. Elementary.”
“That makes sense.” His brows raise with a smile, and he steps forward with you. “Where at?”
“I don’t tell people at bars,” You reply quickly, but mentally hitting yourself at the delivery. “I mean—I didn’t—“
“—No, I get it,” Joel laughs, raising his hands in mock defense. “You don’t know me, I don’t know you. M’sure you’ve had this conversation enough times to learn what to say, and what not to say. I don’t take any offense.”
You raise a brow as if you don’t believe him, and Joel’s small smile turns to a grin as he leans down a little, doubling down on his statement. Like he knew you needed the reassurance that he wasn’t offended by your evasiveness.
“Promise.”
There’s that wood pine and spearmint smell again, taking over your senses. Is this what pheromones are? If so, they’re working overtime to make sure you feel his presence.
The group in front of you at the bar leaves happily with their drinks, and you’re thankful for the quick respite to regain your bearings as you order Joel his Coors and your own Diet Coke. And to ensure that you don’t drink further and make even more of a fool of yourself, you close out your tab.
Sliding the receipt and pen towards the bartender, you turn to Joel who surprisingly is still here with you in line, nursing the cold beer. Surely that means he’s not done with you just yet—because simply, you were too taken with him to be done yet, either.
With a quick glance over your shoulder, your group has already had their attention shift to the pool table; where Jess was currently getting a lesson from a kid with a backwards hat and no doubt a zyn in his lower lip.
They’d be fine without you for a few minutes,.
“M’gonna get some air—“ You say casually, twirling your straw against the ice in your glass. Keep it cool.
“Maybe I should come with, ‘f you don’t mind,” Joel responds coolly. “Need a cigarette after that.”
Biting back a small smile, you lead the way through the crowd towards the back enterance—taking your phone out as you do, you tap Jess’s contact.
Going outside for some air, brb
It takes her less than a minute to answer.
Atta girl, don’t worry about us. We’re nearby
be safe <3
Tucking your phone into your purse, you hold the door open behind you for Joel; sighing as you feel the night air cool off your body from the bar. Breathing in a breath of air, you turn to see Joel claim a standing table, setting his beer down and digging in his back pocket for what he needs.
”Ah, there we go,” He exclaims softly, lighter emerging from his pocket. “I know these are bad for me but—Matt’s a real ass.”
Leaning against the table he’s chosen, you don’t even notice the small smile you’re giving him as he strikes up the lighter, cigarette between his lips.
”What’re you smiling about?” He asks, but not in a teasing way—it’s playful, making you flustered all the while.
”I just…I haven’t…” You pause and think for a moment. Why were you smiling? You could blame the tequila. You could blame your friends for dragging you out. Or, you could admit to yourself that Joel…this stranger, who is probably older than your dad, is—doing it for you.
After all, he had called you pretty.
Surely that meant he’d want to feel… whatever this was out with you.
”I’m just floored, I guess. That you helped me. Lotta people these days wouldn’t have even said a word.”
Joel lets the smoke spill from his lips smoothly as he listens to you. He’s no stranger to helping others—his parents raised him right—and normally, he would have just let you buy him a drink as a thank you and he would have returned to his seat after the exchange. No harm, no foul.
But Mike really was an ass. Shoving a pretty young thing like you, then to top it all off, mouthing off about being a bitch—he felt bad for you. But he noticed right away the twinkle in your eye when he helped you up. It wasn’t just thankfulness. It was something else.
Joel was 50. Back in his 20s, he knew how to talk to women. It felt like second nature—do a late shift at the auto shop, hit the bars with his buddies after. But as Joel had grown into fatherhood and owning a business, his priorities shifted and he didn’t go out as much.
Didn’t date as much.
And definitely didn’t check out women that could be his daughter.
Your lips closed around the straw and his eyes dart to the movement, watching how the gloss stains the rim of it. Part of him feels…dirty, noticing the plumpness of your lips.
The other part of him wonders what it would feel like elsewhere.
“I guess I’m floored, too.” Joel remarks, watching your reaction to his response. Joel isn’t a creep. He knows what this could look like to you if you weren’t into it—he just wants to test the waters and gauge your interest. Your brow furrows.
”Why?”
Bringing the cigarette back to his lips, his eyes don’t leave yours as he thinks carefully about his answer.
”Guess m’floored that your boyfriend didn’t intervene before I could.”
In that moment, you feel something pass between the two of you. Curiosity mixed with lust, maybe. Joel's eyes are still locked with yours as the smoke clears—so you can really look at him and he can really look at you.
It feels as if he’s staring straight into your soul.
”I don’t have a boyfriend.” It’s the truth, and he knows it too. You aren’t dumb. You know why he’s asking. Your eyes flicker down to his left hand, and a feeling of relief and glee spreads throughout you when you notice he doesn’t have a ring on his finger.
God. What have you come to? Checking for a man’s ring. And getting excited when he doesn’t have one? He’s old.
You reach out wordlessly to him. He chuckles and passes the cigarette to you and watches you intently as you inhale softly, flicking ash to the ground as you exhale.
“I’m shocked,” He answers finally, breaking the silence. “Pretty, young, a great career…” A pause, as you hand back his cigarette. You don’t miss the way his eyes flick to your mouth. “you’re a catch.”
If this wasn’t flirting, you had to be the dumbest girl on the planet.
Before you can think of a response to Joel, both of your attention goes to the door; where Jess and your group come bursting through, the pool table boys en suite. Jess is practically hanging off backwards hat boy, and the rest are no doubt ordering the uber back to their respective apartments.
As if the two of you were in sync, you both turn at the same time to look at each other; as if trying to convey that neither of you were ready for the night to end. And truth be told…you weren’t.
Neither was Joel.
Jess pries herself off of the guy when she finally spots you, mischievous grin on her face as she looks at the scene before her.
“Hey—you good?” She says brightly. You’re thankful for Jess. She has a way of checking in that doesn’t come off as rude. “We’re all gettin’ ready to leave—but m’going home with…” Her voice trails as she looks back at the guy she just walked out with, and Joel stifles a giggle as she attempts to recall his name. You smack her arm playfully and she laughs.
”Well I guess it doesn’t matter. I uh—“ She smiles with a laugh, looking at Joel, and then back at you. “—I don’t mean to interrupt things. But Sammy needs a ride home. And I’m assuming you do too?”
“Yeah,” you answer, shaking your head; attempting to come back from reality. “I can uh-order an uber for Sammy and I—“
Joel watches as you fumble with your words, and he decides that if the night isn’t going to end here…he’ll just come to your rescue.
Again.
He has a feeling you won’t complain.
“If everyone’s okay with it, I can drive 'em home.” Joel offers with a shrug, flicking the cigarette to the ground. Jess eyes him with that fierce, older sister look she loves to give. To that, Joel pulls out his wallet and slips his ID out, handing it to her without hesitation. As if saying to Jess, test me. “Go ahead. Take a picture.”
Jess’s mouth hangs open momentarily, before shutting just as quickly as it came. She yanks her phone out and snaps a photo, handing it back to him.
”Alright Joel. If my girls don’t report right back to me in the morning—“ She starts, and you giggle as you cut in.
”—You’ll kill him yourself. We got it, Jess.” Gesturing to her toy for the evening, you add, “get back to your boy. We got Sammy. Promise.”
Jess hugs you tight, eyeing Joel over your shoulder. He’s desperately trying not to laugh, and even you can tell that, and you’re not even looking at him.
“Okay…” She says as she pulls back, taking one last look at the two of you. “Be safe.”
You all know she’s not talking about the drive home.
Joel is wondering what he’s gotten himself into when Sammy gets in the car.
Sammy, a kindergarten teacher, as she slurred several times—was upset that she saw her ex at the bar with another girl. You, being the kind friend that you are, opt to sit in the back with her for the ten minute drive to her house, holding her hair back and wiping the tears off her cheeks; occasionally looking at the rear view mirror.
What draws you in about him is that he seems almost impossible to read. You can’t tell if he’s amused, unimpressed, or just focusing on the road. Either way, your eyes always seem to find those brown eyes of his whenever you look for them.
Pulling into Sammy’s driveway, Joel steps out of the truck and immediately goes to Sammy’s side of the car; helping you get Sammy on her feet.
“I just—ugh!” She whines, completely unaware that it’s taking two people to get her to the front door. “He’s such a fucking—jerk! I gave him EVERYTHING!”
“I know,” You reply empathetically, grunting under the weight. “But he’s dumb and you’re so much hotter, Sam. Where’re your keys?”
She pulls away from the two of you, swaying unevenly as she digs around in her purse. Looking back at Joel, you smile sympathetically and say “I’ll get here inside—won’t be more than five minutes. I promise.”
He nods, holding back a small smile. Poor girl, he thinks to himself as he walks back to the truck. Reminds me of my friends back in the day.
Sammy is nearly inconsolable when you finally unlock her door and get her in—between gentle words of advice and picking out pajamas, you’re itching to get back to Joel.
“Can you pleeeease call me in the morning?” Sammy sobs, pulling the sheets around her.
“Of course!” You promise, finally catching your breath as your hands go to your hips. All your mind is saying at the moment is JoelJoelJoelJoel. “I put water by your bed and ibuprofen next to it. Get some sleep, ok?”
Blubbering out, Sammy weakly sits up to add, ”But he’s such—“
“—LOVE YOU!”
Locking her front door, you take a moment to breathe. Your back meets the door and your eyes flutter shut. Your skirt currently smells like shitty beer, your makeup is more than likely completely rubbed off, and you have an unbelievably attractive man waiting for you by his truck.
You can do this.
One foot in front of the other.
Wedges clacking against the pavement, you curve around to the truck where Joel’s waiting—back leaning against the passenger side door, hands in his pocket.
“Is she normally that—much of a handful?” He asks, not moving from his spot by the door.
”Sometimes,” you chuckle. “Can’t really blame a girl. He was an asshole, after all.”
“No you can’t.” He lets out a low laugh and shrugs in agreement. “You live around here?”
”Yeah, just down the block. Not too far now.”
”Good,” He answers, slowly pulling himself off the truck. Your eyes don’t leave his as he steps towards you, his hand ever so carefully reaching for yours; thumb swiping against the skin of your knuckles. “Let’s get you home.”
Game on.
You’ve never been more thankful that you live close by to Sammy than you are at this exact moment.
All it takes is exactly five minutes and Joel’s pulling into your driveway—one hand on the wheel, his other in yours; toying with your fingers the entire way, enjoying the low hum of The Strokes.
Normally, you would have attempted to fill the silence with meaningless conversation; talking about anything and everything to calm your nerves about the potential of what was to come—but there is something easy about the silence with Joel. You don’t feel the need to prove yourself, or pull out any…stops.
You’re just… you.
Not a caricature of a fetishized teacher, not a perverted version of a woman a frat guy always dreamed of. It’s refreshing and almost freeing.
Joel kills the engine of the truck as he pulls in, the warmth of his hand leaving yours to do so—and momentarily, you catch yourself wanting to be selfish and reach back for him, chasing that safe and warm feeling he’s been unknowingly feeding you, since he lifted you up from the floor.
He doesn’t say anything as he exits his side, making his way towards you. You feel as if you can’t breathe as he opens up your door for you—frozen with lust or fascination, you’re not really quite sure just yet—a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he offers you his hand. All while not saying anything, yet conveying that he knows what you’re wanting, no, needing from him.
Your hand finds his and he helps you down, fingers lacing together seamlessly as you take the lead to your front door; the heavy steps of his boots following.
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.
You finally manage to make yourself break the silence as you climb the stairs to your door. He still hasn’t let go of your hand.
”S’me.” You hold up your keys, the sound of them jangling softly through the silence that’s been building between the two of you.
Joel doesn’t miss the way you haven’t even attempted to unlock the door. Just like at the bar, he isn’t ready to walk away from this. The flickering porch light is practically illuminating your face; lips still partially glossed from earlier, eyes twinkling with something he can’t quite place—desire? Curiosity?
Either way, Joel remains planted on the porch, thumb rubbing gently against your skin. The gears in his head are turning, and he thinks carefully before he finally speaks; those deep, brown eyes not leaving yours for a second.
“I uh, don’t do this—“ He gestures between the two of you, and you feel the heat flush your cheeks. “—Often.”
”I don’t either,” Your words come out more breathless than you intended them too, but you don’t care; not now.
He grimaces slightly, shaking his head.
”I trust that. But you—“ His hand leaves yours, but they move to brush down your bare arms, stopping at your elbows; electricity flowing in your skin as he does so. “—you are…you’re…”
“I’m…what?” You will your voice not to shake, but your feeble attempts don’t translate. Adrenaline seems to be pumping through you, your senses on overdrive as he’s still holding on to your elbows. His eyes still seem to be searching yours for something.
”Young.”
A beat of silence passes as you process his internal warfare—you hadn’t put much consideration to your respective ages; you, by definition, are young in comparison to him.
But that doesn’t mean that what he’s doing is bad.
By now your pulse is thrumming, and you force yourself to step forward—braving to be the one that makes the space between you smaller. You hear the way Joel’s breath hitches as you do so; your hands sliding up and over his forearms to his biceps.
”Joel…”
Now how was he supposed to walk away from this? Saying his name in that gentle voice of yours. How could he, when he felt the constriction of his jeans growing by the second?
“I—I don’t want you to go.”
Fuck.
Your hands keep travelling, the palms of your hands sliding to cup his cheeks in your hand. Even in wedges you could feel yourself leaning up on your tiptoes to try to be on his level; to make him really look at you. The rough scratch of his beard on your palms makes your breath quiver as his eyes don’t move away from yours.
”In fact,” you begin to say, letting your chest ever so gently press against his. “I want you to come inside.”
The audible breath that he lets out at your words tells you that he’s battling with his own self about your age; one half being the responsible part of himself, where he knows you’re better off with someone your own age, someone who could keep up with that libido every young person has.
The other half of him? The other half of him could only focus on how close your mouth was to his and how you could most definitely feel the hardness of his cock against your tummy.
You could tell that that half of him was close to winning—it just needs an extra nudge.
The hands that currently were cupping his cheeks brought them forward, ever so gently pressing his lips to his. It’s as if time stops, and the world around you stills as you register that he actually is kissing you back.
It lasts all but two seconds as you pull back a hair of a centimeter away, nose brushing against his as you gauge his reaction. All that can be heard is the gentle sounds of your breaths, and the hum of the porch light.
Joel’s eyes are still shut. He doesn’t say anything. Maybe you wildly misread his body language.
Just as thoughts of doubt begin to settle in and your body attempts to pull itself away from him—those big hands that pulled you off of the bar floor made its way to your waist and gave your body a gentle shove—your back meeting with the front door of your house. You would be embarrassed by the erotic gasp you made, but it’s really hard to care when a man like Joel is looking at you like he already knows how he’s going to take you.
”M’an old man,” His voice grits out, breath fanning against your face. “I ain’t exactly gentle—not when it comes to a pretty thing like you.”
“I don’t need you to be gentle,” You reply breathlessly, fingers digging into his shoulders. “I just want you.”
A beat passes as Joel searches your face. For what? You’re not entirely too sure— could be a second guess on your end, or searching for hesitation—any excuse he can give himself to walk away.
Another beat passes, and his grip on you tightens. Like the decision is final.
Your hesitation doesn’t come. And that’s enough for Joel.
His mouth is on yours before you can even think, that muscle in his mouth sliding eagerly against yours as his knee slides between your thighs; finding the part of you that causes your body to lurch in pleasure as he presses himself against your panties. A moan attempts to release itself, but it’s quickly swallowed as his hands slide around your hips to grab at your ass below your skirt. His palms are large enough to hold the cheeks of your ass whole, and the thought of that alone is enough to thoroughly dampen the cotton of your panties.
”Fuck,” The words barely come out as a gasp as you feebly attempt to dig your keys out of your jacket, mind becoming numb as Joel kneads the flesh in his palms. “Can’t find my keys—“
Joel moves before you can even finish your sentence.
Wordlessly, he quickly pulls himself from your body, knee falling from its position between your legs as his hands grip your waist and spin your body towards the door. God, were you really out of breath? The man has only groped you and you feel as if you’ve been edged for hours. His movements are quick and rough as he shoves his hand in your purse and quickly finds the keys, unlocking the door and pressing your body through the doorway. The wedges on your feet nearly cause you to become unbalanced as you spin back to look at the old man, and Joel is slamming the door shut, already making his way to you.
As if he was a predator going in for the kill.
“You’re fast,” you say—to him or yourself? You’re not too sure. An almost disbelieving smirk is plastered on your face as you take a step back, heart beating as he strides to breath the distance between the two of you. “I like that—“
Your words are swallowed by his mouth again, the stubble rubbing pleasantly against your skin as he groans into the kiss. Your hands wind themselves in his salt and pepper hair as his knees bend, lifting you with ease and encouraging your legs to wrap around his waist. An mmph escapes your throat as his teeth graze your lower lip, his biceps twitching as your nails dig into them.
“Bedroom?” He asks, his teeth dragging down your bottom lip. The look in his eye tells you that the man needs an answer now or he’ll take you on whatever flat surface is near—and won’t stop until you’ve both gotten your fill.
“Down the hall and to the left.” Your words come out more desperate than you’d have liked, but it’s hard to remain neutral when a man like Joel’s cock is hard against your core.
The heavy clump of his boots echo down the hallway as he strides in the direction you gave him, and luckily for you, you know for a fact you’re stocked on condoms.
With a swift kick of your door, Joel drops you on the bed without missing a beat of hesitation, watching you as you prop yourself up on your elbows; looking up at him through those long lashes of yours, as if saying, come on, ol’ man.
Tongue darting out to lick his lower lip, Joel takes a moment to really look at you.
That little skirt that caught his eye at the bar is now currently hiked up and under your ass, and Joel can catch a faint glimpse at the pink patch of fabric hiding between your thighs. Your breasts are rising up and down at a quick pace, matching your breath—as if you were attempting to predict what his next move might be. God, the fact that he can render you breathless shouldn’t turn him on… but it does. Oh, it does.
“Jesus, girl,” He mutters, taking a quiet step towards the edge of the bed. “You have no fuckin’ clue what you’re doin’ to me.”
Your thighs clench at his words, watching the way he sinks to his knees in front of you. His fingertips graze the skin of your calves and travel up past your knees, causing your stomach to tie itself in knots out of anticipation.
“You should show me,” the words come out as barely an exhale, but you don’t care. His fingertips cause a shiver to travel through your body as they reach your hips; pointer fingers digging into the band of your panties—pulling them downwards, ever so slightly. “Touch me, Joel, please.”
Instead of replying to your plea, Joel opts to press his lips against the crook of your knee, basking in the whimper you give him as he tugs the fabric down slowly. Joel might be an impatient man, but when it comes to giving, he could take hours if he so pleased. Letting his lips travel up and over your knee, your teeth dig into your lower lip as he carefully licks a line up the expanse of your inner thigh—stopping where your panties were stretched around your thighs.
“Lift up for me, baby.”
Really, it’s sick how quick you obey his command. Hips lifting, you nearly burst when he easily catches the fabric between his teeth and pulls.
When he tugs them down your legs and off your body, your eyes widen in awe at how he pulls them to his face, eyes fluttering shut as he brings them to his nose and inhales. Pulling them away from his face, he wads them in a ball and pockets them—as if it were a trophy.
Your hand runs through the soft curls of his hair as he does so, tilting his face up to look at you attempt to find the words capable of describing your arousal—but nothing comes.
You don’t need to say anything.
He knows what you want.
Joel leans forward, his right hand following the trail of his lips as his left slides up and over the arch of your body to grope one of your breasts firmly; allowing his lips to close around the bundle of nerves at your center.
He lets out a hum against your core, soaking up the way you let out a strangled gasp from low in your throat. Joel feels fucking high as he catches your pebbled nipple between his fingers, pinching ever so slightly as the tip of his tongue traces against your clit.
Sweeter than sin, he thinks to himself, finally allowing himself to pull his gaze away from you.
Flattening his tongue on your clit, his name falls from your lips like a prayer as he laps at you—letting the scruff of his facial hair scratch at the most sensitive parts of you.
”Joel,” You gasp sharply, back arching against his touch. His hand on your breast flattens and moves quickly to your lower stomach, pressing down—like he’s telling you to stop your squirming. “Fingers, please, God-“
He gives you a gruff mhmmm before sucking gently on your clit, letting his index and pointer fingers rub over the wet slick of your lips—ever so lightly letting them dip into you.
”Yeah?” He responds lowly to your moan of desire. “You wanna feel me inside of you, don’t you?”
“Please! Joel—please,” your words are a desperate plea. “I want it. Please.”
He sinks his digits in juuust enough to breach you, and it’s just enough to numb your mind. Joel’s lips curl into a pleased smirk as he keeps them there, memorizing the way your head tilts back and your pulse ripples through your neck.
”I want you to ask me real nice n’ pretty, baby,” He asks, the Texan drawl making it all the more erotic. “C’mon, ask.”
You’ve already asked. Joel is well aware of your desperate pleas, but a deep part of his ego is fed when you beg for him.
Tightening your grip on his hair, you give a feeble attempt to even your breath as you reply, “I need to cum, Joel. Please.”
And that’s good enough for him.
His digits sink fully into your sex as he envelops your sensitive clit, causing your already numb mind to completely shatter. The knot in your stomach that has been tied since the moment he kissed you has been pulled entirely too tight, body shaking and arching as his fingers move deftly against your walls. The soft squelch of your cunt around his digits are more than enough to make his dick fucking hurt in his jeans, and he knows that once you cum like this—he’s going to bury himself in you.
He’ll make sure you won’t forget it.
He’ll make sure you don’t forget him.
The tension in your body is too much, with every sensitive part of you being dominated by Joel. Your cunt, your body, your mind feels euphoric as you feel his fingers grow slicker with each thrust—and that knot that’s been forming snaps.
Joel groans in pleasure as he feels your walls tighten and tighten, and a hoarse laugh escapes his throat as your arousal drips off his chin and his fingers— a sign that he’s done his job. A sign that he’s done his job well.
Licking a line up your stomach, his rough hands are quick to yank your top off your body, mattress dipping under his heavy weight as his mouth finds yours. Joel groans into your mouth as you taste yourself on him, your shaking hands working to take his belt off. When the metal buckle hits the ground, Joel pulls back to yank his worn shirt off his body.
You can’t remember the last time you actually felt yourself salivating over a man in your bed—but it’s hard not to when a man like him is over you. You knew at the bar that he wasn’t like your normal type—no. He’s solid muscle, yet soft in the middle with a healthy line of hair trailing down to his jeans.
Brown eyes not leaving yours, Joel yanks his jeans down along with his briefs—watching your eyes trail from his to his cock.
”Holy shit,” you breathe softly, watching him stroke himself. “S’not gonna fit.”
Joel watches as your face cringes, realizing you hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But you did, much to his amusement.
”We’ll make it fit,” He assures you, pulling you closer to him by your waist. You let out a breathless laugh as he guides the thick head of his cock between your folds. “You got a condom?”
“Yeah,” you reply, already reaching for your drawer. “Just gimme a sec—“
Your words are cut off by a sharp inhale, feeling his tip press in, ever so slightly. Bracing himself against the headboard, a smug look is plastered all over his face as he watches your movements slow—already overwhelmed by a small part of him.
”C’mon, sweetheart,” He taunts, his hips pulling away from you—god, the man was a tease. “Get that condom.”
“M’workin’ on it,” You reply with a breathless laugh. Grabbing the little tin packet, you rip it open with shaking hands as he mouths at your neck. “S’hard when I got you teasin’ me.”
”I ain’t doin’ such a thing.” He answers, teeth grazing your pulse as you grip him in your hand. Rolling the condom on him, you feel your stomach flutter as you realize that to fully grip him—you needed two fucking hands to fully accommodate his girth.
It’s a good thing he worked you open with his fingers, and it’s even better that you have an unopened bottle of lube for emergencies.
With the condom fully on, Joel cups your cheek, thumb running over your plush lower lip. Eyes trailing over your face, it’s a stark contrast to his earlier, rushed movements. It’s as if he’s memorizing you and this moment—and deep inside of you, you hope that maybe…just maybe, this didn’t have to be a one time thing.
As if he can see the gears in your head turning, Joel leans forward just enough to graze his lips against yours, watching as your eyes flutter shut.
“You tell me if anythin’ hurts, sweetheart. You got that?” His words melt through you, and all you can muster up in a nod. You trust him.
And with those words, he doesn’t let you adjust—he sinks his cock into your needing cunt.
All nine inches of him.
If you thought his mouth was erotic, it’s nothing compared to what he had hiding in his jeans. Echoing his sentiment before he came inside of your house, Joel Miller isn’t gentle, no. Especially not when he’s got you under him; one orgasm deep already.
He wastes no time driving himself into you, every moan and strangled gasp that you let out encouraging him to make you fucking take it. With every thrust there’s a spot deep inside of you being hit, a place that makes you well aware that you’re gonna feel him the next morning.
”Yeah?” He grits out, pulling your legs over his shoulders; effectively folding you in half. “You like that, baby?”
”Yes!” You gasp, the new position making you somehow even more sensitive. “Joel-yes!”
Joel moves his hand to close around your throat, and it’s not enough to fully choke you, but it’s more of a reminder that he’s in charge—and that you’re gonna do what he says.
“Look at you, takin’ it like a fuckin’ champ,” he praises, reveling in your half lidded eyes. “N’here you were, worried it wouldn’t fit.”
The blatant teasing makes your stomach jump with a strangled laugh, and he lets out a hot moan at the feeling of you tightening. Joel knows that he’s got the stamina—but with the way you feel? He might not make it as long as he’d like.
And he’d be damned if he didn’t get to enjoy every angle of you.
“Turn the fuck over.” He grunts, but he’s already doing it for you as his hands find your hips and he manhandles you to your knees. Hands finding the flesh of your ass, you let out a squeal as he gives a sharp smack, leaving a handprint on the curve of the skin there.
What you expect is Joel to push his length into you again. What you don’t expect?
You don’t expect him to spread your asscheeks, leaning down to lick over your slick folds again. With your cheek smushed against the satin of your pillowcase, you bite back a moan as his tongue swirls around your clit; his hands sliding down the expanse of your back.
“Could eat this pussy for hours,” He says, catching his breath. Joel kisses the flesh of you ass as he lets his fingers rub against your folds, listening as you mutter a mess of a response. Leaning back down, he flattens his tongue against your lips one last time, before sitting back on his knees—pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail.
Neck arching back, it feels brand new as he pushes his dick in you, fucking you like he’s a man starved. The pain of your hair being pulled is welcome, and all it does is make your spend drip down the apex of your thighs as he commands you. Gripping the headboard in front of you with one hand, your other hand has a mind of it’s own as your digits move to rub at your self— which only turns him on even more.
The hair in his hand travels to your throat, tilting your head back so you’re forced to look at him.
”What a nasty fuckin girl,” He pants, his mouth ghosting yours. “You gonna cum like that? Gonna cum on my cock?”
”Mmph, you’re—you’re huge, Joel!” You reply desperately, your movements quickening as you feel another orgasm building. “Can feel you everywhere.”
”Everywhere?” His words echo yours as an idea comes to him—one that he’s sure a pretty thing like you wouldn’t object to.
Your breathless mhm makes him release his grip on your throat, watching as your face drops to the sheets—and he makes his move.
Your whole body shivers as his hands spread your cheeks again, and a glob of his warm spit falls between the crack of your ass. Fisting the sheets in your hands, you know that if you said stop—he would. But something deep within you knows that you don’t want him to stop. Even further—you’re welcoming it.
Sliding his cock back into you, he barely gives you time to adjust to his size once more before the pad of his thumb dips between your cheeks, sliding against the tight muscle as he continues fucking into you.
His thumb coats itself in the warm spit he left moments before, massaging the rim of your ass as he looks for any sign of discomfort. Looking over your shoulder, all he can see is your jaw slack in pleasure, eyelids fluttering shut as your body involuntarily presses backward to him—as if saying I want it.
And oh, you do.
Joel slows his hips, seating his cock inside of you to the fucking hilt— the head of his cock kissing that spot deep in you. You know he’s trying to ease the inevitable stretch, and holy, does it relax your body. All you can think about is how fucking huge he is and how this will live in your spank bank forever—
Your mind goes up in flames when his thumb breaches the rim of your ass, thoughts coming to a complete and utter stall as he doesn’t stop until his thumb is properly hooked in your ass.
Looking at the sight of you below him, Joel knows that he’s only a few fuckin’ pumps away from finishing.
A thin layer of sweat coats the both of you, and he can’t quite peel his gaze from where the two of you are connected—your cunt hugs him just fuckin’ perfectly, and the damn needy thing is practically crying for him.
Your spend has already dampened the sheets below you, and drips down the apex of your thighs as his free hand squeezes the flesh of your ass—and you tighten at the feeling of him everywhere.
”You ok?” His voice is strained now, and you know that he has to be close. His thumb stays firmly inside of you, his cock pulsing in anticipation.
“Yes,” You nod furiously against the sheets, not even caring that your precious satin pillowcases are covered in makeup. It’s hard to care about much of anything when a man like Joel is splitting you open. “S’good-feels amazing.”
”M’almost there, baby,” Joel presses his chest to your back, lips finding your shoulder blade. “Makin’ me feel like a damn teenager.”
“Me too,” you reply, turning your cheek to try and chase his lips. “Keep goin’, please.”
Pulling himself away from your skin, Joel catches his lower lip between his teeth as he settles on his knees—giving your ass one last squeeze of encouragement before pounding back into you.
It’s as if his thumb inside of you lights your skin on fire. The sex was already fucking amazing just due to the size of him, but now? With his thick thumb seated inside of you?
You feel full.
The quick and sharp sounds of your flesh slapping against each other, and short breathy moans is enough cause your cunt to tighten one last time—effectively soaking your sheets as he talks you through it.
”Oh,” He growls, feeling his thighs dampen. That certainly has never happened before—and he feels as if it’s a badge of honor. “Look at you, girl. Fuckin’ comin’ all over me. Dirty little thing likes havin’ her holes filled.”
His words barely register in your brain as you attempt to ground yourself on your sheets. He’s still ruthlessly pounding into you still, but pulls his thumb out of you to fist your hair in fist once more.
“Where do you want it?” Joel's words come out as a hiss, but it’s all he can manage now. The sight of you squirting on him was his one way ticket to finishing. “Tell me you where you fuckin want it, baby.”
”My tits,” The words spill out of your mouth faster than you can process it. “Cum on my tits—please—“
With one last brutal thrust, you feel your body be man handled to your chest as Joel—eyes dark with lust—climbs your body, condom getting tossed to the side. It’s a blur as you bat his hands away from his cock, taking him in your own fist. Bracing himself against your headboard, he lets out a deep groan as he spurts those thick, white ropes across the expanse of your breasts.
His breathing his ragged as his eyes flutter shut; reveling in the orgasm that just rocked his fucking world. He knows that he’s definitely going to wake up with his back thrown out the next morning, but he can’t find it in him to care as he collapses beside you, finally turning his head to look over at you.
What a fucking sight you are.
Makeup messy, hair in knotted curls with his cum painted on you, Joel laughs softly to himself.
“What?” You say with a shy laugh, chest still rising and falling fast.
“M’a lucky guy.” Joel says it as if it’s obvious. The small but powerful compliment turns your cheeks even more red than they already are.
“Ditto.” You reply, hiding your face in your hands as you bite back a smile.
Sitting with a groan, Joel looks back at you over his shoulder as he pulls on his jeans.
“Lemme get you a washcloth. Where’s your bathroom?”
Maybe it’s his age. Maybe it’s the guys you’re used to dating. But in your years of hookups and relationships, it’s few and far between to have aftercare—and it makes those butterflies flop in your stomach as you direct him to where it is.
When Joel returns, you clean yourself up as he locates his discarded clothes from earlier. God—the two of you had made a mess of the room. You’d have to add wash sheets to your to-do list after he’d leave.
Tossing the damp cloth in your hamper, you grab your old robe off the back of your door and tie it loosely around your body as he slides on his worn-in work boots. For you—small talk as a guy leaves your house was always the dreaded part of a hookup. The silence was awkward, and there were always half assed lies about for sure callin’ ya tomorrow.
Spoiler—they never did.
But the silence with Joel doesn’t feel awkward. It feels comfortable, almost. You don’t miss the way he gives you a genuine smile as he stands, leaning down to kiss your temple
”Walk me to the door?” He asks gently, his hand sliding down the satin of your robe. His brown eyes that were filled with lust not even ten minutes ago were now softer, more gentle.
”Of course.” You answer, leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
You take the lead as you walk him down the hallway and to the front door, tucking your hair behind your ear as you reach your destination. Tugging on his flannel, Joel clears his throat as he looks down at you. He’s not quite sure what you’re thinking, but he feels like you’re a strong woman—and that no matter what he says, or where he leaves this—you won’t object.
He can’t tell if that intrigues him, or if it scares the hell out of him.
“I uh—never was really good at this type of thing,” Joel finally says, gesturing between the two of you.
”What, sex?” You quip, a teasing smile pulling at the corner of your mouth. “Cause I have a pretty solid statement against that.”
”No,” his words come out as a laugh. “I mean—talkin’ to women. Keeping relationships. All that stuff.”
Joel notices the visible confusion in your expression, and groans at himself—only proving his point to himself. He never was good at words.
”What I’m tryin’ to say is…m’a pretty busy guy. I got a kid. Own my own business.”
Kid. Figures. He’s definitely the age to have one.
”I can’t promise a lot but… I uh, wouldn’t be opposed to seeing you again.”
His hands find his jean pockets as he finishes his explanation, toying with his truck keys in his pockets as he braces himself for whatever you might say—could be a rejection. Could be a laugh. Whatever it will be—Joel braces himself for it.
To his shock, none of his made-up scenarios happens. In fact, your captivating smile never leaves your face.
”I’m not looking for a promise either, Joel,” You say, hugging yourself. “Here—give me your phone. If you ever need company, just give me a text. No hard feelings if not.”
He obliges your request, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and handing it over. It doesn’t take you long to type in the digits and hand it back to him that beautiful smile still on your face.
“Don’t be a stranger, Joel.”
Leaning down to kiss your temple one last time, Joel pulls away and replies,
”I’ll see you around, sweetheart.”
Three Weeks Later
You don’t hear from Joel after that night.
And honestly? You had been too preoccupied to sit and cry about the fact that the best fuck you’ve ever had never texted you.
You were deep into report card season, candy filled holidays, and planning upcoming parent-teacher conferences. You were lucky if you left work two hours after contract time—you knew if you brought home any work it wouldn’t be done.
The great thing about teaching? Getting to celebrate and talk to parents about the growth their children have made so far, and how they can be supported at home. It was a feeling you loved—you loved seeing parents light up at their students work, and you loved hearing about what your student gets up to outside of school.
Especially when they’re students like Sarah Miller.
Sarah is nothing below an outstanding student, and her bubbly personality makes her a great friend to others in the classroom. If you could have a class full of Sarah Millers, your life would be perfect.
And her Mom? She’s amazing.
Always bringing in treats for the class on holidays and volunteering when needed, her mom is a powerhouse. Which is exactly why you’re slightly disappointed when the office puts her call through to your classroom—ten minutes before her time slot with Sarah.
”Hello!” Her chipper voices sings from the other side of the line.
“I am so sorry—but I can’t make it in today with Sarah,” She explains, apologetic as all hell. “My boyfriend just got rear ended in the town over, needs a lift.”
”No worries at all!” You reply, fingers flipping through Sarah’s work portfolio. “Do we need to reschedule?”
”Not at all, actually! Sarah’s with her dad today, and he has no problem taking my place today. I just wanted to give you a heads up!”
Huh, you think to yourself. You always had assumed her boyfriend was Sarah’s biological dad, but maybe you missed the detail. Sarah, while an amazing student, is a chatterbox. She loves to chat your ear off when you have any spare second, so maybe the detail got lost in the myriad of stories she tells.
”That’s perfectly fine,” You answer, jotting on a sticky note to make extra copies for mom. “I will send a copy of her folder with her next week!”
Hanging up the phone, you walk to your meeting space to straighten the stacks of work as you wait patiently for Sarah and her dad to arrive. She’s the last conference of the day, and because of her high grades and outstanding work—there wouldn’t be much to report.
As thoughts of what your Friday evening might look like after Sarah’s conference, the little girl sprints through the door with an excited squeal of your name—enveloping you in a tight hug that she always gives you at the end of the day.
”Hey kiddo!” You squeeze her back with a bright smile, pulling her back to steady her.
“You’re with Dad today?”
”Yes!” She exclaims excitedly. “He’s lookin’ at the art we made last week in the hallway!”
”Oh really?” You answer, putting your hands on your hips. “Well, I’m sure your dad will be even more impressed when he sees some of your latest multiplication quizzes.”
Sarah giggles in excitement as you turn your back to her, grabbing her work portfolio off the table. Just as you’re about to look back at Sarah, a voice you’ve been dreaming about for three weeks shatters your thoughts when he says,
”This is quite a classroom you got, baby girl.”
Your body goes cold as you turn to look at him. Joel, who has his hands shoved in his pockets, and that same MILLER CONSTRUCTION shirt he had on that night you met at the bar—this time, a heavy carhartt jacket on his shoulders, boots replaced with Romeo’s.
The look on his face as your eyes meet is one met with first, shock—then being shaken back to reality as Sarah tugs on his wrist to pull him closer to where her work is.
”Dad—this is my teacher! The one who always does art on fridays!”
You’re a professional, you scold yourself, and Sarah’s smart! Don’t look fuckin’ scared!
”You must be Mr. Miller,” you say coolly, attempting to regain your dignity. Reaching out to offer your hand, you ignore the way his palm lights a fire in your veins as he shakes it firmly. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Joel lets his hand linger for a moment in yours, letting the shock wear off as his lip curls into a smile.
”It’s nice to meet you as well, Miss,” He answers gently. “Sarah’s told me quite a bit about you throughout the last few months.”
”Well—I can’t wait to share how much growth Sarah has made,” you manage to reply, letting your hands drop from one another. “Shall we get started?”
”Let’s do it,” Joel gestures to the table. “And I uh—have a few questions to ask you at the end, if that’s alright.”
Returning the small smile on Joel’s lips, you have a feeling this won’t be the last time you see him.
In fact, you have a feeling this school year is about to get a whole lot more interesting.
I dream you betwitched me into bed / And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane -Sylvia Plath
|| smut MDNI 18+, omegaverse, a/o/b dynamics, rut, heat, a/o/b outbreak au, werewolf!joel, government control, angst, big scary joel, but actually he's a softie, hopelessromantic!reader, jaded!joel, bad communication and mixed signals, heavy prose sry, lotus position, some monsterfucking, prone bone, mating, pinv, fingering, knotting, biting, breeding ||
a/n: always and forever inspired by both @netherfeildren & @corazondebeskar-reads. The universe in this fic is inspired by their a/o/b outbreak fics which still stand as two of my favorites.
wc: 17.6k whewwwyyy
“It’ll happen when you least expect it!”
What a load of state-issued bullshit. And always printed on pamphlets with those glossy couples holding hands in a meadow or shoved in your face at school assemblies and doctor’s offices. As if romance was a civic duty.
Though, you supposed it was now. Ever since the birth rate had sunk so low—first in the country then across the world—that evolution, desperation, whatever you wanted to call it, had bent the human gene pool until people came out stamped with new instincts, wired to reproduce like animals.
They called it an outbreak, some invisible hand steering evolution into a corner. Alphas, omegas, betas—new designations, new rules. And when the government saw the numbers, they did what governments do. They took control, dressed it up, and made it sound like butterflies and rainbows, like destiny would just fall into your lap. “Love” became the new national project.
That’s how they’d always pitched it, anyway. The stories of finding your true love through fate coded glands and scents. The moment it hit your nose, you’d ‘just know!’ Your entire nervous system alight with the need to reproduce—that only happiness in living was to find your other half, your mate, to make pups for the government to label and distinguish. But biology had its own kind of tyranny over the mind too, something that couldn’t be controlled as easily. Because scents were messy and subjective. Suppressants failed more often than they worked, lab trials often skewed. And, in truth, it was dangerous too. Heats weren’t tender or romantic, but hard, brutal things. Days of pain and fever that left omegas restless and simpering, begging for relief, stripped down to something soft and humiliating. Ruts were the other side of it, angry and territorial, alphas wound tight with aggression until their temper snapped and their hunger came out sharp. Together, it was volatile, dangerous, nothing you’d want turned loose in polite society.
But still, FEDRA had clenched its hand around it anyway, twisting the language, rewriting the setting. They built the whole thing into a system, one that could be measured, filed, and controlled.
You still had the letters to prove it. Three of them, all from FEDRA, stacked and half-opened on the table where you dropped your mail. Their corners were curled and coffee-stained from use as coasters, but the words inside were always the same in their polite, firm, and chokingly bureaucratic ways. “Unmated Omega citizens of age between twenty-five to thirty-one are required to report for compatibility testing.” “Unpaired subjects are required to participate in the Partner Allocation Program for their own safety and well-being.”.
Safety and well-being. What a joke. What they meant was: You failed to find someone and now you’re a liability.
You’d managed just fine without their help. Sure, your heats were rough, but they were yours. You handled them in the privacy of your own bed, sweat-slick and aching, fingers buried inside yourself while the fever rolled through you until the world blurred. Days of hunger and pain, yes—but survival all the same. You didn’t need some stranger assigned by the government to climb inside your body in the name of population recovery.
And yet… the idea of a perfectly curated mate…
You needed to stop fantasizing about it by now. You had to. You thought you might go crazy. Maybe you were going crazy. Because, in truth, the thought of finding an alpha that would love you and care for you had infiltrated every second of your waking hour. You’d tried to resist, tried to starve it out of yourself. No more hoping someone would notice you in line at the gas station, no more swiping through strangers online or dreamily wondering if the person behind the register at the store was your soulmate and they just didn’t realize it yet. It felt like a sickness wired into your brain, a hunger that wouldn’t quit. Other people seemed to know when to stop, seemed able to push their plates away and say they’d had enough, try different avenues or settle with a beta they enjoyed the company of. But you never felt…satiated by any of that. You knew there was something more for you. You wanted it so badly it rotted inside you. And when you tried therapy, you hadn’t learned a thing. Because even the therapist was mated and talked about how amazing it would be when the day would come. That the wait would be worth it in the end. You’d left after the second session.
And the cruel thought that lingered in the quietest hours was that maybe, one morning, you’d just wake up to find your hormones had thrown in the towel, your body converting you into a beta as punishment for being so stupidly, achingly alone. Welp—couldn’t find anyone to knot you? Congratulations, welcome to the neutral zone.
And honestly, would it even be so bad? Your friends were betas. Solid, dependable people. Their lives weren’t any worse for it. Sometimes you even envied them with their steadiness, the way they weren’t ruled by the fickle roulette wheel of scent and heat and being breeding stock for humanity.
But envy never erased the one thing you’d always wanted. You weren’t ambitious by any means, at least not in the way other people were—the ones who worked their lives away to get to the top, sustained by promotions and financial portfolios and all those glittering markers of success. Because even if the outbreak had changed the gene pool, life had remained mostly the same for people. Lives went on. And still, the only thing you had ever cared about, from the moment you could name it, was love. Stupid, stupid love. And the thought of it made you sick to your stomach, queasy and restless, as if some tide were rolling inside you.
But you were done with that. You had to be. Sooner or later you had to come to your senses. If therapy couldn’t cure you, if your willpower refused, you had to take action. You were desperate to quit the daydreams that made your heart swell and ache and hurt.
So tonight, under the harsh fluorescent glow of the pharmacy lights, you stood at the counter, sliding over your insurance card. When you walked away, the orange bottle felt like a brick in the bottom of the little white bag. Heavy, inevitable, final.
You hardly noticed how bright the sidewalks seemed once you stepped outside, bathed in pale wash from the moon overhead. You weren’t sure whether to hurry home or drag your feet, but you kept walking, your thoughts circling the first dose waiting for you. Blockers. One pill and maybe you could finally be free of this tender wound. Turn off these hormones that made you crave and want like the needy little creature you were. The thought made your stomach turn, but then again, everything did these days.
You wondered if someone nearby had lit a fire. This time of year, plenty of people did as the leaves began to fall with the turn of autumn, where houses tucked into the narrow yards sat at the edge of the city where they pressed up against the riverbank. The air carried the smell of woodsmoke and pine and the damp breath of the river, something sharp threaded through it, like whiskey or brandy burning faintly in your nose. It made your stomach clench, heat curling low as your mouth watered, your senses alive for it. You slowed, searching for the source, but every house was shut tight.
Warm yellow light spilled from their windows, glassy reflections rippling against the black skin of the water. Dogs barked from behind fences, children argued with tired parents about bedtime routines. The neighborhood was settling, folding itself into the quiet of the evening. But the scent hung stubbornly in the air, richer, heavy enough to press against your tongue.
As you followed the riverbank, the sidewalk gave way to cracks of neglect, weeds forcing their way through as the neat grid of town dissolved into the rougher edge of your neighborhood. The houses thinned, the dark pressed closer, and then the street broke open into a stretch of woods. The scent struck you full force there, thicker, headier, cloying at the back of your throat until you almost gagged. It tangled with the damp musk of earth and leaves, but something sharper rode beneath it, metallic and copper-sweet.
Your pulse kicked hard.
Just ahead, in a break between the trees, something moved. Half shadowed in the dark of the forest, half bathed in the pale spotlight of the moon, you saw a creature there.
And he was enormous.
Black fur so dark it seemed to drink the moonlight, rippled over his frame, the sheen shifting into deep brown where it caught on the pale glow spilling through the trees overhead. He crouched low, balanced on his haunches like a shadow coiled to spring, the air around him vibrating with restrained violence. He had paused his mastications on whatever lay behind him, dead at his feet, too hidden behind his monstrous body to see. Like he smelled you too, heard the twigs snap under your footing as you stood and watched, frozen. And as he turned to look at you, his snout curled back in a snarl, jowls slick with saliva, jagged teeth flashing wet as his chest heaved.
And his eyes, full of muddled colors you couldn’t quite name, fixed on you. You could see the twitch of his nose, hear the rough, greedy pull of air as he took in your scent. And beneath the smell of damp earth of his fur, his scent rolled over you in waves: that heavy musk of cedar smoke, the faint sting of whiskey you recalled from your walk, sharper in your nose now. You wondered if that was his poison, if he drank himself senseless when he woke from nights like this. The ones that left him feral and bloodied.
Because there was blood.
You smelled it too, an iron rich copper that sharpened over the rest. It darkened the fur around his muzzle, tacky and wet where it clung to his jaw. Fresh from whatever lay behind him. Your stomach dropped with the idea that it might not be deer or some kind of game. The thought landed sharp—what if he had eaten someone? Would he eat you, too?
There weren’t many alphas like him left. Ones that would turn into a creature of night when the moon bloomed full. They were rare, most of them killed off in the first waves of the outbreak, hunted down before people even understood what the world was turning into. And if one was found after, they were dragged off by the government and locked away when their first moon waned—kept for testing, for containment, for “safety”. Some even volunteered for it once they realized what they were, too afraid of themselves to risk what they might do. There were stories. Enough that had been told of the wolf that would come, the person inside disappearing, No memory, no reason, no control. Just animal and instinct.
And hunger.
You could not move. Your body held its own counsel, muscles locked, lungs refusing to draw too much attention, as if stillness might convince the predator you were merely part of the path you walked, that you could disappear into the trees. You tried to read him and found nothing human to catch on, only the prickle along your skin that said you were being measured.
The strangest thing, and only later would you be able to pinpoint the feeling as you’d think back on that night, was the feeling of insurmountable want. Hot and low, molten as if a furnace door had swung open inside you, a slow thrum that tapped along your spine and gathered in your throat until you had to wet your lips. You thought it was the sheer terror, the adrenaline. It felt tingly and wrong, and yet… you wondered. The black of his fur and the burn of his eyes and the curiosity of how coarse that pelt would be beneath your palm tickled the back of your mind. Fear ran beside it, not weaker, just… different, a second current braided into the first, and the two of them turned you into something bright and stupid.
It felt like forever, to stand there under his gaze, but it couldn’t have been more than a handful of seconds— minutes at most. The silence, rented by breath and the pulsing of your heart was stretched wide between you, weighted with the question of what came next. Would he let the shroud of instinct overtake him now, or would his humanity slip through, letting you live?
You licked your lips without thinking, caught between terror and hunger, between life and whatever this was becoming. And just as your pulse began to skyrocket with the will to live, as your feet began to shift ever so slightly— ready to turn, to flee—
He lunged.
Joel
There was a heaviness to him as he woke.
Every inch of him ached as though he’d been dragged through the nine circles of hell and spat back out again. His bones throbbed, his muscles burned, even his skin felt raw, regrown and stretched too tight over something that wasn’t meant to be contained. He lay there for a long while as he gained his consciousness, his humanness, and he realized he was naked and sprawled across the old leather couch, the familiar stains of water damage above him on the ceiling. He was in his living room. The cool surface of the couch pressed into the ridges of his spine before he finally let out a groan that rattled low in his chest, sitting up.
At least he had made it home this time.
The change was always both curse and reprieve. Joel could admit there was something in it he clung to, a silence he never found anywhere else, a forgetting of all the endless hours spent pacing in his own head. For one night a month, his memories didn’t claw at him, his worries didn’t fester, and the grinding guilt that gnawed at his gut seemed to vanish. But morning always came, and with it the cruel blankness. Not knowing what he had done, not remembering where he had been. It made his stomach turn more than any nightmare could. He told himself he had learned to live with it, and twenty years of hiding forced that sort of resignation, but some mornings it rose like bile regardless. This morning was no different. The heavy fullness of his belly made him nauseous as the thought struck. Maybe he had eaten something he shouldn’t have. Someone’s pet. A goddamn cat allowed to roam outside, a dog left out after midnight. He hated seeing them out in the dark in his waking, normal nights, hated knowing what could happen on the full moon, but people didn’t know better. He always turned on the news the next morning of his shift, hoping, praying, he didn’t do anything worse.
Joel dragged the heel of his hand over his eyes and sat forward, his joints crackling like firewood, his shoulders tight as if someone had hammered him into the wrong shape. And as he pressed a button on the remote, pointing to the small box television in the corner, he froze.
There was a smell.
It wasn’t the sharp tang of blood or the musky sweat of himself. It was something sweeter, something that clung to him, pressed against the back of his tongue. Vanilla and lilac, delicate and yet heavy enough to make his cock stir half hard against his thigh. He stilled, nostrils flaring, the strangeness of it settling into him in a way that made the hair rise on the back of his neck. This wasn’t spring, when he sometimes woke coated in pollen, burrs sticking to his skin, flowers bruised into his shoulders from rolling through the underbrush. This wasn’t the lingering damp of the river either, the smell of earth clinging to him. No, this was something else entirely. Something new.
He stood, slow and stiff, rubbing at the thick line of his beard as he shifted his weight off the couch. Scratches ran across his chest, bruises scattered over his ribs, but nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to explain the sweetness that clung stubbornly to him as he moved through the house. And then he realized the scent grew stronger as he reached the hallway, seeping through the small crack beneath the bedroom door, that uneven gap in the floorboards he had been telling himself he would fix for months.
He paused there, hand resting against the knob, his body tight with the sudden thought that something could be waiting on the other side. The air was thick with it, saturating his lungs, stirring something restless in the pit of his stomach. He turned the handle at last, careful, silent, and pushed the door open just enough to see inside.
There was a girl in his bed.
You were stretched across his sheets, one leg drawn up, knee planted beside you, arms folded beneath your cheek like you’d been posed there. Peaceful. Picture-perfect. Like you belonged.
He had no idea who you were, or how you got into his bed.
Joel stood just inside the doorway, stomach tight, arms crossed over his chest like maybe if he held himself still enough, some explanation might come. Something to make sense of why you were here, why the room smelled like a bouquet of sweat and lilac, why your pants were discarded on the floor like you’d peeled them off mid-dream.
Through the red veil of what was left of last night, he could find only flashes. He remembered trees. The silvered shape of their limbs against the sky. His own shadow stretching in ways it wasn’t meant to, bones rearranged beneath his skin, heart pounding with a rhythm older than thought. He’d been in the woods. That much he knew. He remembered scent before sound, instinct before memory. He could…he could remember the smell. It was you, then. That clicked enough to piece together, that he’d found you during his shift. And god, the smell of you. Thick and heady, it had invaded him. Coated the back of his tongue and sunk down into the part of him he’d long forgotten, long let go of any hope of finding. And it was here now, that same scent pressing against the walls of this room, pulled from the heat of your skin and settled into the linen.
He swallowed hard, mouth dry, and felt the ache behind his eyes grow sharper.
His gaze dropped again, against his better judgment, drawn to the long line of your thigh where the sheet had slipped back, to the strip of lace that clung to the curve of you in a way that felt too intimate for his prying eyes. It didn’t cover very much, and could feel the reaction begin to rise in him, uninvited and pulsing. A scalding low in his gut that made him clench his jaw and tear his eyes away. Some creature behind its cage, yearning to take and devour.
There were too many possibilities of how you’d ended up here, vulnerable and unbeknownst to his searching gaze. Too many blanks his brain refused to fill. The wolf had done something, or maybe nothing at all. Maybe you’d found him. Maybe you’d followed. Joel wondered if you had walked straight into the mouth of a monster and lain down.
He didn’t know why you were here. But he suddenly, assuredly, made up his mind. When you woke, he’d send you on your way. Because a man like him—an alpha like him—unpredictable, dangerous, selfish, cruel… he was not the one for you.
After tearing his eyes from your peaceful body across his sheets, he crossed the room, jaw clenched tight, his bare feet whispering across the wood. The bathroom door was open and waiting, frame still warped from the last time he’d slammed it. He stepped inside and closed it behind him. He needed a shower. A long, cold shower.
You
You woke with a molten star in your belly.
A slow burning ember of a planet being formed inside you, it made your limbs feel heavy, your eye lids lazy, your mouth parched for more than just drink. As you turned into the sheets, the sunlight beginning to pour in from somewhere high and warm, a sound reached your ears—water, running steady from just beyond the wall. Some sort of talking in the next room, pointedly and animated, almost like a television. Blinking your eyes awake, you were suddenly very, very aware that you did not make it all the way home last night.
The bed beneath you was lumpy, but forgiving. The sheets were thin, rough washed cotton with the faintest scent of woodsmoke in the fibers. The walls were wooden slats, long and narrow, stained with age as if you were in a cabin.
You could’ve melted into it, if not for the smell.
That woodsmoke and pine and earthy sweat and…whiskey. Some kind of spice, like cinnamon or oak or something that aged in a barrel for a decade before being ready to consume.
And as your brain began to form coherent thought, the star still burning low in your belly, that hum of a shower—yes, that’s what it was—had gone quiet. And soon, the door was opening, steam billowing, and before you was a man.
A devastatingly—terrifying—beautiful man.
And as he emerged into the room, skin dappled with pearls of water and a towel low around his hips, his hair was a dark mess from his hands working through it under the water. His eyes locked onto you, and for a moment neither of you moved. He didn’t speak.
But… you recognized those eyes, had no reason to fear now, because the man in the doorway was your wolf.
No, no, not yours. Not yours. Just: The Wolf.
And your body responded without permission and without thought. A soft, involuntary purring began in your chest, barely audible but bone deep. A sound you didn’t think to make. Something soothing, submissive in nature. You curled further into the sheets and clutched them against your chest, a sudden shyness crossing your mind.
He moved.
Crossed the room without looking at you again, barefoot, quiet, his back broad and wet and scarred. You mewled—soft, confused, aching—as he passed, and his shoulders tensed, but he didn’t turn to you. He opened a drawer, pulled something out of it, and disappeared back into the bathroom.
You blinked. What a strange man.
You looked around and saw your pants strewn far away on the floor as if pulled off in the night. You scrambled to grab them, the cotton clinging as you yanked them over your hips and perched on the edge of the bed, arms drawn around yourself like a child trying to pretend you weren’t still trembling.
When he emerged again, he was dressed. A black tee clung to his chest, soft and damp in places. Gray sweatpants rode low on his hips, worn at the drawstring. His hair was still wet, pushed back like he’d tried and failed to tame it. And his eyes found you again.
Darker than before, focused. Not angry, though. Somehow you knew that.
You swallowed and tried to sit up straighter. “Who are you?” The words came out thin, your voice like a thread pulled too tight. You sounded softer than you wanted to, smaller than you meant.
He didn’t answer right away.
The muscles in his jaw worked as something in his chest moved, slow and low, a sound that wasn’t speech. A kind of hum. A rumble. Not threatening. If anything, it was… soothing. Like the sound a large animal makes when it’s trying to calm a frightened pup. You didn’t recognize it with your mind—but your body did.
Your shoulders softened. The tension in your belly didn’t go away, but it uncoiled a little. You weren’t cold anymore. You weren’t exactly warm, either, but almost held in something. The space between you vibrated with it. That sound, that tether.
He saw the shift in you almost immediately. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said finally, voice rough, unused. “It ain’t safe.”
You watched him, head tilted just slightly. That hum still echoed in you, like it had settled in your chest cavity. “I found you,” you said, not entirely sure if it was true. But it felt true. “You didn’t hurt me.”
He let out a slow breath, “Don’t mean I couldn’t.”
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.
There was heat curling through you now, more than just the remnants of sleep or the residual burn of adrenaline. It was deeper, hormonal, almost chemical. You could feel your blood thickening with it, the pulse between your legs starting to ache, slow and low and shameful. It spread through you as your thighs pressed together, the ache between them unmistakable. You hoped he wouldn’t notice.
His eyes flicked down once, just for a second, then away again, jaw tightening like he’d tasted something bitter.
“You need to go.” he said.
Your glare cut into him, defiance sparking even through your shame. “You brought me here,” you snapped, words like a curse spat from your throat. “You attacked me, and you brought me here.”
His whole body shifted, a sudden pivot as if he couldn’t hold still under the weight of you. “Exactly why you can’t stay. I told you, it ain’t safe. Now get goin’.”
You pushed yourself up, folding your arms tight across your chest. He towered over you, massive and immovable, every inch the animal he swore he was. But you refused to shrink from him.
The air between you crackled, tense and charged until a sudden burst of sound cut through it.
“Breaking news! Spotted only last night!”
The voice carried sharp and urgent from the next room. Both your heads turned toward it, the tinny television static a reminder of a world outside this little standoff.
You moved first, brushing past him, and his body followed, heavy footsteps at your back. The small living room flickered blue with the glow of the old TV. On the screen, bold letters shouted across the bottom: ALPHA SIGHTING NEAR THE RIVER.
“Just last night, witnesses report seeing a wolf by the Lenape River past downtown Bucks, running rampant in the neighborhood.” the announcer was booming, “if you see something, say something. Contact FEDRA at this number if you have any ideas of who this monster could be.”
At that word, monster, you turned toward him. The man who had dragged you from the woods in claws and fur, who now stood in the blue glow of the television with his chest rising and falling too quickly, shoulders straining as though the word had been aimed like a blade straight into him. Something inside you shifted. To your surprise it wasn’t fear or the terror you should have felt standing in the same room as a creature who could shed his humanity beneath the moon, but something stronger, stranger. Worry.
“Are you okay—” The words left you before you could stop them, your hand lifting toward his arm. His chest was rising and falling too quickly, shoulders tight as if the walls were closing in.
“You need to go. Now.”
“But they just said—they’re going to come after you!” Panic broke into your voice. His hands clamped onto your shoulders, spinning you, pushing you toward the door with rough insistence.
“And you smell like me.”
The words pooled low in your stomach, heat blooming and oh, oh god his hands were so big and thick on the caps of your shoulders. You opened your mouth, but he shoved harder, urgency overtaking everything.
“Get out,” he growled, “go shower, scrub it off. Get the smell of me off you, omega. Don’t come back.”
“Hey!” You struggled in his grip, your voice cracking between defiance and something you didn’t want to name. His size swallowed you whole as he pushed you out the door without even breaking a sweat. But his eyes, when you turned and caught them, weren’t only hard, but there was something frayed behind them, something you couldn’t put your finger on at the time.
Grief, you’d realize one day.
Joel
FEDRA had been scoping the area again.
And Joel knew they would be. With that newscaster blasting his secret all across town, he knew they’d be here any minute. Not to his home, not yet at least. They hadn’t figured out who it was, but they would eventually. A lone alpha in the woods, living in a half collapsed cabin like the feral thing...he was couldn’t stay invisible forever. It was only a matter of time before the pieces pointed true.
By the time he’d kicked that little omega out of his house, he felt awful for it, yes, but there wasn’t much room for guilt when survival was closing in on him from every direction. He’d dwell on it later, when the world went quiet again. For now, he told himself the distance was for her sake, though the memory of her smell and the way her eyes watched him at the door stayed fixed behind his lids longer than he wanted to admit.
He went out not long after, walking the trails that circled the land, the same ones he always did after the wolf receded and his skin stopped burning. The forest felt different now—thinner somehow, less forgiving. He could trace where he’d been in the dark, what the animal had done, by smell alone. He found the carcass of a deer by the river and covered it with loose soil, murmuring something like a prayer for the thing, wherever its soul lay now.
As the day went on, he caught himself looking toward the road she’d taken when she left. The sky was silver with an incoming storm, the trees black against it. He told himself he was just making sure she’d made it home as he followed her scent, to be sure that soldiers hadn’t found her. Before the rain would take it from him. But even as he saw the lights go on in the little house, small in its cottage-like stature, its sweet sage green curtains in the windows, he kept watching. Even when no sound or signs of other life made themselves known from inside. But once the lights went out in the dead of night and the rain started to fall, he returned home.
He wasn’t sure what made him come again the next evening, but he stayed longer. Sat beneath the tree line until the crickets quieted and the air stayed heavy with the storm. A faint light burned behind your window again, a lamp or candle maybe, and once he thought he saw your shadow move across the curtain. He told himself he was only here to keep an eye on things. Just in case. That was all.
By the third day, he thought he should know better. He’d told himself again and again, it was only to make sure you were all right, that FEDRA hadn’t found you, that this was caution, nothing more, but that lie had worn itself out. He was still there all the same, crouched in the brush just beyond the tree line, eyes fixed on the little house that hadn’t made a sound since you’d gone inside. He told himself that if he just saw you move, even once, he could go home, but every hour that passed without a flicker of light or the shadow of your figure behind the curtain kept him rooted where he was, tense and waiting.
It was then he caught something on the wind.
The air coming off the house had changed. It carried something sharp now, something chemical and wrong, cutting through the clean damp of the woods and the faint musk of wet soil. Even from where he stood, he could smell you, but it wasn’t the same; what had been soft and alive had turned sterile, bitter, like bleach or toner, like pouring antiseptic over a bed of flowers. The animal part of him bristled before the rest of him understood. His shoulders drew tight, breath catching low in his chest as recognition clicked into place.
Blockers.
The wolf inside him stirred, the hackles of its neck rising at it pressed against his ribs as if it meant to climb out, restless and hungry, agitated by the loss of something that wasn’t his. It didn’t understand the concept of safety or distance or restraint—it only knew that what had once belonged to its senses was gone, buried under something false. The sound that left him wasn’t quite human, a rough exhale that felt like a growl breaking through the cracks of his chest. His teeth ached, his pulse staggered. The trees around him seemed to tremble with the threat of what lay within them.
He tried to quiet it, soothe it’s waxing and waning for freedom. Tried to remind himself that this was what he’d told you to do: to get out, to rid yourself of his scent. But this…this wasn’t what he meant. But who was he, some stranger you didn’t even know, to expect anything else?
He stayed there longer than he should have, kneeling in the undergrowth with the rest of the world turning, pressing down around him, the hum of insects carrying on without a care for the war in his chest as the air clung heavy with the stinging, foreign smell. He should’ve turned back toward his cabin, should’ve put distance between himself and the thing clawing at his chest, but he didn’t.
He kept staring at your dark window, waiting for any sign of movement, for proof that you were still breathing in there.
You
You’d taken the blockers the second you’d gotten home.
Not even ten minutes after he’d kicked you out. You didn’t think about it; you just tore open the bottle and swallowed two dry, the bitter little pills catching in your throat like sand. If he’d wanted nothing to do with you, fine. You’d make sure your body got the message.
The first few hours were fine. You cleaned the apartment—half just to move, half to burn him out of your head. The sky began to gray outside as you did your dishes, laundry, scrubbing the counter until your hands stung. But the longer the day went on, the worse you started to feel. It came in waves: the ache in your stomach, the pounding in your temples, the sweat beading along your hairline even though the window was cracked open.
Maybe it was his stench still on you. The thought came quickly and unwelcome. That heavy, smoky scent clinging to your skin, caught in your hair, curling inside your lungs until it made your stomach roll. “You smell like me,” the man had said, eyes hard. “Go shower. Scrub it off.” Fine. You would. You stripped and stood under the scalding water until it turned lukewarm, scrubbing until your skin burned, until you couldn’t smell him anymore. Erase his smell. Erase his memory. Stupid wolf. Maybe that was all this was—your body reacting to the way he’d touched you, the way he’d looked at you before he’d thrown you out.
You would never call the authorities on him. You weren’t that kind of person. You wonder if he knew that, if you should’ve told him. Did he throw you out thinking you’d show up hours later with a gang of FEDRA agents pounding on his door? Was he still there? Had he made a run for it?
You didn’t care, you told yourself stubbornly. Stupid wolf. He could do what he wanted, it didn’t matter to you.
By evening, you were curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped around you, alternating between too cold and too hot. You told yourself it was a flu, some stupid food poisoning. Maybe stress. Everything was caused by stressed, anyway. You just needed to sleep it off.
The next morning didn’t bring any relief, though. You woke clammy, mouth dry, every muscle sore like you’d been running in your sleep. The cramps started mid-morning, deep and mean, dragging up from your gut and wringing low in your belly. You hunched over the sink, breathing through them, cursing yourself for ever touching those pills. Still, you refused to connect it. He hadn’t made you sick, not really. You just felt off, that’s all.
You tried to keep doing normal things. Took another shower, sitting on the floor of the tub this time and letting the hot water open your lungs. You tried to eat a mug of soup that went cold before you ever touched it. You watched the rain outside the crack in your curtains blur into the same gray lines for hours, lit a few candles. But every sound hurt: the hum of the fridge, the drip of the faucet, even your heartbeat sounded too loud.
By day three, you stopped pretending you were fine. You moved like you were underwater, head heavy, vision slow to focus, feverish but shivering. When you caught sight of yourself in the mirror, you looked worse than you felt—eyes glassy, skin pallid, dark circles underlining everything you didn’t want to admit.
That bastard had to have done something to you. The thought came sharp, stupid, but you fisted your thoughts to it anyway. The snarling, bullish, mean alpha with the rough hands and rougher stare. Maybe he’d passed something on when he’d grabbed you. Maybe it was his scent still stuck on your skin that made your body rebel.
You drank water. Took another round of blockers, even though your hands were trembling when you did it. Told yourself you just needed rest.
But rest didn’t help. You kept sweating through your shirt, heart racing. Dreams came hot and confusing when you’d close your eyes just to try and nap. You’d wake with your sheets twisted and your thighs slick, shame rolling through you in slow, nauseating waves.
By the time your next work shift came around, you looked like hell and felt worse. But rent didn’t wait for pity, and you weren’t going to call out over some mystery illness. You threw on clean clothes, tied your hair back, and told yourself it’d pass.
But it was brutal.
The air was thick with espresso and burnt milk that first morning of your shift, and instead of comforting, it only made your head pound harder. Every hiss of the steamer grated at your nerves, every clink of mugs rattled in your skull. Your body felt dragged out, sore in ways you couldn’t quite place, like you hadn’t slept, though truthfully maybe you’d slept too much.
The café itself was warm as ever, with its wood counters and brass fixtures, the smell of beans and sugar syrups hanging in the air. Usually that mix of roasted coffee, cinnamon, and vanilla felt cozy, but today there was something sour cutting through it. A sharp, acidic tang that reminded you of bleach. It stuck in your nose no matter how you tried to ignore it.
Ellie came up beside you with another ticket, the sleeve of her hoodie brushing yours. You took a whiff, testing your senses. But she smelled like she always did: fresh-cut grass, parchment, a tart bite of apple. Something youthful and clean, bright against the heaviness of the room. She handed you the order slip with a look that said she smelled something too, though she didn’t say anything.
“Two cold brews with sweet cream,” she muttered, exhaling like she’d been holding her breath. Then she turned to the register with her easy voice, “How can I help you?”
“Just coffee, black.”
The voice hit you like a strike of flint—familiar and heavy with its drawl. You looked before you thought better of it.
He was there. Broad shoulders, steady as ever, handing Ellie a bill but watching you. His eyes locked on yours, steady and unflinching, and your stomach dropped. The bleach sting in the air sharpened, and you could see it made your wolf’s face twitch where he stood.
Agh, you needed to stop using that term. Your. He was a stranger, after all. Even if days ago he’d seemed like there was a promise of something, it had been pushed out the front door with you.
He moved from the counter and made his way to the end of the bar near you, while you finished drinks for the girls in front of him. His eyes never moved.
“You smell awful,” he said when you finally reached for a paper cup and the customers walked away.
You grimaced at him, your lip curling. “Screw you too.”
“What’d you do?” His tone wasn’t casual, though he tried to make it sound like it was. “You took blockers, didn’t you?”
“That’s none of your business.” You poured his coffee.
“They ain’t doin’ much. Can smell you out the damn door.”
Your mouth twisted. “Are you always this charming, or am I just a lucky girl?”
He sighed, flattening his palms on the counter between you. “Blockers ain’t workin’ ‘cause you were already startin’—” he looked around, lowering his voice, “that’s your heat fightin’ back. And it’s probably because of me.”
Your chest tightened with a burning fury as you shoved the coffee cup at him and escaped the counter, pushed through the double doors into the back storage room, and pretended to rummage for more cups and sugar. It was dimmer back here, the shelves rising around you like walls, and the headache eased just enough for you to breathe.
The doors creaked open behind you.
“Go away.” you spat, but it came out more like a desperate croak.
“I was rude,” he said gently. His voice was quieter now, nearly coaxing with how it purred. Your stomach churned for it. “Shouldn’t have thrown ya out. Shouldn’t’ve talked to ya like that, ‘neither. I’m sorry.”
You crossed your arms, leaning your back against the shelves to face him. The bleach tang was fading, replaced by something heavier as he stepped in towards you. The shelves creaked softly as he braced a hand against them, leaning in until he eclipsed the light from the ceiling. His scent rolled over you then, heady and thick, cutting through the astringent: woodsmoke and cedar, honey and something darker, like earth after rain, that barrel aged whiskey note to him. Your lungs betrayed you, drawing it in greedily.
His nose brushed your cheek, and God help you, you let him. It traced up to your ear where your gland throbbed. He breathed in, low, and the sound rumbled out of him, more purr than growl.
“I’m sorry I did this all wrong,” he said, his voice deep, sounding thick and animal. “But your heat belongs to me. It’s because of me. It’s mine to take.”
“No,” you whispered, weak, hands fisting in his shirt, willing yourself to push him back, but you couldn’t. Everything about your actions was betraying you, “You were so mean. I don’t want you.” Lie, lie, lie.
“Let me make it up to you, then. Such a pretty thing don’t deserve that,” he murmured, and the words sank down your spine, tingling through each vertebrae, body giving way to your mind with the smallest arch toward him. His voice was rough but low, coaxing, like he knew every nerve in you was already tuned to hear him. “I’m sorry I was a nasty old man. Shoulda started differently, hm?”
Your throat worked around a nod, a whimper slipping before you could stop it when his lips brushed your neck. The antiseptic tang that had been suffocating you all morning vanished in an instant, swept aside by the weight of his scent. Smoke and cedar, sweetened at the edges. He was everywhere—his chest brushing yours, his breath warm on your skin, the gentle prodding of his nose against your gland behind your ear.
And then he did something that made you want to scream. His lips pulled back, and…and his teeth, blunt and wet, pressed against the tender spot, not biting, only pressing against you, a bullish growl rumbling out of him as he inhaled. And god damn you, you answered with a sound that broke halfway between a whine and a keen, something desperate and shameful.
And then he pulled back, cold air rushing in where he’d been, sharp and sterile, and you despised it. You couldn’t stand the way you instantly wanted to lean forward again, to close that space.
“I’ll come get you from work. Tomorrow.”
“You—you what?” The words wavered, your headache flaring as you squeezed your eyes shut.
“Poor thing.” His hand came up, calloused fingers tilting your chin. You let him, even as every human instinct told you not to. “Feels awful, don’t it? Don’t take no more of them blockers, and I’ll come get you tomorrow.”
So close, his eyes right there in front of yours, the scrape of his thumb against your skin, the sheer size of him blotting out everything else—you wanted to claw at him for it, wanted to crawl inside it, wanted him gone. It was unbearable, the way your body leaned one way while your head screamed the other. All you could do was nod.
And as he started going towards the doors, you remembered yourself, calling out to him, “Wha–what was your name?”
He turned to you, light from the open doors casting him in stark contrast to the room, a sad little grin spreading across his face.
“Joel.”
Joel
He kept his word. It was one of the few things left of his humanness that still meant something, something he could stand by when he’d let everything else in him turn animal. So the next day, late in the afternoon, he was there, standing in the coffee shop, hands in his front pockets as if he belonged anywhere near civilization anymore.
And just when he thought he’d have to order something and pretend to be a random customer while he waited for you to show, you came out from the back, pulling off that hat with the shop’s logo. Your hair was flat under it, pushing your fingers through the strands with a sigh of relief of a day done. You didn’t see him at first as you hung it up along with your apron, but your eyes eventually flitted up, catching him.
They narrowed.
So you hadn’t believed him when he said he’d come.
“Hi,” he said, quietly, trying not to sound like a stray dog in a nice shop that held one of his favorite smells. Coffee had always been his favorite thing—the taste, the smell, the feeling. The ground beans and nutmeg and spices that always accompanied the fall filling the air swelled in his nose. Well, it was his favorite smell. Because now, a day off your blockers, you smelled heavenly to him. That changing of seasons, of warm vanilla and yet sweet and clean of lilac. Something new there, too. Soft and velvety that made his nostrils flare, greedy for it.
“Well? On with it.” you said sternly as you approached. You were mad, he'd known you would be. It still didn't make him feel any better. Your brows furrowing over those pretty eyes, clearer now without the sickness or daze of blockers. Clear enough to take him as he was, a mean, jaded old alpha. One that should’ve known better than to ever make you think he didn’t want you.
He couldn’t keep you. He told himself again and again. He couldn’t. But you deserved to understand, at least. He could give you that. Because you already knew more about him than anyone had in decades, and he’d always been so careful too. But you’d found him or he’d found you, he still couldn’t quite remember that part. And you’d slept in his bed—in the sheets he hadn’t changed because he was too much of a coward to get rid of your sweet smell, especially after you’d doused it with that astringent for days. He’d go home and breathe you in like a fool, push his face into the pillow where your head had been, feel his body react like it didn’t belong to him anymore. He’d rutted against the sheets once—only the one time—and hated himself for it after. That animal part of him had liked it too much. Liked you too much.
He left that beast at home now, he had to be under control now, because he needed to make you understand.
“What do you mean?” he asked, shaking his head, remembering you'd said something.
“You don’t have to tell me not to tell anyone what I saw,” you said. “I’m not gonna snitch you out, or tell FEDRA. I wouldn't do that.”
“That’s not…” his eyes narrowed, checking the surroundings for eavesdroppers, but the late afternoon had kept everyone locked in their last hours of work, your fellow barista in the back to restock. And when he looked back at you, he tried to study you. There was something strange going on, the way you bristled but leaned in, the way you clenched your fists but let your tongue dart out to lick your bottom lip, “That ain’t what this is.”
“Oh? So what? You’ll take my hand and we’ll go skipping into the meadow like some happy ever after?”
You were being a brat. If it didn’t get so under his skin so bad he might’ve laughed.
“Would you just walk with me, dammit? What is the matter with you?”
You stepped past him, muttering something about needing air, and pushed through the door.
He followed, the little bell above it giving a halfhearted ring as he stepped out into the street. The sky was still bright above, a crystal clear blue, for once.
You were walking fast, arms crossed tight, the soles of your shoes tapping sharp against the pavement. He caught up in a few long strides, his boots heavy beside your lighter steps.
“Look—” he said when you’d stayed silent for another block, “I’m sorry—”
“You already said that yesterday.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you—you have to understand—”
Your arms seemed to tighten around yourself, chin tipping up as you muttered, “M’not upset.”
Yeah, and he didn’t turn under the full moon every month. Okay.
He sighed, shaking his head. “Would you let me walk you home?” he said finally after a few steps, “Let me explain.”
“I don’t need you to explain why you turn into a fucking wolf every month, Joel, I got the basics down in Biology 101.”
“Keep your voice down.” he seethed, teeth bared.
“Or what?”
“Jesus, girl, I’m tryna make things right and you’re bein’—” He scoffed through his teeth, looking away, jaw tight enough to ache.
You shot him a look and stopped in your tracks, the midday hour throwing your face into brightness against the sunlight, glowing in your hair. Your hands dropped at your sides, balled into fists as you stepped closer. “Listen,” you said, and he felt the heat rolling off your skin, the pulse of your body too close to his. You were so damn small compared to him, but when you glared up at him like that, with your curled nose and your furrowed brow and those pretty eyes, you didn’t look scared. You looked furious, and it made him swallow hard.
“I don’t need anything from you,” you said. “So if you’re planning on just skipping town now, just get it done and over with.”
You stood there, seething, and he was breathing deep just to keep from matching your fire. The two of you toe to toe by the edge of the river now, having walked a few blocks in silence and spite. The water below caught the baby blue of the sky, rippling in silver, the sound of wind starting to hum through the reeds.
Something passed between you then, too heavy for air, too alive for language. His throat worked around the taste of it.
“Let me walk you home,” he said again, quieter this time.
You didn’t answer right away, only stared up at him, the wind catching your hair, lifting it across your face. Your breathing had evened out, but he could still feel the pulse of you from where he stood.
He waited. He didn’t want to push, or move, he only stood as if waiting for a verdict.
Finally, you exhaled, shaking your head, but your voice was smaller when you said, “Fine.”
He only nodded once and fell into step beside you again, the two of you walking the river path in silence.
You
He was so strange, this man.
Days ago he was pushing you out his front door like you were nothing, like you hadn’t just shared something that felt bigger than either of you, his smell lingering as it followed you home, even when you’d scrubbed until you stung.
And then he showed up at the coffee shop.
Stupid wolf. Playing with your mind like this. You’d always been too sensitive for things like this, like him—too soft, too hungry for meaning where maybe there wasn’t any. You told yourself it wasn’t your fault, not really. The world had made you lonely, biology had made you desperate, foolish. But God, you wanted him anyway. Wanted him too much, maybe.
But you couldn’t have him. Wouldn’t. Not if he didn’t want you back. You weren’t going to do that to yourself again.
“Do you…like making coffee?”
It took you a second to realize he was talking to you. You blinked, looking down at the grass beneath you. You didn’t even remember sitting here, in the little clearing along the trees where the woods opened into meadow. But somehow you were. The sunlight caught the soft fuzz on your arms, your skin warm and a little damp, your heart thudding lazily against your ribs.
He sat beside you, elbows resting on his knees, quiet. You could feel the size of him even when he wasn’t touching you. That quiet, immovable stillness of him, so different than most alphas you’d come across. Joel, he’d said. His name was Joel. You thought it was such a nice name, old-fashioned and solid, the kind of name that felt like home when you said it in your head.
You nodded.
“It was good coffee,” he said softly. Was he trying to get to know you or something? Why? Why drag this on any longer? He was going to leave, you were going to go home and be sick for days again. Not because of blockers this time, but of a broken heart. You’d done this before, fallen too fast just from idealizations, romanticized strangers in the street. It just happened that this man…he’d been different, hadn’t he?
You nodded again, pulling blades of grass from the dirt. You weren't sure what else to do, but then, a thought struck you suddenly, that prickle of worry flitting across your mind.
“Did anyone show up for you?” you asked, quietly, remembering. Your brows furrowed together, but you still didn’t want to look at him any more. It hurt your chest, your stomach twisting with the pain of what would come tomorrow.
You saw in your periphery, his head tilt, so much like his animal self, before a realization must’ve struck him of your meaning, “No, no one came.”
“Why?”
“I clean my tracks well.”
You looked up at him now, eyes narrowing. “But…?”
He drew in a slow breath, almost a sigh. “But I can’t stay for long before they figure it out.”
You studied him, the deep lines at the corners of his mouth, the way his eyes didn’t quite meet yours when he said it. There was something in the air now, heavy and fragile.
“How many lives have you lived?”
You didn’t mean for it to come out that way. It was a silly question, and you knew it, maybe too sentimental, something a romantic might ask in a different world. But he didn’t laugh at your simplicity, your honesty. He just looked at you like he was deciding whether to answer at all.
“Too many,” he said.
“What was your favorite?”
He looked lost, suddenly puzzled. And then, all expression dying from his face as he looked away from you, a frown deepened his features. As if a mask had formed, he turned formal and cold, beautiful, yes, he really was beautiful, but it was like watching his mind go far, far away from here.
“I’m sorry,” you said softly, “I didn’t mean—”
He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before taking a slow, uneven breath.
“I had a daughter.”
“Had?” you asked quietly, your heart was in your throat. You wondered briefly, the last time he’d spoken these words to anyone.
He nodded, opening his eyes again to look at you. And the mask was gone, no longer vacant or cold—but full of something deeper. Pain simmered there, unspoken but poured in from memory, flooding the quiet spaces of his mind. You could see it, all of it, written in the way he looked at you.
“She was my favorite part.”
“What…” you knew you shouldn’t ask, “...what happened?”
He sighed, letting his head fall, and you couldn’t help it, the need to reach out too great. Your hand came up to cup the bowl of his skull, petting the soft hair there—you’d wondered what he’d feel like against you, your fingers in his hair like this. It was softer than you’d imagined, warm from the sun. You could feel his breath slow under your touch, feel the pulse at his neck like a quiet, hidden heartbeat. Your stomach churned again with the way his smell filled your lungs this close, the gland at your wrist throbbed with the nearness of his at the neck, the two of them so close it made your body hum.
You felt so warm. The sun, the smell of him, the ember of something turning in your gut.
He reached up, pausing your petting, and your throat closed with the thought of rejection, again, he didn’t want you, stop trying to make him want you. He made it clear from the first time you’d met him, in his human form, that he’d never wanted you. You were meant to be alone, and he wanted to be alone.
Two lonely strangers meeting, resisting, wanting. It was an odd thing, a paradoxical torture, really.
As if reading your mind, as if feeling the way your heart was severing, he took your hand down from his neck, holding your wrist for a long moment. His skin was rough with callouses, hairy over the back of his knuckles, and so goddamn warm. Everything was so warm suddenly. His thumb brushed over the gland there, a soft spongy strip of skin that flushed with pheromones at his touch, oh you really wish he’d stop that. If this was all going to end, he really needed to stop.
Joel
“You have’ta understand,” he said, shaking his head, the words catching low in his throat, “this ain’t about want.”
Joel closed his eyes, he couldn’t speak it if he was looking at you. You, with your big, glazed eyes and warm cheeks, the way he could see the fever starting in you, “I have to be alone. For safety, for other’s…”
He couldn’t answer you, of what happened to her, he hadn’t spoken of her in such a long time. And the past still lived vividly behind his eyelids like a soreness. Blonde hair in the dirt, blood soaking through his shirt, God, the blo—
“Joel,” you said, hushed, your hand suddenly on his chest. So gentle, delicate little fingers against the thick expanse of him. He opened his eyes, saw your furrowed brow, your little frown. He didn’t want to make you like this. Couldn’t stand himself making you like this.
“It’s okay,” you whispered, “I understand.”
“You understand?”
“Yes, I think so.”
He swallowed, your hand not moving from him.
“I’m sorry,” you said after a while, when he didn’t speak, “it must be so lonely.”
The word snagged like a shot in the ribs. Lonely. He almost laughed because it sounded too juvenile, so small for what it was. Loneliness had been his country for years. He’d built walls out of it, carved roads through it, learned how to move inside it as a man who’d made peace with the dark. But you saying it now, soft and sad and meant for him, made it feel raw again, open, like he was bleeding from a wound long scarred over.
“I’m lonely, too.” you added quietly, letting your hands finally fall from him. He fought the urge to grab them back. You weren’t looking at him anymore though, eyes downcast in the grass at your knees, “I was…I was thinking of going to FEDRA.”
Joel bristled.
“To join their matchmaking program, to be paired with someone. Anyone. It’s been so lonely.”
He thought his shoulders would drop in relief at your intended meaning. Not going to FEDRA to turn him in, to tell them about the big scary monster that lived in the woods. No, you were going to turn yourself in. To find…someone else. Another alpha. Better suited to you. Who would take you, knot you, mate you.
The wolf in him thrashed against the cage of his ribs at the thought.
“I’m sorry,” he said instead. It was all he could say. He wasn’t sure what for, or why he was saying it now. He quietly hoped it would make up for all of it, though.
“For what?” you asked.
“Being rude.” he decided on.
You smiled faintly, the corners of your mouth twitching, and his heart swelled at the sight. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen you smile yet, and it was so, so pretty. “Okay. Apology accepted.”
Joel couldn’t help but grin back a little, a foreign feeling in his cheeks, with a little huff of laughter through his nose. He felt your fingers drag along his knuckles where he knelt in the grass.
“I know you said… you don’t want—” a tsk’ of his tongue and you changed course, “that you can’t have…anyone. But…I don’t know.” you shook your head again with thought, eyes still denying him, a thin sheen of sweat now at your forehead, oh, you smelled so damn good now. He could feel it in the back of his throat, could taste it almost, and every part of him screamed to move, to step closer, to breathe you in until the ache in his chest finally broke. He must get up or leave or force his feet to move away.
But he couldn’t, wouldn’t.
“I don’t think it would be so bad. To be with you.” you finished.
Joel pulled his hand from your light touch, wrenching away, “It would be. Don’t you see? Look at me.”
You didn’t.
“Look at me, omega.”
Your eyes, oh god, your eyes, they were glassy with fever, your scent filling his lungs—vanilla, spring and summer and cunt, and he was really done for if he stayed even another moment. But you had to know, he had to tell you.
“I need you to listen to me.” he began, breathing in a calming breath, willing the slam of his heart to quell, to soothe the beast that wanted to take your sweet, wide eyes and warm velvet keep and pin you to the ground and fill you there. It was all coming on too quickly, he thought he’d have time to explain himself. He had to explain himself.
“I am selfish, I am not a man worth wantin’. I would ruin you, your life. Always on the run, coverin’ tracks, lookin’ over your shoulder. It ain’t a life I want for anyone, let alone you. And if…” he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, willing the memory of her from his mind, of the blood in her hair, the dirt, the night air, and then looked at you, hard and serious as he continued. “If we were to have children, they’d never be safe from me. You’d never be safe. When it happens…I ain’t the one behind the wheel anymore. I don’t remember anything and it…goddammit, it terrifies me. What he’d do. He don’t know you, he barely even knows me.”
“But you did.”
Your voice was shaky, yes, fevered now, he watched the bob of your throat as you went on, “You knew me, Joel. Even as a…wolf, you never hurt me. Even when I didn’t know you, you knew me.” your hand now folds over his, warm and soft where his is calloused and hard in the dirt, “I trust you.”
“Don’t.”
You tilted your head, “What’s the matter, Joel?” whispering, you went on, “You don’t think you deserve anything good, is that it?”
His brow furrowed, gaze turning away. His body wouldn’t fucking listen. He wanted to get up, to run from this, from you, from that unbearable way you looked at him like you saw through all the grime and guilt. A dog with its tail tucked. That's what he was, caught and seen for what he was.
But then you moved. Bent yourself in half, hands pressing to your stomach, a soft sound breaking from your throat that made every muscle in him lock up. A moan, quiet but crooning, and his hand was on you before he could think, palm running up the curve of your back.
“Are you oka—?”
“I feel funny, Joel,” you mewled, the sound high and broken, and it did something to him that terrified him because it was instinct, pure and simple, “Everything hurts.”
Christ above. He should leave. He should get up and run and not look back. But suddenly he felt more himself than ever before, every part lit up in response to that word. Hurting.
And the instinct was as old as his bones rose within him. An alpha soothes and omega in distress—he must soothe and touch and reassure. When the scent turned sharp and pained, his body moved on its own.
“You’re hurtin’, baby?” he heard himself say, voice gone low, rough at the edges, completely unknown to him. “S’okay, s’okay,” he murmured, his hand rubbing up and down your back in slow circles, the sound that followed not quite words, a soft rumble from deep in his chest meant to calm, meant to tell you that you were safe.
You looked up at him through your lashes, lips parted, panting, eyes glassy. “What’s it like?”
He froze. “What?”
“I’ve never… been with an alpha.”
His throat went dry, “I…we can’t…I can’t, honey, please—”
“Joel,” you cried out gently, as if knowing, knowing what your desperate little cries would do to him, "...alpha."
This was not going to plan. He was so far gone from himself, and yet utterly more himself than he’d ever felt in his entire existence. The way you said his name, the smell of your cunt and panting breath thickening the air until it was all he could breathe. The heat of your back seeping through his palm. The beast paced under his skin was awake now, snarling, drooling at the edge of his restraint.
“It’s so good,” he heard himself whisper, his voice slurred, too honest to be mistaken for anything but animal.
You moaned at the sound, eyes flicking to his mouth, and he felt that look like a pulse through his whole body.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“We need to get you home,” he forced himself to say, clearing his throat, trying to clear his goddamn head too.
“No!” you gasped, sitting up straighter, and so fast he reached out to steady you, his hands catching your shoulders. But you were already climbing into him, moving before he could think—legs sliding around his waist, your chest pressed to his, his boots braced in the dirt.
No, no, no. He couldn’t be this close. But he didn’t move. His arms found your back, his hands spread flat between your shoulder blades, holding you there like he’d been made to. His nose went to your neck, to the soft skin just below your jaw, and before he knew it he was breathing you in as you blabbered above him, rutting your hips against his belly.
Don’t take me home, don’t leave me alone, please, please.
“Okay, okay,” he heard himself whisper, nuzzling into your skin. “You’d let me take you here, huh? Out in the woods, for everyone to see?” His voice was quiet, nearly a growl. Hee was done for, he knew it. “That what you want, baby?”
“Oh, yes,” you moaned, delirious now, he could tell. The moment your lips touched his gland behind his ear, he was screaming inside. His eyes went wide, mouth open as he felt your tongue trace it light and curious, and he almost lost himself right there.
“Jesus,” he gasped. Your fingers buried in his hair, tugging until he looked up at you. You leaned down, licked the edge of his lip, and his breath came out shaky, a sound too close to a whine.
And then you kissed him.
Soft at first, and then increasingly hungry and messy, the wet smacking sound of lips and tongue filling the air. Your mouth opened around his, your tongue slipping against his, and his brain went white. You tasted so sweet, like everything he shouldn’t have, better than he imagined. He groaned into it, a deep sound vibrating up from his chest, your whimpers melting into it, your hips grinding down against his lap.
You were so close, breasts pressed against his chest, your little cunt so fucking close now. It was only a few layers, so warm, he could nearly feel how you drooled slick for him. It would be so easy, easy as breathing, to let himself have you here for the world and God to see.
“You have to know—fuck—please, I have to tell you—” he gasped. But you kept mouthing at his open mouth, suckling his lips, licking between words, until his hand came up behind your neck. If this was happening, because he sure wasn’t going to be able to stop himself if this continued, he needed to tell you. He fisted his hand through your hair and scruffed you, pulling your face back. You went pliant, panting deeply, eyes on him but gone, dreamy and glossy.
“My rut—it ain’t like a normal alpha,” he shook his head as you moaned, jutting your hips against his, the heat of you bleeding through the layers. “Listen to me, little one. Listen. I need you to listen, baby, okay?”
You nodded. He needed to be gentle, was all. Needed to heed his instincts.
His fingers softened through your hair, petting you slowly, trying to calm the tremor running through your body. He could feel the damp heat of your skin against his palm, the way your breath shuddered every time he touched you. His hands slid down, finding the small of your back, pressing your center against his lap, your hands spread flat on his chest where his heart pounded hard enough that you could probably feel it.
You were so fucking pretty. Hair tangled, lips parted, eyes glazed and soft, pupils wide and drowning every trace of color he’d memorized. You looked wrecked and fevered, and still, you looked at him like he was something worth wanting. That was it. Yes, he was done. He couldn’t fight this anymore. He could feel it all bleeding out of him, replaced by the kind of need that felt as natural as the wind against his cheek.
“When I get into a rut, sweetheart…” He had to stop and breathe, the words catching in his throat as your hips shifted against his. “It can—sometimes I change. Or I start to.”
Your eyes went a little wide.
Good, you finally were afraid of him.
“Not always,” he went on, voice low, barely holding steady, he must soothe, “it ain’t always a full change, and sometimes I can stop it. But with—” He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “with an omega, I don’t know if I’ll be able to.”
“Okay,” you whispered, cheeks aflame.
“Okay?” he repeated, tilting his head, a half-smile that lightly tugged at the corner of his mouth at your simple answer, your naivety. You smiled gently back as he reached up to brush the damp hair from your forehead, fingers lingering there, “If I change—if I turn into…if the big guy comes out, I need you to stay calm, okay? Don’t fight me or run. It’ll only make it worse.”
You nodded, “What…can I do?”
“Nothin’,” he said softly. “It’ll be okay.” He caught a stray tear that began to bead at your eye with his thumb, rubbed it away, then brought the dampness to his lips before he realized what he was doing. “Such a sweet little omega,” he murmured, almost to himself. “So fuckin’ pretty, too.”
You keened at that, a soft sound fluttering through you as you tilted your head back down to catch his lips with yours.
You
Eventually, he forced himself to his feet, you still clinging to him. He walked a few paces like that, your arms looped around his neck, your legs tangled around his hips. For a while he didn’t seem to mind it—having you pressed to him like something he needed to keep safe. But then, little by little, he eased you down, letting you walk beside him.
Your hand never left him. Always reaching, always touching. His arm, his shoulder, your fingers brushing his sleeve, afraid he’d disappear if you didn’t keep him tethered. His skin was so warm it almost scalded you. Every breath of him was heat.
You felt like something new—like the world had cracked open just to make room for this one impossible thing. It burned and hurt and bloomed all at once.
He took you to his cabin now, opened the door for you slowly and gently. His hand stayed at your back the whole time, steadying you as you stepped inside. The space was dim and quiet, the air heavy with the smell of wood and smoke—and him. You froze for a second, realizing your own scent still lived here too, faint but unmistakable. You hadn’t been erased.
“Make yourself comfortable, baby,” he murmured, voice thick against your ear. “I’m gonna fix us something to eat.”
“Eat?” you echoed, frowning a little, the word feeling foreign now.
“Yeah. Eat.” His hand brushed your arm as he moved past you toward the kitchen. “Go on. Lay down. Rest a minute, whatever you want.”
You stood there a long while, watching him move around the space like a memory come back to life. Then, drawn by something small and helpless in you, you drifted down the short hall to the bedroom.
You couldn’t help it, your nose led you. You climbed into the bed, pressing your face into the pillows where his scent was strongest, warm and smoky and familiar. And…there, faint beneath it, was yours. Lingering, just barely. He hadn’t washed you away.
You pulled the blanket back, smoothed it down, then fluffed the pillows, your hands moving without thought. You rearranged, touched, tucked. It was a little delirious, silly even, but you let your instincts take over as you made your little nest.
And when you looked up again, he was there, the smell of chicken and potatoes and a gravy with some sort of green all heaped onto a plate for you while he watched from the doorway.
“Come on,” he said softly, ticking his head back behind him, “Made somethin’ for you.”
You did, following him out to the little dining table that only had one chair, and he hefted you up onto his lap, feeding you little bites, your lips closing around the fork in his hand, sometimes fed with just his fingers, tasting the salt of his skin. He made you take big sips of water too, your throat parched for more than drink though. You weren’t really hungry either, your stomach fluttering with need instead, a low ache deep in your core already slick and aching for him.
You made a small sound against his throat when you felt how hard he was beneath you, thick and pulsing, and your body rocked before you could stop it. He groaned low and rough, the sound tearing out of him.
The fork clattered onto the table when the plate was empty. His hand found your throat, thumb brushing up your jaw as he turned your face toward him. “What’re you tryin’ to do to me?”
You keened, leaning into his chest, letting your legs spread across his knees.
“If we do this,” he murmured, his voice almost a growl, “you won’t ever fuck anyone else. Do you understand, little omega?”
Ohhh, that word in his mouth, so filthy. Your eyes rolled back, hips undulating against his thick pressing of his lap.
“Answer me,” he said again, rougher now. “Or are you too far gone to think of anything but my cock?”
“I understand,” you gasped. “Please, alpha—please.”
He groaned, catching your mouth in an open, wet kiss, breath shared. “Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, “let me see—let me see you.”
His hands slid down, slow, peeling your pants away. You kicked them off haphazardly, trembling and dizzy with want.
“Oh, look at that,” he rasped, tugging your panties down to your thighs. Slick clung between the cotton and your skin, stringing in threads that caught the light. “All this for me, huh?”
Your mind moved sluggishly, everything molten in your veins, every pulse a thread of fire. Vision blurred with the relief of his fingers spreading you open, finally, finally touching you as he parted you for his gaze. With the last threshold of fabric gone from it, his chin hooked over your shoulder, beard scratching against your skin as he looked.
He touched you then, slowly at first, two fingers gliding over your center, flat and sure, tracing every soft place as if he needed to know it all by touch. Your head dropped back against his shoulder, his breath filling the space beside your ear. He kissed the curve where your neck met your shoulder, breathing deep, greedy, like he could scent the need coming off you. Beneath you, his lap was solid heat, the strain of him pressing up against you with every shift of your hips.
“Hurts, Joel, please…” you crooned, voice cracking under the plea.
“Oh, baby, I know. I know. How’s this? What about this?” His voice broke into a low murmur as he slid a finger in, curling it up, cupping your mound as pet the walls of your slick heat. Your mouth opened around a gasp, breath ragged and thin.
“I know,” he whispered again, over and over, breath heavy against your ear. “Feels good, don’t it?”
“More,” you murmured. “More, more, more…” You turned your head toward him, lips brushing his beard as your back arched, chest pushing into his touch. He shoved your shirt up, tearing it off when it wouldn’t stay, your bra dragged down until your breast spilled free into his palm. You cried out when he grabbed it hard, kneading, jostling, his hand too big, too eager.
“Perfect,” he growled, voice rough and unrecognizable. “Perfect little thing.”
Your spine bowed nearly to pain when he pushed a second finger in, twisting them just right to make you cry out again. Then a third, slow and deep, his hand slick and obscene between your thighs. You were unraveling, breaking apart in his lap, his breath wild against your skin. Your first orgasm came with bursts of ecstasy that lasted only a moment, gushing around his fingers.
“Yeah, yes, that’s it,” he rasped into your ear, teeth catching your lobe. “That’s it, good girl. Gonna make it feel so good.”
But it didn’t feel good—not entirely. Or maybe it did, but the pleasure only sharpened the ache burning inside you, twisting it higher until it was unbearable. Your hands clawed weakly at your own throat, sobs beginning to shake through your chest.
Joel continued petting your cunt, but gently now, pulling his fingers from you until he circled his arms around you, pulling you in close, “Okay, hush now. It’s alright. You’re in your heat now, baby, it’s okay—I got you.”
“Joel,” you sobbed, voice cracking as tears streaked down your cheeks. Everything felt too hot: your skin, the sounds, the steady thrum beneath your skin. Your vision swam as his voice coaxed softly in your ear.
“C’mon, honey, we’ll get you in the bed, c’mon now,” he cooed. Lifting you easily, he turned you in his arms as he stood. Your slick soaked through his shirt, riding up until your cunt was pressed to the soft trail of hair leading below his jeans, and you couldn’t help but push your hips hard against the tickle of it. He sat down on the bed, bracing himself against the pillows, stripping off his shirt and pushing his pants away while keeping you in his lap, your body trembling against his chest.
You rolled your hips against him, desperate, chasing any friction that would ease the ache.
“Hey, hey,” he said softly, brushing your hair from your face, tilting your chin so you’d look at him.
You blinked up, dazed by how beautiful he looked, how impossibly lucky you felt to have such a pretty alpha.
He smiled as if he could see all the thoughts across your delirious face.
“You still with me, little baby?” he asked, kissing your top lip, pulling it into his mouth. You kissed him back, greedier and greedier, both of your mouths parting wider with every pass until your lips were slick, your chin wet where his tongue chased the corner of your mouth. You could taste salt, skin, the faint mint of breath; his beard scraping your chin as he kissed you deeper, until it felt like he was trying to drink the sound of your moans out of you.
And you could feel him—his cock, hot and heavy between you. You shifted down, rutting yourself along him, coating him in your slick until he groaned, a sound so deep it made your stomach tighten painfully. You wanted to hear it again and again and again.
Then his hands gripped you, rougher now, his mouth devouring yours with wet, hungry sounds. You whimpered, clutching at him as he fisted himself, guiding his tip to your entrance. The moment he notched just the head, that first push of warmth and stretch, you arched, trembling at the feeling of him. Both of you broke the kiss only to gasp, mouths agape, lips brushing, tasting the shared air as he eased you down slowly.
He sat upright against the pillows, belly to belly, your chest dragging against his as you sank lower, nipples catching in the dark tufts of his chest. The slide was endless, thick and overwhelming, until you were seated fully, his thighs flush to your ass, his cock buried deep inside you.
“Fuck,” he groaned, voice rough with awe, his hands locked at your hips to steady you, to hold. They slid to your back, palms broad and firm, guiding you closer until your chests were pressed together, “She’s squeezin’ me so tight, huh?”
You moaned breathlessly, eager for more more more, because everything was still so painfully needy inside of you, burning and hungry despite how good he felt stretching you. You started moving, just a slow roll of your hips, testing the give of him, and god he felt so damn good like this, so close, so warm, thick and pulsing inside. His breath broke at the shift of your body, a sound somewhere between a growl and a plea.
“Yeah,” he murmured against your throat, voice thick with arousal as his tongue flattened to lick your salty skin. “That’s it. Just like that. Pretty little omega takin’ cock so good.”
He leaned in more, mouth finding your shoulder, kissing up to where your gland throbbed beneath the skin, that sacred spot no one was ever meant to touch. The moment his tongue licked over it, your body went white hot. A helpless, keening sound left your throat as he suckled, slow and deep, drawing at the pheromones there, inhaling the scent of your climbing state. It wasn’t a bite, but the feeling of the light graze of his teeth sent a lightning jolt through you all the same, your cunt clenching down tighter, every instinct clawing toward him. Your hips rode faster, not able to help yourself.
“Alpha, alpha, please—” you mewled, wanting more, wanting, more than anything, to feel his teeth sink into you—and your nubby nails clawed into his wide breadth of shoulders, hot to the touch, a fire blazing just beneath his skin. The wet slap of skin over your whining and his grunts sending your eyes rolling.
“Stop, stop, don’t,” he rasped, the words coming out broken, strained, as if something deeper inside him was tearing loose as he unlatched his lips from our skin. And in your haze of misery and ecstasy and pure bliss, your vision swam, but you could see him.
And he was…changing.
His face, once so human, began to twist and shudder, his body tensing like it might split apart from within. More dark hair pushed through his skin, coarse and wild, his jaw lengthening, teeth flashing for a moment in the light from the window. His hands gripped at your waist, fingers curling, nails hardening to sharp edges that caught and pricked at your hips. Each sound he made was rougher than the last, more beastial, until you could barely tell if he was groaning in agony or pleasure.
You held on tighter, your body trembling against him, your own heartbeat stuttering at the sight. It felt wrong and beautiful at once, terrifying in its rawness, this man unmade before you.
“Joel—Joel—” you said, still connected, so close, his sounds more and more deep and snarling and angry, even through the pleasure. But how could it be? There was no moon, no reason for the wolf to come. He said something earlier, when you were seeping into your most saturated state, something about… about…
His neck arched back, muscles straining, bones shifting under the surface of his skin, the motion almost too much to look at. You caught his face in your hands, forcing his head down until his eyes met yours, wild and flickering with rage, all the while still that forest green and river blue, the yellow of the animal within. Holding him there, you were trembling, panting, trying to stay rooted in this moment even as your body burned around him, your cunt clenching in waves as he pulsed inside you, deep and thick and steady, like your bodies were made to answer one another. You swallowed down the sounds threatening to pour from your throat, that helpless litany of moans and whimpers, tried to find your way back through the haze of need and heat and fear, tried to be here, with him, with Joel, even as the wildness in him began to rise.
“It’s okay, I’m here, Joel, I’m here, you’re here, with me. Stay here, Joel. Listen to my voice.”
You cradled his face in your palms, thumbs brushing across the damp heat of his cheeks, his sweat slick against your skin. Beneath your hands you could feel it still, the cracking and grinding of his bones, but they were bending back into place, the hair and beast retreating slowly beneath his skin like a tide drawing away from the shore.
His whole body trembled, heat rolling off him in waves, and for a moment it felt like the room itself had lost gravity, like the air was holding its breath. Then, he exhaled. A long, shuddering breath that left him heavy and slack beneath you. The tremors in his chest eased. His hands, still curled tight at your hips, softened back into something human. His face lowered into the crook of your neck, and you felt the weight of him return all at once—flesh and bone and man again.
“That’s it,” you cooed, pressing your lips to the corner of his, the tickle of his mustache pearled with sweat on his upper lip.
He gathered you close then, still trembling, still hot, his nose tracing along your jaw, humming. You felt the brush of his lips there, reverent and unsteady, and a single shiver ran the length of your spine.
“You smell so good,” he whispered, human in its softness now, kissing your chin, your lips gently, shivering and sweaty. You held him closer, letting your face fall into his neck, rolling your hips more with a whimpering.
“I got you, little omega,” he said gently, holding you close, no more space between you, his cock still buried and full of heat inside, “S’just us now.”
Your body trembled around him, legs wrapped tight, chasing the feeling of friction again. Your cunt puffy and slick and full as his breath came heavier, harder, until he was groaning again, his hips thrusting up up up into you with the rocking of your hips.
“Oh! Ah—Joel,” you whispered, overwhelmed and feeling him in your tummy. He only answered in a purring hum, teeth nipping at your skin now, hands gripped hard at your hips once again, hauling you down onto him over and over.
“Alpha,” you mewled, helpless. It was as if he’d come back alive, completely human but animal in his instincts. Maybe it was the way your body gripped around him, the scent of your slick heavy in the air, or maybe it was just how you knew that word would affect him. You felt it in the tension that suddenly returned to his grip, in the way his breath caught sharp at your throat. His body had steadied, but his rut hadn’t passed—it had only been quelled by his will, now human in its need.
“I know, baby,” he panted, voice cracking with its eagerness. “You feel that? Hmmm?” hips slapping into you, his back pushing further into the pillows, pulling you closer onto him and grinding upward at the end of each thrust. “Gonna fill this sweet pussy, stretch her open, knot you right on my cock where you belong.”
His fingers bruised your waist as he drove up into you again, again, again.
“How’s that sound, pretty girl?” he murmured in your ear as you moaned. “Gonna take all of it for me?”
“Yes,” you cried, high and desperate, animal yourself, needy, instinctual. “Please, please, I want it—”
“Yeah,” he grunted, mouth open, panting. “I know, I know, gonna make it feel so good, baby. Take my knot.”
He slammed up one last time as his cock swelled thick inside you, pressure blooming sudden and perfect, locking you down on him, sealing every inch between you. You gasped, feeling him pulse as his spend shot into you, your body arching, clenching, held wide around the thick, throbbing heat of him.
“That’s it,” he groaned, voice rasping into your ear. “There you go. That’s it, baby. I got you. You’re so fuckin’ full now, ain’t ya?”
You could barely breathe.
“Want you to come on my knot,” he said, almost soothing now, but still panting, voice thick and dark and low. “You’ll feel better, promise. There won’t be no more hurt, just this. Just me inside you.”
You whimpered, trying to grind down but finding yourself stuck in place.
“Good girl, sweet girl,” he whispered, chuffing in gentle amusement, “I got you,” his hand slid between your bodies, sitting the both of you back up, his thumb dipping into the flood of slick you made for him, circling your clit, pushing and pressing until your legs were shaking around him, “There you are, c’mon now, be a good little girl and come for me. Come on my knot,”
The sound of your mewls filled the room, matched by his own ragged breath. The tension coiled tighter and tighter until it broke, your body shaking against his, all sound spilling out of you as he held you through it, whispering to you, your name, calling you a good little omega. His arms clenched back around you, holding you down as your climax tore through, soaking him, pulsing against him, moaning and shuddering as you gave yourself up to it. You broke apart in his arms, crying out, your body clenching down impossibly tight around the swollen knot keeping you together.
When it passed, you let your cheek fall onto his shoulder, his chest was rising and falling fast beneath yours, but he was quiet now. The beast in him stilled. No more teeth or snarling, just the wet warmth of your bodies, drenched in sweat and the nectar of you, every inch of you felt locked together.
You stayed like that for a long time, every inch of your body felt sated, split wide open and remade around him. His knot remained swollen, seated deep, keeping you in a hold that felt almost holy as the room turned gold with the evening spilling its honeyed light through the windows. It caught on your sweat drenched skin, warming the curve of his beard lined jaw, the shine of your shoulder. Outside, the world was still with the night slowly creeping in. And inside, only the sound of breath. Yours and his, slowed and matched.
He was petting your head like you were a fragile thing, soft and gentle, fingers carding sweetly through your hair. The pads of his fingertips dragged lightly against your scalp, the two of you purring in your bliss.
Your eyes blinked open against the warm slope of his throat.
“Can I feel?” you whispered.
“Hm?” he hummed, softly, gravely.
You turned your face up toward him, your cheek still pressed to the sweaty heat of his skin. “The knot.”
He stilled for a moment, as if the question took a moment to compute in his foggy brain. Then he shifted, large hand slipping beneath your smaller one, lifting it gently from his shoulder. You didn’t move, just watched as he guided it between you, slow and careful, sitting you up.
Your hands descended to the place where your bodies met. You could feel the heat of it before you touched it, wet and swollen and impossibly thick where he filled you.
He wrapped his hand around yours, guiding your fingers to where he stretched you. “Just there,” he murmured. “Most of it’s still inside.”
Your fingertips brushed the swollen ridge where he was seated deep. It was hot, firm. A strange, thick shape, different than the rest of him. Not smooth, but ridged and tight, sensitive to the touch. You could feel the pulse of blood still moving through it, feel the fullness of it stretching you open.
Your voice came out quieter than before. “What does it do?”
He huffed a soft breath, the closest thing to a laugh, the corner of his mouth curling as he looked at you. “Thought you took Biology 101.”
You chuffed back, nose wrinkling faintly, your touch still exploring. The knot was firm but not unyielding, your walls held taut around it.
“It keeps me inside,” he said finally. His voice had gone soft again. “Keeps everything where it needs to be. My spend. All of me. Makes sure it takes.”
You sighed dreamily, your body curling closer as you laid your head back to his shoulder. “Oh,” you whispered. And then, a hum. “I like that.”
He turned his head to kiss your nose, your cheekbone, the shell of your ear. You shuddered against the feeling of his lips on you, blissful in your state. Finally, that ember that burned every month, was soothed. And yet…
“Joel?” you murmured.
His lips paused at your temple. “What is it, baby?”
Your voice turned small. “I want to run away with you.”
His body went rigid beneath yours. A long silence stretched between you before your brain began to tingle with worry.
“I want to stay here,” you said, softer still. “Like this, just like this. Forever.”
You nuzzled into the crook of his neck, your breath warming the sweat damp skin there.
“Don’t say that,” he said, brokenly. “Baby, don’t say that kind of thing to me. You know…you know what I am, we can’t…I can’t.”
You pulled back just far enough to look at him. His face was flushed, damp, his hazel eyes darkened and stormy. Like the woods after rain. His lips parted around breath that came too fast, like it hurt to breathe at all.
“But I mean it,” you said. “I don’t care what happens. I don’t care who comes looking. I don’t care about anything but this.” Your fingers lifted to his face, brushing his cheek, his thick beard at his jaw. “I want you.”
He made a warning rumble, a deep sound from somewhere in his chest as his hips jerked slightly beneath you. His knot throbbed. You felt his body tense again, that wildness stirring beneath the surface. He was fighting it.
“Joel,” you breathed.
You kissed him before he could say anything. Deep and open, no hesitation anymore. He kissed you back as if his restraint pained him, his mouth wet and urgent, his hands sliding up your back, clutching you like you might disappear. One hand tangled hard in your hair, gripping, guiding, grounding.
“Bite me,” you whispered against his mouth, “Please,” begging, voice thick and trembling. “Joel. Bite me.”
He pulled back, his hand tightening in your hair as he stayed silent.
But your hand cupped his cheek, thumb stroking just beneath his eye. “Please.”
He was shaking his head before the words even left you, the tremor in his jaw betraying how close he was to losing what was left of his restraint.
“I have nothing else,” you said, softer now. “No one else. All I’ve ever wanted is for someone to see me as I am. To love me as I am. And you… Joel, you showed me more than I even knew how to want.”
You pushed your hands into his hair, tugging at the nape, both of you mirrors of one another in more ways than one. Your loneliness, your need, your bodies.
“Please,” he begged. What was he pleading for? For you to stop asking? For you to make him do it? You weren’t sure. You only blinked at him, your chest tightening.
His fingers twitched against your scalp like he wanted to pull you closer but couldn’t justify it. His body was still beneath you, thick and locked inside you, his knot stretched wide in your cunt, and yet the air between you suddenly felt distant.
“Joel—” you asked.
“I can’t claim you.”
The silence that followed was sharp in your ears, a painful ringing behind your heartbeat, and you didn’t understand what he was saying because your body was still clinging to him like you were meant to, because your blood was still singing with it, because your scent had already changed and the fire in your belly had already gone still and calm in the shape of him.
“Cant? Or won’t?” you asked, your voice so soft it barely survived the space between you.
He turned his head, eyes low, jaw clenched so tight the muscle there jumped with tension.
You felt the pain in your stomach before you knew the feeling of it, the way your blood was rushing cold now, heart thundering against you. You saw his nostrils flare, his eyes suddenly darting back to your face, searching you.
“No,” he said, suddenly urgent, his hand cupping the back of your neck gentler now, thumb brushing soothingly behind your ear. “No, baby, don’t do that. You’re okay. You’re safe. I got you.”
You swallowed hard, blinking fast.
“So all of this is for nothing?” you whispered, the panic blooming behind your ribs now. “You take me. You fuck me, knot me, you say all these things—and I feel it, Joel, and I know you do too—and you’re gonna try to tell me it means nothing?”
His face crumpled, something inside him cracking open.
“It means everything,” he choked out.
He dragged in a breath that shook through his chest. “I ain’t ever wanted anything this bad, and it scares the hell outta me.”
You felt the tension in him, the way he held himself as if one more inch of movement would undo the last thread of restraint he had left. For a heartbeat you thought he might pull away. Instead, to your heart's relief, he bowed forward, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath coming uneven, hot and ragged.
Your hands found his jaw, the coarse rasp of beard biting your palms. His knot, swollen and fierce moments ago, began to ease, the pressure softening between you until you could both breathe again.
For a long time neither of you spoke. You just listened to the slow, broken rhythm of his lungs filling and emptying, the quiet thud of his heart under your chest. When he finally moved, it was only to guide you down beside him, pulling himself out of your clenching entrance, his arm still around you, his body curved close, your spin to his chest.
“I want this,” he said after a while, voice barely above a whisper in your ear. “Want you. Want somethin’ good, for once. I’m just—” he exhaled, the sound almost a sigh, “—I don’t…I don’t know how to do it with…with him.”
You turned toward him, eyes wet but steady. “You won’t lose yourself,” you said. “I trust you. I trust the wolf, I want to be with you.”
Your body remained warm, so warm, the ember settled but still burning bright, like a star made anew in you, still demanding more of him. You couldn’t help the way you wanted to be close to him, and he let you. His thick arm winding around your body, both of you warm as you pushed your bottom up against him. The ache quelled in the feeling of new safety, of him giving in to his most natural needs and instincts. He breathed you in as he nuzzled against you, his nose dragging slow along your ear, his mouth grazing that searing gland just behind your jaw before opening his mouth against it, breath hot, lips trembling. There was a sound in his throat, something unformed and low, half growl and moan, like the beast still stirred in his chest, caught between wanting and ruin.
His hand slid over your stomach, callused and large, fingers pressing into the softness of your belly before dipping down. Not teasing or slow, but needing. His breath hitched when he felt how hot you still were, how slick, how your thighs opened up easily for him, your body responding while your brain went slack again.
He turned you over, reverent in how he moved you to his liking, his chest pushing into your back as he slid his cock back into your velvet clutch, thick and hard, pressing you down into the mattress with the weight of his body, a gasp tearing from your throat that tipped into a cry as his mouth closed over your neck, hot, open, and shaking—before his teeth sank into your flesh.
Your brain splintered at the feeling. The overwhelming surge of being claimed, his groan deep and animal as he fucked into you again, harder now, each thrust sealing the two of you tighter. His tongue lapped at your neck, as if he could soothe even while claiming, and your body gave out beneath him, boneless and burning, undone, finally and completely satiated. You felt the swell of him, the edge of something even deeper, and then he was spilling inside you again, just from the taste of you surrendered, the heat of your skin, the knowledge that he’d finally taken you as his.
And as he unlatched from you, his mouth warm against your skin as he licked and soothed the tender punctures, purring low in his chest, he stayed pressed to your back as he nuzzled, kissed and licked, his breath a balm where he’d marked you.
And as you purred along, soft and sated, your heat quieted, your womb at last content, you heard him chanting between each breath, each kiss.
Warning/tags: Smut, minors DNI, ddlg, big age gap, daddy kink, innocent!reader, soft bondage, unprotected piv, creampie, nipple play, pussy eating, fingering, tease and denial, overstimulation, pussy rubbing and grinding (but with his cock?) baby-talking, condescending!joel, cum eating
Disclaimer: This work is not intended to be a faithful or canonical representation of Joel Miller from the game/TV show. All characters are consenting adults in a relationship. If you’re not into age gaps or dd/lg dynamics, consider this your sign to stop reading. If you choose to continue it’s your responsibility, you’ve been warned.
Joel was on his back in bed, one of his arms behind his head, resting the other hand lazily on your hip. Your skin was still warm from the bath he’d taken you into earlier, and you were curled next to him, already needy, nuzzling under his arm like you couldn’t help yourself.
When Joel finally spoke, his voice came low. “Wanna tie you up tonight.”
You blinked, freezing instantly. What did he mean? Tie you up. Where? And why?
He kept stroking your hip lazily, like he was saying something casual. Like he wasn’t already half-hard and throbbing beside you just from picturing your body laid out for his taking.
He looked down at you with that same serious gaze that made your stomach flip. “You okay with that, babygirl?”
You swallowed, your voice was barely a whisper. “T-Tie me?”
He nodded. “Your wrists. Just to the headboard. Real soft. Won’t hurt you.”
You cocked your head to the side, letting your curiosity slip out of you. “W-why?”
Joel chuckled. “Because daddy’s been thinkin’ bout it for a while,” he leaned in just enough to warm your ear with his breath. “You’d look so damn pretty spread out like that… lettin’ daddy do anythin’ he wants without movin’.”
You barely managed the small and breathy sound that slipped out of you. “Ooh…”
Joel curved his lips into a smirk again. “You trust me?”
You nodded. “Yes, daddy.”
Your obedience made him groan. “Good girl.”
He sat up, reached into the drawer beside the bed, and pulled out two long and soft cloths, cotton ones so they were smooth enough to feel gentle on the skin. You didn’t even know he had them, you had no idea how long he’d been thinking about this, but you were trembling already.
“C’mon now,” Joel instructed you. His excitement was written all over him, showing in the way his cock twitched hard against the fabric of his boxer briefs. The thick outline jumped, straining against the cotton like it was about to split the seams if you so much as brushed him. “Lie back f’me, baby.”
You did, obediently sprawling on your back with nervous eyes while Joel climbed over you, leaned in close, and kissed your cheek.
“I’ll stop anytime you say,” he reminded you gently, knotting the first cloth around your right wrist. “You don’t like it, we’re done. But I’ve wanted this for a long time.”
You whimpered, already breathless as he tied your wrist to the headboard. Then the other. Not tight, just snug. Enough that you could squirm, but not pull free.
Joel sat back to look at you. Spread out… exposed… helpless.
His girl. His baby.
He tried hard so hard to control the urge to just say fuck it to the whole fantasy and shove his cock inside you right then and there. Every twitch of his length against his boxers was begging him to take you now. But he’d been waiting for this, waiting to tease you, to watch you squirm and shake for him.
He reached down and slid two fingers between your legs, humming at how wet you already were. Your pussy lips were already covered in your sticky arousal, and every tiny movement made the mess spread
“Goddamn, babygirl,” he whispered. “Didn’t even touch you yet and this pussy’s cryin’.”
You whimpered, bucking your hips slightly, trying to get his thick digits to rub your clit.
He hooked two fingers into the neckline of your sleep shirt and tugged rough enough to make the fabric stretch and slide. The collar dipped low, dragging over your skin until your breast spilled free into the cool air, soft and perfect in his palm as he pushed the shirt down just enough to expose you completely to him.
Joel grinned as he lurched a long stripe up your chest, pausing at your tit to suck it, making you arch your back. He wrapped his mouth around one of your nipples, sucking hard enough to pull a broken moan straight out of your chest. He sealed his lips tight, dragging his tongue over the sensitive peak before he sucked again, wetly, like he was trying to drink the sound out of you.
He kept his other hand busy, moving from kneading your breast to delivering soft but stinging slaps that made your nipple burn before he pinched it between his fingers. He twisted just enough to make you gasp, the pain was sharp but sweet, the kind that shot straight down between your legs and made your pussy throb.
Then he unwrapped his lips from your nipple, grazing it with his teeth, barely a bite, just with enough pressure to make the tender bud ache. You hitched your breath instantly, and before you could even exhale, he leaned in close and blew a warm breath over the wet, swollen peak. You shivered, your nipple tightening even more.
He popped off with a wet sound and stared you down. “You like bein’ tied up for Daddy, huh?”
You nodded fast, parting your lips in a little “O”.
“Say it.”
“L-like being tied up, Daddy,” you gasped. “Like when you make me stay still…”
“Yeah, bet’cha do.”
Joel settled himself between your thighs like he belonged there, the mattress dipping under his weight as he grabbed your knees and spread you wider until you felt the stretch all the way up your hips. The position left your pussy fully exposed, glistening and open for him, with your arousal already smeared along your inner thighs.
He looked at you for half a second, and then lowered his mouth to your pussy. The first lick was slow, just a long drag of his tongue from your entrance up to your clit, tasting everything you’d already spilled for him.
Then he went deeper. Joel pushed his tongue inside you, fucking you with slow thrusts, the slick sounds of him devouring your pussy were obscene and wet as he worked you open with nothing but his mouth. Each stroke was deliberate, and he kept brushing your clit with his nose again and again, as his groans vibrated against your folds.
You felt your hands twitching autonomously above your head, you yanked against the knots helplessly as a reflex, fueled by your desperation. You wanted to grab his hair, you needed to push his face deeper into your cunt, but all you could do was curl your fingers uselessly in the fabric.
You couldn’t move. You could only lie there, keeping your legs apart, while Joel tongue-fucked you deeper, harder, tightening his grip on your thighs every time you tried to rise your hips off the bed. He made sure to keep you pinned and open, as he kept licking inside you.
You were sobbing now. “D-Daddy please—!”
“You gonna cum for me, babydoll?” the words vibrated against you as he flattened his tongue and dragged it over your swollen clit. “Gonna cum while tied up?”
You nodded frantically, jerking your hips uncontrollably, moaning his name like a prayer.
Joel sucked your clit into his mouth, just enough to make you jolt, then released it with a wet pop before licking you again with devastating strokes that pushed you closer to the edge with every pass.
“Nothin’ you can do but take it, huh?” he gripped your thighs tight enough to bruise as he pinned you open beneath him. “All bound up… pussy trembling… ’cause you can’t stop daddy from makin’ you cum.”
He didn’t stop. He held your thighs wide, kept you trembling, licking you through it, circling your clit, when you finally broke, crying out, clenching, twitching around nothing while you yanked your hands against the cloth restraints.
Joel finally lifted his head, breaking away from your soaked pussy with a drag of his tongue that left you trembling. His chin glistened, absolutely slick with your juices, and he didn’t even bother hiding the smug little smirk that tugged at his mouth when he saw how ruined you looked.
“Fuckin’ perfect,” he said. “Daddy don’t even need his cock to ruin you.”
He wiped his beard with the back of his wrist, smearing your wetness across his skin instead of cleaning it off. Joel looked up at you, pleased with the mess he’d made of you.
He sat up, took his time stripping off his shirt, then crawled over you again, pressing kisses to your jaw, your throat, your bound wrists.
“Still okay, babygirl?”
You nodded fast, breathless. “Please, Daddy…”
Daddy eating you was always amazing, so good it made you curl your toes and roll your eyes back, but even with your thighs still trembling and your clit throbbing from his mouth, your pussy ached for more. Ached for something bigger, something deeper, something that stretched you in a way his tongue never could.
“Please what?” He asked you. Joel loved when he got you to say the filthiest things for him. Such words coming out of an innocent mouth like yours.
“Please…fuck me.”
Joel smiled, as he leaned down to kiss your nipple in an affectionate gesture. “You sure you can handle it?”
You whimpered. “Wanna… wanna feel it.”
He grinned like a man possessed. “Alright, babydoll. Let daddy in.”
Your arms were stretched above you as you prepared to be taken by Joel, your tits gleaming with sweat, nipples peaked from the cold and the waiting.
Joel hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and tugged them low until the elastic slipped beneath the heavy curve of his cock, and it sprang free in one urgent jump. And God, at this point it shouldn’t excite you anymore, you’d seen it so many times. You’d ridden it, choked on it, felt it split you open and make you forget how to speak.
But the sight of it flushed a dark purple-red, with the veins standing out, the head slick and shiny with how much pre-cum had poured from his slit… it still made your mouth water instantly. Your pussy throbbed so hard it almost hurt, clenching around nothing as you locked your eyes on the obscene amount of slick dripping down his length. It slid slowly, glossy, tracing the curve of his cock until it pooled at the base, making him look even harder, even heavier.
He dragged his tip through your slick folds, letting the swollen head glide through the mess you’d already made for him. Every pass smeared his pre-cum and your arousal together, making the slide wetter as he nudged the blunt crown over your swollen clit before slipping back down to your entrance.
Then he pressed, just gently, just enough to let you feel the stretch starting, the thick weight of him parting you barely an inch. You jerked your hips up in an instinctive plea for more. And then he pulled back.
The sudden absence made you clench around the air, a frustrated whine catching in your throat as Joel smirked down at you, enjoying the way your body reacted to being denied even that first inch.
“D-Daddy…”
Joel smiled lazily, resting his other hand firmly on your thigh. “Mm?”
“You’re not—why—?”
He lifted his cock just enough and tapped your clit with the fat head, one sharp little smack that sent a shock of pleasure ripping straight through you.
“Not what, babygirl?”
You were panting, feeling the tears already brimming, your whole body trembling under him.
“Put it in,” you whined. “I’m ready—please—!”
Joel leaned down over you, bracing his hand beside your head, still slipping his cock through your folds, smearing your arousal across your thighs.
“You think you’re ready?” he asked, condescending. “You think this little pussy can take daddy’s cock when she’s already cryin’ from a little tease?”
You whimpered and nodded, twitching and pressing your thighs together, trying to chase the pressure every time he nudged against your entrance.
But he still didn’t give it to you. Instead, he pressed just the tip inside, barely, not even an inch, just enough for your entrance to stretch around him and feel the burn of him starting to split you open. And then Joel pulled out again.
He rolled the fat tip over the sensitive nub, and you let out a full sob as you yanked helplessly against your restraints. “Daddy please—!”
Joel tutted, curving his mouth in a half-smirk.
He knew exactly how desperate you were. He knew it in the way your kept lifting your hips off the bed, in the way you shook, in the way your pussy ached so visibly it was almost pathetic. Every time he teased your entrance or dragged that head over your clit, you let out those tiny, cutesy cries, just soft little whimpers that sounded like a wounded animal, like a spoiled girl being denied her favorite toy.
And Joel ate it up. Your sounds, those needy little mmh—ahh—please noises you couldn’t hold back, only made him harder. Made him grind his cock against you slower just to hear more of them. Made him smirk like he had all the time in the world while you squirmed, tied up, helpless, drenched.
He loved how pathetic you got when you were denied. How spoiled you sounded, whining for his cock like it was the only thing that could make the pain go away. And the more desperate you became, the better it would feel, for both of you, when he finally stopped playing and buried his cock inside you in one deep thrust.
“You’re bein’ dramatic, baby.”
“Need it—” you gasped. “P-please put it in—I can’t—I can’t—”
He slid the tip in again, just barely past the rim, and he pulled back out again, groaning at the squeeze.
“Fuck. You’re tight even with just the head. No wonder you’re cryin’. She’s beggin’ for it.”
You were a mess. Eyes glassy, flexing against the ties. Trembling from how badly you needed it. Your cunt fluttered each time he even grazed the edge of your hole, dripping wet, twitching for something to grab onto.
“J-Joel—please… Daddy, I’ll be good—I’ll be so good… just f-fuck me—!”
He gripped your thighs tighter, spreading you wider, lining himself up again, but still holding back. “You beg so fuckin’ pretty when you’re tied up,” he rasped. “Look’a you. Don’t even know what to do with yourself, do ya?”
You whimpered, whinning. “Daddy’s mean…”
He laughed, you looked so adorable it made his balls tighten up. “Yeah? I’m mean?”
You nodded hard, tears streaking down your cheeks. “You’re t-teasing me and you know I can’t do anything, m’arms are tied—!”
Joel groaned. “That’s the fuckin’ point, babygirl.”
He pressed the head of his cock deep enough this time to stretch you slightly, just the ridge catching inside, making you curl your toes, and then pulled out again, letting your pussy squeeze at the air.
You sobbed. He finally gave you the tiniest kiss to your temple.
“I know, baby. I know it aches. You’re doin’ so good for daddy.”
“Please please please— put it in all the way. I need it—”
Joel groaned again, and finally he leaned forward, gripping both your thighs tight.
“Alright, baby,” he panted. “You want daddy’s cock?”
“YES—!”
“You want me all the way inside, fillin’ you up?”
You nodded so hard your whole body rocked in the ties.
He pushed the tip in slowly, and this time he didn’t stop. Your breath broke immediately, a gasp that turned into a helpless cry, so close to a sob it trembled in your throat. Your pussy stretched around him inch by thick inch, soaked and swollen and throbbing, gripping him so tight it was like your body was trying to drag him deeper all on its own.
Joel cursed into your neck, because the squeeze of you nearly knocked the air out of his lungs. Your walls clung to him like wet velvet, fluttering around every bit of cock he sank inside you, so tight he had to force himself forward, trembling from the effort of getting through that unbearable resistance.
You pulled at the restraints, pointlessly, you couldn’t control yourself as inch after inch filled you.
“Fuck— you’re squeezin’ like you’re tryin’ to break me, babygirl.”
You whimpered, helpless. “I—I missed it—”
“You hadn’t lost it,” he laughed darkly. “Daddy’s cock was right fuckin’ here the whole time.”
When he was buried to the hilt, balls pressed tight to your ass, he held still, just letting you feel it. Letting the stretch and the weight of it settle deep inside you.
Then he kissed your forehead, your throat, your wrists. “Now daddy’s gonna fuck it in real slow. You earned it.”
You didn’t even realize the tears had started again as Joel began slow-fucking your dripping, raw little pussy with a rhythm that had you shaking apart almost immediately. His dragging thrusts made your breath stutter, every single stroke hit that spot.
He was hitting that unbearable, devastating place inside you that made your whole body jolt like you were being shocked from the inside out. Your clenched your pussy so tight around him it almost hurt, fluttering and squeezing with every deep grind of his thick cock.
The pressure and the stretch, the way his length filled you completely before pulling out slow and sinking right back into that molten, sensitive spot… it was unbearable. The heat of him dragged against your walls, grinding into every nerve, every trembling inch of you until your voice broke into ragged little cries.
Joel kept the pace steady, fucking you in a rhythm meant to undo you, meant to wring every helpless sound out of your lips while he held you open and took his time ruining you from the inside out.
He was watching your face the whole time. He cupped your cheek with his big palm, brushing your tears away with his thumb.
“You’re cryin’ again, babydoll,” he murmured. “That little pussy feel too good?”
You whimpered, mouth hanging open as another sob slipped out. “I-it’s too much—daddy—y-you’re so deep—”
Joel just groaned, feeling the twitching of his cock inside you. “I told you it was gonna be deep, baby. Told you I’d be gentle. You said you could handle it, didn’t you?”
You nodded, gasping. “Y-you were s-s-so slow—m-making me feel it—too good— I c-can’t—”
He leaned over, brushing his mouth over your ear. “Uh-uh,” he rasped. “You can. You wanted this, babygirl. You begged for it. Now daddy’s givin’ it to you.”
You were a sobbing, babbling wreck. So drunk on cock, so lost in the feeling of being stretched full and used.
Joel kissed your neck. But something shifted in him. He saw the full-body shakes, the sniffling, the way you could were barely keep your legs still.
And he snapped. Because it turned him the fuck on.
“No cryin’, baby,” he growled suddenly, snapping his harder into you now, deep enough to steal your breath. “You hear me?”
You choked out a loud gasp. “But—I—I c-c-can’t—!”
Joel sat back on his knees, still deep inside you, and reached up fast, yanking the knots loose in one motion to free both your wrists. You barely had a second to breathe before he was gripping your hips, flipping you like you weighted nothing, pushing your face-down and lifting your ass-up, pressing your cheek against the pillow.
“You wanted daddy to fuck you, didn’t you?” he lined back up behind you, and you nodded frantically. “Then take it.”
He shoved back in, harder this time, rougher now, crashing his hips into your ass, slapping his balls loud with each punishing thrust. You sobbed into the sheets, wailing, arching your back under him.
Joel grabbed your wrists and pinned them to your lower back to have full control over your pilant body. He could put you in whatever position he desired, bend you and fold you in whichever way he pleased. “No runnin’. No cryin’. You begged for this, babydoll. Daddy’s just givin’ it to you.”
It wasn’t enough to hold your wrists with his hands. He needed more.
“Hold still,” he dragged your hips up, arching your back even more until you were on your knees with your ass high in the air for him.
He wrapped his fingers around your ankle first. Joel bent your leg just enough, then brought your wrist down to meet it, binding them together with a pull of the soft restraint. The position forced your back to arch even deeper, your pussy exposed, lips parted and slick with everything he’d already done to you.
He did the same to your other side, left wrist to left ankle, leaving you helplessly folded, ass up, chest pressed to the bed, completely open for him.
You couldn’t move at all, not your arms, not your legs. “Fuck,” he dragged a hand slowly over the curve of your ass. “Look at you. All trussed up like a pretty little present. Can’t move… can’t close your legs… just gotta take whatever Daddy gives you.”
You were completely immobilized, exposed.
“Tied up neat ’n helpless… just the way I like you.”
He cracked his hand hard on your ass, giving you a sharp slap that made you yelp and clench around him. “Fuck— always so tight when I spank you.”
You couldn’t even speak, just whine and moan and babble, the occasional “Daddy please—!” lost in your little voice. Joel fucked you like he couldn’t stop, using your hips to pull you back onto him, grinding deep, muttering filth against your back.
“Made to take cock. My cock. This messy little hole’s mine.”
You nodded through your tears, hiccuping a little. “Y-yours—only yours—”
Joel felt his rhythm starting to stutter, he was getting closer to his climax, and even though he wanted to make this moment last, he still couldn’t wait to feel his release crash over him. He leaned down, wrapping one hand around your throat, not to choke you, just to have more control over your body.
“You’re gonna take all of it. Every last drop. You cry all you want, but it’s still gonna fill you.”
You whined, and the fluttering of your pussy, spiraled into another orgasm, shaking hard under him, crying and sobbing his name like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.
“Please—Daddy—cum inside—wanna feel it—”
Joel lost it. “Fuckin’ take it, babydoll—take daddy’s fuckin’ load—”
And then he slammed deep, so deep it knocked a sound out of you that barely even qualified as a word, and he stayed there, buried to the hilt, throbbing hard enough that you felt every pulse inside your overstimulated pussy.
He held you down with his full weight, pinning your hips to the mattress so you couldn’t move even an inch, growling into your hair as he spilled into you. His cock pulsed thick again… and again… and again, each surge filling you to the brim until you could feel his cum leaking around the seal your pussy made around him.
You trembled beneath him, shaking so violently you could barely breathe, sobbing into the pillow as he poured his release deep inside you, so warm and heavy, pooling so far up inside you it made you flutter.
And when that warmth began to trickle down, a tickling slide of his cum slipping lower inside you made your whole body spasmed. Another orgasm tore through you so sharply it arched your back off the bed.
Joel groaned as your pussy milked him through the aftershocks. “Attagirl… take it… take all of it…”
When it was finally over, Joel loosened the first knot with a quick tug, the fabric slipped away from your skin. “Easy,” he rubbed your wrist once it was free from your ankle, before letting it rest on the bed.
Then, he moved to the other side, untying that knot just as carefully. You were still crying softly, but now they were quiet tears. Content ones.
He kissed the back of your neck. “You okay, babygirl?”
You nodded, sighing softly. “So full…”
“Yeah, you are,” he whispered. “You’re daddy’s perfect lil’ cumdump. That’s my girl.”
You were quiet when Joel finally rolled you to your side. Still face-down, with limp arms, flushed skin and damp with sweat. His cum was deep inside, dripping slowly out of your raw little cunt onto the bedsheets.
Joel leaned over to kiss your shoulder, and you made a soft, whimpery sound, shifting your thighs together instinctively. “Uh-uh. Don’t hide it, babydoll.”
You shivered. “D-daddy…”
“Lemme see.”
He nudged your thigh gently with his big hand, then the other, until you were on your back, opening your legs, with your feet flat on the mattress. Exposed. Wrecked.
Joel sat up beside you and just stared. “Fuck me…”
You blinked up at him. “D-daddy…?”
“Jesus, baby. Look’a this fuckin’ pussy.”
He let his hand hover over you, almost touching your swollen folds with his fingers, but not yet. He was just admiring you, how ruined and dripping and raw you were because of him.
“Your lil’ clit’s still shaking,” he said almost in awe. “So puffy it’s peekin’ out all shy. Look how raw you look, baby. Took Daddy’s cock so good.”
He dipped his fingers finally, sliding two fingers through the creamy mess between your legs, collecting it from your inner thighs, your swollen entrance, and dragging some of it up across your clit.
You gasped, and Joel hummed. “Still so fuckin’ sensitive.”
“D-Daddy…”
He leaned close, cupping your inner thigh with one hand, holding you wide open, while the other pressed those two fingers into your pulsing pussy.
You whimpered, fluttering your walls.
“There we go. Feel that?”
You nodded fast, panting. “Y-yeah…”
He didn’t pump them, not at first. Just let them sit there, thick and full and curling slightly upward, while your cunt squeezed around them helplessly.
He kissed your temple. “Goddamn, babydoll. So warm inside. All creamy from my cum.”
He finally pulled back, a string of slick clinging between his knuckles and your entrance. Then he pushed back in again, curling, watching it drip around his hand as you cried out.
“Can’t believe you took all of it,” Joel was looking at you with heavy-lidded eyes. “Stuffed you full, and you still wanted more.”
He started to move his fingers now, just shallow thrusts, just enough to make it leak, to make the mess build between your thighs. “Look how it’s leakin’, baby. Drippin’ out slow. Your pretty pussy can’t even hold it all in.”
You nodded, teary-eyed. “Feels s-so good…”
He smiled gently, condescending, like you were his favorite dumb little thing. “I know it does, sweetheart. Daddy’s just helpin’ you. Gettin’ all the mess out so we don’t ruin the sheets.”
He dragged his digits over your clit again, sticky and tender, and you whimpered. He only smirked. “Oh, that’s sensitive now, huh?”
You whimpered again. “Y-yeah…”
Joel leaned down, kissing your lower belly. “Still Daddy’s. Even more when it’s sore. Even when it’s drippin’.”
He pulled his fingers free and lifted them to your lips. “Open, babygirl.”
You did without hesitation, and he slid them into your mouth. They were warm and salty and tasted like sex and sweat and him. You sucked slowly, closing your eyes.
Joel groaned. “Goddamn… Look at you suckin’ it off like candy. You love the taste of daddy’s cum, don’t’cha?”
You nodded dumbly, licking his fingers clean.
He leaned down again, and kissed your lips this time. “Gonna get you cleaned up, baby. Then I’ll hold ya. You were so fuckin’ good for me tonight.”
You whimpered softly. “Still feel full…”
“You are full,” he said proudly, resting his hand low on your belly. “You’ll be leakin’ for hours. Might even plug you next time just to keep it in.”
You shivered and he smirked.
“Yeah, that got your attention.”
If you want more of these two you can check my Daddy!Joel Masterlist and follow my updates account so you don't miss anything @cinnxmxngxrlupdates
A/N: This one goes out to everyone who’s been asking me for another daddy!Joel fic, especially to those who voted for this on the poll. I had other stuff planned, but the people asked and I shall deliver. I hope you enjoy this part and maaaybe, if you do, consider showing some support, just maaaaybe 👉🏻👈🏻 I worked really hard on this one since I’m going on vacation in a week, and I wanted to post it before then so you’d have something to enjoy.
I hope I described the positions well enough for you to picture them. If not, the “bondage doggy” position from this article is what I had in mind for the last part of the fic when Joel had reader on her knees.
Warning: This fict contains explicit sexual content, including oral sex, overstimulation, rough intimacy, and dirty talk.
You woke to warmth before you woke to light.
A slow, lazy heat blooming from between your thighs… a soft wet drag that didn’t feel like part of any dream. Your breath stuttered, lashes fluttering as the fog of sleep thinned just enough for you to recognize the weight of two large hands holding your hips steady, thumbs stroking slow, reverent circles into your skin.
And then his voice. Low. Gravelly. Already wrecked.
“’Mornin’, sweetheart.”
You barely managed a sound before Joel ducked back down, mouth sealing over you again, tongue pushing deep like he couldn’t stand to lose even one second of you.
He’d woken you like this before, but never this gentle… never this worshipful. As if he’d been kneeling there for a while, taking his time, learning every sleepy twitch of your body before you even stirred.
You felt the shift of his shoulders as he settled lower, spreading your thighs wider around his head, like he was making a home there.
His beard scratched deliciously as he mouthed at your inner thigh, slow kisses moving closer, closer, until he gave you one long, slow lick that forced your spine to arch off the bed.
“Joel-”
He shushed you with a low hum against your clit, the vibration sending a shiver up your stomach. One of his arms curled around your waist, holding you down, the other sliding up to cup your breast, thumb brushing your nipple lazily like he had all the time in the damn world.
“You just keep restin’, baby,” he murmured between licks, breath hot against your skin. “Lemme wake you up right.”
Then he dove in again.
His tongue worked you like he was savoring something rare; slow circles, then a deep suck that pulled a gasp straight from your chest. Joel groaned when your hips lifted to his mouth, like he loved that he could make you move without even touching you with anything but his tongue.
“God, you taste so good in the mornin’,” he said, voice already ruined. “Best thing I’ll ever fuckin’ have.”
Your thighs trembled around his head, and he just held you there, letting you squeeze him, letting your pleasure take over. He licked you through it, mouth messy, dedicated, shameless.
Every now and then he’d look up at you, eyes dark and warm, like seeing you undone like this was the whole point of waking up at all.
You reached down, fingers threading into his silver hair, tugging just a little just enough.
He groaned, deep and raw, and the sound vibrated straight through you.
“That’s it, darlin’. Hold onto me.”
His tongue flattened, slow and perfect, and your breath buckled.
“Joel… I’m gonna-”
He didn’t let you finish. Just sucked your clit into his mouth and nodded, urging you on, urging you to fall apart for him, with him still kneeling between your thighs like you were something holy he’d never stop praying to.
Your orgasm hit hard sharp, hot, overwhelming and he held you together while you cried out, while your legs shook, while you tried to breathe.
Joel didn’t stop until the tremors faded. Didn’t stop kissing you softly, gently, reverently.
Only then did he lift his head, mouth glistening, beard damp, eyes warm as sunrise.
“Best mornin’ I’ve ever had,” he said, voice thick. “But I ain’t done wakin’ you up yet.”
He crawled up your body, slow and heavy and warm, kissing his way up your stomach, your ribs, your chest, your throat; each kiss a slow promise of what else the morning was about to become.
“C’mere, baby,” he whispered against your lips.
“Let me give you the rest.”
And then,
You were still catching your breath when Joel finally eased out of you, thick and slow, his spend slipping warm down your thigh. Your muscles trembled from the force of your orgasm, but Joel wasn’t moving away.
He kissed your knee.
Then the inside of your thigh.
Then lower.
Your breath hitched.
“J–Joel… wait- I’m still-”
He hummed against your skin, a dangerous little sound.
“I know.”
His hands slid under your thighs, pushing them open again, pinning them to the mattress with a quiet dominance that made your pulse leap. You were already throbbing, oversensitive, every nerve buzzing from the aftershocks. Joel didn’t seem bothered.
If anything, he looked hungry.
He kissed the mess between your legs is his mess, your mess, the mess he’d made with you and groaned low in his chest.
“God, look at this,” he murmured, thumb gently spreading you open. “I fill you once and you’re already dripping for me… Sweetheart, you really think I’m done?”
You tried to squirm, but his hands were already locking your hips in place.
“Joel- it’s too much-”
“That’s alright,” he growled, lowering his mouth again. “I’ll hold you.”
His tongue dragged up your swollen folds, gentle at first, but even that made you gasp like you’d been shocked, your legs trying to snap shut around his head. He kept them open effortlessly, palms firm on your thighs as he licked you slowly, savoring every quiver you couldn’t control.
“Shhh… there you go,” he whispered against you. “I know it’s sensitive. That’s why I want it.”
Then he wrapped his lips around your clit.
You choked on a breath, hands flying to his hair as your back arched.
“Joel-! Too much- I can’t-”
His voice vibrated right against your overstimulated flesh.
“You can. And you will.”
He sucked harder, tongue flicking with deliberate, devastating precision. Your entire body shook, thighs trembling violently as he held you open and kept his mouth sealed to you, unrelenting.
Tears pricked your eyes from the intensity, pleasure so sharp it bordered on painful, dragging you higher no matter how you tried to breathe through it.
“Joel- please-”
He pulled back only long enough to growl:
“Give me another one.”
Before you could even respond, he dove back in.
His mouth was everywhere tongue sliding deep, then circling your clit again, then sucking it between his lips until you cried out. He kept you anchored, kept you spread, kept you his while he devoured you like he was trying to take back everything he’d ever lost.
Your orgasm built fast, too fast that your body convulsing as you shook your head, whimpering:
“N-no- can’t-”
“Yes, you can,” he said, voice low and rough and steady. “Come for me again. Right on my mouth.”
You broke.
Your second orgasm ripped through you like a snapped wire, your hips jerking upward before Joel’s hands forced them down, holding you while you fell apart into his mouth, trembling so hard you nearly sobbed. He groaned like tasting your climax was the last thing keeping him alive.
Even as you curled in on yourself, shuddering, Joel didn’t stop. He kept licking you through it, soft but relentless, drawing every last tremor out of you.
Only when you whimpered his name in a wrecked, breathless sob did he finally lift his head, his mouth wet and glistening, his eyes dark with desire and satisfaction.
He kissed the inside of your thigh, slow and tender.
“You’re not done,” he murmured, voice deep enough to make your stomach twist. “But I’ll give you a minute.”
His thumb brushed your swollen clit and you jolted violently.
Joel smiled; soft, wicked, worshipful.
“Just a minute, sweetheart. Then I’m tasting you again.”
Beg me pardon to Joel wifey if this not as hot as others writers fict... BUT HERE YOU GOOOOOOO. ♡
part of the little by little verse in which you are forced to marry quickly after a rumor is spread about you.
warnings: loose historical au (read; I had no time period in mind just an idea which means historically inaccurate to any time period), religion (implied christian), unspecified age gap, major religious guilt and shame, praying, feelings of humiliation and anxiety, gender norms of the time period, mentions of pregnancy (no actual pregnancy), infertility, sexually inexperienced reader, sexually inexperienced and therefore confused about sex reader, smut (fingering, handjob, piv, m!receiving oral, unrealistic first time giving head)
a/n: late post sorry love you
The sun is setting.
You cross the clearing quickly, leather bound notebook beneath your arm, racing the lengthening shadows folding themselves over the swaying branches of the trees; chasing the wraith of your long ago promise to Joel.
The boots on your feet are muddied, your shawl caught with brambles, but you know Joel will not mind to find you that way.
You emerge from the dark enclosure of the forest, furred evergreen boughs swaying in the last dregs of the day’s heat. You had spent the afternoon hiking. meandered and drawn and written unfettered, untethered, a bird released from its coop. You pause and search the rapidly dimming yard for him, anxious to set your eyes on him.
Not just so he knows you have again kept your promise to return home before the veil of darkness has settled in, but because you ache for his company.
You miss him, you find, in a way you have never missed anyone else. Perhaps, because he let you follow your own whims. You are given the chance to miss him, and desire him all the more for it.
Before you were married, you could have disappeared for days at a time and never wanted for company other than your own. You never wanted for anything aside from your own mind, your own freedom.
A soft yellow light unfolds from beneath the stable door as it rolls suddenly open. Joel's silhouette appears, his face a creased mask of worry before his eyes land on you, already turning and hurrying toward him. A smile twitches onto your face, a yearning uncorked in your chest, the barest spark of all too familiar desire, flooding onto your features.
The bruises on your knees, from desperate prayer you'd never engaged in before, twinge as if in response to your thoughts, reminder of all the unnatural wants that now stirred within you since he first laid his hands on you.
"Cuttin' it close tonight, aren’t you?" He calls, expression loosening, shoulders relaxing. He frets, not that you won't return but that you have run into trouble, ever since you nearly drowned.
You slip past him, into the heat of the stables. The days are still long and hot, despite the onset of fall, the slow waning of the days. "I was caught up in something. Were you worried about me, Joel?"
"And what is it you was caught up in?" He ignores your question and you think to press it, make him loosen his tongue and admit he had been worried, though light still seeps in golden rivulets from behind the mountains, the branches of the fir trees.
Joel follows you to his workbench, a new project covered by a worn oil cloth is surrounded by curled wood shavings. You gently push it back, careful not to disturb the cloth and then flip open your notebook with charcoal smudged fingers, the gleam of your wedding band flashing in the sun reminding you of Joel kneeling in the yard among the wildflowers one warm evening, presenting it to you, only weeks ago.
Careful to flip past other, more lewd musings—your favorite and most consistent interest of late being the man close at your heels. As with all things, your curiosity drives you to him, like a moth flocking to the light, like he is a rare species only you could catalog, that must be cataloged.
Though your body aches for him, your sin has always been greed. You are greedy for him, for knowledge of him. You find every part of him fascinating, the creases in his skin, the scars on his cheeks, the way his hands move, sure and steady, the dip of his back and width of his shoulders.
Most recently the base desire to put his cock in your mouth has been fluttering around your mind. The moment you let your thoughts wander, that is what you find yourself meditating on. Self serious considerations of such an act, how he would feel on your tongue, what sounds he might make, where it would all fit as you aren't sure your mouth is big enough and you want all of him
Heat flushes through your body and you primly smooth the correct page back, clearing your throat. A low burning fire smoulders hot and low in your belly in near constancy since he first took you, made you his, in so many ways.
You tilt the page toward the fading sunlight, and present your findings of your hike to him. Things you’d seen, found the itch to mark down. A dwindling brook that curved down the mountain, the branches of a copse of trees with half their leaves shaken loose already, a pair of birds on a branch, and, finally, an elk.
He watches over your shoulder, pressing in close behind you, hands anchoring on your waist in the thickening darkness. Joel's breath fans across the back of your neck, gooseflesh lifting along your arms in response. "Now tell me you weren't close to that thing."
You laugh and settle back against his chest, feel the warmth and weight of his arms around your already heated body.
It is a welcome touch.
"I wasn't close to him," you promise, covering his hands with your own. "Not terribly close, anyway. Shouldn't you be more worried about the stream?"
He grunts and draws you closer, his beard brushing against your cheek, clearly not finding your teasing amusing. The soft scent of leather and lavender gathers around you, hay and the pine shavings of peeled wood, the salty tang of skin that spent a day beneath the sun.
"I guess," he drawls against the soft flesh of your temple, "I trust you not to drown in a foot of water."
You laugh and close your eyes, sink into the bliss of his attention. He is unaware, you think, of how you ache for him, the need and want reaching from between your lungs, foresting the branches of your ribcage in thick drippings of ivy.
Summer has seemed to last an age. The warm mornings and long evenings encouraging the yearning settled heavily within you.
Each task of the day has been burdened by daydreams of what the evening will bring. Very often only kissing, or Joel’s fingers or mouth between your legs. Sometimes, his reluctance to other intimacy confuses you, makes the shame that comes afterward no matter what all the worse. You want him, again and again, to feel him taking up space inside you.
And, you are terrified of your own want.
It feels as though you think of nothing else, though you know it isn’t true. The thoughts only loom larger, hold more weight.
A confused shame coats you like a second skin when you think of how badly you ache for him, the craven wanton pulse of desire beneath your skin. All the ways in which he touches you replaying like treacherous dreams imprinted behind your eyes.
Yet, you are bound to it, hopeless against its pull, its demand. You want to give into it.
You have been practically lazy with want, distracted from chore and task, by wandering thoughts. Though your thoughts have always been prone to distraction, never before had they been accompanied by a physical desire.
This must be what the sermons regarding the lusts of the flesh had been referring to, the distraction of it pulling you away from worship. For surely if you and Joel were in regular attendance at Sunday service, you would have been distracted from godly devotion as well the minding of your homestead.
Maybe your scant attendance since marriage was evidence of your sins and distraction.
There is not a day that goes by that you don't wish to remain in bed with him, shuttered from the world in the too hot, summer warmed air, satisfying your curiosity of him, slaking an ever growing, ever persistent thirst.
It makes you feel depraved, filthy. The need to look, to touch and feel.
Each time a task is neglected, your winter stores a day or two off the harvesting schedule, you feel wretched, so shameful and guilty that you force yourself to pray, alone, in secret, in the stables, ask for forgiveness, for the feelings to go away, beg for your husband to be granted benevolence, and understanding of your faults. You beg to atone, somehow, to find the willpower to curb your want. For if you do not last the winter, it will be all your fault for causing your homestead to fall behind.
And Joel would have every reason and right to be the hard husband you had anticipated him to be.
Often, though, as you knelt there in the hay, your thoughts turned to other things, to desperate fingers, wanting mouths, in the uncomfortable, sweltering heat, clutching your fist against your chest, lips whispering prayers that you are sure go unheard, trying to drown out your own thoughts.
Once, you had not been able to drown them out and fallen onto your back on the mound of hay so desperate did your thoughts turn. The imagining of Joel pulling out of you, pushing you to your knees and letting you instead put him in your mouth, your own taste on your tongue. You had winced as you pushed your fingers under your skirts, touching, until that knot in your belly loosened and unspooled, biting back your cries of pleasure.
In the aftermath, you'd felt so ashamed and stricken that you had been unable to meet Joel's eyes when you eventually wrenched yourself back together, still trembling, straightened your skirts, and hurried through the yard back to the kitchen where you should have been all along, attending to breakfast.
The brush of Joel's fingers against your shoulders when he met you in the kitchen and said good morning, a usual, casual touch, had made you jerk violently and upset the pan of biscuits on the stove.
"I only aim to please you," you answer softly, now. "So, I always do my very best not to drown. I've never seen an elk before. They're so big."
"Mm. Just don't get too close." His hands spill down your waist, caressing your hips, like he's testing your want.
It is unnecessary, because you are already lost to him, breath an anticipatory rasp in your mouth, all too ready and willing to give into the temptation.
“Joel,” you murmur, reaching back blindly, raking your hand up through his hair.
He chuckles and pushes one hand between your legs. The warmth of his palm cupping you is faint, the pressure almost nothing though your skirts.
Days have passed since he was last inside you, and you are wretchedly wanting of him.
You wonder often if he only humors you, if he can sense your unnatural need.
"Are you hungry?" You squeak out, attempting to pull away from him, fearful of the clench of your core, the flutter between your legs, the pull of your body toward his, like a tide tugged by forces unknown. The sure swallow of shame that will follow when it’s over. "I should start supper—"
"Starvin'" He mumbles against your neck.
"Oh—"
He tugs you around, presses one calloused palm to your jaw, examining you with a surprising intensity, eyes flicking over your face, looking for something.
Joel tilts your head back, eyes flickering over your face. You feel warm, your clothes too tight and heavy, chest constricted, like a hand is curled around your throat, choking your breath.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Sure?”
You frown, frozen beneath his penetrating stare. “Of course.”
It seems to satisfy him for the moment.
He presses his mouth to yours, and, despite yourself, the festering anguish, you melt into him, open your mouth to the intrusion of his tongue. If it is his desire, and not yours, guiding this moment, maybe all your clumsy prayer had paid off, maybe this was okay. It's a duty to him, you think, it is care and vows.
The wretched pains of desire return, an endless pit. It feels good; he is your husband. Why should you feel so insidiously infected by doctrine you never listened to nor cared for before?
The rumor flashes through your mind, the lies about the sins you supposedly committed with your body, that you'd tempted someone with. It had landed you here, with someone who cared for you, but it had still shattered your life. People had still believed it of you. All your other myriad of misbehavior had never seen you punished as harshly as that lie. Something you never even did.
Maybe some quiet part of you had always been worried they might be right about you, your predilection toward disobedience. Maybe it had been why the mayor's daughter's accusation had been so easily believed.
His hands slide around your back, cradling you; his pelvis flush with yours, his cock heavy against your thigh. The unwarranted rush of pride makes your worries fade, and drift aimless from your mind.
His hunger for you is physical—a presence between you that seems to grow teeth the longer you hold back, gnawing at your bones.
Your chest heaves with stuttered breath. He withdraws just far enough for his fingers to rake your skirt up and over your hips, collecting the layers beneath by the palmful, until he can press one finger inside your already damp pussy. You slot a hand against the back of his neck, tug him in to tangle your tongue with his again, fumbling with his trousers with the other, marveling at the taste of his mouth, the salt of it undercut by mint leaves he must have chewed while he worked.
A whine crowds the back of your throat when he presses a second finger inside you, crooks the pair forward against the spongy inner wall, calloused thumb rubbing rough circles against you. "I want to feel you," you say against his mouth, feel his breath against your lips.
Joel pulls his fingers from you slowly, a chuckle pressed against the corner of your lips. "Jesus, darlin', you're gonna wear me out."
It's said in jest, teasing and gentle, as he pulls away and turns you, fingers circling your wrists to press your palms flat against the workbench, his chest warm against your spine.
Still, it makes the worry flood your mind again, lecherous and salacious.
You feel the cold press of his belt buckle against your inner thigh, the nudge of his cock between your thighs, hands groping over your belly and chest, squeezing the soft flesh of your breasts in his wide palms. You spread your legs wider to accommodate him. There is an ache as he pushes into you, and then the warmth and pressure of him settling heavily inside you.
You moan and rock back into him, the answering thrust of his hips. You yank at the buttons of your dress, desperate for the feeling of his hands on your bare skin.
The thoughts of sin and guilt and fear flee once again as he presses you down against the benchtop, thrusting hard and slow, so you feel every inch and ridge of him, one hand on the back of your neck, the other palm cupped beneath one breast, thumb circling your pebbled, stiff nipple.
But they will not be gone for long, and come morning, you will be in the stables again, kneeling, praying for answers that would never come.
.
.
.
His want for you turns him inside out. It pains him that he cannot keep up with you, a constant reminder that you had been forced to marry him, that no matter how well he loved you he’d always be too old for you, like a mismatched set of chipped teacups.
Guilt unfurls in his chest, like a hot iron on his chest, for wanting you, ruining you.
Joel wakes to an empty bed one morning in late summer, gray light leaking from beneath the shuttered bedroom windows, a humid taste in the air.
It's early yet, too early, but when he reaches for you, he finds the other side of the bed empty, and cold.
He frowns and blinks into the dim expanse of the bedroom. The lamp had been snuffed out, shadows gathered in the corners of the room like cobwebs. "Sweetheart?"
The bedroom door is open, but you don't answer. He can't hear you, either, shuffling around the kitchen or humming beneath your breath.
Joel climbs heavily from the bed, feeling taken apart, flashes of the night before flickering behind his eyes, how the sound of your moans echoed against the walls of the stable, the rattle of the tools together as he thrust into you, the curve of your cheek and parted lips as you looked over your shoulder at him, brow damp with sweat, a line of coal on your nose from your journal.
After you went inside and had dinner side by side in the kitchen, you’d reached for him again, and he pressed you down into the floor, tilted your hips toward his mouth with his hands behind your back, calves folded over his elbows.
He knew, maybe worried, he wouldn’t be able to fuck you again. A sense of disappointment and anxiety rolled off you before he made you forget his shortcomings.
Joel grits his jaw against the thought, washes and dresses and stumbles into the kitchen. He finds it, too, deserted and blisteringly clean, though you’d left the dishes on the table the night before. A platter of eggs and potatoes on the stove beneath a cloth, and a fresh pot of coffee, a tin cup left out next to it.
Despite the gnawing hunger in his stomach, he covers the eggs again and strides to the front door to yank it open, a familiar tightness in his chest.
Fog has climbed down off the mountains, layered everything in a milky white shroud.
There is a basket of vegetables and fresh picked berries in a metal pail at the foot of the porch, the garden looks newly weeded, the hens are clucking about the yard, feed scattered in the grass. All tasks you normally do together, are already done.
Something in his heart seizes as it always does when you disappear, but it isn't the first time you've woken at an ungodly hour, finished the morning chores and trotted off without him. Usually, you leave a note on the table, a page torn from your journal with a few scrawled words and a little picture at the corner.
Even so, he can't help but remember the previous night in a less charitable light, his hands too rough on your skin, your enthusiasm imagined. Always too much and not enough. He wishes, not for the first time, that he were younger, that he could be the husband you really need.
He calls your name, voice echoing through the valley. This is not an unusual morning, he thinks, just giving it too much thought. He sighs heavily and descends the front steps, when he notices the cracked door of the stables.
Joel strides across the yard, wondering what he might find.
A pale shaft of light falls across the hay strewn floor, haloing around your head, where you kneel at the back of the stables like it's a makeshift chapel.
He frowns at the sight. "Darlin’? You hear me?"
You startle and turn, looking at him over your shoulder, a profoundly guilty look on your face. In all the months you've been married, he's never known you to pray. Only the polite bowing of your head on the few Sundays you've spent in a pew together.
Neither of you, as far as he knew, put much stock in the whole business, considering what it had put you through. "Joel," you smile and start to get to your feet. "Good morning."
He crosses and helps you up with a hand beneath your elbow. "Prayin'?"
You nod and smooth your skirt, bending to brush away the hay stuck to your skirt. He forgets, sometimes, how young you are, how naive about somethings, how your upbringing is only a stone's throw behind you and not something you're like to forget quick, even as wilful as you were.
"Somethin' on your mind?" He asks, pressing a hand to your spine, his voice teasing.
"Nothing—just, nothing,” you answer tersely. You fidget with your sleeves, then sigh. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.”
“That’s all right. You okay?”
“Yeah, but I have an errand I’d like to run in town. I know we have a lot of work—”
“Hell, I think you done most of it already.”
You smile at him, and touch his cheek, your fingers warm and velvet against his skin. “We have plenty more to get on with. I’ll make it up, when I get back.”
“No, take all the time you need,” he reassures, “I can saddle up one of the horses, give you a ride—”
“No,” you say sharply, then more gently, “No. No, I need to go alone. The walk would do me good.”
The urge to push the issue surges up the back of his throat. You’re worried enough about something that you’ve turned to a god you don’t believe in. Pushing, though, is likely to get the door slammed in his face. “All right. You just let me know if you need somethin’.”
"Thank you."
You lean in and press a kiss to his cheek before you spin on your heel and whisk away, into the pale morning light.
.
.
.
Maybe it had been a coincidence, or bad luck, that all your friends had married men they did not like having sex with.
For each story you heard, told of endurance and pain, a rutting that ended in an ugly groan and a cloth mopping up the mess between their legs.
It had been, for them, a only test of patience, or simply okay, something to get on with. A duty to fulfill, particularly in the beginning of the marriage, to fall pregnant as soon as was possible.
But you are like a woman in thrall. It is not a duty to please your husband, not a test of wifely endurance, to you.
You like it.
You like that he makes you come, that it is always good, but you like being close to him more, feeling him inside you, feeling safe with his arms curled around your back, holding you close to his chest. As long as he was there, the accusations of others could never touch you.
You have no one else to ask what is usual, and have had no other experience with any other man to compare these feelings with. Childhood crushes and brief teenage romances had never inspired this intense of a need within you. Just a stirring, nothing more.
He treats you so well, finds it within himself to provide you with an understanding and patience that defies sense, and you reward him with wanton desperation that borders on the unseemly. It's a foolish thought, but one that has stuck, that you are not upholding your end of the partnership, the marriage, especially because of the allowances he makes of your quirks, your willful disobedience. Your behavior reflects poorly on him, you know.
Your knees are bruised, an ache that shoots up your thighs with each step towards town, treading through the dry, cracked ruts left by wagon wheels.
Likely, you should have let him accompany you, but where you’re headed would just raise suspicion in his mind. It’s already been raised, by the fact of your sudden supplication.
Concerned with desire like an overflowing brook and not sure how to stem it, desperate to stop feeling so shameful, so wretched, you had decided when you woke that morning, watching Joel’s chest rise and fall that you would seek advice elsewhere, perhaps a remedy, if one existed.
Either God did not see fit to answer you, or it was as you suspected all along, that there was never anyone listening in the first place.
The town appears suddenly, nestled in the valley below your home. You turn and look back through the trees but there isn’t even a suggestion of the winding road, let alone the cottage hidden there. For a moment, vertigo sweeps through you, like the last months have been nothing but a dream, that you’ll walk home and find the house and Joel and your life there were never real in the first place.
You walk quickly though town, not glancing at the proud steeple of the church piercing the sky in the center, and approach the apothecary where you know a midwife works.
A bell tinkles over your head as you push the door open and approach the counter where she is bustling about, bent over some herbs. The pharmacist seems to be out at lunch, as you’d hoped he would be.
Under the guise of asking for a small remedy for your monthlies, you dare to ask after these feelings, how often she and her husband have—
"Relations?" You finish delicately, glancing over your shoulder. Though the town nearer to the cottage is far more lenient, the church still looms over all. And you feel you've sinned enough as it is.
You are desperate for this woman to tell you she also craves, wants.
She only puts a concerned hand in your arm. "Oh, are you sore? When we were first married my husband was like a dog in a rut the way he would not stay off of me. I could hardly walk for it. I couldn't wait for him to leave me alone. Just something you have to get through, though, my dear." She shakes her head sadly, pats your hand in a conciliatory manner. "It gets easier with time, too, as you get used to it. He'll soon leave you be." She winked at you. "It's like he's just eager for you to be with child, at his age. Soon as you're pregnant he'll leave you to your peace."
It confirms everything you feared was true. The unquellable base hunger within you is not usual.
You clear your throat delicately. "How often—"
She waves a hand, "They can be insatiable hounds—"
"You misunderstand," you interrupt, feeling hot, sweat beading along your brow. "How often do you. . .have want of him?"
She laughs, "Me? If he never climbed atop me again, it would be too soon. I'd think to thank God for it."
“Oh, yes,” you agree thickly. “As would I.”
She eyes you for a moment, before her brow softens, eyes flicking down to your belly, then the remedy she mixes for you, for period pain. Something seems to connect for her. “Are you barren?”
You feel your eyes go wide. “No, I—”
“If he is being hard with you, because you have not conceived, remind him that stress does not encourage seed to take.” She hums, eyes still flicking over you, like she could see the inside of you and know your troubles by sight alone. “After he is finished,” she says delicately, “keep the womb warm and tilt your hips up.”
You nod, stuttering out thanks as you back toward the door. A new consideration added to your growing list, why you had not yet fallen pregnant as many times as he has finished inside you. This, at least is knowledge your mother had uncomfortably passed down to you.
Tomorrow, you vow, as you walk home, tomorrow you will regain yourself, your composure, your restraint. You will be a proper wife, will only open yourself to the feelings if he had need of you. He's given so much to you, this is the least you can afford him. You can be useful; you can be good.
It is the first time in your life you have ever considered it. But you do not want to make a mistake, do not want to lose what has become precious.
.
.
.
Soon enough, the leaves turn and fall, the harvest begins and the warm safety of summer turns its back on you.
Joel promises you time and again that you have adequately prepared for the next six months, even if the roads were impassable for the entirety of winter you would have enough. You have been dutiful, worked hard, until your muscles screamed and exhaustion made sleep an easy, early thing in the evening.
The colder days and longer nights drive you closer to him, though, seeking out his arms more often, the warm comfort of his body around yours. Now, as the dark draws over you again, your mind turns back to old thoughts, though less frequently that they once had. Some days it seemed impossible not to want him; other days, especially on your cycle, a reminder now that you’ve been married a year without speaking of children, you feel you might scream if he even breathes near you.
“Wanna take a walk?” he asks one evening, dark already spilled like ink over the land. You glance up from where you are settled on the bed, tracing the lines beneath his eyes in graphite into your journal slowly.
He is shirtless, water dripping down his chest, beaded in his beard, a razor held loosely in his hand over the basin on the dresser.
You swallow, the hollow parts of you aching. “Too late for that. Dark.”
He nods, and sets down the razor, a dark shock of hair falling out of place and over his eyes. He has let it grow longer as the cold deepens, settles between the bones of the world. “Well, we’d be together. You ain’t been goin’ so much lately on your own.” He says it casually, but you hear the worry beneath his voice, deep in his chest. “Workin’ yourself so hard.”
“I needed to help. We had a lot to get—”
“I know,” he says, drying his face with the cloth you’d laid next to the basin for him. “And your first year gettin’ ready for winter. I know how it is, feels like it’ll never be enough.” He walks across the room slowly, like he’s trying not to startle you, pausing at the side of the bed, hand curling around one bare ankle.
“Darlin’,” he says. “You okay?”
The question throws you for a moment. His hand is so hot it burns, the path of his thumb over the knob of bone in your ankle shouldn’t make your pussy flutter, but it does. “Yes.”
“Just seems like you always got something on your mind. Like something is eatin’ at you.”
You press your lips together. “We’ve just been busy,” you repeat, “That’s all.”
“You can talk to me.”
“I know.”
And some part of you does. If you just opened your mouth, Joel could tell you up from down. He’s older, experienced. He had a wife before you, and if he was as good to her as he is to you, maybe he would be able to tell you you’d shared these feelings of want and shame, a vicious cycle of snakes swallowing themselves whole. He seems to know a woman’s body better than many other men, at the very least.
But he is looking at you like a man starved, and you’d rather keep this moment.
Despite the cold outside and only being in your shift, you feel hot, and don’t protest when he yanks you closer. You close your journal and toss it, hear it land softly on the bed behind you.
“I thought we were going on a walk,” you say softly as you sit up. His gaze rakes over you greedily, the expanse of your skin, the sway of your breasts beneath your shift.
“Better idea.”
He leans over you, skin warm and damp, the scent of him clean and musky and intoxicating. The hair on his chest scrapes pleasantly against your own through the thin fabric of your gown, making your nipples stiffen in response, when he wraps his arms around you and pulls you flush to him.
Joel’s hands are everywhere, grabbing handfuls of you, burying his nose in your neck.
You slide your hands over his back, along the waist of his trousers, palming his half hard cock until he thrusts against your hand.
You pull him closer, into the cradle of your thighs, pressing your mouth against his bicep and collarbone and throat.
“Joel,” you moan, pressing yourself against him, hips seeking pressure. “Joel, I want to put your cock in my mouth.”
He jerks back, something feral in his gaze as his eyes search yours. You stand, and he’s forced to take a step back. You aren’t sure what made you say it, that dark little fantasy you kept just to yourself, half afraid he is about to scoff or laugh or tell you it was a sick desire.
You touch him again, when he doesn’t say anything. “Is that usual?”
He chokes out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I’d say it is. For some.”
You breathe out, take a shaky inhale.
"Show me how."
Your tremulous little request is met with a grunt. "You sure?"
Joel is lit by orange lamplight, his skin damp with sweat. Despite the pervasive chill outside, in your close bedroom heat blossoms in the air. Sweat pools between your breasts, too, gathers behind your knees, which only adds to the wanton, craven feeling clawing at your chest.
You are, you feel at this moment, manifestation of every accusation you'd ever heard leveled against women in sermons rolled into one neat package. A temptress; lustful and sinful and dirty for it.
But you can’t bring yourself to care.
"Yes," you plead, whine. "Yes, Joel."
He cups your cheek, doesn't seem aware of the turmoil roiling within you, that is always nagging at the edges of your mind. How wrong you are, like a terrible little nymph sent to temp a good man. "You want my cock in your mouth that bad?"
Gentle humiliation warms you from the inside out, but your mouth waters all the same. You ache for it, you want so much of him so badly it makes you feel small and ashamed. It isn't natural, you think for the umpteeth time in so many months.
But he is good to you, never cruel.
And, he endures your witless, inane request to put his cock in your mouth.
You are quite sure no lady has ever ached for that before.
All equanimity had been lost to you the last few months, through the long, hot summer. Maybe some of your condition could be chalked up to the first real bloom of love flowering in your heart, but so much of the stirring in your belly could only be pitiful, sinful lust.
The want is perverse, you are sure of it. You had heard tell for all your life of the responsibility of a wife to satisfy her husband when he was in need, not the reverse. You feel as though you should not want at all.
Joel doesn’t look away from you, waiting patiently for your answer.
He seems to live between your thighs some nights, tongue never quite satisfied, satiated, like you were a well he could drink eternally from. Even if you wondered why he didn’t always seem to want to be inside you.
Maybe your desire to do the same isn't unusual.
"Yes," you breathe, casting your eyes down. "If I should not—"
He shakes his head, pulls your body flush against his, hip to hip, chest to chest. His cock is hard between you, pressing against your thigh. A good sign, surely. It's moments like these, that the uncertainty, the shame, dissipates. His acceptance of your desire allows you to revel in it.
"Just makin' sure."
"You. . .lick. . .me all the time—"
He grunts, a half caught chuckle. "All right, guess I can understand it then."
"I want to be good at it." You lower your head, look at him demurely through your lashes, all wiles and sin, hand slipping between your bodies to cup him in your hand again, stroke him through his trousers. "I want to please you, husband," you moan, meaning it more than he could ever know.
His hands press over the curves of your waist, to your hips, and back again. "You do that plenty," he teases. “I got real lucky.”
You roll your eyes and he chuckles, the vibrations of it echoing against your own ribs.
"I want to please you with my mouth and not my pussy."
"Well, listen to you." He cups one broad hand against your backside and squeezes your ass. "Get on your knees, then, girl."
Your breath catches, excitement ringing through you like a wicked bell. You pull away from him and sink to your knees, keen to be given what you want, to have your curiosity satiated, to have the shame in your head silenced at least for a while.
The wooden floorboards are cool against your knees, a welcome contrast to the heat burning though your body, the humidity hanging in the air. The bruises on your knees from all your kneeling and praying, only smart a little.
You are alight with tension and anticipation, excitement that must border on the unholy, or at the very least something unseemly. Would he ever be able to look at you as a wife again, if you do this? Surely, he will think you dirty.
The thought makes your eager hands pause against the top button of his trousers, but only for a moment. You are putting this curiosity to rest, and can deal with the consequences of it later. The thought has already been loosed, even if you don’t, he will know your thoughts.
You tug the fabric away and pull him from the confines of his pants. You've seen his cock plenty, felt his velvet skin, fisted him in your hand—but never this close.
Maybe you should look to him for guidance, but your hands and mind are working on instinct now. You trace the vein that travels the length of the underside of his cock with your finger, and watch it twitch in response. The head is a pretty, flushed, red color.
You lean forward and stroke his cock with one hand, balance against his thigh with the other, to lick the leaking head.
The taste of him isn't much different to the way the other places on his body you've kissed taste, his throat and chest and biceps. Just a muted saltiness.
He grunts and leans one hand against the bedpost behind you. "Hell," he mutters.
"What?" You lick him again, then push your lips around the tip and suck lightly. "Is that all right?"
"Yep," he answers tightly.
You suckle again, not moving your hand curled around the base, repeatedly running your tongue over the slit at the tip. It seems sensitive, you think, and hollow your cheeks around him. He groans tightly, hips jerking when something bitter blooms in your mouth. A pearlescent bead of come. That means you're doing something right and he isn't just sparing your feelings.
"Move your hand, too," he directs, one big palm against the back of your head. "Put your mouth on me and—There you go, sweetheart."
You move your fist slowly at first, still sucking lightly, still tonguing the slit as you let your eyes fall closed.
His hand guides your head down a little further. “Take a little more.” You follow his instruction, glancing up at him. “Good girl,” he says, stroking your cheek, the line of your jaw, lets you continue on that way for a few long minutes.
The feeling is nice, you like the way he feels on your tongue, the lazy you can move your mouth around him and get a response. You take him out of your mouth to kiss down the length of it, to the hair curled at the base, before licking the underside, tongue a point against the vein there.
Joel takes your free hand in his, lifts it to his mouth before cupping your fingers around his balls. When he releases your hand, you squeeze carefully, not sure if that's what he wants or if it's the right pressure if it is.
You pull back, glance up at him, feeling hazy and warm, like the few occasions you’ve drank wine. "Like that? Am I doing okay?"
"Doin' real good," he says, reaching down to cradle your cheek, thumb hooking in the corner of your mouth for a moment before sliding over your spit slicked lips. "Think you can take more?"
A ravenousness shudders through you. "Yes. I want to try."
"Take it slow," he says, guiding your head forward again. You take him deeper this time, running your tongue along the vein again, hollowing your cheeks around him, and then gagging when he hits the back of your throat, with a couple inches still in your fist. Your mouth is so deliciously full, your mind a silent whirl as you focus on controlling the convulsion of your throat, getting all of him inside.
Could you take it? Is that something anyone could do? It seems impossible, but you want to try.
You tug gently at his balls again as you work to take more of him into your mouth, down your throat. “That a girl,” he mumbles. Through the tears beading at the corners of your eyes, you can tell he’s hold back, that he wants to shove himself down your throat.
You pull back for a harsh breath, saliva dripping from your lips like gossamer webbing connecting you. It sparkles in the low light before dripping onto your chest.
"Goddamn," he mutters, hand against the back of your head, pushing you closer. "Spit on it, sweetheart."
Feeling dirty and not minding, you do, and he groans again.
"Joel," you say, voice cracking until you cough. His cock is wet when you fist your hand around him now, the slide so easy and slick. You note that for the future, that you could spit in your hand to ease your grip around him. "Can I, uh—" you squeeze him, and instead of finishing the question, duck your head to press your lips to his balls, sucking, sweeping your tongue out.
He grunts, control a fragile thing now, hips stuttering forward. "Yeah," he croaks, running his thumb against your jaw when you look up at him. "Christ, yeah, that's good."
You sweep your tongue out before pulling away to push him back into your mouth, steadily taking more of him, deeper into your throat. It makes breathing nearly impossible, but you don't particularly care.
The ache between your legs is nearly painful, begging to be touched.
But this is more important, more important than air, than the shame the need and desperation shot through you like curdled milk.
What are you to enjoy this? You feel depraved for it.
Never, have you heard of a woman, wanting, needing, so very much.
You must be better than this, get yourself under control of the thoughts. Mortified, you release his cock and push the skirt of your shift up to touch your pussy, despite it, rubbing yourself.
Joel grips you softly, pulls you back so air is forced into your lungs in a wild, half-choked gasp.
You lick your lips, feeling messy, exposed. He rubs the corner of your mouth with his thumb and you turn to press a kiss to the calloused pad.
"Don't hold your breath," he says, thumbing the edge of your jaw. "You have to breathe."
You nod, feeling drunk, the ache between your thighs is so intense it feels like you might break, shatter like glass beneath his gaze.
Joel’s eyes are dark, locked on your hand between your legs. "Is it good?" You ask, looking up at him, taking him in your hand again. "Am I good?"
Joel nods back at you, pushes your hand away and makes your heart flutter with panic for a moment. But he only leans over and kisses your wet mouth, hands sweeping over your body, fitting against your breasts. The thin material is wet with your saliva, his hands all the warmer on your skin for it.
He pinches your nipples through the fabric. You keen and arch into his hands, mouth dropping open against his; he pushes his tongue against yours like lightning racing down your spine.
"You pick up on things so quick, darlin'," he coos, yanking down the top of your slip until your breasts spill out. He tugs your nipples again, firmer this time, and a whine slips past your lips, cunt pulsing.
If Joel says it's good, how is it that embarrassment still stalks you? "Can you tell me again?"
Joel's eyes flick over you, some of the haze clearing, concern pulling his brows in instead. "Doin' good," he affirms. "You all right?"
"Yes."
"Mm, c'mere. You done enough."
He pulls you up from the floor, his hand laced with yours as you lay back.
You watch him slot himself over you, the damp heave of his chest, the bob of his cock between his thighs still dripping your saliva. The arch of his arms around you is familiar. He smells like you now, like your skin, the lavender rubbed into your wrists and throat.
Joel yanks your underwear down your thighs and brushes his thumb through the wet of your cunt, gathering the slick that had pooled there.
He hitches himself in his hand and pumps his cock before he guides himself to your entrance and thrusts into you all at once. You groan long and loud, gripping the sheets in your fits, before he kisses you and the noise breaks off.
The room is warm and humid, all pulse and pull of you together, Joel’s grunts against your mouth, the slap of skin.
You come suddenly, a tide you hadn’t known was rising.
Joel’s hips stutter to a stop as you clench around him, and buries his head against your chest, pulse pounding in his throat. “Jesus, darlin’, you grip me so hard when you come.”
You are drowned, lost in the ocean of pleasure flowing over you, inside you, sweat soaked and wet, ruined, hips still rolling against his, until it hurts.
He sucks your nipple into his mouth, rolls the other between thumb and forefinger before he lifts his head and kisses you, pumping into you slowly until he comes with a grunt, eyes locked on yours.
The pressure of his body against yours keeps your thoughts at bay, keeps them from spiraling when he is so thick and heavy inside you and on top of you.
Arms curl around you, roll you onto your side, coo and stoke, and loosen only in sleep.
Your mind is curiously blank, empty, except for the man wrapped around you as you follow him into dreams.
.
.
.
You wake at the cold edge of dawn the next morning, torn from sleep by a terrible nightmare, chest heaving in the dim sable shadows still gathered in the corners of the room. The wick of the lamp had long ago burned down, taking its comforting, warm glow with it.
The dream had been one that had become recently recurrent, Joel with a lantern walking away from you until the glow disappeared, not looking back, not once. Like that of Orpheus never never turning to see if Eurydice were behind him, only this time she could not follow, would not have been there.
It feels like an omen this morning. Jaw and thighs sore.
Gray light leaks from beneath the shuttered bedroom windows, and when you rise to prise them back, the world is a blank white slate beyond. You gasp softly, curling your arms around your naked middle. Your body is overheated, slicked in nightmare sweat, and the chill seeping around the rattling glass is welcome. It is early in the season, even in your chilly corner of the world, for snow.
It's early yet, and perhaps you should start your day, a good wife would fetch eggs from the chickens and have breakfast on the table before the sun was fully risen, but you only tuck yourself back into bed, wriggling beneath Joel's arm, languishing in him, the scent and heat of his body. You press your nose to the hollow of his throat and inhale, the salt and soap smell a comfort to you, loosening the terse ridges of your shoulders. He smells like sex too, like sweat and come.
"Mornin'," he says against your forehead, body stretching against yours, his voice like a caught river in his throat, a low rumble that you feel in your ribs, and, shamefully, in a little pulse between your legs. It’s barely there, sated as you are.
"It is snowing."
He grunts, rubs the space between your shoulders. "'Bout that time."
"It's too early."
"Not up here it ain't. Comes a little later where you're from, down in the valley."
There is so much that he has knowledge of that you do not. It's a rare instance you feel the gulf between you.
His arms tighten around you, fingers dancing over the indent of your spine. There's something on his mind, you can tell, but the silence persists, equal to your own distracted thoughts. "You feelin' all right?"
You frown into his throat. "How do you mean?"
Joel doesn't answer for a moment as the room grows brighter, chasing away the grim gray tucked into the corners of the room. Eventually, he takes in a slow breath, lungs expanding against yours. "Last night,” he clarifies. “You all right? It wasn't too, uh—”
"Oh," you mumble, voice faint. "Yes, I—"
You do not need led, you have never had need of a leash snared around your throat. But in some things, you are ignorant. No amount of exploration or curious observation would garner answers. You are stumbling blind in the dark, convinced of sins you aren't sure are real, that you don't believe in, even if they are. The echoes of wronged, shamed women from the misty memories of early mornings spent in the chapel, the ablutions they made, superimposed on your own desires.
Your journal festers now, a guilt ridden artifact. . .all because you want your husband. It’s a tiresome circle of feeling pathetic for feeling shamed, and then feeling so guilty you feel ill. Joel could help, at least help you understand.
"No, actually, I’m not okay," you answer, bold in the assertion. You feel his body go rigid beside you, eyes closing briefly, like he is accepting something he already knows to be true. "Joel, I need. . .to understand something."
“What?” His voice snaps a little when he looks at you and you bite your lip. “Talk to me,” he says, making an effort, you can tell, to soften his voice.
“I worry that I disappoint you.”
His shoulders loosen; a confused tangle of relief and confusion spreads over his face. “Darlin’,” he murmurs, his voice velvet, something easy to land on. “That ain’t ever gonna be true. That what’s been botherin’ you all season?”
You sit up next to him, peer down into his eyes. A fondness spreads through your chest, makes you reach out and twitch a lock of hair back from his lined forehead. You wonder how long he has been wondering about you, how long he has known something is wrong.
The whole time, probably, there is not much he misses about you. Maybe he knew, too, that you would eventually admit it to him.
It seems silly now, all the questions, all the worries, when you had a well of knowledge at your fingertips. He would not condemn you; he would not treat you as your village had.
At the very least, he would see your effort; he would see that you could be a caged thing, if needed, be settled, be tamed.
"I need you to talk to me," he says again.
You swallow and touch his cheek, trace the fine scars there that he had admitted were but from brawling when he was a younger man.
The explanation comes in a halting lurch of words, pausing every now and then to gauge his reaction, to see if you are as wretched as you feel you are—the, what feels to you, unendingly lustful thoughts, the distraction of it, the conversation with the midwife, the isolating fear that he would find you disgusting, that he had already.
"And I don't want to disappoint you," you repeat, finishing softly. "But I fear that I already have. I am not unaware, of the grace you have for me and my quirks of character. I do not want you to be ashamed of me, for my. . .impurity. And I don't understand what is normal to feel, or what is immodest. And I don't understand why you don't have want of me, the way I have want of you. I fear something is broken, that there’s something wrong."
“Don’t want you?” He asks, incredulous.
Embarrassment makes your tongue thick in your mouth. Your chest hurts. “To be inside me,” you clarify. “All the women I know don’t seem to want it, but I do. You don’t seem to crave it, as I do.”
The answer is slow coming, like it is caught behind his teeth. You sense he's trying to be delicate with you, gently affirm that there is something wrong about the lasciviousness you feel, the sacrilegious uneven keel of your want.
He clears his throat and sits up slowly in bed, taking your hands between his. "I told you before, I don't put much stock in all that," he says, squeezing your fingers. "Now, you listenin’?”
“Yes,” you answer, desperate to know, for him to unveil this truth to you.
Joel pinches your chin between his fingers. “There’s nothin’ wrong with you. Them other ladies. . .just have husbands that don’t know what the hell they’re doin’.”
You feel frozen, rooted to the spot. “I don’t—”
“You do. You’re smart.” He gathers you close to his chest, clears his throat. “They just shove it in, don’t make it good for their wives, I reckon. And I. . .if I was a younger man, I'd be able to keep up with you." There's something self retributive in his voice. “That you want anything to do with me at all, is surprisin’.”
"Oh."
"If I could be buried inside you all the time, I would be."
"You want me," you breathe.
Irritation turned inward bleeds across his features. "That ain't been clear?"
"I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “I only thought I should not be feeling as I did, and that was why.” You nestle beneath his chin, let him tilt you back against the bed. “I only wanted to be good to you, for you.”
His hands caress your naked sides, the curves of your waist, taking stock of you. “There nothin’ wrong with you. You want it ‘cause I’m good at it. Think them thoughts don't really count anyway, if it's about your husband, anyway.”
You bury your face in his neck. “Pride is a sin,” you mumble, laughing.
“So is lyin’.”
You snort, breathing in as his hand slides between your thighs. “Should your wife not practice restraint and modesty?”
“I’d prefer it if she did as she liked.” He answers. "Like she always has."
“I can manage that.” You widen your thighs, glance down to watch his thick fingers pry you apart, slip inside you, pumping slowly. The shame is still there, in it’s long standing home, but when you knock your forehead against Joel’s, see the devotion colored in his eyes, feel the metal press of his wedding band against your skin, it abates.
He nudges your head back down, makes you look. “We’ll work on it,” he promises. "There ain't nothin' wrong with wantin' it."
The room is a bright white, softening the edges of the world when he eventually retracts his fingers and pushes into you instead, curled together on your sides like the lapping of twin waves, deep and sloppy, his mouth open against yours.
You stay in bed all day as you once dreamed.
"Will you walk with me?" You ask into the quiet, against the pulse of his heart, his skin beneath your lips. "I'd like it if you did. I'd like to show you where I go."
"Who the hell has a bachelor party two days before Christmas?"
"Someone whose best man must be clueless. I'm surprised all those guys were even able to make it," you tell Addy, handing over the last of her drinks from your place behind the bar. There has to be at least thirty guys attending the bachelor party. "Do you need help carrying them up?"
She looks over her shoulder, knocking her drooping Santa hat out of her field of vision. The loft overlooking the bar where you work is where parties are always held and the staircase to get up there tends to get crowded.
"No, I think I'm good. Thanks, though. I'm sure I'll be back in ten minutes with more orders," Addy replies, rolling her eyes. She stoops down and lifts the tray of drinks to balance on her shoulder, then begins to weave her way through the crowd.
It's busy. Always is before a holiday. People who are usually not in town come back to visit their families and, once relatives turn in for the night, they try to make plans to catch up with old friends. Given your bar is the favorite amongst the locals, it tends to be one of the busiest nights of the year. You and the other girls you work with have found over the years that dressing up a little earns you more tips from patrons who are already feeling rather generous and in the holiday spirit. Tonight is no exception. Wearing a Santa hat, a tight black tshirt, and a short velvet red skirt with a thick white trim to match your hat has already earned you more money tonight than you made all of last weekend combined.
It's so loud and you're so busy fielding as many requests as you can that you don't even hear the crash of glass until Addy returns with a sheepish look and a completely soaked shirt.
"I should've taken you up on that offer to help," she says, looking down at her ruined clothes. "I fucking reek of beer, oh my god."
"Oh, no! Here, I brought an extra change of clothes," you say, leaning under the bar for your tote bag.
"No, no, I can't do that! It's freezing out, you need your jeans for later."
"I'd rather you take my jeans for the night than leave me to handle that party upstairs," you say, shoving the bag into her arms. She gives you a grateful smile and hurries away to clean up. With the help from another girl, you remake the dropped drinks and volunteer to take them up yourself.
"Excuse me!" you shout over the music, pushing people out of the way with your free hand so they don't accidentally bump into your tray. You take the stairs carefully, sidestepping one of the busboys who is cleaning up the broken glass, and breathe a sigh of relief when you make it to the top unscathed.
A quick scan of the group tells you the men seem to be a few years older than you. Most are probably married or settled down in some way. Those are usually the best kind of bachelor parties—they aren't too rowdy and they tip well.
It seems like they just wrapped up eating and now are milling around the room. Some are staring at some sporting event on the television and pointing out had it not been for that pesky knee injury, they could have gone pro. Others are laughing at the mostly empty table over some story from their glory days. But one man unfortunately noticed you before the rest and stumbled over with a sloppy smile and reddened cheeks.
"Are you our new waitress or did you just get hotter since you left?" he slurs. You resist the urge to scrunch your nose in disgust and when you bend to set the tray of drinks down on the table, you try to be conscientious of your short skirt.
"Just thought I'd help Addy while she cleans herself up," you say, gaze cast down and focused on the drinks. But the guy doesn't take the hint.
"Aw, that's a shame. But you can hang out with us, yeah?"
You shake your head and blindly begin passing out the beers.
"I'm tending bar downstairs, I gotta get back, but I promise you're in good hands."
Stale breath sweeps across your cheek and he says—not as quietly as he thought—"Think I like your hands better, sweetheart."
Your back and forth must have pulled the attention of others because a boisterous conversation happening across the table dies down. You're trying not to look up for fear your face will give away your disgust, but when you hear a familiar voice, your head snaps up.
"Ho, Ho, Ho-ly shit!"
When you see Tommy Miller with the group in front of the television wearing a half buttoned flannel and a tacky button pinned to it that says, "I'm getting married, buy me a drink!", you smile and straighten up.
"Tommy!" You toss your arms around him for a big hug and it takes about five more seconds before you realize it:
If Tommy is here for his bachelor party, then that means...
"Joel! Look who it is!" Tommy turns with a cheeky grin, one arm still slung loose around your waist, the other pointing to you like Joel didn't already see you when you walked up the stairs.
You take a deep breath and force yourself to find him amongst the now mostly quiet group. Downstairs the music is still playing, people are shouting and laughing, yet for a second it all fades away when you lock eyes with Joel.
He's hard to read. Always has been. But his expression looks taught and you're pretty sure he's angrily chewing on the inside of his cheek as those soft, dark brown eyes flicker between you and his brother.
You clear your throat and take a step away from Tommy.
"Hey," you nod to Joel, voice obviously void of the excitement you harbored just a moment ago.
He grunts and looks away, then back up to his brother.
"This is why you picked this place?" he asks. You bristle, wishing you weren't working so you could give him a piece of your mind, but instead focus on distributing the rest of the drinks.
Tommy laughs. "No, no, it's just a good spot, is all."
"Did you know she worked here?"
You scoff under your breath but Joel still hears it.
As much as you wish it didn't hurt to hear the iciness in his tone, it does. You do your best to brush it off and hurry back downstairs, but then an unexpected hero comes to your rescue.
"Hey... that's why you look so familiar." Their friend, the one who was clearly way too drunk to process what was going on, spoke up. He points lazily at you and you look up. He's slowly piecing it together, you can see it, then his eyes light up when he figures it out. "You're the one in the, in the wallet! In Joel's wallet! Asked him—hey, hey, Joel—" He turns to find Joel glaring at him from his chair, arms pulled tightly across his chest. "She's the one from your wallet, 'member? When I was askin' earlier—"
"Shut the fuck up, Charlie!" Joel shouts.
"Alright, Joel, enough. Don't ruin my night, okay?" Tommy scolds. You have to stifle a grin when Joel's neck flushes bright pink with embarrassment and you figure that's enough payback for his shitty comment, so you collect your now empty tray with renewed confidence and fix the Santa hat on your head.
"Well, it was great seeing you, Tommy. Congrats," you say, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek. You can practically feel the daggers Joel is staring into your back and you smirk to yourself before heading towards the stairs, throwing your hips a little more than usual so that your Santa skirt sways as you walk away.
When you make it downstairs and back behind the safety of your bar, you finally exhale a loud, shaky breath. One of the other girls notices and gives you a look of concern.
"Everything alright?"
You nod and snatch up a shot glass. Pouring from the closest bottle, you toss it back with a wince before answering.
"Yeah," you say, dragging the back of your hand across your mouth. "Just saw my ex-husband upstairs. Merry fucking Christmas to me."
---
It was a long night but mercifully, busy enough to keep your mind from dwelling too long on Joel. And after tip out, you made enough to cover half your rent for the month. Awkward encounter aside, it was a good night, but you're bone tired and freezing your ass off as you shuffle to your car across the empty parking lot in just that stupid Santa skirt.
"Jesus fucking Christ," you whine once you're inside your car, teeth chattering and hands shaking. Once the engine starts, you blast the heat, but your car is old as dirt and you know better by now than to expect the thing to actually heat up in less than the fifteen minutes it takes to get home.
The roads are empty, like they usually are at this hour. It's usually calming but tonight your fingers grip the steering wheel as you desperately try to warm yourself up.
Taking the back roads is quicker, so you always go that way. Hardly anyone ever takes these streets, especially in the middle of the night, so when your headlights flicker dim for a moment followed by a loud sputter from your exhaust, you know you're absolutely fucked.
"No!" you scream when the engine dies. You're able to slow down and steer just off the road so you're safe, but you're freezing even more and now on the verge of tears.
Once you're safely in park, you pick up your phone and groan.
"No signal," you mutter, but you try anyway. After the third attempt you give up and let the tears flow. All you want to do is go home, get under your covers, and pray that look Joel gave you earlier doesn't haunt your dreams. Instead, you're going to freeze to death on the side of some country road wearing a tiny Santa skirt and matching hat.
After about ten minutes of feeling sorry for yourself, you stop crying but don't bother to wipe the dried tears from your face. You're already about to have the worst night ever, who cares if you have mascara streaked down your cheeks?
Just when you're thinking about using fast food napkins as a blanket, you spot headlights in your review mirror and you gasp.
"Oh, my god!" You're scrambling to unbuckle your seatbelt so you can flag them down, but it turns out you don't need to—the truck slows and parks behind you, already anticipating your cry for help.
"Oh, thank god," you mutter, watching with relief as the shadow of your savior steps out of the truck. You lean back in your seat with a sigh. "Yes, yes, yes, yes—"
But when the man's broad body blocks the bright headlights, revealing an all too familiar face, your joy vanishes.
"No, no, no, no."
Joel leans down with a friendly smile and lifts his hand to knock on your window, but when he sees you, he freezes. His face immediately falls into a scowl and with a defeated sound, you open your door.
"Just leave me here, I'd rather die," you say.
Joel scoffs and steps back. He tries to catch himself, but you saw the quick once over he gave you before angling his body towards the woods—and even though you've been cursing this skirt since you stepped out of the bar, you're a teensy bit grateful for it now.
"Fine by me."
"I'll wait for someone else."
"Yeah? Dressed like that?" Joel nods angrily towards your ridiculous get up. "Gonna freeze to death but be my guest."
Then he turns to head back to his truck, boots crunching loudly over the snowy ground. You shift your weight and anxiously chew your bottom lip before throwing your hands in the air.
"Wait!"
Joel stops but doesn't turn. You take a deep breath.
"Can you... can you help me?" You hear how pathetic you sound and can only imagine how pleased he must be to have the upper hand.
"Yeah? Why should I do that?" he calls over his shoulder. You think about it for all of two seconds.
"For old times sake?"
Joel huffs. His shoulders tense and he begins to walk away, then you try again.
"Joel, please! It's Christmas!"
He skids to a stop with his hand on the door of his truck. From here, you can see his jaw work as he thinks things over. You wrap your arms around yourself and bounce from foot to foot, legs practically made of ice at this point. Finally, he sighs and turns to you.
"Fine."
He moves to open the backseat of his cab and you crane your neck, trying to see what he's doing. He shuts the door and heads back to your car carrying a toolbox.
"Get in the truck."
You squeak happily, grab your purse from the front seat, and hurry past him to his truck. Warmth wraps around you like a hug when you open the door and you could cry you're so happy. Rubbing your arms and legs while hovering near the fans, you desperately try to bring life back to your limbs while Joel pops the hood of your car.
Ten minutes and some feeling in your fingers later, Joel returns.
"I'm gonna give you a jump but it takes some time to charge the battery," he says from the backseat. He's rifling around for something under the driver's seat and you nod.
"Thank you."
He grunts and slams the door shut, and you watch as he takes jumper cables over to your car. He does something you can't see before he returns and hops behind the wheel. You sit in silence as Joel moves his truck then turns around so your cars are facing one another, then he slides back out to attach the cables to his own truck. The hood is popped so you can't really see him, but you can see his hands—the way they move, twisting cables, examining other foreign looking objects under the hood... he does it so smoothly, like he's done this a hundred times. He barely has to think about it. He's always been one of those men who learns things very fast. He's smart, you used to tell him so all the time, but he didn't think so, no matter how many times you pointed out what a remarkable memory he had or how he just had an innate ability to understand how something—or someone—works.
Heat flares between your legs and you quickly shut it down by forcing your attention elsewhere, but your mind wanders against your will, back to simpler times when you were young and in love, breathlessly telling Joel how amazing he was when he was making you fall apart with his fingers or mouth or—
"Alright. Got 'bout twenty minutes."
Joel climbs into the cab and shuts the door with a shudder. You watch as his hands cup the fans on his dashboard, capturing the heat between his palms before bringing his curled fists up to his mouth to exhale, warming them up faster.
You shiver and look away, then his gaze is back on you.
"You coulda died out here wearin' that."
"I know."
There's a pause. Then—
"What the hell were you thinkin'?"
You sigh and lean back into the worn grey fabric seat. "It wasn't my first choice. Your waitress dropped drinks all over herself so I gave her the clothes I was gonna change into after work."
You stare out the window as a thick silence settles between you once again. Just when you think this is going to be the longest twenty minutes of your life, Joel says something that surprises you.
"M'sorry, 'bout earlier."
Your brows shoot up in shock and you look at him, but he's staring straight ahead, like what he's saying is causing him actual pain.
"Shouldn'tve been rude. Just took me by surprise, is all."
You're speechless. The last thing you expected from him was an apology, you're not prepared at all, but you know you need to say something because too much time is stretching on and Joel is starting to shift uncomfortably in his seat.
"It's okay," you finally say. His eyes dart to lock with yours and in that moment you swear you can see the man you fell in love with all those years ago, buried somewhere underneath all that gruff. The longer he stares at you the faster your heart races and you can't stop the shiver that rolls down your spine. Joel sees it and frowns.
"You're cold, here," he says, shrugging off his oversized brown coat. Before you can protest he has it wrapped around your shoulders, and when you inhale his warm, comforting scent, your eyelids flutter shut and you shamelessly bury your nose into the collar.
The corner of his mouth lifts but he turns his face away before you see it.
"So, uh... how long you been workin' there?" He's staring down at the speedometer like it holds some valuable information—anything to find a reason to avoid your eye.
"Three years," you tell him. "But I also substitute teach for Oakmont Elementary."
Joel hums. "I can see you doin' that. You'd be good at that."
You grin, trying to hide it behind his coat. "It's fun, I don't mind it."
"You thinkin' 'bout doin' it full time? Bein' a teacher?" When he looks at you now it's so soft and sweet that you temporarily forget all the pain you went through together.
"I'd have to go back to school, I don't know..."
Joel shrugs. "You could do it. Always were good in school."
Your cheeks warm under the compliment. "It'd be a lot of work. Going to class during the day, working at night. That's hard."
"Yeah, but when you stick your mind to somethin', you just do it. Never let anythin' stop you before."
He graces you with a shy smile for the first time all night and you have to look away or else you're afraid you might say something stupid.
Change the subject, you think.
"Did Tommy have fun tonight?"
"Oh, yeah," Joel says, leaning back in his seat with a light grin. "Just dropped him off, as a matter of fact. Shitfaced like you'd expect. Almost wandered into his neighbor's house."
"Ah, so that's why you're out so late."
"Promised him I wouldn't drink so I could get 'em home."
"Well, that's nice, considering the shit he pulled for your bachelor party."
It's a risky move bringing up anything related to your marriage, you knew that. But he just seems so relaxed and you're finally getting the warmth back in your toes and feeling much better than you were thirty minutes ago, so you go for it. And Joel pauses, taken off guard, but then he chuckles low and deep, the sound causing a familiar pull between your legs.
"My god," he murmurs, then rolls his head to the side to give you a look. "To this day I ain't ever hear a woman bring a man to his knees the way you did to me and him that night. Never saw you so mad."
"I warned you—no strippers."
"And I told you I didn't touch any of 'em."
You throw your head back and laugh, missing the way Joel's gaze lingers on the curve of your neck, the plushness of your lips, the smoothness of your skin.
"Bullshit, Joel Miller! You can tell me the truth, we're not married anymore."
When you find his eyes again, there's an energy that pulls between you and it suddenly feels like no time at all has passed.
"I ain't lyin'," he swears, palms up in the air. "The other guys did but I didn't. Scout's honor."
"Yeah, okay," you say, rolling your eyes, but you can't erase the smile he put there a moment ago.
"I didn't need another reason for your old man to hate me, I did what I was told," he says, hand over his heart. You giggle and shake your head.
"Oh, I don't think that would have mattered much. He never liked you."
Joel grins and lets his gaze drift as a comfortable silence settles in the cab.
"I heard he passed a few years back. M'sorry," he says softly, and you meet his eye once again. He looks genuinely sympathetic, despite everything your father did to tear you apart.
"Thanks."
"What was it?"
"Cancer," you tell him, then shrug one shoulder like it didn't mean anything when you both knew it did.
"Ah, shit," he sighs. "You livin' in that house?"
"Nah. Couldn't do it. I sold it," you say, staring down at your hands tangled in your lap. Joel makes a sound like he understands and he lets it go, lets the quiet envelope you once again like he knew you just needed a few minutes to think. He was always good at reading you, you never forgot that.
"I'm sorry, too," you tell him. You hear him twist his head to look at you but you keep your face angled down. "For the way he treated you. He was never good to you, Joel, and I'm so sorry."
"Hey, it's alright. No need to be sorry."
You sniffle and finally raise your chin with glassy eyes. "It's not alright. He said some horrible things to you—"
"He was just scared for his little girl," Joel says, extending a hand across the seat to rest carefully on your knee. "Didn't like some guy six years older than her sniffin' around, had you sneakin' out and shit... hell, lookin' back, I don't blame 'em."
"Well, I do. I blame him," you mumble. Then, to your dismay, one lone tear streaks down your cheek when you add, "Am I horrible? For not forgiving him for what he did to us?"
Joel's eyes widened and his hand instantly lifts from your knee to cup your face. "No," he breathes with a light shake of his head, "No, you ain't horrible. Don't think that."
His thumb brushes over your cheek and you close your eyes.
Well, there's no going back now, you figure. Might as well go all in.
"Why didn't you fight for me, Joel?" you whisper, lower lip trembling. Your eyes slowly open and two more tears fall. "Why didn't you—"
"'Cause I couldn't come between you 'n your family," he says urgently, his own eyes darting back and forth across your face like it was of the utmost importance you understood. "He was gonna disown you. Said he'd never speak to you again unless we got a divorce. And I couldn't be the reason that happened, honey, I just couldn't—"
"But you were my family," you whimper. "I only wanted you."
"I wanted you, too," he says back, voice strained like he's holding back tears. "Thought I was doin' the right thing by lettin' you go. I was young and dumb and scared, I just wanted you to be happy."
"Well, I wasn't," you confess, and one of your hands comes up to curl around his, still pressed gently against your cheek. His hands are big and a little rough, just like you remember, and you close your eyes, leaning into his touch. "I cried for years over you, Joel," you whisper, "Every time I'd hear someone mention your name or I'd see a sign or truck for your business I'd get so fucking angry. Do you know why?"
You force your eyes back open and through the unshed tears, you see him shake his head.
"I hated the idea of you out there, living your life, meeting new people, meeting new girls and forgetting all about me when I could hardly get out of bed most days."
"You meant everythin' to me," he says, jaw tight as he leans closer across the seat. "Still do."
A sob lodges in your throat, but you swallow it down and force out the question that's been on your mind for years.
"Then why are you always so fucking cold to me whenever I see you? Like tonight?"
"'Cause seein' you reminds me of the biggest mistake I ever made, and I fuckin' hate myself for lettin' you go."
The confession falls from his mouth like it had been waiting there for years to be said. No hesitation whatsoever. Just raw emotion packed behind years of regret. You don't know what to do with it, what to say. You just stare at one another, searching each other's eyes like you could find the answers to your problems right there until it dawns on you at the same time—that maybe you never really had any problems at all, aside from meeting a little too young and moving a little too fast.
But nothing is holding you back anymore. You're not freshly out of high school marrying a guy who was struggling to start a construction business with his baby brother. You both have five years of wisdom now, and even after all that time, those feelings you have for Joel still burn hot under your skin.
And that has to mean something.
"Joel?" you whisper, and his brows pitch up ever so slightly in response. His shoulders still like he's holding his breath, waiting for you to say it. So you do.
"Kiss me."
A breathless sound slips past your lips when his mouth presses firmly over your own, but just as quickly as you feel him, he pulls back. His eyes find yours and he searches, like he's looking for an answer to a question he's too scared to ask. You gaze back at him with tear soaked cheeks and a trembling lip, hoping he sees what you feel. Then his throat bobs and his shoulders sag like a weight has been lifted and his mouth finds yours once again.
Desperation fills the cab of his truck. Your mouth falls open and his tongue slides smoothly against yours, never missing a beat. His fingertips dig into your cheek and you pull him forward by his flannel, searching for more. The sharp brush of his beard rubs into an upward motion against your lips and you know he's smiling at your eagerness.
"C'mere," he mumbles before both his hands find your waist and he leans back, hauling you over the seat and into his lap without breaking the kiss. He pushes his coat past your shoulders and tosses it behind him, giving himself better access to your body.
It's all happening so fast that when his hands skate slowly down your sides to curve and cup your ass under your skirt, you jump like a frayed wire. Every nerve ending is alight, as if your body has been waiting all these years to be brought back to life by his touch.
"Easy," he chuckles in between kisses, "it's just me. Just me, baby."
It nearly destroys you. Joel—your first and probably only real love is right here, back in your arms. You kiss him harder and he groans, needy tongues swirling together like you may run out of air.
"Joel—" you gasp, but he cuts you off.
"Christ, I missed you." His mouth sloppily sears over yours with a groan before separating again. "Missed you so much. Then I finally see you and..." His gaze flicks down but you're too busy trailing a path of wet kisses down his neck. "And you're wearin' this slutty little thing. Couldn't stop thinkin' 'bout it... c'mere." His chin drops to seek out your mouth and you let him, moaning softly when your lips reconnect. He kisses like a madman, you always loved that about him. Every kiss feels like it's important, like he needs to show you how he feels because there are no words in existance that do it justice.
"You should see what I wear to work on Valentine's Day," you giggle when he gives you a second to breathe.
"Can't wait."
Then he quiets you with another deep kiss.
Can't wait. Can't wait. Two simple words that hold so much meaning. Two words that assure you whatever happens tonight won't be a one time thing. It sets your heart on fire and you whine into his mouth when his hands dig into the curve of your hips, pulling you down harder into his lap.
Joel leans back with a filthy grin so he can watch you drag your hips back and forth, over his cock straining against his zipper.
"Shit. Christmas came early," he mumbles in a daze as he continues to watch you move.
"That better be the only thing that comes early," you tease before clutching his face in your hands for another lust soaked kiss. And even though there's no real rush, your hands move hastily anyway. They slip between your bodies as your tongue dips into his mouth and he groans when your palm presses over his aching cock. His own slide back under your skirt to wrap around your underwear and he tugs, growing frustrated with the thin piece of fabric.
"Take these off," he demands roughly.
"There's no room," you say, biting at his scruffy chin. "Your steering wheel is digging into my ass."
With one harsh, loud tear, your underwear fall loose. You gasp and open your heavy eyes to watch him pull the black shreds from between your legs, then he tosses it somewhere behind his seat.
"Joel! I already hardly have any clothes as it is!" you exclaim, but he shushes you with a quick kiss before his mouth drops to your throat.
"Don't worry. I'll warm you up," he grins before his hands make their way up your skirt once more. He moans against your neck as his palms glide over your soft skin. Desperation claws at your throat when his fingers glide through your folds, dragging your arousal up to circle your clit. You curse his name and press your body tightly against his chest.
"Please, Joel, please," you beg as you rub the outside of his jeans. His jaw falls open and his head rolls back against the seat before he pulls his hand from between your legs. You whimper at the loss, but then his fingers slip into his mouth with a rough noise and you fall silent, watching him greedily taste you with heavy lidded eyes.
You feel dizzy, short of breath and aching with need when your fingers find his zipper. Pulling it down while he works on the button of his jeans, you moan a little when his cock is finally freed, all thick and heavy between you.
"Sit on it, baby," he pants while watching you lift onto your knees. He pushes up your skirt so he can see you notch the thick head of his cock at your opening and he feels drunk, his brain a cloudy, needy mess at the sight he's dreamt about for years.
Every day that passed without you, the memory of how you felt faded against his will. But having you on his lap now, your scent invading his senses as you slowly sink down on his cock, all those memories come flooding back: your warmth, the tightness of your pussy, the fucking noises you make from your pretty mouth... it's enough to bring him to tears.
One falls and you see it. You're holding your breath, still impaling yourself on his cock and reveling in the stretch, but you still cup his cheek and wipe the tear away. The sweet gesture just makes another one fall and when your hips finally grow flush with his lap, he releases a strained, choked sob, unable to look away from the depth of your gaze.
"Fuck, I missed you," you whisper, pressing your forehead against his.
"I know, baby, I know," he murmurs, blinking away the tears and wrapping his arms around your waist. The tip of your hat gently taps his cheek and he grins when you lift it off your head just to drop it on top of his messy curls.
"There you go," you say with a slow, deliberate roll of your hips. "Now you've got the Christmas spirit."
"Already got what I asked for, anyway," he chuckles before the palm of his hand cracks lightly across your ass. You yelp and giggle, falling forward to bury your face in the crook of his neck.
"And here I thought you had a permanent place on the naughty list." You begin to move with more purpose, moaning softly against his collarbone as the tip of his cock catches just right inside you.
"You oughta talk," he scolds with a small smile. It's equal parts frustrating and relieving to have this with him again. Had you just talked things out instead of snapping at each other every time you crossed paths, you would have saved so much time, and yet you can't be mad because you're too grateful to have him at all.
It's so easy to fall back into the familiar rhythm. Just like muscle memory, you both remember what the other likes. Without being asked, you tug your black shirt up and over your head so he can bury his face in your breasts as you ride him. His hands grip and pull you, helping you move and deepen the angle until your thighs start to shake. When his lips suction over your nipple, you arch your back with a sweet moan. His tongue is so warm and wet against your skin so you chase it, bouncing on him a little faster and he rewards you by switching to the other one.
"Yeah, baby, just like that," he pants, warm breath fanning across your wet skin. "Oh, fuck—ju-just like that."
You're stuck staring down at him, at the way the shadows stretch across his face, at the softness around his eyes, at the way he struggles to breathe. A sound catches in your throat and his dark eyes find yours before your mouths crash together in a hungry kiss.
"So good," you whisper against his lips. "So, so good."
He groans and lifts his hips, snapping them up into yours, driving himself deeper. You gasp and one hand reaches out to scramble for leverage, but your fingers just slide down the foggy window next to you. The Santa hat askew on his head falls off somewhere behind him but you're both too soaked with desire to notice.
Your legs shake as you work to keep up with his pace but your whole body is shuddering in his lap and for once, it's not due to the cold. He's slamming into you, pushing mercilessly against a sweet spot hidden away deep inside, and it's tearing you down.
"Oh god, Joel," you cry through clenched teeth, then your head tips back and your eyes squeeze shut and his mouth is on your throat, then your jaw, then your face—quick, urgent kisses that desperately try to make up for lost time.
Joel feels your muscles tighten and he grips you harder. He groans into your skin and fucks up into you, moaning about how good you feel and how tight you are and how he wishes he could have gotten his mouth on you, if only for a few minutes.
"But next time, I'm gonna eat this pussy til you're screamin', hear me?" He's grinding into you, forcing you to take him as deep as you can and stealing all the air from your lungs. "Never gonna let you go after this. Not gonna—shit—not gonna fuck this up again, okay?"
Tears slide down your cheeks and you nod before you gasp sharply and your body spasms with relief on top of him. He groans around the squeeze of your cunt and fucks you faster.
"M'sorry," he whispers over and over. But you're in a love drunk haze, you can barely hear him. Your body slumps forward to rest against his shoulder and a moment later, he comes with a rough curse in your ear. You sigh, pressing your cheek against him as he floods your pussy. He's holding you close to his chest and filling you up until he has nothing left to give and his body sags into the seat.
Your lips seek out the sweaty skin of his throat and you leave little kisses there while he catches his breath.
"Can you come over for Christmas Eve?" he asks suddenly, and you giggle before straightening your spine and leaning back. His eyes are deep and warm and he's giving you that sexy smirk you remember all too well. Your heart flips and it feels like you're falling in love with him all over again.
"Are you sure?"
He nods. "'Course I'm sure. So long as you're ready, 'cause Tommy's gonna give us a lot of shit."
You laugh and his face softens at the sound.
"Okay. I think I can stop by."
Joel smiles and looks down at your skirt fanning over his lap, hiding where you're still connected.
"Can you wear this?"
You smack his shoulder and he laughs. It's so lighthearted that you can't remember any of the heartbreak. You card your fingers through his sweaty hair and he gazes up at you sweetly as his laughter dies down, both of you staring at one another with matching smiles.
"Battery's probably good by now," he finally murmurs, still looking at you with stars in his eyes and a goofy smile on his face.
"Oh, shit, I forgot," you say, glancing over your shoulder at the steamy windshield. Joel fishes around to find your discarded shirt and hands it to you before helping you off his lap. You both groan, muscles aching, then you swing your leg back over to the passenger side. When you slip your shirt back on, you squeeze your thighs together, cheeks burning when you catch his sticky release dripping down your leg.
"You good?" he asks. He's already done his jeans back up and his hand is on the door. He's got his coat back on, ready to finish fixing your car, and your chest aches for him.
Typical Joel. So good at taking care of you.
"Come here," you whisper, then the corner of his mouth lifts before he releases the door handle and he stretches across the cab to press his lips softly against your own.
"Merry Christmas, Joel," you say, kissing the tip of his nose.
He smiles warmly before coming in for one more kiss.
You find a way to cope with loneliness while filming in England. The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue through chapter 17 found on Tumblr here.
Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader
CW: SMUT! Consensual rough sex. Mention of child loss. Dissociative behavior. Angst. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only.
You preferred to not feel like you were in a movie in the middle of your real life but, sometimes, it couldn’t be helped.
You sat in a window box two floors up, peering out at the rain washed street below, forehead against the glass as you watched the people on the street make their way past.
The photographers here hadn’t figured out where you were staying while you were working on Ashland Hall. They knew you were in the country - and British press was nothing to fuck around with - but your team had taken great care to minimize your exposure to the public.
Because you were going to be here for more than a month, you’d leased a rowhouse in a town just outside London. It was close enough that you made regular appearances in the city to keep the photographers guessing and far enough from set that it wouldn’t be the first place they’d look. You came and went as quietly as possible but, four weeks in, you were starting to feel it, this odd loneliness that you’d had when living alone in the past.
You missed Ellie.
She and Elise had been here two weeks before and it seemed like something out of a dream. You’d arranged it so you’d only need to be on set three days that week, taking them to the Tower of London and the British Museum and to have tea while Ellie stuck her pinky out while putting her nose in the air, a prim purse to her lips that made you almost snort tea out of your nose. On her last night here, Ellie had tiptoed into your room and asked if she could sleep next to you and you’d smiled and nodded, pulling the covers back so she could climb in beside you.
“You’re coming back to Texas when you’re done here, right?” she’d asked quietly, her eyes shining in the dark. “I love grandma but… I miss you.”
You reached out and brushed her hair back from her face, your thumb tracing her eyebrow.
“I’m coming back when this shoot is done,” you said softly. “We can hang out so much you’ll be sick of me. Nothing planned until we need to start doing Savage Starlight press so I’ll have some time off until spring. And I expect you to be my date to the Savage Starlight premiere, I’ll need to get your thoughts on the movie before anybody else.”
She smiled at that.
“Can I wear a suit?” She asked.
“Sure,” you smiled back. “I’ll ask Frank to find you a great one. He’ll love it.”
She’d fallen asleep with her back to you, curled up against you as you held her close. You missed what it was to touch someone - really touch someone. Not for a scene or a photoshoot or as some show for the press but because you cared about them. You’d gotten more used to not having that but, after a week of getting to hug Elise and Ellie, getting to touch them when you laughed or feel the warmth of them close to you as you all sat on the couch, you realized just how isolated you were now.
In the past, when you felt like this, you’d call Anna and hang out with her on the couch, sharing a blanket and popcorn while watching movies and talking through them. If she wasn’t available, you’d just hook up with someone. There were a few standards in your little black book that you could easily call up and fuck on a whim and that made handling that craving easy. It was hollow, sure, but so was much of your life.
Now, Anna was gone and the only person here you could call on was Chris which you knew was a bad idea. As far as he knew, your relationship to Justice was totally legitimate - there had even been pictures of you out with the man just before you left to film Ashland Hall - and it wasn’t the smartest to trust someone you didn’t really know all that well with secretly sleeping together.
You sighed, watching two people - each with umbrellas - make their way slowly down the sidewalk, their fingers entwined like it didn’t matter if they were getting wet as their umbrellas collided so long as they were together.
Part of you tried to focus on how the two were together, a neutral observer salting away information that you could call upon later when you needed to pretend like you knew what it was like to walk down the street with someone who loved you. You so rarely had the chance to really just watch people like this - no one acting the way they usually did once you were nearby - so it was a good opportunity to learn.
But the rest of your mind kept going back to Joel.
You seemed to have found some kind of an odd truce with him since the day at the beach. He’d been stiff on the ride back to your house, his hands in fists on his lap and then stalking off to his room the second you were all inside.
The next day, though, he was ready and waiting to go with you to set. He didn’t quite ignore you but he didn’t try to push your buttons, either. He was cool, calm, collected. A consummate professional who cared as much about your welfare as a trucker did about his cargo.
That didn’t change the fact that he’d fucked you once. At least it didn’t for you.
Because it hadn’t felt like fucking. It felt like the closest thing you’d experienced to love.
You wondered what it was like to have someone love you enough that they’d be happy to get rained on just to hold your hand. You wondered if they’d touch you the way Joel had that night, if they’d look at you the way he had. If you’d feel something then like you’d felt with him.
Even if no one could ever love you that way, maybe you could get someone to fake it. Just for a little while, just to pretend.
You leaned your forehead against the cool glass and pressed your fingers into your thigh.
You should probably stop spying on random passers by. Or, at the very least, stop watching strangers in love because it was getting fucking pathetic. So pathetic that you’d actually enjoyed shooting a romance scene that day.
Not that romance scenes were anything actually romantic. They were exercises in misery most of the time, awkward and uncomfortable, performing passion and intimacy to a room full of people that you were pretending didn’t exist with the lingering thought that everything you did would just be seen as porn and not something with artistic merit.
But this scene you’d enjoyed. Not because you wanted to fuck your co-star - you didn’t - or because it was a scene that was somehow actually intimate - it wasn’t - but because your skin was pressed against someone else’s for the first time in so long. His hands were warm and large on you and even though there was no surprise in any of his motions because the intimacy coordinator had carefully choreographed it all long before you were in front of the cameras, you were able to pretend.
It had felt good to get lost in it, in kissing someone and feeling them against you as you moaned into their mouth, the heat of the studio lights making your state of undress more bearable.
After one take, the director called you over to show you what she’d shot and a PA rushed a robe over to you, draping it over your shoulders before you made your way over to the monitors. You’d shrugged into it and crossed your arms but didn’t bother to tie it since you weren’t fully nude, just in a skin-tone thong and matching oversized pasties. You didn’t want to do full-frontal shit anymore, not now that you had more control over your career and you didn’t need to.
“OK see this part here?” Rebecca, the director, said, pointing to your hands on your co-star’s back on the monitor. “It seems almost hesitant to me.”
“I think it would be hesitant, though,” you said, frowning a little. “This is the first time they’re letting themselves do this, it’s a repressed society…”
“Exactly,” Rebecca cut you off, her eyes bright. “This is a giving in, they’re at their breaking point and so desperate for each other that they’re willing to risk everything to have each other. I don’t think it would be hesitant at all. You’ve felt like that before, right?”
You dug your nails into your palm as you nodded, eyes darting over to Joel who stood at the edge of the room, staring daggers at you.
“Channel that,” she said. “Let’s see what we get.”
“Yeah,” you nodded. “Yeah, OK.”
You psyched yourself up for the scene as you went back over toward he bed in the middle of the room.
“Channel it,” you whispered to yourself as you shrugged out of your robe and handed it off to a PA. “Right.”
You got set for another take and looked up at your costar and you let yourself remember that night and all the longing that had been there before it, how badly you’d wanted to touch Joel’s skin and taste him and feel him inside yourself.
That take hadn’t felt like acting, even as you fought to remember where your hands were supposed to go as you pulled at his flesh and heard his voice inside your head.
Christ, you feel so good, I need to feel you come.
“Cut!” The director called and you forced yourself to snap out of it, looking toward Rebecca who was glowing. “That. Was. Brilliant.”
You smiled as the PA brought you the robe again before you went to the monitor to watch the scene, heat creeping up your neck the entire time as you tried to ignore the way you could feel Joel glaring at you. Rebecca was right. It was brilliant.
And as awkward as it was, you wished you could shoot the scene again, just so you could feel someone’s hands on you and pretend they meant it.
You tapped your phone against your palm.
You shouldn’t do this. You really really shouldn’t. It was reckless and stupid and desperate and you opened your texts anyway.
It was only hour later that Chris Reese was knocking on your door, a cocky smile on his face and a styrofoam container in his hands.
“Hello, love.”
“Hello yourself. And what, pray tell, is that?” You asked, brows raised.
“I know how you eat on a shoot and I thought you could use some good, old fashioned take-away,” he winked at you, opening the box that was filled with curry and rice and naan and you smiled.
“So considerate,” you teased.
“The fuck are you doing here?”
Joel’s voice from behind you made you jump and you turned to find him there, looming over you, his arms crossed and a stern look on his face, one that made you feel like you were a teenager who’d just gotten caught doing something illicit, not a full grown adult woman who paid his fucking salary.
“He’s here because I invited him,” you said, defiantly. “Don’t you have a room to go sulk in? What are you doing here?”
“I got sensors on all the ways in and out of this place,” he said, holding up his phone. “I get an alert when someone might be trying to leave without an escort.”
You resisted the urge to groan and roll your eyes.
Of course there were sensors on the fucking doors.
“Don’t need to worry about that, mate,” Chris said, stepping inside and clapping Joel on the shoulder. “Think I’ll keep her plenty busy right here at home.”
He brushed against him as he made his way further into the house, completely ignoring the way your bodyguard was staring him down as you closed and locked the door.
“What is your problem?” You hissed at him through clenched teeth.
“What’s yours?” He growled back. “Your goddamn boyfriend not enough for you?”
You clenched your jaw and shook your head at him.
“My boyfriend isn’t here, is he?” you said. “And Chris is my friend. Not that you’d know anything about that now, would you?”
He just squared his jaw, his eyes narrowed and you felt this sick little twinge of triumph because he was looking at you like he hated you, like you were trash or scum and you disgusted him but he was looking at you like he fucking felt something and you smirked, stomach tight.
“We’re not planning to go anywhere, Big Miller,” you said. “So why don’t you head on upstairs? Your services aren’t needed.”
He looked at you for a moment longer before shaking his head and going up stairs again.
Chris let out a low whistle.
“Thought you’d ditched him,” he said as you led the way to the kitchen.
“Yeah, well,” you sighed. “We’re stuck together yet again.”
“Lucky you,” he said wryly.
You got out plates and a bottle of wine, opening it as Chris dished out the food and you poured each of you a glass. You settled next to each other at the breakfast bar and you took a bite, groaning when you did.
“OK this is fucking delicious,” you said. “I need to come here as an actual tourist sometime, hit all the high points.”
“Well if you’d called when you first got to town, I could’ve taken you around,” he teased lightly, taking a bite himself. “Shown you all the best places.”
You rolled your eyes a little and took a long sip of wine.
“Why didn’t you call?” He asked after a moment.
You sighed, considering.
“I didn’t think it was the best idea. My reputation is still… well. It’s not great. I’m still working through the adoption process…”
“And I’m a bad influence?” He gave you a small, cocky half smile.
You laughed a little.
“You’re something, that’s for damn sure. I’m just being cautious.”
“Well as long as it’s not something I did,” he winked, taking a sip of wine. “But you need to tell me about this project, everything’s been so tight lipped…”
You told him everything, how you were producing with some actual input for the first time, how you really liked the story, how you hoped this was the start of the next chapter of your career. He told you about his upcoming projects, how he hoped you’d come back to London to see him play Macbeth on the West End in a few months, that he was probably going to be in LA more in the spring because he’d just signed on to a movie.
You made the two of you cocktails and moved to your couch, the two of you continuing to talk and catch up, starting on opposite ends of it but drifting closer until your knee was against his and you relished the contact. It was nothing, really, but it felt so substantial, like it mattered. Something in you came alive with it, like his touch was pulling you back into your skin and you wanted more.
“So tell me, love,” Chris said, close enough to you that you could smell the liquor and cigarettes on his breath. “What’s the real reason you asked me to come over?”
“Well,” you smiled a little, leaning in closer. “I figured… why get Uber Eats if I can get the hottest man in England to bring me carry out?”
He chuckled.
“You’re a good actor, love, but a shit liar.”
“And what, exactly, do you think I’m lying about?” You asked, leaning closer.
“Right, how about I ask this instead,” he said. “Just how serious is it with that boyfriend of yours? Because from where I’m sitting…” his fingers delicately traced the inside of your thigh. “It doesn’t feel very serious.”
You smiled a little.
“Would you care if it was?”
“Only if it made you say no,” he said.
“Well,” you said, leaning close enough that your lips brushed his when you spoke. “I’m definitely not saying no.”
He kissed you then, slow and soft for a moment before it became insistent, his tongue pressing into your mouth as he pulled you close. You leaned back on the couch and Chris followed you, your thighs falling open and him sliding in between them. Your heart beat faster and you were suddenly aware of it, of the blood moving through your body, of the breath pulling down deep in your lungs. You were alive, something that could feel and something that mattered, at least in this moment with this person.
You rolled your hips up against him, feeling his cock hardening against your still clothed core and you liked it, the physical sign that you were doing something to him.
“Much as I’d love to just fuck you right here on the couch,” he panted against you. “Don’t really want to have that damn bodyguard of yours walk in on us. Bedroom?”
“Bedroom,” you nodded, getting up and taking him by the hand to lead him upstairs.
You had barely closed the door behind you before you started pulling at his clothes, Chris tugging at yours in return. He paused after you shrugged out of your shirt, looking around your room.
“Not a bad place,” he said. “I need to get my people to talk to your people, I feel like they always put me up in shitholes when I’m filming…”
“Have you tried being less of an asshole?” you asked, brows raised. “I find that people are nicer then, find better places.”
“Oh, now, that’s half my bad boy charm,” he smirked, coming to put his arms around your waist. “Only got so much going for me, love. I need to get by on what I can.”
“False modesty is a bad look on you,” you said. “For the record.”
“So if I’m a cocky asshole…”
“I’ll fuck you,” you finished for him.
He laughed.
“Good.”
You walked him back toward the bed and you tried to focus on his skin against yours, reaching for that feeling you’d had just hours before when you were filming. But even that blessed bit of vibrancy Chris had brought to you when he touched you was fading fast. You were on your back, his fingers tracing over you and it was like you were barely inside your body at all. Even when he pressed those fingers into you, it was like the feeling was traveling across hundreds of thousands of miles, a delay between your flesh and your mind.
You shifted restlessly beneath him and, for one awkward moment, his elbow caught a painful spot on your body and that brought you back into yourself for a moment, that small hurt making you almost shockingly aware of yourself.
“You alright, love?” Chris frowned down at you.
“Hm?”
“You alright?” He repeated. “You just… sounded like I might’ve hurt you.”
“Oh,” you were breathing heavy. “No, I’m… I’m good.”
“Good,” he said, his mouth on you again, working down your neck as he started to hook his fingers up inside of you in the way he knew you liked.
It just wasn’t feeling as good as it had months ago, the whole experience something more like a memory or like you were watching it happen to someone else instead of feeling it yourself and, fuck, you needed to feel something.
You had to.
“You can do whatever you want to me, you know,” you whispered.
“Don’t worry,” he laughed a little. “I will. Just going to take my time first…”
“No, I mean…” your voice trailed off for a moment. “If you wanted to… I don’t know, choke me or hit me, you can.”
He stopped, lifting from you enough to look down at you, frowning as he did.
“What?”
“Just…” You swallowed, hard. “If… if you, you know, you wanted to… if you wanted to hurt me, you could.”
He cocked his head a little, looking down at you with a confused look on his face.
“Do you think I want to hurt you?”
“I…” you laughed nervously. “I don’t know, maybe you’re into that and it hasn’t come up, I just… A lot of guys are and… If… if you were, I…”
He sat up from you fully then, looking over your naked body in a way that made you feel more exposed than when you’d been on film damn near naked just hours earlier.
“What’s really going on, love.”
“Nothing,” you laughed, propping yourself up on your elbows. “What, do you think something’s wrong with me because I decided to try and get kinky?”
“That’s not what this is,” he said. His eyes were serious on yours, frowning a little.
“Oh, come on…”
“Not going to pretend like I’m an expert on what makes you come but I know it’s not that,” he said. “And - nothing against anyone who’s into that - you’ve never asked for anything like that before. What’s going on.”
“Nothing!” You said, exasperated. “Will you just fuck me, please? Come on, I’m not exactly used to having to beg for it, so…”
He clenched his jaw for a moment before shaking his head.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this but…” he sighed. “No.”
“No?” you laughed, sitting up fully then. “Are you serious?”
“Afraid I am, love,” he said.
“Chris. Come on.”
“I may not be the best bloke in the world but one thing I’ve never done is fucked a girl who wasn’t absolutely desperate for it,” he said, getting out of bed and starting to find his clothes. “And you… you’re desperate for something but it’s got nothing to do with me. I’m fine with being your mistake - don’t mind it a bit, to be honest - but this… This feels like taking advantage. So I’m going to head back to mine before we do something we both regret.”
“Chris,” you said again, pleading in a way that was so goddamn pathetic that you’d hate it if you had it in you to hate anything at all. “I’m fine, I…”
“No, you’re not,” he said. “And I’m not the one who can fix it and I’m not going to be something that makes it worse.”
You just watched him get dressed for a moment before grabbing your panties from the floor and shrugging into your oversized button down.
“Now, if you think I won’t come running when you’re in you’re right mind, you’re dead wrong,” he smiled a little at you. “I’d still love to make you come until you can’t see straight. Just… under different circumstances.”
“Oh, well that’s reassuring,” you teased, trying to ignore the stinging emptiness in your chest before patting him on the back and sighing. “Come on, I’ll walk you out before this gets too awkward.”
“We can’t have that now, can we?” He said, letting you lead the way.
You brought him to the door, both of you pausing there as he turned to face you.
“It was good to see you again,” he said. “Sorry I couldn’t be… whatever it is you’re after.”
“Good to see you, too,” you smiled a little sadly at him. “Let me know when you’re back on my side of the pond?”
“Oh, I’ll be in touch,” he winked, opening the door and stepping onto the stoop before turning back to face you, looking you up and down one more time.
“Take care of yourself for me, would you?” He said. “It’d be a shame if we never got to work together again.”
“Yeah, just think of what we’d be depriving the world,” you joked.
He smiled.
“Yes,” he said. “Just think of that.”
He kissed you again, slow and gentle and long, before stepping out into the night.
You sighed, closing the door behind you, that numb hollowness still gnawing at you from the inside out.
“Friends, huh?”
Joel’s voice was more of a growl than anything else as you turned, slowly, to face him.
“Right. Because that’s how I say bye to all my fuckin’ friends.”
“You have friends?” You asked. “I’m shocked.”
“Do you?” He asked. “Because it sure seems like you just fuck everyone you know. Don’t think that makes them ‘friends.’”
“What, you pissed I don’t just fuck you again?” you asked, brows raised, taunting. “Jealous I’d screw someone else when you were right here and just oh so convenient?”
His eyes narrowed and heat creeped up your neck, part shame, part want.
“You even think about your fuckin’ boyfriend before you decided to whore around?” He asked, ignoring your question.
“Oh, don’t make me laugh. It’s not like you’re such a big fan of Justice’s that…”
“Don’t matter,” he cut you off. “Seems like a decent enough guy, clearly thinks the world of you. Don’t know why he made that fuckin’ mistake.”
That stung, more than it should have. Joel’s opinion of you was hardly new information.
“What difference does it make to you?” You snapped. “What, my stellar reputation in your eyes tarnished now?”
“You think I didn’t see how you were acting today on set?” He asked. “Like a goddamn porn star and when you didn’t get fucked then and there you just had to call the guy you screwed around with months ago, back when you were parading him all over fuckin’ town like you’re some goddamn sorority girl. Don’t know what your problem is…”
“My problem?” You asked. “You don’t know what my problem is?”
“No, I don’t!” He snapped. “I don’t know shit about you!”
You hadn’t realized how close you were standing to him, so close that you could feel the heat of his body and smell his skin. He was looking at you with this intensity that sent a shiver down your spine and made your cunt clench and you had the brief, sickening thought that he would hurt you. Not on purpose, perhaps, but he would, his cock so long and thick that it’d hurt if he didn’t handle you with care and you knew he didn’t care, especially not right now.
And you wanted it.
“You are jealous. You do wish I’d come crawling back to you,” you shifted to a high pitched mockery of your own voice. “Oh, Joel, please fuck me again. Oh, Joel, you saved my life once, let me show you how grateful I am. Oh, Joel, take care of me because my boyfriend is so far away and because I was acting like a fucking porn star on set so I’m clearly desperate for it.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” You asked, crossing your arms so that your breasts were pressed together underneath your oversized shirt. Your nipples were hard beneath the fabric and you could feel where your cleavage was exposed. “Don’t call you on your shit? You said it yourself, Joel. I’m a porn star, a whore. You think I don’t know that every sex scene I’ve ever been in is on every mainstream porn site there is so desperate, pathetic men like you can jerk off without having to worry about shit like character or plot? You think I don’t know that my most valuable asset is what’s between my legs? I fucked my way to the top…”
“Stop it.”
“Why? I’m just telling it like it is.”
“Shut. Up.”
“No,” you said. “And you know why? Because you don’t want me to shut up. You just want me to take off my clothes for you…” You slowly, sensually started to unbutton your shirt, revealing your skin to him inch by inch as though it was something he’d never seen before. As if the whole fucking planet hadn’t seen it all before. His eyes followed your fingers and you watched his throat work as he swallowed and you smirked, a sickening certainty settling in your stomach.
“This is what I am,” you said, dropping the shirt to the ground. “Nothing but a thing people like you dream about fucking. Are you really going to act like you’re going to tell me no? Do you really think I believe that you’d turn me down if I just…”
You shimmied your panties down your thighs to your knees and let them fall to the floor before stepping out of them, leaving you completely bared to him.
“You want to fuck me so bad?” You asked, spreading your arms wide to him. “Then fuck me.”
Something shifted in him then, his eyes darkening as he prowled toward you.
“That really what you want?” He growled, his voice so dark and low that you stepped back from him on instinct. “You want me to fuck you proper, the way that goddamn boyfriend or fuckin’ movie star can’t?”
Your back was against the wall and then Joel was in front of you, nudging your legs apart with his knee to pin you down and press closer, one of his hands slamming into the wall over your shoulder and you could see the muscle of his arm straining against the confines of his t-shirt as his other hand found your face, grabbing your cheek roughly, hurting in that lovely way that made you feel something and you whimpered.
“Tell me what you want,” his breath was hot on your face.
“I want you to fuck me,” you managed, struggling around the force of his fingers digging into your flesh.
He didn’t need hear anything else, grabbing you and spinning you around, not giving you time to get your bearings before the pain was there, right where you wanted it, as he thrust into you hard and fast.
***
Fuck, he was inside you again.
That’s all he could think for a moment, the words like a ringing in his ears, and he wanted to hate how good you felt. How fucking right you felt.
This was a fucking mistake. One he wouldn’t be making if you hadn’t pushed him here in just the right way at just the wrong time.
It was the first year since his daughter had died that he hadn’t been at home. It felt wrong to be so far from her - her final resting place, her room, the only places on earth she’d ever touched because she’d never had the chance to travel to places like fucking England - and the whole day was bad from the start.
Since he couldn’t be where she was, he pulled up pictures and video of her that he kept in a tucked away folder on his phone, just so he couldn’t accidentally see her face when he wasn’t braced for it. He stayed in bed as long as he could, part of him aching with loss so harsh his whole body felt like an open wound and the rest of him trying to live in a reality where he was on a business trip and Sarah was just at home, sending him photos of the things she was up to while he was gone, pretending he lived in a world where she still existed somewhere besides his memory.
He didn’t have a chance to put his guard up before leaving with you for set, your very existence making that jagged wound throb painfully. Sarah had loved you. If she was still here, he’d have taken her to meet you and lived in the warm glow of her joy for what seemed like forever. He’d take pictures of you together with her, get her poster of you signed. Even if he’d never touched you, even if he didn’t feel the way he felt, you would be a living, breathing reminder of everything he’d lost.
But then he had to want you, too. And watching you, today of all days, with your costar had been fucking hell.
He’d seen you film romantic shit before. Maybe not a scene like this one but ones where you kissed another man and looked longingly into his eyes and arched your body into his and it wasn’t exactly his favorite thing to watch but he could stomach it because he knew it was fake. As soon as the director called cut you shifted, focused on the feedback the director was giving you or talking with your costar or moving to set for the next take. It reminded Joel of what happened when a deal was made, the handshake done so the posturing to try for a better outcome on both sides was over and all the pretense fell away.
Today hadn’t been like that.
The noises you made were too close to the sounds you’d made with him - but maybe you’d been faking it then, too, what did he know? - and, when the director called cut, you seemed almost reluctant to pull away from your costar. You stayed closer to him than you usually did, not venturing as far until you were given a reason, your body angled toward his and you didn’t pull away when his hand remained on your skin, resting on your lower back because that’s where it had been during the scene and why move it if no one was making him?
Christ knew Joel wouldn’t move his hand away if it were him.
Then he came downstairs to find you with that fucking guy. The same one he’d watched you kissing on stage at the Golden Globes, the one he saw you parading around with half dressed as he watched from afar. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought you were doing on purpose, to drive him insane. Like you knew it was killing him. Like you’d care enough to drive him mad.
At least with your fucking boyfriend, there was something that didn’t pull at him in quite the same way. You were with someone who obviously cared for you and that was good. It didn’t matter how he felt about you, he still wanted that for you. There was something almost calming in the knowledge that you had someone, someone who wasn’t going to let you hurt yourself or use you.
And you decided to fuck someone else.
Someone who wasn’t him.
He was probably was fucking that goddamn movie star’s come deeper into you right, the thought pissing him off enough that he gripped you tighter, started fucking you harder. Like if he worked you hard and fast enough he could erase the evidence of how he’d let any other man touch you.
You braced yourself against the wall and whimpered, your back arching as you did and he was almost surprised at how fucking tight you were around him. He could feel how you stretched around him, how your body had to strain to take him, not like you’d just been fucked by someone else.
“This what you needed?” He grunted, pressing a hand into the small of your back, deepening the arch of your spine, his eyes tracing the curve your body made for him over and over again. “This what you’re not gettin’, that it?”
You tried to say something but couldn’t seem to manage it, just making a strangled groan instead. You looked back over your shoulder toward him, you eyes wet and challenging, like you were daring him to keep going. Like he had any hope of stopping now that he was inside you. He may as well have been a puppet, so desperate to be anywhere but stuck in his own mind that he’d destroy himself just to escape it.
He reached around to the front of you with one hand as the other kept a tight hold on your hip, finding your clit. He wasn’t gentle, pressing the rough callus of his fingers into your soft, tender sex. He didn’t start slow, the way he normally would, the way he really wanted to. Instead, he worked you hard and fast and you clenched around him.
Joel laughed darkly.
“You like gettin’ fucked like this, huh? Like when I fuckin’ use this little pussy, that it?”
You pressed back against him, nodding and panting for breath. You twisted as best you could the way he was holding you, lookin back at him, mouth open, lips wet even though he hadn’t kissed them and he fucked into you harder, grinding his cock deeper, pressing so hard on your clit that he could feel the firmness of your pubic bone beneath your skin.
“Asked you a fuckin’ question,” he grunted. “You like getting fucked like this?”
Your eyes closed for a moment, almost in a wince, but your cunt tightened on him all the same.
“Yes,” you managed. “Fuck, yes!”
He thought he’d find some kind of satisfaction in that but it didn’t come. It wasn’t enough. He needed more. He wasn’t sure how or why or what but he needed more.
He stopped toying with your clit and you whined but he ignored it, looping an arm around your waist and jerking you up and toward him, your back slamming into his front. Your head smacked into his shoulder hard enough that it stung and he wasn’t as deep in you as he’d been a second ago and he hated that. He needed to be as deep in you as he could reach, all of him filling up all of you and he adjusted you against him, forcing your hips back so he could access more of you.
Satisfied, one of his hands found your bare breasts, grabbing and twisting one nipple roughly before going for the other, holding that sensitive peak between his thumb and forefinger as his other hand went to your throat. He forced your head to turn toward him, your eyes locking with his, pupils blown and his hips stuttered, something about the desperate want in your gaze almost making him come then and there.
“What do you like?” He growled, deep and dark and low. You whimpered, body slackening but he held you in place, pinching your nipple roughly. “Say it, want you to fucking say it.”
“I like…” you closed your eyes for a moment, a keening moan taking over you for a moment as your body got impossibly tighter around him.
“Say. It.”
Your eyes opened again, so wide and lost and needy.
“I like when you fuck me like I’m a whore,” you whispered. Your eyes darted to his mouth for a moment before locking back on him again. “I like when you show me what I’m good for.”
He released your face then, not able to keep looking at you, and shoved you roughly against the wall. The hand that had been on your tit moved to the middle of your chest, pressing back on your ribs to force you to be tight against his chest. His other hand went down to your clit again, rubbing you furiously.
“You gonna come?” He asked, lips next to your ear. “You gonna fucking come for me?”
“Only…” your voice broke and he felt a tremble inside of you but you stopped yourself from unraveling. “Only if you do, too.”
He laughed again.
“You need me to fill you up, too?” He spat. “That it?”
You whined pathetically and he fucked you harder, faster.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll fill you up plenty.”
He felt almost unhinged, his hips snapping into you like he was a rabid fucking thing without control, like if he could just fuck you hard enough he’d find himself again and you’d forget about those other men and keep coming back to him.
As if that’s what he really wanted.
As if that wouldn’t destroy him.
He was pounding into you so hard that he was knocking the air out of you with every stroke, forcing desperate gasps out of you every time he bottomed out inside and he was getting close and so were you, your pussy shuddering around him as you tried to hold off your own orgasm.
“Fucking come for me,” he ordered.
“Tell me,” your voice was wet.
“Tell you what.”
“Tell me that this is what I’m good for,” you sounded almost pathetic. “Fuck, please. Just say it, tell me, please, I…”
“This is what you’re good for,” he cut you off, mouth against your ear. His stomach turned as he said it but he kept going. “You’re a whore, just like you said.”
You whined, high pitched and desperate, your channel starting to flutter over him.
“Fuckin’ begging for it,” he said. “Begging to get fucked like a goddamn slut.”
You cried out, harsh and ragged, as you came and he kept pounding into you through it, the last of your orgasm driving his to the surface as he came deep inside you, every forceful throb reaching far into him, pulling everything he was from himself to pour into you.
He damn hear collapsed when he was done, your body damn near lifeless as you leaned against the wall. He pulled himself from you more delicately than he’d done anything else but it was still far from gentle, a little flood of his come and yours falling from you when he did.
He stepped back from you slowly, tucking his softening cock away as you turned on shaky legs to look at him. You leaned back against the wall, watching him and there was something oddly raw in your gaze, like you were an open wound, too.
“The hell were you thinking?” The air was so thick with the smell of sex he could damn near taste it when he spoke. “The hell are you doing?”
He watched you shift like you did on set, that unsettlingly exposed expression changing to one that was cocky and almost cruel.
“You, apparently,” you smirked.
“Jesus Christ…”
“Please,” you scoffed, standing up straight and looking him up and down. “Don’t act like I forced you into anything here. Hell, I didn’t even need to talk you into anything. All I had to do was show a little skin and you were ready to do whatever I wanted you to. It was pathetic.”
He didn’t have a chance to come up with something to say to that, his phone vibrating in his pocket distracting him. He pressed the silence button through the fabric of his jeans.
“Don’t feel too bad about it Big Miller,” your tone was mocking. “That’s just the way men are. You’re no different than the rest of them, you’re nothing special.”
His phone started to vibrate again and he silenced it.
“I don’t know why you’re trying to blow your damn life apart,” he bit out. “What, being a fucking movie star and having more money than God not enough for you?”
The phone vibrated yet again and he ripped it out of his pocket to see Esmo’s name on the screen. He frowned, answering it.
“Yeah,” he said, trying not to sound pissed at someone who didn’t deserve it.
“Mr. Miller,” Esmo said, sounding worked up.
Joel frowned.
“What’s going on? Everything OK?”
“No,” she said. “No, I’m afraid it’s not. Mrs. Williams has had a stroke, we’re at the hospital. You need to bring her home. Please, you need to bring her home right away.”
A/N: SORRY THIS WAS SO FUCKING UNHINGED. This was a bit of a gift to myself because it was so fun to write. Thanks for putting up with my bullshit ❤️
Summary: to your dismay you run into your hot ex husband at a supermarket parking lot and at first glance it seems that Joel just wants to chat but as you two are sharing memories of the past life, you realize that talking isn’t the only thing on his mind.
Tw: +18, mdni, smut, a touch of angst but we don’t dwell on it, non outbreak au, Joel’s a sexy asshole, mention of Joel x reader x Tommy, mention of mfm, reader is pissed at Joel, implied infidelity, hate fucking, one use of ‘daddy’, public but not caught, f!oral, pussy slapping (1), cum eating, piv, degradation kink, praise kink, swearing.
Word count: 2,8k
A/n: I saw this post by @cupofzo last week, got feral/inspired and wrote this story. Kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing and helping me when I got stuck💋 Pedro edits in the mb by @/romina’s blog on Pinterest. Dividers by @strangergraphics 💞
MASTERLIST
Fuck!
You duck down behind an open trunk of your car in a supermarket parking lot and quickly push your grocery bags inside. Hopefully Joel hasn’t noticed you. He never noticed shit anyway — your bad mood, your worries, your heartbreak. It’s one of the reasons he’s your ex husband now.
Apparently Joel’s ‘go to’ shopping item hasn’t changed, you think and shake your head, seeing him load packs of beer into his car. You’re frozen on the spot, trying not to attract your ex’s attention, but to your dismay the fucker turns around and heads into your direction.
Shit! You curse under your breath, straighten up and watch him stride towards you with his usual ‘I know I’m hot’ attitude, confidence in every step. They call it ‘Big dick energy’. The worst part is that he really IS that hot. And he IS hung. It’s a pity that such a nice cock is attached to a total prick.
There’s no point in hiding now so you slam the trunk shut and greet the approaching man with the fakest smile you could pull.
“Heyyyy,” you sing in a high pitched voice you know he hates. Not taking his sunglasses off, Joel nods at you, his plush lips spread in a lopsided smile. He’s leisurely chewing a gum and your gaze slides along his scruffy jaw which is flexing in such a sexy way you get mesmerized by the sight. It’s doing something unexplainable to you but you quickly remind yourself who you’re dealing with. It’s Joel. It’s your past. The past that hurt you.
Your pussy gives no fucks though and your panties dumpen exponentially the longer you’re looking at your ex. Ugh! A traitor!
“Good to see you, baby,” Joel smirks, stopping in front of you and shoving his hands in his jeans pockets.
Don’t stare at his forearms, you beg the horny goblin inside you but it’s impossible not to take a peek at them with his sleeves rolled up, so you treat yourself before hastily lifting your gaze up to his covered eyes.
“Can’t say the same,” you throw, not smiling anymore.
Joel sneers and when you try to walk past him he steps to the side, not letting you leave, and coos, his arms open to you,
“Talk to me, beautiful. Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“We met at Jessy’s party,” you grumble and he nods,
“Yeah but we barely shared a few words.”
“That's how I like it,” you bite, ready to tell him to fuck off but Joel takes his sunglasses off and stares at you with those puppy eyes of his. They used to work on you months ago. Now… not so much.
“Drop the shit, Joel. I bet you have enough babes to talk to.”
You cross your arms in front of your chest and raise your brow, expecting him to act all innocent, to deny the fact that he’s a total slut. But Joel doesn’t do any of it. Instead he gives you a cheeky smile and changes the topic.
“Whatcha doin’ here, sweetheart?”
You roll your eyes.
“What d’you think? Grocery shopping.”
Joel slowly nods, still chewing his gum, not tearing his eyes off you even for a second.
“Me, too. Got some stuff for tonight. Havin’ the boys over.”
Yeah, that would explain all the beer, you think.
You squint your eyes and your lips tighten at the mention of his ‘boys’, a group of his fellow pricks who surely call you a bitch every chance they get.
As if reading your mind Joel says, his head titled,
“They miss you by the way.”
You laugh exaggeratedly,
“Yeah, right!”
Joel shifts his jaw and then steps closer to you. He puts his big hand on your waist between your shirt and your jeans, and your heart skips a beat as you feel his hot palm on your exposed skin there.
“Tommy still talks about that night the three of us had. Remember?”
Joel’s eyes darken, he’s watching you closely, and you hate to give him any reaction but your whole body tingles and your chest starts heaving when images from that drunken night pop into your mind — you’re riding Joel, Tommy's fucking your mouth; they both eating you out, taking their turn to lap at your pussy, their spit mixing on your drenched clit and folds.
Trying to shake off the horny fog in your head, you avert your eyes from Joel and stare at a big supermarket sign.
“Uh-huh,” you mumble, feigning nonchalance. “We were drunk.”
“The next morning we weren’t,” Joel reminds you with a playful smile.
You shift on your feet, an ache in your pussy getting harder to ignore. That lazy morning fuck was great. Waking up between your husband and your brother-in-law, with their arms wrapped around you. Both fighting for your attention, for your holes, they made you come hard on their cocks and tongues. That was the last time you let Tommy join Joel and you in your marital bed. Scared of things getting too complicated you stopped it. Who knew that Joel would ruin it all anyway.
Joel watches you intently, surely knowing that you’re wet now. He could always smell it on you like a shark smells blood in the water. Joel gently squeezes your side and muses,
“We used to have lots of fun.. you and I. Were so damn good together.”
His voice is soft, full of nostalgia and…sadness? Suddenly his tone makes your blood boil and you finally look at him, your eyes fiery again.
“We were. Until you fucked everything up.”
You’re glaring at him and Joel drops his head, his hand leaving your side.
“Yeah… I did.”
He takes a deep sigh and you want to punch him. Your cold eyes are set on your ex and your wounded heart craves to see him crushed, miserable, regretful. You want him to beg for your forgiveness for the rest of his life.
But it’s Joel.
He doesn’t wallow in negativity for long, and instead of welling up with tears like you want them to, his eyes start slowly sliding up your body. They linger on your cleavage for a moment before reaching your face.
“You’re fuckin hot, baby.”
After years of knowing the man, you’re still shocked by his head-spinning mood change. A second ago he looked like a kicked puppy and now all he wants is to hump your leg.
You laugh bitterly, dropping your arms at the sides.
“Jesus, Joel, you’re something else.”
He mistakes your reaction for a genuine joy and chuckles,
“Yeah, you ain’t wrong, sweetheart.”
You’re shaking your head and then lift your eyes to the sky, not believing that you let your pussy choose a husband for you years ago, having ignored all the red flags.
Joel doesn’t let it go.
“I’m not fuckin’ with you, hon,” he purrs. “You’re the hottest woman I’ve ever fucked.”
You tilt your head and sigh.
“Joel, stop it. Please.”
“No, listen,” he rises his hands, palms to you, and with his eyes big and dark says,
“No one, I repeat, no one made me as hard as you did.”
“Yay me,” you deadpan.
“It’s the truth,” he says, his expression serious.
“‘K,” you shrug. “I don’t care.”
“Yeah, yeah” Joel nods. “I blew it, I know. But the taste …” he inhales through his teeth and you frown.
“What?”
Joel’s hand snakes behind you and he puts it on your lower back before leaning in and whispering in your ear,
“Your pussy.”
“Oh, fuck off!” You slap his chest, your hand hitting his strong pecs.
“I’m serious. Your taste, baby.. it’s like I had to quit smokin’. I can’t stop thinkin’ about it. Sometimes..,” he moves close and his lips brush your ear as he murmurs, “Sometimes I still feel it on my tongue. Soft, hot… delicious. Your perfect pussy. Ahhhh… Miss it so goddamn much.”
You HATE me o admit it but whatever he’s doing is actually working. You’re a mess, getting dangerously horny and needy. Joel could always turn you on from 1 to 100 in seconds and he’s doing it now, months from your divorce.
With his body close to yours, your heartbeat increases and you’re breathing fast, enveloped by his smell, by the heat of his body.
“Joel, stop,” you beg him but he doesn’t.
He tilts his head, his eyes meeting yours and gruffs,
“Would give the world to have it on my tongue again. Wanna drink from your hole.”
You’re feeling light-headed as Joel takes your earlobe in his mouth and sucks on it lightly.
“I hate you…” you breathe out and moan when he presses his strong body to yours, his arms snaking around your torso. It’s hard to think straight when he’s doing this and you pussy purrs, ‘Maybe .. he could … just a little … just to make you come …’
“Let me kiss her… one last time…”
Not waiting for you to answer, Joel takes your hand and heads to his car. You’re following him across the parking lot like a damn dog, head dizzy, mouth salivating, pussy wet.
If someone told you this morning that you were going to let your ex husband eat you out in a supermarket parking lot, you’d laugh in their stupid face.
No way in hell!
But your pussy is full of surprises. It’s also full of Joel’s tongue right now who’s having your half lying in the back of his car, your jeans and panties on the floor, your knees pressed to your chest. Joel’s holding your legs in place with his hands, helping himself to make out with your cunt.
He’s always been a loud eater so the car is filled with lewd slurping noises and your soft moans.
“Look at ‘er cryin’ for me, baby. She missed daddy, huh?” he mumbles, his lips glistening with your slick.
You reply with a needy whimper and he smirks before pushing his tongue between your folds. Joel slowly drags it up, gathering more of your wetness on his tongue, and flicks your puffy clit with his tip. Then his hot wet muscle slides down to your empty hole and thrusts inside. Your eyes flutter close when he starts fucking you with his tongue, his thumb and his index finger holding your folds open.
“Hngggg,” Joel growls with animalistic hunger and the vibrations against your pussy send you into a frenzy. You’re biting your lip, keeping yourself from crying out loud when he starts sucking on your clit.
“Joel…” you mewl and your ex smirks.
“Fuck, missed you moanin’ my name like this. Such a good girl.”
“I hate you,” you repeat weakly and Joel chuckles and then spanks your puffy cunt making you yelp. He kisses it better immediately and begins moving his jaw up and down, while his tongue is rubbing your pussy.
A few seconds of this heavenly sensation are enough for you to unravel. Your ex happily licks off every drop of your wetness that’s flowing out of your clenching hole, humming at the taste, his eyes closed with pleasure. Joel’s tirelessly prolonging your orgasm and for a second you feel grateful.
When his tongue starts hurting you, you push Joel away and drop your legs. You’re sitting there ass naked, panting heavily, eyes shut, heart pounding in your ears.
“My turn,” you barely hear Joel speak. “C’mon, show my cock how much you missed ‘im,”
You flutter your eyes open and see Joel unzipping his jeans and pulling his hard member out. Hello, old friend. It’s reddish and engorged, leaking pre cum down the thick shaft. You still remember his taste, the heaviness of it on your tongue, the way it used to fill you so perfectly. You miss it.
‘Fuck it!’ you think, riding the high of an afterglow, and ask, “Got a condom?”
“Sure, baby!”
With his dick bobing, spilling pre fuck juice everywhere, your ex gets off the seat and reaches for the glove compartment. He rummages there for a few seconds and then plops back on the seat, holding a condom between his teeth.
Not waiting for an invitation you straddle his naked thighs, your eyes darting around the parking lot through the window.
“If we get caught…. swear I’ll kill you,” you grunt while Joel’s sliding the condom on.
As soon as he’s ready you lift your ass and sink on his big cock.
Ahhh! You missed this sensation. Joel opened you up well with his tongue but the stretch still makes you gasp. The pillow of his balls feels so nice against your spit-covered pussy, warming it up perfectly, and you sigh.
“Yeah, welcome home, baby,” Joel moans and drops his head back, his mouth open in pleasure. Squeezing your asscheeks with his big hands he breathes out, “So tight. Best pussy ever.”
Already feeling yourself on the brink of euphoria, just from having him inside, you start riding him.
“You’ve surely done your research,” you half moan half grunt, rolling your hips slowly at first, getting used to his huge dick stuffed inside you but at the back of your mind you hate that he gets to have you again.
‘Come and get the hell out,’ you tell yourself and pick up your pace.
You hate how perfectly he fills you, hate how gorgeous he looks - his dark eyes half lidded, clouded with lust, his plush wet lips are luring you in for a kiss.
You can’t. You shouldn’t. It’ll hurt too much later.
Instead of kissing Joel, you lean down and suck in the skin on his neck. Joel hisses and bucks his hips up into you, sending his cock deep to kiss your cervix.
“Baby likes it rough now, huh?” he gruffs, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.
You leave his question without an answer and with a content smile watch a hickey bloom on the column of his neck.
Lust for him is burning your lower belly alongside your anger and it’s impossible to tell one from the other. One hand planted on his strong chest, the other flies up to his head and you run your fingers through his silky curls before tugging on them roughly.
“Could’ve had this pussy on your cock every day—,” you mutter through heavy breaths as Joel grunts. “Any time—- any moment — now all you get is a hate fuck in a parking lot..”
Joel’s eyes locked with yours gets serious and for a second you see regret behind them.
“You don’t hate me, do ya, beautiful?” He breathes out quietly. Your furrow your brows at his stupid question, tighten your fist in his hair and order,
“Shut up and make me come.”
Joel’s chest rumbles, his eyes darken, and he gets to work — his thumb finds your clit and he begins swirling it with the perfect pressure and perfect tempo.
He’s a total dick but oh god! he’s always been great at getting you off.
Still bouncing on his cock and not slowing down for a second, you lean back slightly and a moan falls from your lips when his fat crown begins massaging your soft spot.
“Yeahhh, give it to me, baby, I know you’re close. Your little clit twitches like crazy."
Joel’s encouragement makes your pussy clench and you squeeze your eyes shut as a hot wave, rising fast in your lower belly, covers you whole. Your loud cry rings in Joel’s car and you’re shaking on your ex’s lap, coming on his hard cock.
“Hnggg..That’s my g—-,” Joel chokes and stills. His arm muscles tense, his fingers dig into your asscheeks, and he begins filling the condom inside you with warm cum. You feel his dick thump deep in your core, your walls pulsating around it while your pussy is draining his balls.
As soon as you're done you get off Joel’s lap, not caring if you hurt him. Instead you smirk when he hisses and mumbles, ‘Careful, baby.’
You pick up your panties and jeans and start putting on your clothes. Sensing Joel’s eyes on you, you look at him. With his head against the backrest, his eyes sleepy, his lips in a soft smile he purrs,
“This was amazin’. We should do this again some time.”
“No,” you say as lust leaves your belly and your head clears up.
Joel pushes his lower lip out and pouts dramatically.
“Why not?”
“Fuck you that’s why,” you scoff with a smile and get out of the car.
Before leaving you bend down and ask,
“Is Jeff gonna be at yours tonight?”
Joel carefully pulls the cum-filled condom off his softening cock and frowns, gathering his thoughts for a few seconds.
“Yeah, sure. Why?”
“Well, you might ask your best friend about that time he sent me his dick pic a week after our wedding.”
“WHAT?!” Joel exclaims and drops the condom, spilling his load all over the car floor. He curses loudly as you smirk and close the door with a loud bang.
Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the story!
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