[tourfilm]

living under a rock is so fun i love watching a movie that’s been famous for decades and being like wow this is so good.. did you guys know about this

[millermouth]

steady hands

summary: You love being part of the community of Jackson. But when you try to learn how to defend it, one humiliating accident makes you realize just how useless you feel with a gun in your hands.

smut MDNI 18+ shooting instructor!joel, Jackson!joel, baker!reader, gardener!reader, jack of all trades kinda reader, grumpy!joel, insecure!reader, biggggg joel miller, size kink, enemies to lovers, grinding, kissing, dirty talk (as always), f!receiving oral, fingering, pinv, missionary, outdoor smut, mean to sweet joel miller, some pussy pronouns used, irresponsible gun handling, nightmares, age gap mentioned but not specified, joel calls reader lots of pet names, tiniest bit of brat taming || a/n: guys I can't even lie this was inspired by the song ill make a man out of you from mulan....enjoy!!! wc: 11k

The woods were still crisp for early summer. It was something you'd come to appreciate about Wyoming, after all. No matter how bad winter had been, or how slow spring had sprung, you could always count on a beautiful summer, and even better summer mornings.

But this morning was far from beautiful.

You were sitting with a few others from town, mostly newer folk who'd settled in and were looking for work to do. The woods were quiet around these parts, a couple miles out from Jackson, where the trees thinned just enough to make room for the patrols to see into the valley. It had been a lookout since the beginning, or so you'd heard. A small cabin with a slanted roof, a fire pit out front ringed with blackened stones, a target range cut into the dirt nearby, and guns and ammo stored in the basement in case of emergency and training.

Why you were here, when you could be baking loaves of bread for folks getting out of Sunday worship or sending actual lookout shifts off with their breakfast freshly made, was, well…because you'd started to feel a little useless.

Not useless exactly. That was probably unfair. You did have multiple jobs. You were a part of the community of Jackson. You had a few close friends and plenty of acquaintances. You got along with almost everyone. It was nice, feeling like you knew who took their coffee black, who liked the butt of the bread, who always tried to sneak an extra roll into their coat pocket when they thought you weren't looking. You gardened and sometimes even helped with the horses or the livestock.

But still.

There was a part of you that knew, if anything ever went to shit, you'd never be able to defend your town, let alone yourself. So you'd come out with a group to train up on an early summer morning.

But you sure as shit were terrible at it.

Luckily, the ammo you used on the training grounds were empty shells, nothing actually being wasted on your awful, awful aim.

Because an hour later, the glass bottle in front of you remained whole and smug on the fence line, catching slice of sunlight along its shoulder while the wood of the fence several inches to its left had suffered greatly.

It didn't help that the man that was meant to be teaching you was a grade A Asshole.

Joel Miller was many things. Strong, capable, brave. So many epithets that could be used to describe him. You'd even dare to add handsome if he wasn't always frowning at you or cursing under his breath every time you managed to miss something standing perfectly still.

But the main thing you wanted to call him, was Asshole. Though…you thought if you ever did to his face, it might just be the last thing you ever do.

He was helping a kid down at the end adjust his stance when you heard an argument from beside you about a bet.

“Bullshit,” one of the boys hissed. Matthew, you thought. Maybe Michael? He was one of the kids from town you'd seen around the stables with hair too long, cheeks still a little chubby, and an ego too big. “You did not get Maisie Bell to kiss you.”

“I didn’t say kiss,” the other one said, and in the corner of your eye you watched as he lined up his shot, one eye squeezing shut. “I said she would’ve.”

“That ain’t a bet.”

“It is if I’m right.”

“You’re not right.”

“Two ration cards says I am.”

“For Maisie?”

“For Maisie,” he said, then nodded toward the line of town below the ridge, where you could almost see the church roof through the trees. “And the redhead from the kitchens. Sheesh what I wouldn't do to my hands on 'er. Oh, and that new girl Dina?" he let out a low whistle, "She is so goddamn fine I could—"

The heat that went through you had nothing to do with the morning sun. It rose hard beneath your collar, crawling up your throat until your jaw clenched around it. It pissed you off. Dina was funny and charming and more than a hot piece of ass for some stable boy to run his mouth over. Maisie and Riley were nice girls too, both in your book club, both worth knowing for more than the curve of their mouths or the sway of their hips.

“Maybe you two should spend less time betting on girls who wouldn’t touch you for a warm bath,” you spat, turning toward them, “and more time actually practicing—”

But you'd turned without lowering your gun.

Worse— you'd turned without taking your finger off the trigger.

A loud sound cracked through the clearing.

It wasn't like a typical gun shot, just a sharp, quick pop that punched the rest of your sentence out of your mouth.

Michael grabbed his shoulder and stumbled back, knocking into the rack behind him. A glass bottle tipped from the table and burst in the dirt by his boot, spraying green shards through the dust.

For one second, no one moved.

Then he said, “Ow—fuck!”

Your hands were still around the shotgun, finger still squeezing the trigger, your body stuck in shock.

The kid beside him lowered his own gun in a hurry. A low muttering started to rise from around you— someone else asked if Michael was all right, and Michael, pale and furious and embarrassed, said, “She shot me!"

"Think it's more of a graze—" someone was saying, pulling at the torn cap of his sleeve.

More voices began to overlap as people clustered around him, worry amplifying the noise until you couldn't hear anything because of the panicked buzzing in your ears.

"Give me that."

You blinked to your right. Joel Miller was looming next to you, a thunderous look over his features.

You looked down at the shotgun still in your hands, a gasp running through you.

Your fingers opened at once as if you'd been burned by the wooden barrel. The shotgun dipped toward the ground, and Joel caught it before you could swing wrong again. He took it from you with a look that made your stomach hollow out.

Your mouth open and shut, your voice quiet and lost to the rising murmur around you: "I'm—I'm so sorry—"

Joel didn’t answer. He checked the shotgun with a hard jerk of his hand, jaw tight, eyes not leaving the chamber until he was sure. Then he bent down, grabbed your pack from the dirt, and pushed it into your arms.

“Go.”

You froze with your hands around the straps. A burning, icy thrill ran through your spine, your skin lighting up in humiliation.

“I got no use for kids who don't give a shit about rules or make habits of gettin’ other people killed,” he said. “Go on now. No use to me here.”

You didn’t even think you could speak if you wanted to. You looked down at your backpack, torn and duct-taped in spots, the top strap sewn back down at least ten times since you'd gotten it.

You'd shot someone. What if it hadn't been a blank? What if it hadn't just grazed?

“I—”

“Don’t wanna hear it,” Joel cut in. “Go tell Jesse you're done for the day. He’ll take ya home.”

You bit your lip so hard you tasted copper and nodded, turning away.

For the next two weeks, you went back to being useful.

That was the word that seemed to dig its way into your head, after all. Useful. You baked loaves in the morning with flour dusted up your forearms and dough stuck beneath your fingernails. You wrapped bread in cloth and stacked it on the front table before the church bell rang. When you were done, you gardened the weeds that to creep into the squash beds and watermelon patch, and spent the late afternoons mucking stalls. You went to bed so exhausted you barely thought about what happened at the range.

Michael was fine, of course. He'd come by to apologize for his words the next day with Maria's stone face behind him. You apologized too, made sure he was really okay. Offered him a free bagel or two in exchange for maiming him.

Sometimes you saw Joel.

He didn't laugh or pat your arm understandingly the way the others did when retelling the story that of course made its way around town like wildfire.

He hardly looked at you at all, really. And at first you were grateful for it, too embarrassed to even meet his eye if he ever came by the stables for the horses before training or patrol up in the mountains. You'd run and hide before he even got the chance to spot you, truth be told. And when he came by the bakery, you'd disappeared into the back so fast that one time you’d knocked over an entire sack of rye flour in your haste to vanish.

But by the third week, it'd began to piss you off. Because it was one thing to be ashamed—and you were. But Joel was walking around town like you were something to be scraped off the bottom of his boot. It began to put a sour feeling in your stomach, the fact he had so much power to make you feel so small. Fuck him. Fuck him and his stupid glare and his silent brooding.

You stopped hiding.

The next time he came into the bakery, you were at the front counter with your sleeves rolled up as usual, tying string around a parcel of bread. Ellie was next to him as they entered, talking with her hands, telling him some story about Dina and a loose chicken that morning.

“Morning,” you said when they sidled up to the counter.

Ellie looked over, her green eyes brightening. “Hey.”

Joel said nothing.

You pulled down the ration bread from the shelf with their name and house number written across the paper wrapping.

Ellie grinned as you handed it to her, "Do you have any of those sweet rolls from last week?"

You hazarded a glance at Joel, who said nothing again.

"Sure do. You staying for breakfast? I could make some coffee."

Ellie perked up, looking at him. “Can we?”

“No,” Joel said stiffly.

“Oh, come on—didn't you hear her say your favorite word, old man? Cofffeeeeeee!" she sung out before huffing a breath, "Do I need to get your ears checked by the nurse again?”

“We got work.” he grumbled, ignoring her jab.

“You always have work.”

“Funny how that happens.”

You reached for the tray beneath the counter and set a couple rolls out, taking your time. “There’s fresh icing too from this morning, I just need to drizzle it on.”

You went into the back, grabbing the small bag of sugary sweet icing you'd made, and began letting it fall in a steady cascade onto the sweet buns.

Ellie leaned both elbows on the counter. “See? Now we have to stay. It would be rude not to.”

You pretended not to notice how Joel's jaw ticked under his beard.

“She makes a good argument,” you said, sliding the small plate toward Ellie next to their wrapped weekly bread loaf.

Finally, those dark eyes landed on you. It was quick and could almost pass off as an accident. A muddling of color that shown in the morning light, his mouth flat. The same hard set to his face as always. But you smiled back anyway.

Because fuck him.

Ellie took one and barely hesitated before taking a giant bite, delighted. “Thank you.” she said with her mouth full.

You looked away quickly, back at Ellie. “Anytime.”

Joel reached into his pocket and set the ration slips on the counter. His hand was close enough that you could see the scar across one knuckle, the dust caught in the creases of his fingers. He took the parceled bread from the counter, leaving the second sweet bun untouched.

"Let's go, Ellie." he said stiffly. Before you could even call goodbye, they were walking out the shop, Ellie throwing you an apologetic glance and a wave of her hand as she stuffed the roll into her mouth.

You picked up the rations he left, and for a moment, thought about chucking that leftover roll at the back of his head as he disappeared from view.

Instead of learning how to shoot guns, you began learning how to take care of them.

Learn it from the inside out, you told yourself.

And to be fair, you picked it up rather quickly. Quicker than you’d picked up aiming, anyway. There was a comfort to it that shooting never gave you, all the pieces laid out on an oil-stained cloth in front of you, metal pins and springs and screws set in neat little rows beneath your hands. There was no bottle on a fence line waiting to make a fool out of you here in the small rec room of the cafeteria after the dinner shift had come and gone.

Tommy Miller taught the class every other night, his sleeves rolled to the elbows and voice patient and kind as he showed you and a few others how to take a handgun apart and put it back together. He had a way of teaching that was so different than his brother. He was patient, never made you feel stupid for asking questions. If a piece didn't fit, he'd simply say: “The gun’ll tell you what it needs most times. You just gotta quit arguin’ with it long enough to listen.”

And maybe, a small mean part of you liked the fact that the first time Joel Miller saw you there, he stopped dead in the doorway.

You'd bitten your cheek so hard to keep the smug smile from tugging your lips as he made his way across the room with a box of empty shells the night you were learning how to make ammunition. His eyes moved across the room to his brother, who patted him jovially on the back, and then the elder Miller's eyes came back to you. And you knew you didn't look very nice—smudge of grease across your cheek and your hair pulled haphazardly away from the gunpowder, thick work gloves that hardly fit and your plaid sleeves rolled up.

But he'd stared long and hard anyway. And then, as if nothing was amiss, his face went back to its hard, frozen state, and he walked out.

It was that night that you woke from an awful dream.

A horde of infected had broken through Jackson, tearing through everything you'd always loved and cared for. The gate was splintered open, the watchtower burned down to the ground. People were running through the street in their nightclothes, slipping in mud and blood, screaming names you knew.

You woke in a drenched sweat, feeling every bit as useless with a gun in your dream as you did in waking life.

But it was the kind of dream that didn't really feel like a dream at all. You'd felt like you were there, like the chill of night was actually on your face, like the roars of infected in your ears were truly bone-chilling. Your chest had filled with so much doom as you tried to fight back. But you couldn't. Every shot went wrong, every squeeze of the trigger sent another round into a fence post, a doorframe, the packed dirt beside an infected's rotting foot.

You could load the gun. You could take it apart and put it back together. You could clean the pieces until the metal shone beneath your fingers. You'd done it a hundred times now.

But you couldn't shoot.

In the dream, it had been all your fault. The deaths. Friends, loved ones, people who had waved to you from the church steps and leaned over the bakery counter telling you all about their latest town gossip.

Even Joel Miller.

He had died in the dream too. Because of you, and your awful aim, and your utter uselessness when it came to defending anything you cared about.

So, instead of trying to fall back asleep— afraid the dream might return—you got up and headed downstairs. Making your way through your dark house that was a small thing in the middle of town, you heard the floorboards creaking beneath your socks until you stepped into your boots properly.

You threw on your Carhartt over your nightclothes, fumbling with the zipper in the dark. It was just the start of summer now, but the mornings still could be biting. The mountains liked to keep their cold weather as long as possible, holding to it until the sun finally dragged it out when summer solstice came.

On the kitchen table, the shotgun you'd been working on for Tommy’s class sat wrapped in an old cloth, its oiled barrel catching a thin line of moonlight from the window.

You stared at it for a moment.

Then, decision made, you slung the strap over your shoulder and headed out.

Surprisingly, Joel Miller was awake at the odd hour as well.

As you walked down Rancher Street, you spotted him on his porch in the old rocker, one boot planted against the floorboards to keep the chair steady. A steaming cup of something was in his hand as he looked out onto the empty street. No one was up at this hour. You shouldn’t've even been up either. You wouldn’t have to open the bakery for another several hours, and the whole of Jackson seemed to know it. The curtains of the houses you passed were still drawn in the houses along the street, the chicken coops were quiet. Even the dogs that usually barked from behind fences must have been sleeping away the dawn with their owners still in bed.

It made your boots sound so loud on the road.

When his eyes caught the movement of your form coming toward the house, you saw him pause. His brows shot up high, then narrowed back into their usual glower. As you got closer and closer, it seemed so did his brows, threading deeper, causing harsher lines to form between them. The sun was just barely beginning to peek over the east mountaintops, the sky beginning to let go of its inky blackness with only a pale line of light touching the surrounding rooftops.

Joel Miller didn’t say anything as you stepped up from the street onto the path to his house. Or as you walked through his front yard. But his eyes never left you.

You tried—very hard and very much in vain—not to care what he saw as you walked up to the porch. He was an asshole, after all. An asshole who had told you he had no use for you, dismissed you for one mistake, and ignored you for weeks after. You shouldn't care if he saw some clumsy girl with a gun too big for her hands, or the bags under your eyes, or the matching floral sleep set beneath your jacket, long sleeves buttoned to your wrists and matching cotton pants tucked messily into your boots.

"Good morning, Mr. Miller." you said, stopping just at the bottom step of his porch.

He took a long sip of his steaming cup before resting it between his hands on his lap.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, kid?"

In any other circumstance, that could’ve been a polite greeting. But the flatness to his voice, the utter disapproval or contempt that threaded through it, made it sound exactly as he meant it.

You stared at him for a long, long moment.

He just stared back.

The rocker gave a faint creek under his weight. You could just smell the contents of the mug—coffee, for sure then. Bitter and dark how he liked it. You shifted the shotgun off your shoulder and set the butt of it into the dirt beside your boot, one hand rested at the top so it pointed up towards the sky.

Finally, it was Joel who broke the silence as he sighed, getting up to stand at the railing, setting one large, calloused palm against the wood as he looked down at you.

"Kid, I don't know what yer—"

"Shut up."

Joel Miller, for the first damn time since he'd met you, seemed to be stunned. His eyes went wide in disbelief.

"Excuse me, young lady?" he scoffed, standing still on his porch.

"Shut up—" you said, and if your voice shook a little, he made no notice, "and listen."

His eyebrows lifted. Then he looked down the empty street, like maybe someone else had heard you speak to him that way and he needed a witness. But there was no one, of course. Not at this hour. Only the closed houses, the pale line of morning over the rooftops, and a dog two porches down watching through the fence with its nose pressed between the slats.

When Joel looked back at you, he only gave a small shrug, one palm tipping up from the railing.

Go on then.

"I am a baker," you said curtly, taking in a shaky, deep breath, "I am a gardener, I am a sewer, I've become a damn good gun cleaner. I've been in Jackson for two years. I deserve to be here."

"Never said—"

"—and I deserve to learn how to defend it too."

Joel's eyes never left you as he heard your case. His face didn't change much, but at least it wasn't glowering anymore. He made no move to dismiss you or walk back inside even if he'd have enough reason to.

"Just because I had a shit first day doesn't mean I can't still learn, old man." you said. It wasn't a term of endearment. "Just because I'm not shooting bullseyes or killing infected yet doesn't mean I can't try, alright? I— I'm brave and—and—" you took another deep breath, "And you're going to teach me how to shoot."

"Like hell—" he stopped, scoffing again, and then went on, shaking his head: "Kid, you and I—clearly, we ain't jivin', why don't you ask another—"

"No."

Joel clicked his teeth, shifting his weight between his feet behind the wooden balusters.

"No one is as…" you glared up at him, the words searing your tongue before you could force it out, "No one is as good as you. If anyone is gonna teach me, it's you Mr. Miller."

There was a long pause, and Joel set down his mug, the steam wafting in the chilly summer morning. You almost wished you hadn't come, that you could go back to ignoring each other for weeks. What was it to you, what this man thought of you? You knew you looked ridiculous standing here, asking for help. You should be shouting at him, telling him he's mean and grouchy like a dog.

"Christ," he sighed, "you don't give up do ya?"

"Nope."

He pulled in another deep breath, looking up and down the road again for a long moment, before his eyes found you once more. You saw how they roved over your figure, over the muck boots and the white blue floral set, over your tan Carhartt, and then onto your face, where he paused for a moment before saying:

"Well first thing, don't hold the damn gun like that."

You looked down where you were leaning your palm over the muzzle of the shotgun.

"Gonna blow a hole in your palm, then I wouldn't be able to teach ya shit."

Your face burned, but you moved to grip the barrel lower and pulled the gun carefully across your belly, holding it with both hands now, pointed well away from either of you.

He nodded, lifting his mug and taking another sip of coffee, watching you, The slurp of the drink filling his mouth held the silence while the birds began waking up around you.

"You sure you'll be warm enough?" he asked finally.

You nodded.

"Alright. Let me get my shoes and we can hit the trails. Stay put."

You nodded again, and then—

"Joel?"

He turned.

"I um... I promise I won't let you down."

He took one more look at you, the harsh line of his mouth eased, eyes settling in a way you hadn't seen before.

He nodded once, and said: "I know, kid."

The sun was well over the mountain top by the time you made it to the ridge.

He hadn't taken you back to the training ground, whether it was to save you the humiliation of seeing the leftover shards of green glass on the ground, or because he liked the view better by the forgotten ranch, you weren't entirely sure.

It sat a few miles out from Jackson, tucked up where the land opened into a long slope of yellow grass and thin fence posts. One of the old checkpoint places, Joel had told you on the ride over. Not one people used much anymore, not unless they were cutting through on patrol or needed to seek shelter from a storm. There was a little graying house at the top of the rise with peeling paint along the porch rail and a tin roof gone dull from years of snow. Beside it, an old barn leaned slightly into the hill, its red paint worn down to bare wood in places, its door hanging open on a rusted hinge.

You barely registered the bird song that filled the skies as he set up a training course, the beautiful view of the mountainside and your horses grazing in pasture of the barn. Every now and then you saw one lift its head to look at you, ears flickering around, before bending down and resuming its peaceful morning loitering.

Joel was beside you, close enough that you could smell the pine of his body wash and the musk of sweat lining his shirt. He had been mostly quiet on the ride here, but not in the punishing way, you began to realize. Just quiet and focused as his is eyes kept moving over the land, the fence line, the barn, the empty windows of the little ranch house behind you.

“Lean just a little over now,” he said from behind your shoulder as you got into position by the wooden posts. “Use the fence as a brace. Easier when you got something steady under the stock.”

You shifted forward until the gun found the flat part of the top of the wood. The air was still chilly through the sleeves of your sleep set, the fence rough enough to catch on the ribboned cuff of your pant leg when you moved into it. Ahead, he’d pinned a target to the trunk of a tree, three rings and a bullseye in the center.

“First thing,” he said, “you don’t point that barrel anywhere you ain’t willing to put a hole through. Don’t matter if you think the thing's empty. Don’t matter if I told you it’s empty. You treat it like it’s loaded every second it’s in your hands.”

"I know, Joel."

"Repeat it," he said, a little firmer, and the way his breath brushed the side of your neck, it made you shiver. You didn't reaalize he'd gotten so close.

"Treat it like it's loaded." you muttered, leaning over the stock, looking down the line of the barrel.

"Good." he grunted. "Finger stays off the trigger til you're ready, keep both eyes open."

"You sure are bossy." you said under your breath.

"'Scuse me?" he chuckled, "Ain't you the one who dragged me out here at the brink of dawn?"

You rolled your eyes, but bent forward.

“Careful with that,” he said. “Eyes are useful for shootin’. Would hate for 'em to get stuck like that.”

You couldn't help the chuckle you let out—great, so he's got dad jokes too.

“Now stay where you are,” he said. “I’m gonna move the shotgun where it’s supposed to sit. Easier than tryin’ to explain it five different ways, alright?”

You felt your cheeks burn a little, but nodded.

He moved behind you, close enough that the warmth of him settled at your back before he ever touched you. One hand reached around yours, thick fingers closing over the fore end of the shotgun to shift it against the top rail of the fence, enough to settle it steady against the wood. His other hand came to your shoulder, guiding the butt of the stock into place. It was heavy, but bearable thanks to the support of the fence in front of you.

"Want it over your shoulder, not pushin' into the collarbone. S'gonna kick harder than a mule and you'll be hollerin' about bein' sore for days."

You scoffed a bit, but let the stock settle over the crest of your shoulder as he positioned it.

“Now press your cheek right here,” he said, moving his hand from the barrel to tap the side of the stock. You tilted your head, trying to place it right. You nearly gasped when you felt the thick press of his fingers on the other side your neck as he guided you into position without thought. Not rough or impatient, only warm, certain, his callouses catching lightly against your skin. "There ya go."

Your body became suddenly very aware of him from that one touch. The scrape of his jacket against yours as his chest came in closer, the weight of him behind you, the heat of him against your back.

"Stay still, you're squirmin'—"

"—am not—"

You felt the breath of a laugh over your shoulders, and it made your skin rise in gooseflesh. The target was becoming blurrier by the moment.

"Now—"

You held very still as you felt him line his body behind yours, his breath now against your neck, his voice low and gravelly like honey on hot asphalt.

“Think about all that bullshit you been carryin’ around,” he grumbled. “Starin’ daggers at me for weeks. Comin’ up on my porch tellin’ me to shut up, callin’ me old, actin’ like I decided you don’t belong.”

"Joel—" you protested.

"S'okay, didn't take none personal." he said as he stepped up even closer, one hand going to your hip. “Breathe in.”

You sucked in a shallow breath.

He clicked his teeth. “Try again. You know none of that is true, don't ya, darlin'? Let it all go here. Don't belong in that head a'yours.”

You closed your eyes, annoyed and a little embarrassed, and pulled air in deeper this time, taking in the smells of the open Wyoming air. Cold morning. Damp grass. Coffee on his breath. Mint from when he'd been chewing the sprig on the way there. Pine soap. The fence rail rough beneath the gun.

His breath was so warm against your cheek as he murmured: "That's it, now let it out."

You let the breath leave you, nice and long and through your mouth—and with it went the bickering on his porch, the shame of the range, the weeks of him not looking at you, the ugly little voice that kept saying you were useless no matter how many loaves you baked or horses you brushed or shotguns you cleaned.

"Open your eyes now, and squeeze that trigger." he murmured, lips brushing your ear. As he said the word, his hand pressed forward on your hip, long, thick fingers winding around the sensitive skin just under the waistband.

When your eyes opened, the sun felt a little brighter, the day a little clearer. The target sharpened against the tree, the black rings settling in your sight.

Your stomach dipped for one horrifying moment, and then—you squeezed.

The shot cracked across the ridge, echoing off the sides of the mountains. Joel was right—the butt of the gun kicked hard, but you only felt it jostle your body back into his, harder, the force caught by your shoulder instead of biting into your chest.

You gasped, everything happening so fast before you were blinking rapidly and seeing the paper on the tree ripped just left of center.

“Shit—”

“Not bad for a first try.” you heard him say.

"I wanna go again." you said, breathlessly.

“Jackson’s gonna be needin’ their morning bread soon,” Joel chuckled, but he didn’t move. “Tommy’s gonna be wonderin’ where his cinnamon rolls are.”

You smiled wide, the adrenaline of the shot still coursing through you.

As your breath settled, both of you were still leaning over the fence, your body pressed back into the hard line of his. His hand hadn’t moved from your hip. Neither had yours from the shotgun. It would’ve been easy, maybe, to step away. To laugh, to clear your throat, to make some comment about those cinnamon rolls or old men or how if he'd stop being so bossy you could've probably hit the bullseye.

But…you didn't.

You only tilted your gaze over your shoulder.

He was so close—so close you could see almost every gray hair in his thick beard like winter's snowy streaks in a dark sky. You could see every line on his plump bottom lip, the shining spot where his tongue had just passed over it.

"Thank you, Joel." you whispered, "For…"

You trailed off, because Joel wasn't looking in your eyes anymore. They were such a pretty hazel you'd never noticed, and were fixed on your mouth.

"You're welcome." he whispered.

Your lips parted lightly when he tilted his head over your shoulder, and he took that as invitation to lean in.

He was so warm.

Like kindled fire in a cabin, like the first morning of solstice. The prickle of his mustache brushed your nose as he took your lips with his, breathing you in so deeply it made your knees go soft beneath you. You let out a whimper, hands tightening around the barrel and grip of the shotgun, wishing so badly to put them in his hair, all over his broad shoulders and thick muscles.

He seemed to know exactly what you needed, his one hand coming up to take the gun from your hands, placing it quickly but carefully against the fence. He only broke the kiss to turn you fully towards him before his lips were on you again, hungrier and needier as he pushed his body into yours.

His hands were all over you in an instant, planted on your hips and squeezing you harder, making you whine under his touch.

Your tongue traced his bottom lip, teeth nipping, begging wordlessly for entrance, and he gave it so easily. So eagerly. He groaned, opening his mouth for you, letting you lick inside, suckling on his tongue before you nipped again at that nice bottom lip.

His hands were everywhere—under your jacket but above your cotton top, sliding up your waist and back down again, never settling for long. They were so big and broad, squeezing and groping anywhere he could hold.

Yours wound around his neck so you could drag him closer, breasts pushed to his chest, the layers between you suddenly unbearable. His jacket. Your sleep shirt. His flannel. It was too much fabric—too much of everything that wasn’t his fevered skin against yours.

How could you ever have thought he was such an asshole? This grumpy old man— this stubborn, bossy, impossible man, was just as needy as you. Maybe worse. All that silence, that staring. Those weeks of pretending he didn’t see you across bakery counters and barn aisles and muddy streets. He needed this as much as you did, someone to set him straight, yes, but also… to tell him he was needed and good, too.

You moaned when his hands traveled lower, both palms filling with the round flesh of your bum, dragging you up against him. One hand pulled up beneath your thigh so your leg was over his hip, opening you enough for him to grind the hard denim of his cock against you.

“Oh shit—” you gasped as your back got pushed into the rails of the fence.

He was thick. You could feel it even through his jeans, through the stiff seam and the metal of his zipper, the heavy shape of his length ground into the cradle of your legs perfectly.

Joel’s mouth left yours with a wet sound and moved to your jaw, then your chin, then the side of your throat. His beard scraped at your skin, his mustache rough beneath your ear.

“S’alright, darlin’,” he murmured, rocking into you again, slower this time, meaner for how much control he had over it. “Just needed someone to show you how it’s done, didn’t ya?”

Your nails bit into the back of his neck.

“Joel—”

“Been fightin’ me all mornin’,” he said, his mouth dragging lower, teeth grazing where your pulse beat too fast. “All damn month, really.”

You couldn’t even argue. Not with his hips pressed just right and his hand gripping your thigh harder, holding you open against the fence.

“S’okay,” he said, voice rough against your throat, tongue laving over your carotid. “I’ll show you how to take me just as good, yeah?”

“Oh, yes,” you breathed, already nodding. “Yes, please, Joel.”

"What good manners you have, baby," he cooed.

Luckily he couldn't see the way your eyes rolled at that, but your mouth fell open as he bit down on the tender flesh of your shoulder.

"Oh!"

He growled, pleased, the sound vibrating up from his rib cage and against your skin before he push his cock into you harder than before. The fence post pressed into your back, a little painful through your jacket, his hands holding you tightly between it and himself.

“Tell me,” he groaned. “How long?”

"How long what, old man?" you tried to clipped retort, but it came out more like a whimper as his hands pulled you closer, dragging your cotton-covered seam over him harder. You had one hand thrown back over the fence rail to keep your balance, the other fisted tightly in his hair. Your head fell forward to watch where his lap met yours, thin floral pajama pants bunched tight where his stiff denim pressed into them over and over, the friction making your thighs tremble around his hips.

"How long has this sweet little pussy been wet —since we got up here, hm?"

"Fuck you," you moaned, which only made him laugh.

His head came up to look you straight in the eye, one hand going to the side of your face, thumb against your cheekbone, the wide breadth of his palm covering your cheek. His fingers dug lightly into the side of your neck as he forced your gaze back up to him. It was shockingly sweet for how menacing his smile was.

“Your little act doesn’t work on me, sugar,” he murmured, staring at your lips. “C’mon now. Tell me.”

You glared up at him, though it was a weak thing with your chest heaving and your leg hooked around his waist. "You're such an asshole."

He bent down to nip at your nose, "'fraid I think you might like that most about me."

The both of you were very still now, though you'd brought both of your ankles up to lock at his lower back, fully relying on him for balance. Your chest heaved with fresh lungfuls of air, finally catching up to what had felt lost and shallow before.

"And what about you?" you asked, tipping your chin up. "You really hate me as much as you act like you do?"

“Could never hate’cha,” he murmured, leaning down again, his voice lower now, almost too soft for the way he was still holding you against the fence. “Only thing I hate is how fuckin’ bad you make me want you.”

You blinked up at him.

"Is it really that much of a surprise, baby?" he added when he saw your expression.

"I mean—you—"

He was beginning to kiss you again, your flustered state seemingly invitation enough to resume his affection, gentler this time. He kissed your mouth softly, then the corner where the seam of your lips met, then up your cheek and over your brow.

"—you said we don't get along, that I should find someone else to teach me—that, that you had no use for me—"

Joel pulled back one more time, looking down at you. The hand that had been hooked under your knee came up to your face too, until he was holding your head between both hands, palms rough against your cheeks, fingers cupping the bowl of your skull.

His eyes moved over your face, and for once, there was no glower there. No hard set to his mouth. Just Joel, looking at you like the words had been sitting badly in his chest too.

"Should'a never said that, I know. I'm sorry. I was an asshole up at the trainin' range that mornin'."

"Yeah, you were." you pouted.

“Only said them things on the porch ’cause I know I shouldn’t want’cha like I do.” He shook his head, jaw tight, the confession seemingly costing him something. “Can’t fuckin’ help it though, baby. I can’t.”

“Then don’t,” you whispered.

"You're too young—" he whispered, "—too sweet for me. You're right, I'm old, I'm mean as a dog…"

Your delicate fingers wrapped around his thick wrists, holding him there, keeping his hands on your face.

“Truth?” you offered.

He nodded quietly.

Out there, you could just hear the breeze over the open fields around you. The soft nickering of the horses grazes, the birdsong of the woods beyond. It was awfully quiet where just you and Joel stood pinned against the old fenceline.

"I've wanted you for so, so long." you murmured.

His eyes flickered between yours, narrowing, almost disbelieving. Your grip on his wrists tightened.

"I have. And…and… I've been wet since we got here. Thinking about this—being all alone with you and—even if I can't fucking stand you glowering at me like that—"

He pushed his lips into yours again, but this time, it wasn't only the flame of hunger and eagerness, but the gentleness of tender affection.

“C’mere,” he whispered into your lips, hands sliding down your sides.

His hands were back on your body, pulling you closer, slipping under your jacket once more before finally reaching under your cotton night shirt. You could feel just how rough-hewn his fingertips were, how calloused and worn they were against the tender flesh of your body. But they felt so right, like this was where they belonged all along.

“You’re so soft, baby. Wanna feel how soft you are under these.” His fingers hooked lightly at the waistband of your cotton pants. “Take ’em off for me.”

You listened, of course you listened. He let your wobbly legs down gently from his hips, one hand staying firm at your waist until your boots found the grass again. Your knees felt useless beneath you, weak from the heat of him, from the way his voice had gone low and syrupy thick against your mouth. You reached for the ribboned hem of your sleep pants with clumsy fingers, and Joel watched you like he was trying very hard to stay patient.

The cotton slid down your thighs, catching for a second at your knees before you stepped out of them and your boots. Morning air touched your bare skin at once, cool enough to make you suck in a breath.

You started to pull your coat off too, but Joel caught the front of it in one fist and held it closed around you.

“You’re gonna get cold, baby,” he murmured, bringing you back into his arms to kiss you on the lips once more. “Keep it on.”

He was soon bending, kissing your chin, the soft skin of your throat, down your top and lifting it just enough to lick into your navel, making you giggle and squirm. He threw you a knowing look when you bit back a laugh at the crack of his knees, and you nearly opened your mouth to say something rude before his lips found your skin again.

He kissed lower, down the soft slope of your belly, until his mouth was pressed just above your mound where your panties still covered you. Stupid sleep underwear, you chastised yourself, suddenly annoyed you hadn’t thought this far ahead. But Joel didn't seem to care. He kissed the little bow at the waistband, something slipping from his mouth that sounded awfully like 'how cute'.

Your breath caught in the crisp morning air when his tongue dipped out over your cotton panties, right where your clit pulsed beneath. He let out a low hum of satisfaction, one thick finger coming up to pull the cotton aside.

“Why don’t you spread these pretty legs for me, hm?” His eyes flicked up to yours. “Or do I need to teach ya how to do that too?”

You scoffed, still in your head enough to want to bite back a curse at him, but he was already moving your leg for you, pushing your knee toward the fenceline until your boot found footing on the bottom rail. His eyes never left the damp spot darkening your panties.

As he pulled the cotton aside fully, he sighed, face tilting a little as he looked.

“You’re staring,” you murmured, nervousness fluttering in your belly.

His eyes glanced up at you, and your heart ricocheted into your throat. You felt bare. Exposed. Ready for him to turn cold again, to go back to that surly look and stone quiet like he’d only just remembered himself.

Instead, his thumb stroked once along your thigh.

“S’just so pretty,” he murmured. “Tryin’ to take my time, is all.”

Your mouth opened in another quick gasp as his lips pressed onto the swollen bud of your clit. You felt his tongue dip out lazily, curled like a basin for collecting the arousal that had pooled for him. He licked up and up and up, before suckling on your sensitive bud again. He moaned with you when your head fell back, your fingers digging harder into the fenceline where you held yourself up.

"That's it, that's it," he cooed when he pulled away to blow gentle air against your pussy. "What a good girl you are, just want a little taste before I put my cock in ya."

Oh god, the old man really had a filthy mouth.

He was diving back in again, now with a finger to prod at your entrance. Your knees suddenly felt wobbly, hardly able to keep you standing.

He licked and sucked at your pussy like he’d been waiting for it, messy and hungry now, no patience left in him. His finger pushed inside, thick enough to make you gasp, your walls clenching down around it as he groaned into you.

"Ohhhh…" you chorused together.

"Fuck, you're tight," he breathed.

"Oh god, Joel." you said at the same time.

"I know, I know," he cooed again. His voice had gone dark and syrup-thick, coated in arousal, every word dragged rough from the back of his throat.

“Just gotta open ’er up,” he murmured, kissing the inside of your thigh before looking back at where his finger disappeared inside you. “Ain’t no way my cock’s fittin’ in here before I get you ready.”

“It will,” you chanted, hips undulating up into his mouth. “It will, it will—”

He moaned at your eagerness, crooking his finger before pulling it out to the first knuckles, and inserting a second finger. You gasped, stretched over his thick digits, the ache of it full and perfect and worse because he looked so pleased with himself. Because he knew exactly where to press, where to push, how to lave his tongue over your clit until your body was singing his praise.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathed, watching your face as his fingers worked deeper. “There you go. There you go.”

Your head tipped back against the fence post, wood catching at your hair.

“She gonna squeeze my cock this tight too, huh?” he murmured, mouth brushing slick over your clit. “She likes my fingers in ’er.”

"Yes, yes, yes," you whispered, your eyes hooded but forcing yourself to watch him. Your other hand carded into his thick graying hair at the crown of his head, nails scraping through, and he made a rough, pleased sound into you. Almost a purr. Almost a growl. His eyes fluttered for half a second before he looked back up at you, mouth wet, beard shining, fingers still buried inside you.

"M'so close, Joel, so so close, pleeeaseee…"

"There's those sweet manners again, baby. Why don't you go ahead and beg me some more? Maybe I'll let you come right now, and then I'll make you come again around my cock. Huh? Sound good? Let me hear your pretty little begging again, baby, go on now."

He said it all while panting, tilting his head up so his eyes could watch you. You put on your best pout, bottom lip sticking out so he could see how much you really really wanted it.

"Pleeeeease, Joel, please—" you mewled, "your fingers feel so good, so thick, please let me come. I'll be good, I'll be good."

"Good girl," he murmured, breath hot against you, "go on, let me feel her soak me. Come, baby,"

It felt like your belly had been waiting for the words. The overwhelming build finally tipped, the wave cresting hard before crashing through you all at once. Your body went molten as you locked up around his fingers, pleasure coursing through your veins in hot, licking bursts. Your eyes squeezed shut, your mouth falling open around a low, obscene moan you had no control over.

Joel rocked you through it, fingers pushing in and out, fucking you with them while his tongue pressed gently at your overstimulated clit until you were twitching and pulling away from his mouth.

When he pulled his fingers from your walls, you nearly fell to the ground, your legs unable to hold you up. Joel caught you before you could drop, hands firm beneath your thighs as he lifted you fully against him, both your legs winding around his waist now. Lazily, sleepily, you watched him shrug out of his coat and throw it down over the grass. Your eyes were still too heavy to take all of him in properly, so your hands did it instead—big shoulders, broad chest, thick arms built from hard work and long hours.

Just as much a part of Jackson as you were. Maybe more.

He could do everything. It made you a little sick with envy, even now, even with your body still humming from his mouth and his fingers.

Joel saw your face change, but he was busy lowering you onto his coat, easing you down into the grass instead of keeping you pinned against the fence.

“What is it, baby?” he whispered, one hand cradling the back of your head as he settled over you. “What’s in that pretty little head of yours?”

He was half watching you, half working open his jeans until his cock was freed from the denim, heavy as it bobbed, flushed red and bobbing thick between you as he leaned closer.

You licked your lips, reaching for him, but Joel caught you by the wrist before your fingers could wrap around him. You gasped in surprise, but he only brought your hand to his mouth, kissing each pad of your fingers one by one.

“Don’t think I’ll last too long if you start that,” he murmured. “Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

You shook your head. “Nothing. You’re just…you’re so…”

You sighed dreamily, distracted by the feeling of his swollen, wet lips against the tips of your fingers.

“Old?” he offered. “Cranky? Rude?”

Your mouth twitched. “Yes, and…”

He laughed a little, but you went on anyway.

“I was just thinking about how perfect you are.”

Now he really smiled wide, shaking his head before nipping at your index finger. "Think you've got the wrong man, baby," he groaned a little, and then leaned over you.

You shook your head again, winding your arms around his neck, one hand cupping the nape of his hair while your nails scraped lightly along his scalp.

“Don’t think so.”

He hummed, kissing you again, and began to roll his hips against you so his cock slid up your belly, heavy and hot against your skin. The kiss deepened, lips slotting together, wet and tender, tongues sliding slow as your hands tightened in his hair and his weight settled over you.

“I don’t know if you’re gonna fit,” you whispered when he pulled his hips back too far and the head of his cock slipped up through the seam of your pussy.

He licked his lips, looking down at you. “Told ya I’d teach ya, didn’t I?”

You smiled, nodding. “M’nervous.”

“Don’t gotta be. I got ya, baby.” His thumb brushed along your hairline. “We’ll start nice and slow.”

He did as he said, sitting back a little just so he could grasp his cock in one hand, the other still cradling your head, petting your hair where it had fallen across his jacket. The head of him notched at your entrance, wet with arousal and spit, but the difference between two fingers and his cock suddenly felt impossible.

“Easy now,” he whispered, kissing your lips. “Take a breath for me, honey.”

You did as he said, for once without some retort, and pulled in a deep breath.

What started as control quickly turned into a gasp as he pushed inside.

“Oh fuck!” you squealed, clawing at his shoulders over his shirt.

He chuckled, and you wanted to slap him.

“Come on now, honey,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your open mouth. “You’re all tensin’ up. Curl your toes. Deep breaths. C’mere, gimme a kiss.”

Your toes curled automatically, did your best to pull in another breath, and he leaned down to kiss you earnestly, swallowing the next rough sound that left you as he pushed in another inch.

His tongue licked behind your teeth. His chest pressed yours down into the coat. The weight of him made the ground feel farther away somehow, the grass cool beneath your hips, his jacket bunched soft and worn under your shoulders.

“Oh yeah,” he breathed against your mouth, rougher now. “Ain’t that so good, baby? How’s that feel?”

Your head fell back onto the collar of his jacket. “Soooo…full. Fuck.”

“Almost all of it,” he murmured, jaw tight. “Just a little more. Pussy feels amazing, baby. S’like heaven.”

Your eyes squeezed shut as he pulled back a little, your mouth opening in a small, helpless shape when the drag of him caught every tender place he’d opened with his fingers.

“Yeah,” he sighed, watching your face. “There you go. She’s warmin’ up to me now.”

One of his hands slid from your hair to your throat, resting just beneath your jaw, not squeezing, only holding you there while his thumb brushed the jumping line of your pulse. "think she's even startin' to like me."

“You’re so corny,” you groaned, but your chastising cut off when he slid his cock in all the way, his heavy balls pressing against your ass at last.

“Oh—” you choked. “Oh, oh oh.”

Joel nodded like he felt it too, like he needed the confirmation just as badly as you did. Then he kissed you again, and you let him, loose and dazed beneath him, tongue sweeping out to taste his. You could still taste yourself there, musky and sweet on his mouth, and it made your walls contract around him.

Your body was starting to understand him now. The first sharp stretch softened into heat, your muscles loosening by degrees, letting him settle deeper until the fullness became less frightening and more necessary.

“Fuck,” he breathed, forehead pressing to yours. “You okay? How’re you feelin’, baby?”

“So good, Joel,” you whispered, fingers flexing in the fabric at his shoulders. “So good. Please, please fuck me.”

He groaned, ducking his face into your neck. “Gonna give it to you good, baby.”

He started slowly. Though, you weren't sure if he was exactly gentle. He was so big and there was too much of him for anything to feel really gentle. But he was careful, controlled in the sawing of his hips that pulled halfway out, and then pressing back in. Each stroke was concise, your fingers digging harder into his shirt, each little hiccup of air pressed from you.

His coat dragged beneath your back, the grass brushing cold against your bare thighs. Your sleep top had ridden up beneath your own jacket, leaving your stomach exposed to the morning air, but Joel was warm over you, broad and heavy and panting against your throat. Every time he pushed in, your body shifted against his, the ground catching you, the earth taking what the fence no longer had to.

The open air of the field collected your simpering sighs and loud, mewling moans, the day warming around you so that you saw sweat beginning to dapple his forehead when he brought his head up to look at you.

“So pretty, baby,” he breathed. “Such a pretty girl takin’ cock so well.”

You cried out when he changed the rhythm, picking up speed.

“I know, I know,” he moaned, his voice catching rough in his throat. “God, you feel so good, baby. Pussy feels like it was made for me, huh?”

“Yes, Joel, yes—ohhh, yes, yes, yes.”

“She’s tightenin’ up on me again,” he panted, eyes dragging over your face. “Gonna come for me already? What a good girl you are. C’mon, I wanna feel it around my cock.”

Your eyes widened when Joel’s hand slid down your body again, over your thigh, hooking it higher until your leg was thrown up over his shoulder. Your body folded beneath him, his cock reaching deeper as he leaned down into you.

“Fuck!” you squealed, holding tightly onto his hair.

He looked down at you with a little pout, a mock-sympathetic expression pulling at his mouth.

“Doin’ so good,” he murmured. “Takin’ my cock like such a good girl, baby. Come on now, let me feel her again. She feels like fuckin’ heaven.”

“Jooooel,” you whined.

But that crest of a wave was swelling worse now, higher, blood coursing hot through the river of your veins, sparking as it flooded your belly. Your hips tightened. Your muscles locked. Your whole body seemed to pull toward him, toward that hard, dragging stroke, toward the pressure building so tight you could hardly breathe around it.

“Oh god,” you gasped. “Oh god.”

“Make your old man happy, baby,” he panted, hips snapping harder now. “Come on my cock. Know you wanna. Know your pussy loves it.”

“Shut up,” you cried. “Shut up, shut up.”

He grabbed your face again, mock pout gone, teeth bared with the strain of holding himself together.

“Where are those sweet manners you had not too long ago?”

You squealed as he built up a faster rhythm. His hand hooked around your neck, pulling you up just enough to make you look down between your bodies, where his cock was splitting you open over and over.

“You see that, baby?” he groaned. “She’s milkin’ me. Beggin’ me to let her come, ain’t she? Look how good she’s takin’ me.”

“So good,” you murmured between moans.

It was true. His cock was covered with your thick arousal and come, pearly white and glistening around the shaft every time he pulled out, only to swing his hips back into you again.

“So why don’t you use those good manners and ask me?” he rasped. “Hm? Too proud already? Or are you too cock drunk?”

You pushed weakly against him, and he let you lay back down fully, following you down to kiss you. His mouth was wet, his breath uneven, his body still working yours into the coat beneath you.

“Gonna make me beg for it now, sweetheart?” he asked against your lips. “That it?”

You shook your head, too far gone to answer properly.

“I ain’t above beggin’,” he chuckled, though the sound broke wetly into a groan when you clenched around him again. “Wanna feel it so badly.”

He reached down between you, his thumb finding your swollen clit and strumming it with the perfect pressure.

Your eyes popped open, you didn’t even have time to beg. To ask. To tell him.

Your body locked up all at once, eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure burst bright and black behind your lids. It tore through you in waves, hips jerking beneath him, thighs shaking where he had you folded open. Your mouth fell wide around a sound you barely recognized as yours.

Somewhere outside the buzzing of your orgasm, outside your own moans and the pulse pounding in your ears, you heard Joel groaning louder.

“That’s it,” he gritted against your cheek. “Fuck, that’s it, baby. Give it to me. Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl.”

His thrusts started to lose their rhythm, turning deeper, rougher, his hips driving into you with less control each time. His hand tightened at your jaw, his forehead pressing hot to yours mouth open against yours, and then he pushed into you one last time, burying himself as deep as he could go.

Joel groaned your name like it had been dragged from somewhere low in his chest, and then he filled you, cock pulsing inside you as his body went heavy over yours, his breath breaking against your mouth.

For a moment, neither of you moved. There was only breath.

Yours, thin, uneven, still catching in your dry throat when you tried to swallow. He felt heavy over you, his breath thick against your cheek. His weight felt good, like a blanket, though your legs had begun to cramp until he let your leg down.

The open summer morning moved on around you. It all came back to your ears eventually, the cricking of the open barn door, the horses in the pasture and the birds singing from far away. The field smelled like fresh grass and weeds and sunshine, Joel's coffee still faint on his breath.

You hummed against him as he kissed the crook of your neck, his mustache and beard prickly against you. He feathered his lips up your throat until they were over your own lips, which you pressed gently against his. He pulled back, just looking at you. And you did the same. You brought your hand up to his face slowly, tracing the line of his brow, down his sharp nose and over the bow of his top lip.

"You are so perfect." you said dreamily.

He breathed a little laugh through his nose, a crooked, disbelieving smile pulling his lips. A shyness you weren't sure you'd ever seen.

The heat between you had started to cool. Your skin prickled beneath your open jacket, the air finding every place his body didn’t cover. You shivered, and Joel noticed at once.

“Chilly?”

“Only a little.”

He sighed, like he hated that he had to move, then leaned down to press one more long, lingering kiss to your lips before sitting back.

You made a small sound when he pulled out of you, your body too sensitive for even that. Joel’s eyes dropped between you, his jaw tightening for a second at the sight of himself slipping free, slick and spent against your thigh.

"Poor baby," he said, his thumb reaching out to slide up your wet and abused folds. You whined at the touch, and he pouted down at you.

"Easy, easy, I know. Gonna take care of her when we get home."

He sat back on his heels and tucked himself away first, hands slower now, less steady than they’d been when he’d taken the rifle from you. Then he reached for your sleep pants where they’d been left in the grass, shook them once to knock off the loose dirt, and turned back to you.

You blinked up at him, limp and boneless, still spread over his coat.

Joel looked down at you for a second, one brow lifting. “Don’t make me do all the work now, baby.”

You smiled sleepily. “You seemed to like doing all the work a minute ago.”

His mouth pressed into a line, but it didn’t hide the amusement in his eyes. “Smart mouth,” he muttered.

Still, his hands were gentle when he guided one foot through the pant leg, then the other. He pulled the cotton up your calves carefully, pausing when the fabric caught at your knee, easing it loose before working it higher. You lifted your hips only when he tapped them, and even then, barely.

“There ya go,” he murmured, drawing the waistband back into place beneath your rumpled top. He helped you sit up slowly in his lap, one hand braced behind your back, the other fixing the front of your coat around you. His knuckles brushed your stomach as he straightened your shirt, then pulled the jacket closed enough to keep the morning air off your skin.

You stayed like that for a moment, hiked up over his thighs, and he let your limbs fold around him again, hands back into his messy hair.

"I meant it—you—" you began, then licked your lips, staring up into his pretty hazel eyes again, "you're good, Joel. You're perfect."

He opened his mouth to protest, but sighed instead.

"Thank you for bringing me out here," you went on, "I'm sorry if I was mean earlier."

He smiled crookedly, "I was too."

You shook your head, "You had reasons to be."

He leaned down and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to your lips, "Bakery is gonna be wonderin' where you are, we better get back."

You held on tight even when he began to move, and a little mischevious smile twitched your mouth.

"What?" he asked, smile growing.

"One more shot?"

thank you so much for reading! I love youuu!!!

[sailermoon]

having unwashed hair will have you believing shit like i can’t be saved

[joelscure]

p1 -> p2

he finally got some good food in him

[ckyforever]

•There's A Blue Light •

Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: Ever since you were young, you were always taught to be good, and good you were. Church girl, smiling neighbor, the star daughter. Perfect.

Until you find yourself seeking the town outcast, Joel Miller.

dividers made by @/saradika-graphics

rating: 18+ mdni!!!

wc: 14k

warnings: girthy age gap (20/56), obsession, religious upbringing + religious guilt, small town, loss of virginity, unprotected piv, oral sex (m & f recieving), mentions of contraception, secret meetups, sarah is dead, mention of fatal car crash, reader has anxiety, dominant behavior, toxic dynamic, joel feeds you beer so (illegal drinking), physical roughness, power imbalance, angst, joel is an ass

an: OMG the taglist requests have been INSANE! the support means so much to me!!! let me know what other kind of joel fics I should write... and enjoy this emotional roller coaster babes <3

The same Sunday sermon, delivered with the same fire every single week. You’ve memorized the cadence by now. You sit perfectly still in the wooden pew, hands folded in your lap, the perfect picture of piety.

Serve the lord. Be respectable. Pray. And keep away from those faithless.

The eyes on you never let up. Every polite smile from the congregation, every knowing glance from the older women, reminds you who you’re supposed to be. Resident good girl. The perfect daughter. The one who never causes trouble, never questions, never strays.

With your mother at your side, you exit the church like always, gaze fixed downward on your modest shoes. The hem of your church dress brushes your calves as you walk. But the second you step into the humid morning air, your eyes betray you. They lift, searching past the foggy western fence line.

And there he is.

Joel Miller.

Barely more than a silhouette among the thick trees, but unmistakable. Broad shoulders, dark denim, that familiar slouch. The moment you spot him, the rest of the world goes quiet. The sermon echoes uselessly in your ears. The guilt you should feel dissolves into something warmer, heavier, and far more dangerous.

A girl like you was never meant to look at a man like Joel Miller. Everyone in town knew that.

But you can’t stop.

He’s lived in your head for months now, playing on an endless loop. The way smoke curls past his plush lips. The permanent downturn of his mouth. Those thick arms carrying the weight of something dark and heavy no one else seems to understand. He’s rough in all the ways you’ve been taught to avoid. Weathered, older, faithless. The kind of man who makes your skin feel too tight and your stomach flutter with something that definitely isn’t holy.

He isn’t a religious man. Hasn’t been since long before you were born. After everything he lost, maybe he decided God had nothing left to offer him.

You’re starting to wonder the same thing.

They say Joel used to be different. The perfect man. Regular church attendee. Owner of the only decent contracting business in town. The kind of man who hosted holidays and made women blush behind their husbands backs. Even your own mother had once quietly admitted with a guilty sigh, that she used to feel jealousy toward his late wife.

He was everything you weren’t. Older. Experienced. Broken in ways that made him real. And maybe that’s why the first time you truly noticed him, something inside you cracked open. A dangerous man. A dangerous game.

And you wanted, needed, to play it.

After one post-service breakfast, you finally worked up the courage to ask.

“Mama? Who’s he?”

Your mother’s lips had tightened into a thin line, her eyes narrowing toward the man waiting at the counter. “Joel Miller. Stay away from him, young lady. He ain’t… right with the Lord. Done some bad things.”

You’d mouthed his name silently into your palm like a secret, the stack of hotcakes in front of you suddenly tasteless. From that day on, you couldn’t look away.

Growing up in a religious household left no room for boys. They were forbidden. Dangerous distractions. But Joel wasn’t a boy. He was a man. The first one who ever made your pulse race just by existing. Dark-washed denim, thick shoulders, grey-streaked hair… the image burned itself into your mind and refused to leave. At first you told yourself it was just the devil testing your innocence.

Now you’re not so sure.

In the beginning, the word was God.

But now?

The word lives somewhere out in those trees.

Approaching the fields west of the church is the most nerve-wracking moment of your life. Lying to the congregation about feeling ‘ill’ had been both harder and easier than you expected. It felt wrong. But the pull toward Joel Miller felt stronger. You decided it was worth it.

The fence sits far enough away, hidden behind thick trees with the rugged road running alongside it. You walk with a wobble in your step, glancing over your shoulder every few seconds. Prying eyes and ears were everywhere. You couldn’t imagine what they’d say if they knew their favorite good girl was sneaking off to see him.

He’s already there.

Thick arms crossed over the fence, dressed in old denim, a cigarette hanging from his plush lips. A deep, racing pang drops in your stomach the second his dark eyes settle on you. Seeing him from a distance was one thing. He never looked at you then.

Now he does.

“Well, this oughta be damn good,” he drawls, voice low and rough like gravel.

Your eyes widen, heart kicking hard against your ribs. Up close, he’s so much more than you imagined. Tan skin glistening in the humid air, deep chocolate-brown eyes, age lines carved across his face like winding paths. Intimidating in his beauty. He looks at you like you’re a nuisance, and you feel nowhere near as brave as you thought you were.

“You—you’re Joel?” you squeak out, arms hanging awkwardly at your sides as you take small, careful steps toward him. The tall weeds catch at your bare ankles. With every step closer, you catch the warm scent of cedar-wood and tobacco rolling off him.

He looks you up and down slowly, his gaze catching on the hem of your church dress for a beat before his jaw clenches. “Shouldn’t you be at church, sweetheart?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.

You glance back at the distant steeple, then at him with a nervous smile. “I told them I was ill.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” His tone drips with amusement and disbelief. “Just to go on a little play-date with Joel?”

“I just…” You hesitate, swallowing hard. “I see you here every week, and I wanted to say hi.”

Joel chuckles sharply, rolling his shoulders as he walks toward you with heavy, weighted steps. He looks perturbed, brows knitted in confusion, like he can’t figure out what the hell a girl like you could possibly want from him. You understand how it looks.

“Stalkin’ me now?”

You wince, fingers twisting in the hem of your dress. “No, no! I’m not…” Your voice gets quieter. “Stalking.”

He scoffs, takes a long drag from his cigarette, then stamps it out under his heavy boot. “Hang out with one of them church boys or somethin’.”

The next time you come back to the fence, it’s after church again. You’d skipped after-service breakfast with a lie about a “bible study with friends.” It worked. Your mother didn’t suspect a thing.

“Listen, honey,” Joel says as soon as his figure approaches, stopping every thought in your head. “I told you to go back to your little church.”

You shrug, trying to look casual. “I’m always at church.”

“Christ,” he mutters, rubbing between his brows with his thumb. “What are you doin’?”

“I never see you around,” you say softly, glancing up at his face. “Guess I thought you looked lonely?”

He lets out a sharp, cynical laugh. “Who said that was a problem?”

You fumble, swallowing. “It gets lonely here. I don’t like it.”

He watches the smoke curl from his cigarette before flicking the ash. “Hm.”

After a long beat of silence, you continue, voice light. “If I don’t like it… I just thought you wouldn’t either.”

Nothing.

“You probably shouldn’t be smoking,” you offer quietly. “Bad for you.”

He stalks closer, leaning down until you feel the heat of him. A dark glint flashes in his eyes. “What, y’gonna get me in trouble or somethin’?”

Your lip quivers, pulse thrumming wildly in your throat. “No. I’ll give you a free pass… this time.”

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even crack a smirk. Just waves his hand in annoyance and mutters a dry “Oh, great,” as he steps past you. His shoulder brushes yours, just barely, but the contact burns and lingers.

You wonder if he burns like you do, too.

You spent the whole week humiliated after last Sunday. Every desperate word you’d said replayed in your head on a cruel loop. But by the next Sunday, you were back at the fence anyway, heart pounding like it might give out.

This time you brought a peace offering.

You spotted him leaning against the fence, forearms resting on the wood, wide back turned to you as he rolled an unlit cigarette between his fingers. You’d sat through service breakfast but saved one buttermilk hotcake.

Tiptoeing closer, a stray branch snapped under your shoe. He flinched and turned. His dark brown eyes dropped straight to the container in your hands.

He stared at it like it was dangerous, jaw tight, a muscle jumping in his cheek. “Hell’s that?”

You set it carefully on the fence post between you. “It’s breakfast,” you murmured, sliding it closer. “You like hotcakes?”

He looked from the box to your face and back down. “No.”

“Eat it, please.”

The air felt thicker, heavier. You knew he liked hotcakes. You’d watched him order them almost every Sunday for three years.

Ten quiet minutes passed. Finally, he sighed loudly, opened the container, and poked at the pancake with the plastic fork like it might fight back. Your heart skipped as he started eating. When you turned to leave, your chest felt lighter than it had in days. You didn’t look back, but you could feel his eyes following you the entire way.

For the next few Sundays, you keep showing up. Sometimes you talk for a few minutes. Sometimes you stay for a whole afternoon. Some days he tolerated you. Other days he looked like he pitied the silly church girl who wouldn’t leave him alone.

Your mom had been working more overtime, which gave you more stolen afternoons hidden in the trees.

You were almost always waiting at the fence before he got there, slipping away minutes after service ended.

You still knew almost nothing about him, and it gnawed at you. The desire to understand this closed-off man felt overwhelming. Sharing pieces of your own life came easy, but he had lived whole lifetimes compared to yours. It made you feel small. Eager in a way that embarrassed you.

You thought about stopping more than once. The guilt sat heavy in your chest, planted there by years of sermons and warnings. But it was too easy to come back. Too easy to braid your hair soft, gloss your lips, and lie about where you were going. He was painfully handsome — the kind of handsome that made your knees weak and your confidence disappear. On good days he could even be funny, grumbling about nosy neighbors or that ugly little white dog he swore was “fuckin’ nuts.” Even on his bad days, when he told you to leave him alone, he always came back to where you waited.

In your dreams and quiet prayers, you told yourself he cared for your company… in his own quiet, guarded way.

The day Joel Miller kisses you, everything changes.

You were under the hidden canopy of your usual tree, late afternoon light filtering through the leaves. Him with his cigarettes, you with your sketchbook. The silence between you had become comfortable. Just pencil on paper, mourning doves, and the slow exhale of his smoke.

“Joel?” You lifted your sketchbook. “Is it okay if I draw?”

A grunt. “Y’draw?”

“Yeah.”

He looks especially good today. Aquiline nose catching the sunlight. Plush, pouty lips. Greyed curls softer in the warm glow.

Your pencil moves on its own accord. You steal glances at him until the page starts to look like his face. He notices. When he leans over to peek, you hug the sketchbook to your chest.

“C’mon, lemme see—”

“No! Not finished!”

Joel huffed a low laugh. “Can’t be that fuckin’ bad. I can’t draw a lick.”

“No.”

He shrugged. “Ouch.”

You closed the book and held it in your lap. The silence grew heavier, charged. Every time you looked at him, he was already watching you with an expression you couldn’t read.

“You did somethin’ different,” he said after a while.

“Huh?”

He pointed at your hair, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Braids. One instead of two.”

“You noticed?”

“How couldn’t I?”

He looked away like he was annoyed at himself for admitting it. The silence stretched, thick and electric, until his eyes returned to you. Dark, heavy, full of something that made your breath catch.

“Alright, I’m sayin’ it.” He reached over, yanked the journal from your hands and tossed it aside. Before you could protest, his broad frame loomed over you. “Y’wanna kiss me or what?”

Your mind went blank.

“What!”

“I saw that damn doodle of me.”

“Joel, that’s not funny—”

“Oh gimme a break, honey. Don’t think I ain’t noticed.”

Your face fell into your hands, voice muffled. “I’m… sorry, it’s stupid—”

He gently pulled your hands away, pressing a rough thumb to your glossed lips. “Lemme give you a damn kiss, sweetheart.”

Your throat tightened. He meant it.

“I—are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

You shuddered, barely able to meet those deep brown eyes. He tilted his head and brushed your cheek with his knuckles, slow and careful. Then he leaned in, lips hovering just above yours. Your eyes fluttered shut, breath catching.

His mouth met yours — dry, soft, and devastating. A soft moan slipped from you. His hand cradled the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his tongue traced your lips, asking. You opened for him, humming at the slow, warm slide of his tongue against yours. It was the best kiss you’d ever had. The only one that mattered.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard. You rubbed your thumbs over his ears and pressed one more shy kiss to his mustache.

Nothing would ever feel that good again.

“Was that… okay?” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes wide and dark. He clears his throat. “Yeah.”

“Are you okay, Joel?”

“Yeah. M’okay.”

Ever since Joel kissed you, you’ve turned into a seventeen-year-old schoolgirl all over again. Doodling his name in the margins of your notebooks. Daydreaming about stolen moments. Yearning for a world where it was only you and him. No mom, no supposed friends, just the heavy weight of his world that you believed you could carry. That would be enough.

Joel wasn’t your first kiss, but he was the first one that meant something real. The softness of his lips, the brush of his greyed mustache, the careful way his hands held you. It was the kind of kiss you used to pray to God you’d experience just once.

His attitude toward you had started to shift, slowly. He wasn’t an open book, but little revelations spilled out more easily now. You learned he liked his coffee black after showing up one afternoon with two steaming paper cups. You listened quietly while he vented about his brother causing trouble down in Houston. You didn’t like black coffee, but you drank it anyway, memorizing the way his eyes glinted when he talked, the rare passion in his voice.

You especially memorized the way he kissed you when there was nothing left to say.

Still, your fears had only grown. How many more excuses could you make before your mother caught on?

You didn’t want to know.

The heavy scrape of Joel’s boots stopped the moment he saw you leaning against the fence, white church skirt fluttering in the humid air. He sighed. “Shouldn’t be here. Could be spotted.”

You pushed off the fence with a smile spreading across your face and walked toward him like something magnetic was pulling you. “I don’t think they’ve noticed.”

He flicked his lighter, popping a cigarette between his lips with a tight expression. Almost like the idea of the two of you being discovered bothered him. In some world you wished it didn’t, but the fear of what your community would do if they found out weighed on you too. Joel was nothing to be ashamed of. But the punishment you’d face… that was harder to ignore.

“Listen,” he said, lowering his voice and leaning in like he was sharing a secret. He was so close you could smell the cedarwood of his shampoo. It was the same one every man in town used, but on him it was perfect. The best thing you’d ever smelled. “If you wanna keep buggin’ me, you can find me at the field down by the river bank.”

“When?” you whispered, eyes bright with eagerness.

He took the end of your braid between his thick fingers, rubbing the soft hair. Your gaze drifted between his fingers and the plump curve of his mouth, and heat pooled low in your belly. Shame twisted in your stomach. He was otherworldly compared to your dull world.

He crushes his cigarette with a boot. “Saturday, in the evenin’. Less risk.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, brushing his thumb across your temple. “Reckon around nine?”

Compromising your morals for Joel Miller felt like second nature to you. His sweet words, the way he could make you feel so appreciated, outweighed anything else. Any red flag in your brain that told you to run from him was torn down and disregarded. It isn’t okay. You know he has no right looking at you the way he does. But for as long as he thinks you’re worth any time of day, it is his right.

It’s 9:30. You’re at the bank of the river, half wondering if Joel will show up. The new October air pushes at your hair and sends chills down your bare shoulders. It feels awkward, almost humiliating, to wait for Joel. His signals were certainly not mixed back when he first arranged this change of scenery, but now you weren't so sure.

Because he is late.

Until the grass rustles from behind you.

You jump, bewildered at the scratch of the tall grass from behind you. From there is Joel, creeping through the dusk and over to where you sit.

“You scared me!” Chest heaving, you playfully laugh relief coursing through your veins.

“Sorry, had to take care f’somethin’.” Joel cracks a smirk, settling down next to your form with a strained groan. Next to him sits a six pack of beer, making you raise an eyebrow.

“Beer?”

Joel scoffs, bumping your shoulder playfully with an elbow. “Yeah yeah, lemme have my damn treat.”

You frown jokingly, pouting your lip out and crossing your arms. “No treat for me?”

“Huh. So old Joel ain't enough, huh?”

A blush blooms across your cheeks, making you tuck your chin into your palm to hide your bashful smile. “Maybe you are…” You mumble into your hand.

“What was that?” His voice drops a pitch, hand moving to brush away the hair that falls into your eyes.

“Nothin’...”

“Nothin’?”

“Mm-mm.”

Joel relents with a smirk, popping open a beer and taking a long swig. His tanned throat, glowing with a sheen of sweat in the warm evening dusk, bobs as he swallows. You watch him in silence, save for the singing crickets overtaking the both of you. Heaviness, a smoldering heat, settles in your abdomen. Growing hotter and hotter.

“Maybe you are, too.” Joel speaks up after a moment, eyes heavy lidded and beer now forgotten.

When he pushes you down, making you disappear into the privacy of the tall grass, you let him. His hands, calloused and aged, push your little babydoll up your stomach. Watching him level his face to your panties fills you with arousal fueled panic.

“Wait- Joel.” 

Joel immediately pauses, hands hovering over the skin of your thighs. He tilts his head curiously, mouth set in a line, pupils blown out black. A sigh leaves your lips as you try to find the words for what you were feeling. Nerves, along with a new excitement of possibly losing your virginity to Joel, fought hand in hand with biblical guilt. Disappointment creeps across your skin because you wanted, so desperately, to appear sure. But you weren’t.

“Sugar. You ain’t ever done this, have’ya?” The corner of his lips soften into something understanding, a rarity. Softness. Pride is the only emotion you could feel, because Joel is truly beautiful, complications and all.

Shaking your head, you sit up, wrapping your arms around his thick neck. The muscles there tense as you do so, making you smile. For a moment, he watches you, nosing against your cheek, mustache itching your skin. Soft and gritty.

“Gon’ let me show you, sweet thing?” He whispers against your cheek, leaning forward to bring you both back to the ground. Big hands cradle the back of your head, forcing you to look him straight in the eyes.

On impulse, you want to look away, but his eyes make it impossible. Big and brown, pupils blown to astronomical proportions.

“What do- what do you wanna show me?” 

“Want me to kiss you, down ther’?” He emphasizes his question with his brows while moving a hand to rest on your pubic bone. Heat blooms across your stomach and thighs at the mere touch. New and inviting, you never knew a man could make you feel like this.

“Yes.” You squeak out, placing a feather-like kiss on his pulsing temple.

Joel shoulders tense, just a touch, before softening again. He clears his throat, eyes darting to the cross that sits between your breasts, glinting in the moonlight. You follow his eyes, cheeks flushing as you realize. The ultimate sin.

A sin to love.

He takes the clasp from around your neck, unhooking the dainty chain, before chucking the sterling silver towards the trees, disappearing amongst the tall grass. Tears well in your eyes as you consider his action. They weren't tears of sadness, but tears of relief at the burden that was placed at you at such a young age being lifted off your shoulders. You realize something that kills you.

You don’t have to be a good girl when Joel is around.

“It’s okay, sweet thing.”

Joel kisses at the single tear that falls down your cheek before sliding back down to settle between your legs. Hooking your socked feet over his shoulders, you watch him kiss your inner thighs, sucking small marks into them. Prickling heat blooms from each little blemish he leaves behind on your skin. You can tell he’s going gentle tonight, conflicting with the animalistic look in his eyes.

“Mm, go-, yes..” You moan with closed eyes, breathy and high as he observes your reactions to his touch. A large hand rubs your lower belly and the other settles on top of your thigh, holding you open for him.

“You like that? Like bein’ a little bad girl f’me?” He presses, a dark smile spreading across his face, fingers creeping closer and closer to the softness of your clothed pussy just beyond the edge of your thighs.

“Please-” You beg, increasingly impatient, hips twitching and rolling toward his mouth like you can’t help it.

He ignores your impatience, instead pressing his fingers harder into your inner thighs, keeping you spread wide. “Answer me, sweet thing.”

“Bad girl…” you whimper, the words making your pussy throb.

“Thats it. That's good.” He moves kisses from your thighs to the skin just above your panty line, caressing the softness with his thick tongue. “Mm. Fuck, honey.”

You lift up your head to watch him skillfully lick you. “That's so…” You're so breathless that you choke on your words, head falling back down against the grass as pleasure sparks through you.

“Shh, shh, lemme take these pretty lil’ panties off.” He hooks his fingers into the lacey band, sliding them down your knees and pocketing them like a filthy trophy.

You close your eyes, insecurity falling over you when he goes completely silent. You know Joel has seen his fair share of women at his age,

“Oh fuck.” He croaks out, voice cracking on the last word, raw with hunger. Wrapping his strong arms around your thighs, he has you completely pinned open. Your eyes open and relief floods you when he lands a heavy, open-mouthed kiss against your clit. “That's it… open your eyes f’me, baby. Let me see you.”

After a couple more wet kisses on the hood of your clit, he finally dives into your folds, sucking them into his hot mouth with obscene, filthy sounds. As he sucks on them with his lips, groaning at the taste like a man starved, his tongue joins in. He traces the tip of it to prod hotly at your tight little hole. Not penetrating, but just barely breaching you. Your hips buck softly and you grind against his face, chasing more of that wicked tongue.

“Oh, J-Joel-”

“Mhm?” He urges you on, doubling down on his debauched sucks, licking and slurping messily through your dripping folds. The mix of his saliva and your slick fluids slide like warm molasses down your pussy and between your cheeks. Messy. Perfect. Filthy.

His mouth pops as he releases your clit, forehead falling against the thatch of hair sitting pretty above it. His hot pants brush against your swollen pussy, making you buck up into him again, whimpering pathetically.

“Oh my god baby. Look at how pretty you are. Jesus,” he mutters, voice thick with lust, before diving right back in. This time he slides his tongue all the way inside you. Akin to the feeling of a hot brand, you clench hard around the thick muscle, crying out into the warm night air above you. Your fingers claw desperately at the earth, thighs tightening around his ears in complete desperation as you ride his tongue.

“P-pretty?” You borderline sob, tears filling your waterline at the insane sensations Joel fills you with.

He rests his head over your inner thigh, pressing a sloppy kiss over your pussy once more. “Fuckin’ really. Shit, that's a pretty little pussy.” He slides a single thick finger over your entrance, teasing, making you squirm and push against it. “Ohh, shh, shh. Such a needy girl.”

Biting your lip, you sit up on your elbows, watching the tip of his finger circle your dripping hole. “Are you gonna..” His finger suddenly dips in one smooth glide, although tight, completely inside of you. You shriek, falling back down on the ground again as your belly wildly spasms. “Oh, Joel!”

His finger curls upwards, seeking and striking your sensitive spot with devastating ease. Another gush of your slick coats his hand, making him groan deep in his chest. “Thats a good girl, fuck.”

When another thick finger slides alongside his other into your pussy, you feel completely stretched out, full in the most sinful way. Sliding your hand into his free one, you grip tight, nails digging into his skin.

He interlaces his fingers through yours, squeezing back. Humming to himself, he moves above your clit, spitting on it thickly. Twisting his fingers inside of you with increased pressure, he begins to rub his nose into your soaking clit, panting while he does. The pressure is addictingly overstimulating and you don’t know what sensation to focus on as you grind messily against his face and fingers.

“I feel like…”

He moans against your pussy, licking your folds with long, filthy passes of his tongue. “Let it happen, cum, right now. Wanna feel you.”

“I’m so close…!”

He bares his teeth, doubling down on the curls of his fingers with a speed that renders you dumb. “Cum for Joel, sweetheart. Be a good girl and cum on my tongue.”

With that, you completely shatter. Your back arches violently and your pussy spasms hard around his fingers as you go completely dumb. Ears ringing, feeling unlike any orgasm you’d ever given yourself. When you come back down you’re sobbing into the sky, eyes returning to focus, thighs still shaking around his head.

You hiss when he slides his fingers out and brings them to your lips. Without thinking, you suck them into your mouth, savoring the taste of yourself mixed with the saltiness of his skin. It’s a strange taste but you love the idea of tasting what he did to you.

“I-didn’t know it could feel like- that…” You say breathlessly, unhooking your legs from around his neck, instead hooking them around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Yeah, s’ supposed to, when a man does a good job.” You catch the smug smile on his face. Clearly proud of his work.

You hold his scruffy jaw, kissing the bare patch in his facial hair. “You did a good job.”

Raising his brows, he attacks your neck and jaw with kisses. You giggle, ticklish, pushing his face away from yours. “Yeah, want more, baby?”

The mood grows more somber as you realize what the next step is. A line you’ve never crossed before. You weren’t ignorant to the concept of sex, of course.

But virginity. Your pride.

But you know what you want, what you need.

“More meaning… all the way?” Your voice is barely a whisper, shy but aching with need.

He nods, holding your chin gently between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up so you can’t hide from him. “Wanna go all the way, honey?”

Without a second thought, you answer, eager, heart hammering in your chest. “Yeah, yes. Please.”

“God, you’re so sweet.” And he kisses you again, mustache damp with your previous release. The mix of beer on his breath and your juices is an odd yet addicting taste that makes you moan softly into his mouth, your tongue sliding against his like you’re starving for him.

You part from his lips first, hands tentatively moving downwards to grip his belt. Looking at you from beneath thick lashes, he nods with a dirty smile, urging you to continue. So you do, fumbling for his belt with trembling hands. A mumble of frustration leaves you as the belt gets caught on the loops. He chuckles, yanking the belt and discarding it.

“Thank you baby.” Kissing the middle of your forehead, he shoves his jeans down his meaty thighs, revealing black boxer shorts.

Jesus.

You freeze, mouth fluttering open in shock at the sight before you. Even with the fabric covering him, you can see it all. Solid, manly, everything you’d imagined Joel as. Bringing your hand back down, you brush your knuckles over the growing wet patch at the front of his briefs. Immediately, he hisses, as if in pain, rocking his hips forward toward the friction. Smiling wide, proud, you grow firmer with your touches, squeezing and stroking him through the fabric.

Biting your lip, you circle a thumb over his growing bulge. “It’s alright?”

“Fuck, yes sweet thing. Lemme- here. Lemme pull 'em down.”

You clasp his hands into yours, stopping his action. When he looks at you, he looks concerned.

“If you don’t wanna-”

You interrupt him with urgency in your voice. “No! Maybe- could I do it?”

He ponders this for a moment, eyes fluttering closed before he breathes out. “Fuck, yeah. Okay.”

He sits back on his knees, allowing you to crawl between his thick thighs, your hands shaking with nerves and excitement.

“You sure?” He asks, stroking your cheek with a thumb, his voice rough but gentle.

“I think I can…”

Closing your eyes, you hook your trembling fingers into the waist band, dragging the cotton material down slowly. The material catches for a second, so you pull, the heavy weight of him springing up against his stomach. Gulping, you crack open your eyes, heart racing.

Words are unable to describe the feeling of seeing him bared in front of your very eyes. Your hands now rocked with tremors grip his thighs for support as you are now speechless. Thick, surrounded by wiry greys at the base, and absolutely throbbing. It sits heavy, unimaginably hard for you. A hunger unlike any other makes you salivate.

You look up at him, eyes wide with excitement. “He’s so…” You chuckle softly, moving your hands to hover over the intense heat that radiates from him. “Oh my god, Joel.”

“Yeah?” He grabs himself at the base, moving his cock side to side as if to beckon you in. “Wanna touch ‘im?”

Eagerly, you nod, wrapping a hand gently around his firm length. He immediately hisses, holding the back of your head to steady himself, nodding. You hold his eyes, continuing to squeeze and get used to the throbbing beat from under the wrinkled skin. A sense of pride fills you at the pained pleasured sounds that leave Joel’s lips. Leaning in, you press a glossy kiss against the tip, making him loudly choke on his air.

He grits his teeth, head falling back as your slick knuckles glide up and down his length. Your rhythm is clumsy but you keep your fist tight. Watching his thighs tremble and hearing his breathy moans encourages you to keep going, stroking him a little faster, smearing the leaking pre-cum down his shaft.

But Joel takes hold of your wrist, halting your actions. “Stop, baby.”

“Sorry… I just...” You feel deflated and dejected. Wondering if he even liked what you were doing.

But Joel seems to pick up on your feeling, sliding a finger under your jaw, tilting your head up toward him. “I love it, sweet thing. But I need to be inside of you, okay?”

“Oh. Yeah, okay.”

“You can kiss up on him more next time. Hm?”

Shyly, you smile and nod. Joel grunts as he lays you back down into the grass, making sure to be as gentle as possible. It hinders your fears into something else entirely. Trusting him now, more than ever, you take a deep breath.

You feel the tip of his cock push against your entrance, making you clench in anticipation. Glancing down, you watch his thick fingers wrap around his throbbing length, a completely dizzying sight. He presses the underside of his heavy cock against your pussy, thrusting slowly through your slick folds, coating himself in your wetness. You watch his mouth drop open, eyes glued to every wet slide. His flesh is so soft and warm against your most sensitive skin. Blurts of precum smear over your pussy, marking you.

Sharp gasps fly from your throat when he slaps his thick cock against your pussy once, twice, three times. The lewd, wet smacking sounds are utterly debauched.

You’re completely overwhelmed. Bucking your hips up greedily, you reach for his face and pull him down into a desperate kiss, tongues sliding messily as you beg him without words.

When he parts from you, breathing ragged, he angles his hips. The fat tip of his cock catches on your tight little entrance. He takes gentle handfuls of your breasts, pinching and rolling your hard nipples between his thumb and forefingers. It sends electric shocks straight to your clit and you clench around nothing, dripping even more for him.

“Want him?” he rasps, voice wrecked.

“Give me it, please…!” You whimper, rolling your hips up again, trying to pull him inside.

“Yep, there ya go. God. Fuck.”

He starts pushing in. The stretch is immediate and intense. You gasp sharply, nails digging into his shoulders as your tight pussy struggles to take his thick cock.

“It’s so big Joel, I can’t. Can’t.”

“Baby, no. I know you can. Okay?” He rubs slow circles on your lower belly, voice low and soothing even as his jaw clenches with restraint. “Just breathe, sweet thing. Let me in.”

“I can, I can!” You nod frantically, legs trembling around his waist as you try to relax for him.

“Yeah, that's right. Good girl.”

“You’re- you’re inside me.” Your voice breaks into a whine as he sinks deeper.

He rubs your lower belly again, pressing down firmly so you can feel exactly where he is splitting you open. “Mhm, right here honey. Right here. Feel that?”

Mouth dropping open, you whine loudly. “Joel, it feels so good.”

Groaning through his teeth, he emphasizes with a slow grind. “Yeah? S’that feel good, baby?”

The sensation of his thick cock dragging through your sodden walls is foreign and slightly painful, but the overwhelming fullness makes your eyes roll back. You know it’ll get better. Shuddering, you hug his body tighter, Joel’s plush stomach pressing against yours, grounding you. When he finally bottoms out, buried to the hilt in your virgin cunt, you both sigh in relief, foreheads pressed together.

He groans deep in his chest, slowly grinding his hips against yours, wiry grey hairs catching on your swollen clit with every filthy roll. The contrast of his rough hair against your soft skin turns you on more than it should. All you can do is helplessly cry out, the burn of his entrance melting into overwhelming, toe-curling pressure as you start rolling your hips up to meet him.

Hissing through his teeth, he begins to slide his cock out to the tip, leaving you aching and empty for a moment. “Okay, m’ movin’ now. Just breathe baby.”

A sharp gasp rips from your throat and your back arches hard. “I— I’m breathin’!”

“Can’t believe you’re lettin’ me take this, take you,” he growls, voice breaking with lust.

“Bad girl…” you moan obediently, the words making your pussy flutter around him.

“You’re a bad girl, y’hear?”

Something in both of you snaps, raw and carnal. You pull your thighs higher toward your chest and wind your arms tight around his neck, bouncing your hips back to meet his thrusts. Drops of sweat roll down his forehead, dripping into the hollow of your collarbones as he plants his hands on your back. Hoisting you slightly above the grass and sitting back on his knees, he picks up his animalistic pace, pinning you to him. With nowhere to go, you have no choice but to sob in pleasure, taking every deep, stabbing thrust of his thick cock like the desperate little thing you are.

“Y’always wanted this.” He chokes out, tongue falling out to lave wet and messy over your sweaty neck. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes—” you sob, voice cracking as you cling to him tighter, nails digging into his broad back. “Yes, Joel, wanted it so bad…!”

He groans at your words, hips snapping forward harder, driving his thick cock deep into your soaked pussy with wet, filthy sounds that echo in the tall grass. You meet every thrust desperately, rolling your hips up to take him even deeper, your tight walls fluttering and squeezing around him like you never want to let go.

“Fuck, that’s my bad girl,” he growls against your throat, biting down gently before soothing it with his tongue. “Who's my sweet thing, hm?”

You whimper loudly, legs locked around his waist as you grind against him, chasing the drag of his cock against that perfect spot inside you. The stretch burns so good now, the pain long melted into pure, overwhelming pleasure. Every deep thrust makes your tits bounce and your breath hitch.

“Joel— Joel, please— harder,” you beg, voice breathy and broken. You pull his face down to yours, kissing him messily, tongues sliding together as you moan into his mouth.

He gives you exactly what you ask for. His pace turns punishing, animalistic. He fucks you deep and rough, the sound of skin slapping skin loud in the quiet night. Sweat drips from his chest onto yours as he pins you down, one big hand gripping your thigh hard enough to bruise.

“Look at you,” he pants, eyes dark and wild as he watches his thick cock disappear inside your dripping pussy again and again. “Taking my cock so well. Such a pretty little thing, letting an old man ruin you out here in the grass.”

You cry out, back arching sharply as another wave of pleasure crashes through you. Your hands roam desperately over his back, his shoulders, his neck. Pulling him in impossibly closer.

“I’m yours... I’m your bad girl,” you whimper, the words spilling out between moans. “Only yours, Joel.”

“Fuck— that’s right.” His voice breaks. He sits back on his knees again, hoisting your hips higher so he can watch every inch of his cock sliding in and out of you. The new angle makes you see stars. “Look how wet you are, honey. Making such a mess all over me.”

You can’t stop the broken sounds falling from your lips. Your hands fly up to grip his forearms, holding on as he pounds into you, the wet squelch of your pussy obscene with every thrust. The pressure builds fast and overwhelming.

“Joel— I’m gonna— I’m close again—”

“Yeah? Cum on my cock, sweet thing. Let me feel this tight little pussy milk me.” He reaches down and rubs firm circles over your swollen clit with his thumb, never slowing his brutal rhythm.

You shatter hard, crying out his name as your orgasm rips through you. Your walls clamp down around his thick cock, pulsing and fluttering as waves of pleasure crash over you. Joel curses loudly, hips stuttering as he fucks you through it, drawing it out until you’re shaking and sobbing beneath him.

He doesn’t stop. He leans back over you, pressing you into the grass with his weight as his thrusts turn shorter, deeper, more desperate.

“Gonna fill you up, baby,” he groans into your neck, voice rough and wrecked. “You want that? Want me to cum deep inside this pretty pussy?”

“Yes— please, Joel— please cum inside me,” you beg, wrapping your arms and legs around him completely, holding him as close as you can while your hips keep rolling up to meet him.

With a deep, guttural groan, Joel buries himself to the hilt and cums hard. You feel every thick pulse as he spills inside you, hot and endless, filling your virgin cunt until it leaks out around his cock. He grinds slow and deep through it, like he wants to push every drop as far inside you as possible.

For a long moment, the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the crickets around you.

Joel stays buried inside you, arms wrapped tight around your trembling body as he presses soft, almost reverent kisses to your temple, your cheek, your swollen lips.

“You did so good, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “So fucking good for me.”

You cling to him, heart racing, pussy still fluttering around his softening cock. The weight of what you just did settles over you, but all you feel is warm, sated, and completely his.

For a long moment, the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the crickets chirping around you.

Joel stays buried deep inside you, arms wrapped tight around your trembling body as he presses soft, almost reverent kisses to your temple, your cheek, your swollen lips.

“You did so good, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice hoarse and wrecked. “So fuckin’ good for me.”

You cling to him, heart still racing, your pussy fluttering around his softening cock. His cum is warm and sticky, slowly leaking out of you onto the flattened grass. The weight of what you just did settles heavy in your chest. Your church dress crumpled somewhere nearby, your body completely marked by the man you’re not supposed to want.

He eventually pulls out with a low groan, and you whimper at the loss. You can feel the mess immediately—his thick release dripping down your thighs, mixing with how wet you still are. Joel sighs, reaching for the garment and pulling it over your weakened body.

“Stay right here, darlin’,” he says quietly, tugging his jeans back up but leaving them unbuttoned. “Gotta show you why I was late.”

You watch, still dazed and boneless, as he reaches into the inner pocket of his thick jacket and pulls out a crumpled brown paper bag. He opens it for you, showing you the three packs of Plan B sitting inside, along with the receipt.

“Joel…” Your voice comes out small and breathless. You sit up slowly, reaching to take the bag. The sight of those boxes makes your stomach twist.

He rubs the back of his neck, jaw tight. “Had to drive out to the next town. That pharmacy that stays open late. Couldn’t risk gettin’ ‘em here in town.” His voice is gruff, almost guilty.

You swallow hard. “You planned it?”

“‘Dunno.” His big hand cups your face, thumb dragging slowly across your bottom lip. Those dark brown eyes are soft but still heavy.

The words sit heavy between you. You’re supposed to be a good church girl. Pure. Untouched. And instead you’re out here letting Joel Miller ruin you in the grass.

With him not knowing why.

You stuff the bag into your backpack before crawling onto his lap, completely beat.

“You regret it?” he asks, voice rough and eyes downcast.

“No,” you answer right away, burying your face in his neck. You breathe in the scent of sex and cedar. “Jus’ sore.”

His fingers press against the pudge of your stomach, making you wince. “Poor thing.”

He holds you tighter under the stars, rocking you gently, one big hand rubbing slow circles on your back.. For now, the world is just his heartbeat against yours.

The sun is dipping low when you spot him by the river again, that same broad frame leaning against the tree like he’s been waiting for you. Your heart does that stupid little flip. You smooth your dress down, clutch your bag tighter, and walk over, already feeling that warm ache starting low in your belly, pussy already getting slick just from seeing him.

You sit next to him, opening your bag and passing him a can of cold cola.

“Thanks, hun.”

Pretty quickly, your mind begins to reel with what activities you could get up to right now. The warm sensation of arousal begins to scratch at your belly. You are needy for him. Now that you’ve gotten a taste, you were constantly thinking about how he could please you. How you could please him. How badly you wanted his thick cock in your mouth, his cum on your tongue.

“So… what are we gonna do?” You sing-song, testing the waters. He seems to catch on pretty quickly about what you’re thinking with a smug grin.

“Why? Y’been thinkin’?”

You blush, pursing your lips together. “Well, I kinda wanted to try something.”

He wiggles his brows at you knowingly. “Go ahead, sweetie.”

“You know how you did that one thing?”

“What, my mouth on ya?”

“Y-yeah. That.” You avoid his eyes. “I wanted to… try on you?”

“Yeah? You wanna?” A dark smile spreads across his face, brows raised.

“Really bad,” you confess, beginning to carefully crawl between his legs. He huffs in disbelief, spreading out to accommodate you.

Sitting between his legs, you make work of the thick belt buckle, removing it with much more efficiency than before. You look up at him, a beaming smile on display.

“M’ proud of you, honey.” He says, patting the top of your head gently. You bite your lip, eyes going soft at the praise.

He’s proud of you.

Eagerly, high off the praise, you unbutton his pants. Pulling them down along with his boxers, his massive length is revealed to you once more, heavy and already leaking. Kissing at the drop of liquid at the tip, you make work of your hands, beginning to pump down his length. His head rolls back, gasping into the air with labored breaths. A giggle slips from your lips before you slip his tip into your mouth, sucking greedily.

“Fuck, good girl.” He pants, holding your roots with two hands. “That's a good girl.”

You pop off his cock, now lathing your tongue up and down over the swollen skin, tasting the salty musk of him. “Promise it’s good?”

“You're so good, baby.” He bucks his hips into your mouth, urging you to slide your mouth down, down, almost half way. You splutter, hands gripping his thighs, drool already spilling from the corners of your lips.

You suck eagerly, saliva flooding down his length, making obscene wet sounds as you bob on him. You're inexperienced, but you want to show Joel that you're just as capable of pleasing him. Eager to. Desperate to be his filthy little cocksucker.

And he thinks you're good.

Wrapping both hands around his cock, you stick out your tongue and attempt to push further, gagging wetly around his thickness. He moans, pulling you off of him.

“Jesus, don’t choke.” He grits, taking the tip and tapping it against your lips, smearing spit and precum across them. “Hear me?”

You nod, catching your breath all while mouthing at him, licking and kissing like you can’t get enough. “Yes. Promise.”

He brushes your hair back behind your ears before taking one of your hands and bringing it down lower. Your palm makes contact with his full, heavy balls.

“Oh. Oh, y'want my cum, don't ya?” He grits, tightening his grip in your hair. Wildly, you nod, sucking with increased vigor, hollowing your cheeks and slurping noisily. It makes him release another groan before he pulls you off him.

“No, c'mon. Keep using your hands.” He closes his eyes, thrusting up into your slick hand, chasing his orgasm. In amazement, you watch his face contort with his impending release, your own pussy throbbing and dripping into your panties.

“Oh fuck, fuck. Gonna cum honey. Gonna—”

On a last pump downward, his thighs lock up, trembling. Spurts of hot cum slide down your knuckles, the tacky fluid coating thickly. A gasp of amazement from you and another spurt hitting your cheek. Dipping forward, you stick out your tongue, running it curiously over the glands at the top, savoring the bitter-salty taste. One last spurt coats your tongue before he pulls you away from him.

“Fuckin’ christ, girl.”

“Is any of it true?” you ask softly, voice barely louder than the river’s murmur.

“What?” He asks lowly, his rough fingers still petting the back of your neck, toying with the baby hairs at your nape.

You bury your nose deeper into his collarbone, eyes closed, breathing him in. “What everybody says.”

He snorts, the sound rumbling through his chest beneath your cheek. “That I’m a serial killer? Reckon there might be some truth t’that.”

“Nooo, I’m serious, Joel.” You pull back just enough to look up at him, searching his face.

He relents with a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nah. None of it’s true.”

“None?” You tilt your head, still watching him closely.

“Suppose in this town, people ain’t got anything better to do.” His fingers keep tracing lazy patterns on your skin.

“Yeah, I understand.” You nuzzle back against him, content for the moment.

“Do you? Reckon everyone loses their minds over you.” His voice carries a hint of amusement, but you feel the weight of his gaze on you.

“I don’t know… they all think I’m good.” You shrug sheepishly, heat rising in your cheeks at the lie.

“I’d say they’re wrong.” His tone is low, knowing, like he can see straight through every wall you’ve ever built.

You respond with another sheepish shrug. There was so much people didn’t know, and the fact that Joel Miller could read you like an open book is just as scary as it is thrilling. He couldn’t be more right.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” you murmur against his skin, hoping to steer things back to safer ground.

He pauses for a while, fidgeting with a blade of grass between his fingers before speaking up quietly. “I play guitar. Sing.”

You can already picture it—Joel with a guitar in his hands, deep husky vocals and those confident fingers. Just the two of you here in the dusk, under the open sky. You’d be content forever. You hug his bicep tighter, resting your cheek against the solid muscle. “Gonna play me something sometime?”

“You wish,” he grumbles, though you catch the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“What was your daughter like?”

“No. Don’t.” His voice hardens instantly.

Your heart drops straight into your stomach. The relaxed energy between you shifts, turning bitterly cold and matching the evening breeze. Joel scoffs at the lost-puppy look in your eyes and stares off blankly into the moonlight, jaw tight.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice shaky and pinched as you press your face into the side of his neck, desperate to fix it.

“It ain’t your business to be stickin’ your nose in.”

“Sorry. Sorry.” The words tumble out, small and frantic.

“Better be.”

“I am,” you say, firmer this time, even as tears of frustration pool at your waterline.

After a few minutes of grueling silence, he’s stopped petting you. His arms hang limp at his sides, but you don’t pull away. You stay pressed against him, heart aching, hoping the rocky moment will pass.

A grunt vibrates in his chest as he pushes at your shoulder, peeling you off him. “Thinkin’ it’s best you go home.”

You hesitate, tears slipping freely down your flushed cheeks. “Do I have to?” Your voice cracks, barely above a whisper.

Joel gathers your things while you sit there helplessly, arms wrapped around your knees. For a moment he stops, looking down at your shaking frame. He sighs heavily, then pulls you up by the wrists and straightens the skirt of your dress with surprisingly gentle hands. After handing you your bag, he turns toward the river, shoulders rigid.

You don’t leave right away. People say things they don’t mean, right? He couldn’t really want you gone.

You sob the entire walk home.

When you get home, you realize the grave mistake you made. Crossing the line about his daughter was a terrible thing to do. It wasn’t yours to cross, especially when your relationship didn’t even have a label. He took your virginity. Was hot and then cold in the span of a second. Hides you like some dirty secret.

Is he ashamed of you?

You believe he is, after what you did. And it stung to think of all the progress you may have just unraveled. The thought sits heavy on your mind for the next six days, twisting in your gut until you almost don’t show up to the field.

But you do. You always do.

Hesitantly, Joel sits next to you in the grass, breaking you from your anxiety-induced stupor. “I was outta line,” he blurts out, eyes locked on the ground, brows creased in clear distress.

“Joel? What do you mean?” You sniffle, holding back the tears that threaten to spill over.

You know you’re downplaying how badly this has wrecked you. But you want him to know it’s okay for him to feel however he feels. He doesn’t owe you any explanation.

“Last weekend. Sunday.”

“I promise I’m not mad, Joel. It’s really okay,” you say softly, voice barely steady.

He takes your hand, his rough thumb petting slow circles over your soft skin. “Ain’t your fault, honey.”

You relent, letting his strong arms cradle your body, somewhat apologetically. “Okay, Joel.”

“I’m sorry,” he reiterates into your hairline, pressing soft kisses to the top of your scalp, breathing in your shampoo.

For a few moments that feel like hours, you let him hold you, your hands sliding down the dip of his spine. He does the same, fingers playing with the thin fabric at the back of your little white dress, rocking you gently against him.

Eventually you end up back in the grass, tangled up and full of everything Joel has to give you. He fucks you slow and deep this time, proving he’s sorry with every roll of his hips.

You forgive him.

Everyone knew where Joel Miller’s house was. Like the place of an urban legend. The humble home south at the edge of town, the one your family had driven past on the way to church more times than you could count. A beat-up pickup always parked crooked in the driveway, yard unkempt for years with grass grown wild and tall enough to brush your knees.

With your mom out of town for the whole week, the emptiness of your house had started to press in on you. The quiet was too loud. No TV, no one to talk to, nothing but your own brain.

That’s when the risky idea took root. Sneaking over to Joel’s place. It could blow your entire cover if you got caught, but the thrill of it made your skin tingle.

She won’t return. Nobody will find out. Just do it. He won’t mind.

His house is on the farthest end of the street. You realize you probably stick out like a sore thumb in your quiet little neighborhood, heart hammering as you pull your hood up tighter. You tighten the drawstrings, then skip quickly up the sidewalk toward his front door.

You lift your fist to the dark mahogany, hesitating for a long second. Taking a deep breath, you pull your hood down and knock firmly on the door, twice. A few seconds later, the door swings open to the sight of a disheveled Joel. Clearly he just woke up with his sleep-swollen eyes, messy hair sticking up in every direction, and nothing but a pair of loose sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He rubs his eyes, narrowing them as he realizes it’s you.

“Fuckin’ damn it. Of course.” Joel grabs your forearm and pulls you inside, making you yelp in surprise. The door slams shut behind you, and suddenly his thick arms are bracketing your body, caging you against the wood. His chest heaves, warm and solid against yours.

“The hell you doin’ here, baby?” he breathes hot against your face, eyes searching yours. They’re dark, stormy with want and that underlying thread of concern—like he wants to kiss you stupid and spank your ass all at the same time.

Your lips part as you glance from his mouth to his eyes. “Needed to see you.”

“Fuck,” he growls, and then his mouth crashes into yours.

The kiss is hungry, desperate, all teeth and tongue. You melt into it instantly, sliding your fingers up into the hair at his nape and tugging. He moans low into your mouth at the pull, the sound vibrating through you. His strong arms wind around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he forces a thick thigh between your legs. The sudden pressure makes you gasp and break the kiss, looking down at where your bodies meet.

“Joel…”

He smooths your hair back from your face with one big hand, eyes heavy-lidded and almost reverent as he takes you in. His lips brush your forehead, then the tip of your nose, then back up again. You shiver hard against him. He drags the bridge of his nose along your cheek, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses there until a dizzy little laugh slips from your lips. That makes him smile before he captures your mouth again, deeper this time.

He walks you backward into the living room without breaking the kiss, hands roaming everywhere. Squeezing your waist, sliding down to palm your ass, gripping your thigh. The heat in your belly is almost unbearable, the soft wet glide of his tongue making your knees weak. Your back hits the couch and he’s on you in seconds, climbing over you like he belongs there.

Your legs wrap around his waist on instinct, heels digging into his lower back to pull him closer. He settles on one elbow, the other hand rubbing slowly up your bare thigh, fingertips rough and warm.

“You bring ‘em?” he murmurs against your lips.

You blink up at him, dazed for a second. He raises his brows expectantly and it clicks. A shy smile tugs at your mouth. “One left, remember?”

A pleased look flashes in his eyes. “Suppose you came at a good time then. Makin’ soup tonight.”

“Do you have garlic bread?”

“No. White bread and butter work?”

You sigh dramatically but smile. “I guess…”

You didn’t end up having sex on his couch, much to your disappointment. Joel’s knees had other plans. But you did learn he makes a damn good bowl of soup.

You’re sitting across from him at his small kitchen table, eagerly shoving another piece of toast into your mouth. Joel chuckles low, the sound warm and rumbling.

“Just uh… put a little garlic powder on top of the butter,” he says, gesturing at your toast with his spoon. “Ain’t the same, but…”

“It’s perfect,” you mumble through a mouthful, trying not to stare at the way his dimples deepen when he smiles like that. He looks so good in this light with his shoulders hunched comfortably, sleeves rolled up, hair a little messy from your fingers earlier.

The domesticity of it all settles over you like a warm blanket. Eating dinner together under the soft glow of the kitchen light, far away from the watchful eyes of town, from your mother, from the church. Every now and then your eyes meet across the table and something soft and dangerous flickers between you. You’ve never felt this comfortable with anyone.

Joel clears his throat, drawing your attention. “I, uh… didn’t mean to leave you hangin’ earlier.”

“On the couch?” you ask, smirking a little as you scoop up more soup.

He nods, sheepish, scraping the bottom of his bowl. “Yeah. Couch ain’t exactly good for my knees.”

“Oh.”

He keeps going, voice low and mumbled. “Still feel like shit about what I did.”

“I shouldn’t have asked,” you say softly, setting your spoon down.

“No, no.” He creases his brows, sighing heavily. “Thing is… it surprised me, I suppose.”

“Everybody wants to know.”

“Yeah, but you wanted to know what my baby was like. Not how I lost her.”

You stay quiet, sliding your bowl aside so you can watch him. He looks so vulnerable sitting there with heavy shoulders, eyes fixed on the table like he’s completely ashamed. But he’s doing this for you.

“She was beautiful,” he says after a long pause, voice barely above a murmur, eyes glinting with quiet pride. “Perfect. Top of her class in everything. Stubborn as hell. Just like her old man.”

You reach across the table and take one of his big hands in both of yours. He lets you.

“She died in a car accident,” he continues, throat tight. “With her mama.”

“I’m so sorry, Joel.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t need to be sorry, darlin’. If anything… I’m sorry I couldn’t save her.”

“How could you have?” you whisper, squeezing his hand tighter. You lean over the table and press a gentle kiss to his jaw. You feel the tremble run through him, the way his breath catches. Then his warm hands come up to cradle your face, holding you there for a moment.

When you pull back, the heavy grief in his eyes has softened into something warmer, fonder. His lips tilt up just a little.

“C’mon, Joel,” you say softly, thumb brushing his knuckles. “Let’s clean up.”

You notice something left behind on the bathroom floor. Joel’s green flannel, balled up and inviting. You pick the fabric up, bringing it to your nose and taking a deep inhale. Notes of pine, cheap chologue, and his marlboro reds. Your skin crawls with perversion, depraved for savoring his scent like this, but you don't stop.

Even if the Lord is watching.

“Um, Joel?” You call from the bathroom, “can I wear this flannel?”

His heavy steps approach you, stopping at the door frame. At first, he didn't speak. He eyes you up in your towel, the fabric stopping just below your ass. Walking behind you, he wraps his arms around your waist, bare chest pressed up against your back.

He presses a kiss to your cheek, voice low and teasing. “You like it?”

“Smells like you.” You whisper, leaning back into his firm body.

Now you understand what it's like to be in love and you think that maybe he loves you too. He looks at you as if you’ve hung the moon in the sky, holds you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world.

You aren’t worried about the world anymore, you realize.

“Perverted little thing.” He snorts, rubbing your sides before parting from you. “Get dressed. I'll be in bed.”

Pulling the soft flannel over your body, you savor the scent of his soap, combined with his sweet musk. Uniquely his, it turns you on in ways unimaginable. You don’t think you could go the rest of the night without having him all to yourself, just one more time. You finish up in the bathroom and return to the bedroom where he waits in bed.

You’re already curled against him under the sheets when he pulls you closer, spooning you tight, one thick arm banded across your middle like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. The flannel you stole rides up your hips, bunching around your waist, and Joel’s bare cock, heavy and already leaking, right against the cleft of your ass. He rocks slow, lazy, rubbing the fat head up and down your slick folds without pushing in, just teasing.

“Greedy little girl,” he murmurs into the back of your neck, voice gravel-rough and warm. “Hm?” 

You whimper, pushing back into him, chasing that friction. “Joel… please.”

He chuckles low, the sound vibrating through your spine, and nips at your shoulder. One big hand slides down your belly, fingers parting your pussy so he can glide his cock through the mess you’ve already made. The wet sound is obscene in the quiet room. He coats himself in you, dragging the thick shaft over your swollen clit again and again until your thighs shake.

“Fuck—Joel—”

“Yeah, I know, baby.” He kisses the shell of your ear, then bites it gently. “You want it so bad... jus' drippin'.”

He lines up and sinks in with one smooth thrust, stretching you open in that perfect, burning way that makes your eyes roll. You moan loud into the pillow as he bottoms out, his hips flush to your ass, cock buried to the hilt.

“Shh, shh,” he soothes, even as he starts grinding deep, lazy circles that press right against that spot inside you. “That’s it. Take it like a good girl.”

The position keeps you locked together. His chest to your back, his arm caging you, one leg hooked over yours so you can’t do anything but feel him. Every slow roll of his hips makes your ass jiggle against his pelvis. He fucks you in deep, filthy little thrusts, never pulling out far, just stirring your insides while his hand snakes around to rub lazy circles over your clit.

You’re gasping, trembling, the flannel still clinging to your sweaty skin, carrying his scent everywhere. It makes you clench around him harder.

“Christ, you’re squeezin’ me so tight,” he groans, voice breaking. “Pussy’s fuckin’ greedy. God honey, please.”

“Yes...fuck—please, Joel—”

He speeds up just enough to make the bed creak, still cuddling you close, still whispering filthy praise against your hair. “That’s my girl. Let me feel you cum. Then I'll fill ya'.”

The words tip you over. You cry out, back arching, thighs clamping down as your orgasm crashes through you. Joel curses, hips stuttering, and then he’s coming too. Thick hot pulses deep inside you, painting your walls while he grinds through it, dragging it out until you’re both shaking and oversensitive.

He doesn’t pull out. Just stays buried, softening inside you, arms wrapped tight around you. His lips brush your temple, soft now, almost reverent.

“Jesus,” he whispers into your skin. “Fuck…”

“Can we… again?” you murmur, still breathless, pressing lazy kisses to his chest.

He cracks a tired smile, hugging your sleepy body tighter against his naked one. “M’sorry baby. Back is hurtin’ somethin’ awful.”

“If you lay down—”

“What, my failin’ back do somethin’ to you, honey?” His voice is low and teasing, a rough chuckle vibrating under your cheek.

“Maybe…” You trace a finger down his stomach, smiling against his skin.

“You’re losin’ it, girl,” he mutters, but there’s nothing but fondness in it. He yawns wide, shifting carefully so he can pull one heavy leg over yours, pinning you securely to him.

“Hey Joel?” The words sit right on the tip of your tongue. 

I love you. I need you. Please don’t ever leave me.

He makes a soft, sleepy sound. “Yeah, sweet thing?”

You pause, heart hammering. Tonight isn’t the night. You swallow it down, saving what you so desperately want to say for another time.

“Thank you for letting me spend the night,” you whisper instead.

You feel the small, fond chuckle rumble under your ear. “S’okay. Go to sleep now, okay?”

“Okay.”

Exhausted from the many orgasms and the warm, solid feeling of his arms around you, you slip easily into deep sleep.

“Honey. Wake up.”

“Mmm.” You grumble, pulling the comforter tighter over yourself.

He shakes your shoulder, pressing a kiss against it. “Honey, y’gonna go home soon?”

Yawning, you open your eyes, looking at the drizzling rain pattering against the window. You groan, hugging the pillow to you. “God, it's pouring…”

“M’sorry. I’d give you a lift, but you know how that would be.”

Now is your chance. To say everything that you want to say before you have to go out into the cold rain. Taking a deep breath, you toss away the pillow, rolling over to face him. He rests against the headboard, watching you with sleepy eyes and messy hair.

“Can’t we just…do it?” You begin, voice more impatient than you mean it to be. You catch yourself, dialing back into something fonder. “I mean, I guess I can’t stand hiding you.”

He scoffs, sitting up. “What?”

“Hear me out, we could really be together-”

“Y’serious?”

“Yes—”

He laughs, as cynically as he’d laughed that first time you’d met. “If that ain’t damn stupid. Hell ya thinkin’?”

Your face falls flat as you begin to regret everything you’ve said. “I just thought-”

You pause, lowering your voice as you hold back tears. “I didn’t think about that because I love you, Joel.”

He interrupts you. “About how fuckin’ screwed we’d be?

He sits up from the headrest, tossing the blankets away from his body. That's it. He goes eerily quiet, wide back now turned to you as he runs both hands through his hair.

But you won’t take it. Won’t take his cold shoulder. “Please don’t pretend I didn’t say that, Joel.”

“Nah.” He shakes his head, slipping his watch on. “Heard you loud and clear.”

“You’re upset. Why?”

“Ain’t upset.”

“Then-”

He snaps, saying what you always feared would be said.

“Should’ve never fuckin’ started this with you.”

“What?”

“Y’heard me.”

Dumbfounded, you watch him stomp around, yanking his jeans off the floor and stepping into them. Angrily fastening the button, he pulls his shirt on while making a beeline towards the bedroom door.

“You weren’t supposed to love me. You know it ain’t like that. Not here.”

“But, you were so sweet to me!” You exclaim, 

“Jesus…”

“Please, please don’t go-” Flying to your feet, sheet wrapped around your body, you reach to grab his bicep in an attempt to reason with him.

Joel steps into his boots, shaking his head in complete dismissal of your protests. Glancing over his shoulder at you, he says the words that shatter what's left of your resolve. 

“Think I'm gonna listen to naive fuckin’ thing like you?”

“No, no no-” 

Cries rock your chest as you try desperately to block him from breaching the doorway. When he clearly has no intention of staying, you thrust yourself into his arms, clinging onto him just like you did back at the river bank that very first time. “Don’t go.”

An angry growl is spat into your face as he grips your shoulders, spinning you around and sitting you down on the edge of his bed. You realize, you’ve never been this afraid in your life. Afraid of his roughness, yes, but absolutely afraid of losing the man who’d changed your entire perception of devotion.

“Fuckin’ tired of your damn cryin’, girl.”

“I’ll stop, I swear!”

“You won’t. All you do is cling onto me like a helpless fuckin’ thing. I ain't that man for you. It’s over.”

“You don't mean it-”

He shakes your shoulders in frustration. “No, I got what I wanted from you.”

You flinch as if his words physically burned you. His breaths are heavy—ragged, face deadlocked into an angry twitching expression. Bending down, Joel grabs for your little dress, tossing it onto your lap with a carelessness that is so unlike him. Tears break loose from your waterline and you half expect Joel to cave, admit he was wrong, and kiss your tears away.

“And you can leave.” He says with finality—no room for argument.

The silence that settles after Joel flees and slams the front door rings in your ears. Blood pools to your head as you openly break into sobs while pulling on your dress that was so carefully peeled from your body just hours before.

Walking from the bedroom to the front door, you carefully peek out the window, but not for your usual reasons. If Joel was out there, on his porch, you know you couldn't make it an inch out of his house. This time, you weren’t thinking about the nosy bystanders that usually take space in your brain. He is nowhere to be found.

You were terrified of him and it made you sick to be.

For the next few nights, you cry yourself to sleep. The tears come hot and silent, soaking into your pillow as you clutch it to your chest like it might somehow fill the hollow space Joel left behind. Your mother moves through the house completely unaware, humming hymns while she folds laundry or makes tea, and it only makes the anger burn hotter in your chest. She’s so blissfully ignorant of your suffering. Joel was the only one who ever really saw you. The real you. Not the perfect church girl everyone else wanted. And now he wants nothing to do with you.

You’re angry at him. Angry at yourself. Angry because everyone has been wrong about you this entire time.

Nobody has ever truly cared for you. Just the image of you. The sweet voice in the choir, the modest dresses, the obedient daughter. A pretty prop for their perfect little Christian town.

And you wonder, in the darkest hours of the night, if Joel ever really did either. Maybe all those soft kisses and whispered praises were just a lonely old man taking what a desperate girl offered. Maybe you were just another warm body to him.

The thought destroys you.

After an agonizing week of barely eating, avoiding church, and lying about being sick, you decide you can’t spiral any longer. You can’t keep wasting away in this bed waiting for a man who told you it was over.

You force yourself up. The hot shower feels like the first real thing you’ve felt in days, the scalding water beating against your skin, steam filling the bathroom as you scrub away the sleepless nights. When you step out, you slip into your favorite sundress, the soft yellow one he once said made you look like sunshine.

Standing in front of the mirror, you barely recognize yourself. Eyes red-rimmed and drained, skin pale and dull, lips cracked and bitten raw. You look exactly like what you are without Joel Miller. Your old man, the only person who ever made you feel alive.

You sling your bag over your shoulder, heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination. Your hand hovers over the doorknob when your mother’s sharp voice cuts through the quiet house.

“Where do you think you’re going, missy?”

You freeze, pulse skyrocketing. Slowly, you turn around. She stands at the end of the hallway, hands planted firmly on her hips, eyes narrowed with that familiar mix of suspicion and self-righteous anger. There’s something knowing in her gaze.

“I’m… going out,” you murmur.

She scoffs, cutting you off before you can finish. “No. Who exactly are you seeing?”

Your stomach drops. “What do you mean?”

A crumpled brown paper bag is tossed at your feet. It lands with a soft thud. Even before you look down, you know what it is. The Plan B boxes. Your pulse thunders in your ears, but you feel no shame. Not about the birth control. Not about sneaking around. Not about Joel.

“You went through my backpack,” you say, voice trembling with the weight of the betrayal.

“So this is what you are now?” she hisses, voice dripping with disgust. “The town tramp? In God’s name, tell me who the hell bought you this filth!”

You don’t flinch. For the first time in your life, you stare your mother dead in the eyes without shrinking. Something shifts in her expression. Surprise, maybe even a flicker of unease. Standing up to her was never something you could do before. You had lived your entire life in fear of disappointing her, of disappointing God, of disappointing everyone.

But not anymore.

“I’m seeing Joel Miller,” you say clearly, the words ringing out stronger than you expected. “And you can’t stop me.”

For a split second, shock freezes her face. You don’t wait to see anything more. You turn, yank the door open, and run.

Rain immediately soaks through your dress as you sprint down the driveway and into the stormy night. Your heart hammers wildly in your chest, tears mixing with the cold droplets on your face, but you don’t stop. Not this time.

You’re going to see Joel Miller.

By the time you reach Joel’s doorstep, you’re completely soaked. Rain pours down in sheets, plastering your yellow sundress to your body, turning the fabric nearly see-through and sending violent shivers through your limbs. Everything feels like it’s falling apart — your life, your reputation, your heart — and you’re powerless to stop any of it. You didn’t mean to end up here, begging at his door like this. But Joel is all you have left.

You knock weakly, then harder, teeth chattering as you wait. For the first time in a long while, you actually pray — a desperate, wordless plea that he’ll be home.

The door yanks open. “Jesus Christ—” Joel’s irritated growl dies instantly when he sees you. His face crumples.

For a long moment, you both just stare. Deep purple bags under his eyes, hair unkempt, jaw shadowed with days worth of stubble. The same wreckage you saw in the mirror earlier stares back at you from his face.

“Baby?” His voice is low, careful, the gentlest you’ve ever heard it.

You rub at your tear-streaked face with shaky fists, trying to swallow the massive knot in your throat. If you speak, you’ll shatter again. That softness in his tone, the one you thought you’d never hear again completely breaks you.

You didn’t want to be the town’s good girl anymore. You just wanted to be his good girl.

So you crack.

You fall forward into his chest, fingers desperately grasping the worn lapels of his flannel as you bury your face against him. A shuddering breath leaves him, warm against your wet hair. One big hand comes up to cradle your cheek, tilting your face up to his.

“Look at me, please?” he whispers.

The wobble of your lip and the fresh glaze of tears in your eyes make him wince, regret carving deep lines into his face.

“She knows,” you choke out. The moment the words leave you, loud, ugly sobs tear free from your chest. “She found the Plan B… She knows about us.”

Joel doesn’t hesitate. His strong arms wrap around you completely, pulling you flush against his solid warmth as he rubs slow, soothing circles over your back. The gentleness of his touch only makes you cry harder. Everything you’ve been aching for and everything you thought you’d lost.

“C’mon, c’mon… inside, babygirl.” He keeps you tucked against him, guiding you through the doorway and over to the couch. With one smooth motion he shrugs off his flannel and drapes it around your shivering shoulders, then sits and pulls you straight into his lap. You curl into him like you belong there, still sobbing uncontrollably into his chest.

“Shh… shh, sweet thing. Your mama knows?”

You nod against him, sniffling pathetically. “Yeah… probably everybody by now.”

His body tenses beneath you. “Did she hurt you? Did anybody—”

You shake your head quickly, hiding your face deeper into his shirt. “No.”

Joel doesn’t force you to look at him again. He just holds you tighter, one hand stroking your soaked hair, the other rubbing those steady circles on your back, grounding you.

“Shh. S’okay, babygirl. Let it all out. I’ve got you.”

After several long minutes, when your sobs have quieted into shaky breaths, you manage to speak again, voice small and broken.

“You hurt me so bad, Joel.”

His arms tighten around you instantly. “I know, baby. I didn’t mean it. I swear to God, I didn’t mean any of it.”

“I thought you hated me,” you whisper, fresh tears slipping down your cheeks.

“God, no.” His voice cracks. “Baby, I’ve done this all fuckin’ wrong.”

You lift your head just enough to meet his eyes. “Joel… I love you.”

He exhales sharply, like the words pain him. His thumb brushes tenderly under your eye, wiping away tears. “Shh. I know, sweet thing. I know.”

“Joel—”

“I know,” he murmurs again, pressing his lips to your forehead, then your temple, then the top of your head. He holds you there, rocking you gently in his lap.

You forgive him.

THANK YOU SM FOR READING!!!

Those who requested to be tagged: @M3part2, @mabels-trashcan, @Gorzelnia-blog, @Billionairecowgirl, @Twilightblogss, @Anqieluv, @politeolive, @Nevestark, @Angel4kars, @Lethalgoobert, @Angelustttt, @Tamarilloinfemme, @Morganlolitta, @Twilightvelour, @Jvlcisx, @Nothinglefttogive, @Bearbo28, @Esotericmidnightreveries, @Onlythehobi, @Emmma0, @Pascalgold, @Millersgirllllllll, @Meetmeatyourworst, @Westgasper, @He-is-the-destined, @Bartzabel4, @Snakebitesweetie, @Lanasdolll, @Jeonzll, @Gizmogurlie41786, @Melslittledove, @Cecialwayssad, @Youaremymochi, @An5559275555gel, @fatalepetrichor, @sugarplumfairy03, @luisakammori, @astr0chat, @gunnersaurusrex, @madnessofadaydreamer

[purepolkadot]

𐔌 light in the mist ꒱

☆ pairing: obsessive!ellie williams x femme!reader

☆ summary: you believe your own obsession with your gym crush is unhealthy but you soon find that she is far more infatuated with you than you could’ve imagined

☆ warnings : HEAVY THEMES ! DON’T LIKE DON’T READ ! … unhealthy dynamics, mutual obsession, stalker!ellie mentioned, r! is also not normal about ellie, e! being a gym rat mention, yearning, smoking indoors, shoutout to the lack of fire alarms in this fic, strap on, strap on referred to as cock, kinda loser!r, guilt tripping, e! gets mean, scent kink (?), forced eye contact, degradation, praise, emotional manipulation, licking tears, crying, marking, mentions of the big man (God), public sex, slapping, bruising, strength kink, dom!ellie, sub!r, begging, strap sucking AMEN!, face fucking, almost getting caught, hair pulling, spit swallowing, possessiveness, love confessions from both e! and r!, ellie kisses r! down there but not full on eating r out, backshots AYYYYY, sex with minimal prep, pet names, headlock from behind in a freaky way, mentions of oxygen loss, mentions of breeding, apologies, real freak4freak relationship, happy but ambiguous ending sorta 

☆ a/n: i missed writing about insane ellie so thats what this is okay love you all bye

☆ wc: 7k

The light overhead flickers once more, the amber hue refilling the building moments later but it is all meaningless at this moment. 

Because it’s 11:47pm now, and Ellie always showed up to the gym by 11 at the latest. You were only assuming that was her name, as you could hear some familiar night shift workers at the front desk muttering it when sharing a casual conversation with her every now and then. 

Names and introductions weren’t important to you at this point, as you had spent these past few months sweating your ass off in this dingy place every night possible just to get a glimpse of her. She made something awful well up inside you, a part of you that should’ve been locked away where no one else could see. 

There was just something about her you couldn’t describe, even if the taste of the truth of your fascination lingered on the tip of your tongue in her presence. It is a metallic, uncomfortable, and yet familiar flavor that overwhelms your senses whenever you watch her move about the dimly lit space. 

Barely anyone else came to this gym and to you it was a miracle it managed to stay open in this small and unforgiving town. When you started working longer hours, you figured a place like this would be good to get out all your frustration from the day. It operated 24 hours, flexible enough to allow you to come and go as you pleased. 

At first the times at which you came varied but about four months ago you had come a bit later, around 10:30 pm or so. You had been alone for a while, but then she walked in. 

It’s a clear vision in your head, even now. The way she kept her head down, a tight tank top pressed against her skin. You hadn’t meant to stare but there was really nothing else to look at and it was a nice distraction from the burning within your body from pushing yourself non stop. She knew her way around, that much was apparent to you. 

Ellie’s workout routine varied each night but she never seemed to stray from the weights section, her muscles straining in a way that made your eyes narrow in her direction just to get a better look. Sometimes you would make the mistake of staring too long, her eyes catching on yours for a moment only to flicker away in an instant as if you were just a fly on the wall. 

To you, that meant she either didn’t notice your constant gazes or she just didn’t care. It physically made your heart ache, a burn so deep in your chest that you were unsure if it was from your emotions or from the irritating amount of cardio you made yourself do just to stay in her presence a while longer. 

It was a ritual by now, come in at 10:30 pm, and wait for her. Each time she has shown without fail, as you took the same rest days as her just so you wouldn’t have to be in this space without her. Sundays and Wednesdays are unbearable, your skin crawling with an insatiable need to be back near her. 

She had never uttered a word to you or even given you a smile, but maybe that is why you were so fascinated with her. Whether or not you truly knew her was insignificant because your mind and body missed the way the air around you seemed to shift whenever she came by.

Now, both hands of the clock rest on 12. Beads of sweat roll down your neck as your chest heaves, frustration mixing with confusion all at once. It’s a Saturday and she should be here, so why isn’t she? 

Ellie never came late and the quiet that surrounds you is somewhat jarring. You had stopped bringing your headphones a while ago, opting to listen to her heavy breathing and the sound of the weights slamming back into place when she finished using them. 

A hollow ache fills you now, and your muscles are begging for rest. You glance over at the front desk by the door, noticing that the one worker that was usually here at this time had disappeared into the break room. It wasn’t unusual, as no one beside you and Ellie came here at such an hour. 

Well, just you now. 

Just as you are about to call it a night, the sound of shoes scuffing against the floor catch your attention. As always, your eyes fall upon her within seconds. 

But it is so different this time because she is looking right at you. Her eyes don’t skip over you, and she doesn’t break eye contact for a second. You freeze up for a moment, the shock of it crashing over you. 

It feels wrong to look away, so your head turns to follow her footsteps, watching as she walks into the locker room towards the back of the gym. Ellie only ever went in there after she finished her workout, never once had she gone in before getting started. 

All of this was completely out of order, your mind is scrambling to try and understand why all of this is happening. The routine of your nights with her felt holy in some way, and your frustration was only building because it seemed as if she were messing everything up on purpose. 

You finish stretching, but you don’t get up because you’re unsure of which move to make next. Your purse and keys were in that locker room, but Ellie hasn’t come out yet. Minutes pass, the ticking of the clock an infuriating reminder that you are wasting time. 

It is way too late, and you’re exhausted by every last detail of today. You shake your head, scoffing slightly because you had spent so long watching Ellie that she felt somewhat beyond your reach. This slight interaction makes her all too real, and you just want to get out of here before anything else can throw you off. 

You let your body move on its own, your legs carrying you toward the locker room at a slower stride than usual. Your hesitance is evident in the way you move, even if you are curious about why Ellie is taking so long in there. 

As you move further down the dark hallway, your nose wrinkles from the overwhelming scent of smoke. Undoubtedly menthols, and you knew exactly who was responsible for it. You had seen Ellie smoke outside before, but only after she had finished her workout, never before. 

Unsurprisingly, you find her sitting on one of the benches in the locker room, the cigarette nearly burnt down to the filter. She sits casually, as if she wasn’t actively flipping your world upside down with her every action today. If she notices you this time, she doesn’t make it known, her head lowered as she stares at the grimy tile beneath her shoes. 

Your eyes linger as they always do because you were under the assumption she wasn’t taking notice of your presence and you had grown accustomed to being completely invisible to her. 

Her converse are scuffed and dirty but you can really see the details of each marking now that you are closer to her, the fabric of the shoes worn down in such a way that it makes you wonder how long she’s had them for. 

Your head tilts in the slightest as your eyes trail further up, taking notice of how she is wearing grey sweats tonight instead of a black pair as she usually did. Before you can let yourself peer at her tank top, your gaze fixes upon her lap once more, only because you see something new. 

There is a slight bulge you can just barely make out, something clearly pressing against the material. The sight is enough to make your skin tingle, curiosity mixing with a desperate need to see what lies beneath the fabric. She had never been packing before today, you were certain you would have noticed if she had done it in the past. 

It caught you off guard completely and for half a moment you forgot that not only could you see her, but she could also see you. 

You had grown so comfortable with not having to hide your constant staring that now you made no attempt to conceal your fascination with her. Even now, your hands merely rested against the locker that is holding your belongings but you made no movement to actually unlock it. Your focus is entirely on Ellie and the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. 

“You really are fuckin’ shameless” Ellie scoffs, flicking the cigarette butt down onto the floor as she leans forward with her elbows on her knees. The suddenness of her attention being directed towards you makes you instantly look back up at her face, feeling the air being suffocated out of your lungs as she stares right back. 

“I… I didn’t mean..” you begin to stutter, shaking your head slowly as if she were the one who had made a mistake. You’re convinced that your very being is caving in before her, exposing every inch of yourself against your will. 

You don’t try to explain properly, as there really was no reason for you to be looking at her. Instead you continuously fumble with the lock you usually had no issues opening in the past, although now your hands are shaking far too much to put the combination in correctly. 

Ellie doesn’t seem impressed with your response, or lack thereof, at all. She stands up, her demeanor formidable in an all consuming way. “What?” she questions, moving closer until she is taking up the space in the bubble you had placed around yourself so many years ago. She is blocking your locker now, forcing you to stand there with your eyes as wide as a doe staring straight ahead at a set of headlights. 

“Seriously, what were you going to say? What could possibly be an excuse for the way you were just eye fucking me the same way you’ve been doing every night?” she questions, her tone so gruff that you feel completely humiliated for thinking she hadn’t noticed your constant compulsion to look at her as often as possible. 

She is so close that you can pick up on the warmth of her scent, cigarette smoke mixed with a musky, almost myrrh like undertone that makes her feel undeniably real to you. 

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. You just seem so nice n’ I just like seeing you” you whisper in a tone so reverently that Ellie can’t help but feel pity. “I shouldn’t be bothering you like this. I’ll stop coming here, I’ll leave you alone” you begin to ramble, unable to hold eye contact with her for more than a split second before your eyes flicker away to soothe your nerves. 

But your efforts to console her are cut short, your voice dying in your throat as her hand grips your face. Her hand is warm, calloused from lifting weights but a soothing weight nonetheless. It isn’t hard for her to force you to hold eye contact with her now, the tips of her fingers digging into your cheeks while her palm holds your chin steady. 

The touch is sudden and intimate, knocking you out of your frantic daze as you watch a mix of frustration and amusement dance across her features. “You don’t get to just disappear on me, no fucking way” she spits, her hold on your face growing painful now but you don’t move away. 

“Do you know how hard it is to control myself when you are here? God, you really don’t know what you’ve put me through” she continues on, noticing the confusion radiating from you which only spurs her to elaborate. 

“I can feel your eyes on me all the time, but you wouldn’t speak a single word to me. I tried staying here longer just to see if you’d come up to me or just do something to let me know I wasn’t imagining all of this” 

Ellie lowers her hand now, moving towards the pulse point of your neck and feeling it frantically fluttering. It makes her smile in the slightest, although it is more akin to a smirk of satisfaction. 

“You look so pretty every time I see you” she sighs, her voice lowering as though she were telling you a secret she had kept hidden for far too long. “Your cheeks all flushed, that sweat dripping down your skin and … fuck, the way you breathe is enough to make me insane” she adds on. 

You are filled with confusion now, your mind scrambling to catch up with everything she was telling you. “Do you… do you know my name?” you question, even if it isn’t what you should be concerned about right now. 

The question makes her roll her eyes in the slightest, making you feel like an idiot. “Of course I do” she sighs, saying your name as she refuses to look away from you. “I know more about you than I should; much more than you know about me” she states with complete confidence, bearing herself to you. 

“But even after all that you ignore me. And as soon as I get you here alone, you’re apologizing and trying to get rid of me as quickly as possible” she huffs, her air of frustration filling the small space between you once more. 

“It makes me so angry, do you know that, sweetheart? It makes me want to follow you home again, just so I can watch you spend all night peering out the window because you can feel me watching you” she whispers, now using both her hands to hold your arms as she shifts your position. 

Now, your back is pressed against the uncomfortably cold lockers, your skin still burning hot from working out. She doesn’t care if it’s uncomfortable for you, cornering you completely before she spends a long moment simply holding eye contact with you, relishing in the fact that you were finally alone with her and had nowhere to run off to. 

Her words take a moment to truly sink in, the realization that she had been following you home making you tremble in the slightest. You can’t help the natural fearful reaction you have to what she is saying, even if you had been dreaming of having her attention on you. 

Ellie coos at the sight of you looking utterly terrified, taking notice of the sheen of sweat that still coats your skin. “I only did it because I care about you, doll” she hums, her voice low and soothing. 

She can’t help herself anymore, leaning down and flattening her tongue against your neck before licking upwards, moaning when she reaches your cheek and feels a salty tear melt against her taste buds. 

You should be trying to get away from her, screaming for someone to help you… but you don’t. Instead, you whimper from the relief of being close to her at last, your tears only falling because you had spent so long believing she didn’t care about your existence. 

“I didn’t want to make you angry, I promise” you say softly, whining in the slightest when she moves back down to your neck, nipping at your skin before letting her teeth really dig into the flesh. It’s painful, but it relieves the ache that has consumed your heart these past few months. 

Ellie kisses over each mark she leaves behind, her fingers now digging into your hips, fearful you would disappear if she let you go for even a moment. “I know that, silly girl. But even if it wasn’t intentional, you still hurt me. So you have to make it up to me” she says, completely certain now that you would do anything to please her. 

You can only nod, her kisses melting your brain in such a way that she now held all the power here. It felt heavenly to surrender yourself so completely to her, your eyes momentarily flutter shut as you focus on the feeling of her breath against your freshly marked skin. 

But Ellie is ravenous, desperate for the connection she had been deprived of for months. “Eyes on me” she states swiftly, pulling away to deny you the touch she knows you crave. 

It works instantly, your eyes snapping back open as your brows furrow in a way that shows her your displeasure. Although your expression smooths over when you can truly take in the details of her face, each freckle placed so perfectly upon her skin that you feel as if God had created her just for you to behold. 

Her mere presence is a blessing to you, and all you want is to belong to her in every way. 

“Do you want to come over? To my apartment, I mean” you ask, finding it hard to speak even if you knew that she wanted you the same way you wanted her. To your dismay, she shakes her head to say no and for a split second you fear that you have somehow overstepped again. 

“I can’t wait that long” she states quickly, picking up on your unease. She presses herself impossibly close and now you can undoubtedly feel her strap pressing against you through her sweats. It makes a knot form in your stomach, a frantic need to feel her inside of you, to be connected with her at last. 

You are knocked out of your daze as soon as you hear footsteps, not coming inside the locker room, but clearly passing by. It was a sudden and uncomfortable reminder that there was a possibility of being seen and it makes your cheeks burn with shame. 

Ellie hates that something can pull away your attention from her so easily, her right hand rising to firmly tap your cheek twice. It’s not quite a slap, but the sting of it is enough to put your focus back on her, albeit you now have a pout adorning your lips. 

“Not here, Ellie. They can hear us… I mean, what if someone walks in? What if someone sees?” you whisper frantically, trying to look away again to glance at the door but no one walks through. 

This time when you look away, Ellie is not so kind. A sharp pain spreads throughout your cheek now, the impact jarring you for a split second before you realize that she had slapped you with full force this time. 

And fuck, she is strong. 

The pain takes a moment to really seep in, tears brimming your eyes as it seems to worsen as seconds pass by. But your focus is centered back on her, and that is proof to her that her actions were necessary. 

She doesn’t speak right away, pleased enough to watch more tears stream down your cheeks as you stutter over your own words. 

Lowering her head a bit, she is able to really get in your face, keeping her voice low so that what she says can’t be heard beyond the space the two of you share. “You really think those employees give a shit about what we do here?” she questions with a half hearted laugh, your apprehension to all of this amusing to her, even if she is irritated. 

Ellie leaves space for you to answer but you are still sniffling and fighting back the urge to cry more just because she is being so mean to you. After a long pause you hesitantly shake your head side to side, trying to gauge if you are giving her the answer she wants to hear. 

Much to your relief, she seems pleased by the motion. “That’s right, angel. They don’t care, and no one comes to this shit hole at this hour anyways. But I’m getting real tired of you making me be so cruel. Thought a sweet little thing like you would be willing to make me feel better, but maybe I was wrong” she mutters. 

She feigns a wounded expression, slowly but surely beginning to pull away from you until you can move freely once more. The loss of pressure and warmth from her body feels suffocating to your heart, the ache between your thighs making you acutely aware of just how badly you needed her to be touching you. 

“Fuckin’ waste of time” she huffs, not looking at you as she turns away. The thought of her leaving you here makes panic crawl up your throat, the pain from her hitting you feeling akin to a distant memory as you shake your head frantically to refuse her attempts to discard you. 

“No, no, please. Ellie, I didn’t mean it like that. I was scared, I was being stupid!” you plead with her, not even bothering to whisper now as you cry out. Your shaking hands grasp at her tank top, not truly strong enough to halt her but making an effort to do so nonetheless. 

You can’t explain what you feel at this moment, as some rational part of you knows that none of this is right and yet you are willing to go to any length to make her stay here with you. 

Without overthinking it, you drop to your knees in front of her, your kneecaps colliding with the tile beneath you. The physical pain of the action is meaningless, your mind utterly engrossed with the need to please her. 

Ellie finally stops trying to leave, her green eyes taking in the pathetic sight of you. Your breaths are uneven, your cheeks still flushed beautifully from working out only a while earlier. She can see the red mark she had left behind on your cheek and she truly hopes it bruises just to ensure that you remember everything about tonight. 

“You really were being stupid, huh?” she says, her voice calm as she watches you press your cheek against her thigh. The fabric of her sweats is so soft that it soothes you, serving as a reminder that you had managed to make her stay. 

You nod your head, so pleased that she is speaking to you again that you can’t help but smile up at her. She runs her fingers through your mussed hair, treating you like a precious pet that simply needed to be trained. 

No further movements are made by you because it is finally clicking in your mind that you shouldn’t say or do anything until Ellie wills you to do so. Instead, you remain in place, your hips slightly twitching in search of friction now because the outline of Ellie’s strap is far clearer down here, and all you can think of is the relief you will feel once it is inside you. 

Her eyes rake over you, committing the sight of you like this in her memory. But since you’re behaving so well, she finally gives you directions. 

“Everything off, but stay on your knees” she commands, her voice steady amidst so much chaos. You don’t need to be told twice, yanking off your tank top along with the flimsy shorts that had been worn down after so many sessions of working out, and kicking off your shoes and socks. Next to go is your sports bra, tits fully on display for her viewing pleasure. And when you messily squirm your way out of your panties, Ellie can swear she has reached heaven. 

You freeze up when you hear footsteps near the door again, but you know better. This time, you don’t look away from her. But she can see how fearful you are, and it makes her groan in delight. 

“Atta’ girl, following directions so well” she praises, still standing above you and fully clothed. You are clay in her hands now, waiting to be molded into something perfect, something only Ellie can love. 

She glances at your discarded panties that lie on the floor, noticing the damp spot on them, the cotton  soaked with your arousal. 

“Your cunt got all sticky just from a little bit of attention from me?” she questions, although she quickly follows up before you can respond. “Or maybe you just really like it when I hit you” she wonders aloud, already knowing how to make you squirm. 

You should feel ashamed but you don’t because she seems truly pleased with you, and that is all you need to feel content. 

So you give her a bashful smile, your hand rising to gently touch over your cheek, the same spot that was now beginning to properly bruise from the unforgiving slap she had given you. 

The movement is silent and you don’t speak up to confirm nor deny what she had said, but the adoring way you stare up at her is just enough for her to continue on. 

Ellie settles on the bench in between the lockers that she had been sitting on earlier, her legs spread open. She can feel your eyes trailing her every move, just as you had done so many times in the past. She pats her thigh, beckoning you closer but you can tell she isn’t asking you to sit on her lap. 

So you crawl closer, your hands and knees pressing against the icy tile beneath you. Chills rise on your skin but you don’t falter, settling between her thighs after a few seconds. 

You can hear her muttering curses under her breaths as she takes you in, a pitiful girl so willing to bend to her every whim. She clicks her tongue, noticing the way you let your eyes trail down toward what you had been staring at since you first saw her today. 

“Awh, why don’t you give my cock some attention, sweet thing” she suggests, as if it were even an option at this point. It is more of her granting you permission to begin, her hips already rising to help you as you tug her boxers down with her sweats so that you can get what you need so badly. 

“Thank you” you mutter, the words falling from your lips naturally. And as soon as the material is down far enough for her strap to be visible, you can’t help the low whine that leaves your parted lips. 

It’s somehow better than you imagined, the same shade as her skin tone and thick enough that you feel intimidated by the mere sight of it. The tip is a pretty shade of pink that looks all too realistic, your tongue darting out to lick your bottom lip as you take in every last detail. 

“We don’t have all night to waste” she reminds you as you stare, knowing you are in a bit of a dazed state which means you need a few reminders about taking action instead of simply ogling in disbelief. 

“Get it nice n’ wet for me, doll. I’ve been dreamin’ of having those pretty lips wrapped around my cock since I first caught you staring” she confesses, groaning as she watches your hand wrap around the base ever so gently as if she were something sacred. 

All of this feels like a dream, the lights overhead buzzing as you glance up at her one more time to confirm this is what she really wants you to do. When you see the approval you seek out, your head immediately lowers. 

It’s gentle at first, your lips pressing little kisses all the way down the shaft before rising to the tip once more. You finally part your lips for her, never daring to look away from her as you take her further into your mouth. 

You make no effort to hide your desperation to take more, letting your spit coat her cock so it only gets easier for her to push further into your throat. Even if you know there are people right outside these walls, you still gag around her strap and whine whenever it hits the back of your throat. 

Ellie watches more tears take form in the corners of your eyes, your determination to please her making her nearly lightheaded. “Yeah, fuck. Look at you, taking me so well” she praises through clenched teeth, so caught up in the moment that she almost believes she can feel the tight heat of your throat. 

She guides your head further down, her fingers ruthlessly yanking at your hair with every movement. The pain of it only makes you needier, tears now fully streaming down your cheeks. It's hard to breathe, but that is the last thing you care about when you can hear Ellie’s constant praises for letting her use you. 

“I knew you’d look so precious like this but Christ, this is…” she trails off, taking notice of the way your saliva spills from the corners of your mouth and drips down onto your tits and the floor beneath you. “This is just where you’re meant to be” she finally finished her sentence, yanking you back with ease to get a good look at you. 

Your lips are swollen, spit slick and so utterly perfect. She pulls you up just enough so that your face is close to hers, still holding the back of your neck to keep her control over you. She moves slowly now, licking over your plush lips before kissing you properly. 

The way she moves her lips against your own makes you feel seen and loved. It’s all consuming, teeth clashing as she tries to memorize every detail of your warmth. Her tongue slides slowly against yours, her saliva mixing with your own as the two of you melt into one another. 

Ellie pulls you back once she is certain that neither of you will be able to breathe without taking a break, only for her to then use her thumb to pry open your mouth once more so she can spit directly into it. 

“Swallow it” she states simply, her eyes focusing on your throat as you do what she asks of you, her heart finally at ease now that she has proof that there is a piece of her inside you. 

Your heart is soaring, even if your mind can’t yet fully catch up with everything going on. All you know is that this is where you have wanted to be for so long, and that kiss was proof that you truly mean something to her. 

“I love you” 

The words leave your mouth before you can bury them back in your heart, and you are even in shock from your inability to hide your true feelings from her. It is a completely absurd thing to say because this is the first time either of you have properly spoken and you begin to tense up, bracing for rejection. 

But it never comes. 

Instead, she brings your face closer once more and presses a soft kiss to your lips this time. 

“I love you too” she says, her voice a soothing balm to your racing mind. The words aren’t forced or false, only a declaration of the way she felt for you. 

How you end up bent over the bench with her behind you is a mystery to you, your mind so hazy that you can only giggle as you look back to see her kneeling behind you. 

She uses her thumbs to spread you open, her breath fanning against your cunt enough to make you squirm in the slightest. The movement doesn’t make Ellie falter, her lips messily pressing against your sacred place repeatedly. 

“Sweeter than I could’ve imagined” she praises  against your sensitive flesh, making a mess of herself as she lets herself drown in your taste and scent. She knows taking her time right now isn’t the best idea but there was no way she was skipping over getting a taste of you, even if it has to be brief. 

She listens to every breathy moan you let out, finding it adorable that you were doing your best to keep quiet just so that no one would catch the two of you in the act. With one final kiss to your clit, she pulls away to stand back up. 

With ease in every movement, she manages to change your position yet again so that you’re facing the lockers, your hands pressing against the cool metal to keep yourself steady as she pulls your hips back toward her. 

“Can’t really take my time with you tonight, sweetheart. But I promise it’ll feel good if you stay nice n’ relaxed for me. You can do that, can’t you?” she whispers, her lips close to your ear as her chest presses against your back. 

You already know it will be a stretch to fit her without taking her fingers hurt but you nod your head, willing to take what she can give you. 

It is too hard to talk now, your brain useless when Ellie makes it so easy to just let her make every single choice for you. But your silence doesn’t bother her since she can feel you pushing your hips back in search of her cock. 

Her strap is still slick with your spit and your cunt is obscenely sticky from your own juices, so she knows it won’t be too much for you to handle. 

She lines up the tip with your entrance, feeling it catch after grinding herself against you a few times just to get you used to the feeling. “S’ gonna be a big stretch but you can take it” she breathes out as she begins to push her hips forward. 

Nothing could prepare you for the feeling of her strap sinking into you, inch after inch filling you in a way you never thought possible. It aches for a moment or two, making you cry out so suddenly that Ellie has to clamp her hand over your mouth. 

Even if the workers at the front aren’t very attentive, she didn’t want them to have a reason to burst in at this moment. She needs this, and so do you. Keeping you quiet isn’t something she wants to do, but it’s necessary to ensure that she can get you off  before the night ends. 

You have to breathe through your nose, your relentless moans muffled by her strong hand. Your eyes nearly roll back when she bottoms out, the ache dulling slowly as pleasure begins to take over. 

“Taking it so well, dove. S’ all the way in now, n’ you’re pretty pussy is still trying to get me in deeper” she coos, feeling you drool against her hand. 

“Gonna pull out just a bit… and slowlyyyy go back in” she mutters, drawing out her words as she explains her every move to dumb you down further. She is kind enough to give you a few slow thrusts before she begins to revert to her natural way of being. 

Each move of her hips grows messy and forceful, your skin colliding with her own until a wet slapping can be heard throughout the locker room. You can feel your knees beginning to weaken, wanting to collapse under the weight of your own bliss. 

You try to beg her to slow down a bit, that it feels too good, but all your words are incoherent and jumbled against her palm. Ellie knows you’re getting lost in the sensation of it all but she can’t let you go for even a second. 

Instead, she changes her hold once she knows you’re too dumb to form any proper sentences. She wraps her bicep around your neck, putting you in a headlock tight enough to make it easy to keep you upright. And much to her pleasure she finds that your air flow is restricted just enough that you can only let out weak whimpers and gasps as she fucks you within an inch of your life. 

Her strength is shown in the way her arm curls around your neck with such force, the hold she has on you barely needing any real effort from her. She kisses the back of your head as her hips begin to move faster, knowing that you won’t be able to hold back your release much longer. 

“Waited so long to have this, to have you. And I’d do it all over again too. I’d wait outside your window while you sleep, I’d memorize your license plate number, I’d look through your locker… I’d do it all again, all for you” she grunts as she deepens her thrusts. 

You should be terrified to know what she has done these past few months but you aren’t, not even a bit. It's sick, the way you felt proud to be loved in such an invasive way. Never in a million years did you think she would notice you and yet you were now getting far more than that. 

Your vision starts to go hazy and whether it’s from the building pleasure or the lack of oxygen, you are unsure. So you weakly push your hips back to get her to hit that spot within you that makes your entire body tremble. 

It’s all too much, and just enough. 

“I love you, pretty dove. You’re going to be mine, never alone again. This cunt belongs to me and only me, so when I tell you to finish, that’s exactly what you’ll do” she explains, knowing that you’re listening to her even if you’re clinging to consciousness. 

After one more push of her hips, she speaks up. “Cum for me, doll” she finally huffs, granting you the permission you needed to finally let go.

The intensity of your orgasm makes your legs go weak and if Ellie wasn’t holding you in place you certainly would be falling to your knees. You try to say that you love her too, but the words are strangled until they sound like nothing more than weak gasps. 

You feel so full of her, claimed completely and loved beyond all else. Your neglected clit throbs as your cunt clenches around her strap, the ache of it feeling so perfect. 

“Jesus, I can feel you grippin’ me” she scoffs, having to put more effort into pulling out while thrusting because your pussy is clamping down around her like a vice. 

“Your poor little cunt just wants my cum, needs to be filled up till it’s leaking out of you” she adds on, wishing with every fiber of her being that there was a way for her to stuff her own cum inside you to permanently mark you as hers. 

You are unable to form any meaningful reply, only whining when her movements slow while your orgasm finishes fizzling out. It’s even more upsetting when she pulls out completely, leaving you to clench around nothing but air. 

The sadness you feel from the loss of her cock can be felt, and she is quick to chase away that feeling. She releases your neck from her hold, instead using her hands to guide you back to facing her. 

Within seconds of seeing your fucked out and sleepy expression, she embraces you in a suffocating hug. Ellie focuses on how she can feel the warmth of your bare skin, the scent of your love thick in the air surrounding the two of you. 

The contact is enough to make at least part of your mind come back, leaning into her touch to show her that you adore her as much as she adores you. 

“M’ sorry for staring” is all you can whisper, your voice raspy from the extended pressure on your neck but neither of you seem to mind it. The apology makes Ellie smile, finding it cute that even after she had confessed to stalking your every move, you still felt the need to apologize for your own insignificant actions. 

“I know, angel” is all she offers in reply, kissing your lips ever so gently to make it known that she isn’t at all upset with you. 

She helps you put your clothes back on, slipping each clothing item back onto you and even tying your shoes since she doesn’t want her sweet girl having to take on such a daunting task after all that. 

Of course she opens up your locker for you, not needing to ask for the combination since she had figured it out ages ago. How she knew it was a mystery to you but it only proves to you how much she cares about you. 

It is hard to walk out of the locker room, even with Ellie carrying your bag for you and holding your waist to keep you upright. Your head rests on her shoulder as you pass by the front desk, one of the workers muttering a casual goodnight to Ellie which she returns without any sort of hesitation. 

As the cold air hits your skin you press yourself closer to her, needing the warmth she so easily provides. She doesn’t pull away, instead she presses a gentle kiss to your forehead and pauses as the two of you stand amidst the dark and quiet parking lot. 

“I should get you home, don’t you think?” she hums, glancing at you with a look you can’t quite read. You still nod, a shy smile on your lips from the idea of having her in your apartment.

Everything feels soft and distant when she is with you, the rest of the world becoming background noise as she buckles your seatbelt for you once you are in the passenger seat of your own car. She turns the key in the ignition, not needing to ask for directions to your place. 

You should be wondering about why you hadn’t seen her truck in the parking lot, but some part of you has accepted that Ellie had planned all of this out. 

After all, she knows best, so why would you ever question her love? 

[jessaerys]

father figure with benefits

[stillnaomi]

using violence to liberate people from sweatshops, unsafe mines, and grinding poverty isn't the same as using violence to impose those things on people. the idea that violence is morally repugnant regardless of context is a belief that every oppressor throughout history would love for the oppressed to hold

[mikoeilish]

mock sympathy.

mean flirting.

a shut up kiss.

condescending praise.

[mcthsman]

*SEASON OF THE WOLF: a joel miller x reader story.

The giant wolf that has been killing people around town shares a very striking feature with the quiet man that keeps breaking into your home— They both have the saddest, warmest brown eyes you've ever seen.

click here to join the taglist. / click here for my main masterlist.

warnings: werewolf!joel, age gap (reader is late 20s, joel is mid 40s), reader is afab and goes by she/her, no outbreak, mentions of csa, kind of southern gothic vibes, gore & violence, death of minor characters, stalking (but like in a romantic way), reader is mentally unwell, no y/n, slow burn, reader is depressed and somewhat detached from reality, religious themes, no description of reader other than being curvy/plus sized, some animals die but it happens off page, found family, technically cannibal!joel, mentions of periods & period symptoms, reader is bisexual, kind of monsterfucking, girldad!joel, death of a spouse, sarah lives, suicidal tendencies/suicide attempt, alcohol & weed consumption, eventual smut.

rating: +18.

fox says: hello friends! i've never written any supernatural fics before but the idea of a werewolf character has been stuck on my mind forever and i felt like joel would be the perfect fit for that; as many of you know i went back and forth a lot on whether this should be a joel or clint fic and in the end i thought the characterization fit joel better. this is also a small celebration of a follower milestone i reached a while back but it took me so long to post i already reached a second milestone lol anyway, thank you so much for reading my stuff and following me! as always, please let me know how we feel about it.

status: on going.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀* index:

part one.

part two.

part three.

part four (coming soon.)

also available on archiveofourown.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀* extras:

moodboard.

fic tag.

taglist: @ptolemaea444 @time-for-my-weekly-spanking @shadowqueen2024 @daniel-bruhhl @ohtiramisuu @honey-moon-13 @pearlessance @amourflores @crazycat-ladys-blog @opal-sunshine @aphroditekillz

[nosimpincurly]

[dixie-isnt-cool]

thinking about joel standing right up on you to cover your ass showing cause you wore a too tight dress to piss him off specifically

[picascribit]

There are 2 types of fanfic:

fanfic that I like

fanfic that is none of my business

[elliespuns]

The hottest thing a man can do is be Joel Miller

[hustlerose]

women are simply more important than men

[tall]

[collarboundprince]

“if you act like a dog im gonna treat you like one” bro literally pinkie promise me rn.

[mybvalentine]

easily top 3 joel looks cuz jesus christ