i will awalys say that the og challengers will be “y tu mama también” because that movie is the prototype.
it is the blueprint of:
boys who love each other too much to say it.
a woman who sees straight through their bravado into the rot of their longing.
a road trip that becomes a pilgrimage to the grave of childhood.
masculinity cracking open like an overripe fruit, spilling everything they tried to hide.
y tu mamá también is the primordial slurry from which every modern “two boys one girl one inevitable breakdown” narrative crawled out, dripping with saltwater and shame.
its the genesis text of erotic rivalry. THEY WERE HERE FIRST!!! (but i larv challengers too, i just love to see a woman and her two boyfriends.)
that anon has no idea what they are talking about, but i respect their opinion too… even if i enjoy reading your stories!! They are so fun, never stop doing them
oh yeah i absolute get their point but i thought i made it clear im writing about adults and their fantasies. most of my characters/the readers in my stories are 19/young guys because I AM literally a 19 year old guy writing about my sexual fantasies. and thank you!!!im glad you are having fun!<3
omg i dont get why that anon is hating mind u its written work of consenting adults + its how ppl cope with kinks and its also FICTION!! if u like it u like it and if u dont u dont
personally its not my cup of tea becuz of trauma, but its crazy insane to be upset over something fictional that you can skip over or even block if u dont like it!!
anyways, i LOVE LOVE LOVEEEE ur fics esp when u write abt oscar isaac ! pls dont let anyone dim ur sparkle 😭!!! ur stories r always so interesting and become sososo sexy i luv ur work 🫶
holy shit thank you so much!
like i was thinking did i not make myself clear it was purely kink?bc i know it can come off as problematic if dont. but like you said it is FICTIONNNNN!!!!and also the fact that it is possible to discuss a little bit of psychoanalysis on a text and make it hot at the same time. i can talk about toxic masculinity and make em boys fuck hard. i can discuss religious guilt and make it sexyyyyy thats what im trying to do actually.
im glad youre enjoying my silly stories thank you so much for your words i have a lil something for oscar (llewyn davis) in mind
those granpa x grandson fics are disgusting, if it’s like they’re related by blood obviously. A 49 year age gap. ew
look,,, in lacanian terms that fanfic is about two dudes negotiating the phallus shortage across generations. lacan tells us desire only exists because of impossibility. we want PRECISELY what we are forbidden from having. grandpa was supposed to say no and keep desire in check but grandson is desperately trying to fill that lack, chasing the imaginary wholeness he thinks the older man can provide. also its not like im pointing a gun to your head and making you read it
a continuation of don't let your boys grow up to be cowboys
summary: Grandpa Joel would read cowboy stories to you every night. It was like you both had a secret book club where only the two of you were members. You tried to pay attention but you were always more interested in being his cowboy.
tags: 18+ (mdni). grandfather! joel miller x grandson! reader. domestic fluff and smut. affection. emotional intimacy. cuddling & snuggling, cowboy theme. plushies. grey beard appreciation. sleepy cuddles. aftercare.
wordcount: 2,1k
n/a: read it while listening to "i'll be here in the morning" by townes van zandt!
when joel comes home that evening, he finds the house quiet.
he sets his tools down by the door, kicks off his boots, and smiles to himself the moment he steps into his bedroom.
there you were, already curled up in his bed, wearing his green flannel.
when grandpa was away, you always found little ways to keep him close.
you would sneak into his closet and pull on one of his flannels.
you’d bury your face in his pillow, breathing in the deep, comforting scent of him. that familiar smell that was purely your grandaddy.
it made you feel safe enough to drift off, even when he wasn’t there to hold you.
even though you were nineteen now and could easily sleep alone, you never wanted to. you only felt truly safe and peaceful when you were wrapped up in grandpa’s bed.
joel quietly comes into the bedroom and changes into a soft pair of boxers and an old flannel. he climbs into bed with you, and you immediately crawl onto his chest like a needy little kitten.
“missed you, little man” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head.
he reaches for the old storybook on the nightstand, a worn collection of cowboy tales, puts on his reading glasses, and settles back against the headboard with you tucked against him.
one of his hands holds the book open while the other gently plays with your messy hair, fingers stroking slowly through it.
“alright, pal” he says in that low, rough voice you love so much. “let’s see where we left off…”
he starts reading to you, his voice was so warm and soothing, almost like a lullaby.
you tried to pay attention to the words, you really did… but it was so much nicer to focus on the deep rumble of his chest, the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, and the comforting scent of him that wrapped around you like a blanket.
from time to time you look up at him with adoring eyes, reaching up to touch his grey beard, running your fingers through it softly, feeling its texture.
grandpa was so handsome, especially with his glasses on.
he noticed you staring and pressed a gentle little kiss to your lips
“focus, baby,” he whispered playfully against your mouth.
little by little, you start drifting lower. your cheek slides from his chest down to his soft belly, then further, until your head is resting on his thigh.
joel keeps reading, pretending not to notice at first, but his voice gets a little huskier when your hand starts wandering.
you nuzzle against the bulge in his boxers, with your fingers gently massaging him through the fabric. joel’s breath catches.
“baby…” he says playfully, though his voice is already getting rougher. “you’re supposed to be listening to the story.”
you look up at him with big, innocent eyes, still rubbing him slowly.
“i am listening, grandpa,” you whisper sweetly.
joel lets out a soft, fond chuckle. he sets the book down on the nightstand, takes off his glasses, and folds them carefully. he looks down at you with love in his eyes, his hand gently stroking your messy hair.
“alright, baby” he murmurs tenderly. “grandpa can’t say no to you.”
he pushes his boxers down just enough to free his thick, heavy cock. you immediately lean in, pressing your lips to the warm head, pressing soft kisses before wrapping your mouth around him.
you suck on it gently, like it’s your favorite pacifier, humming happily at the warm sweet taste.
grandpa joel groans softly, one hand returning to your hair, stroking it lovingly.
his cock grows harder and thicker on your tongue, filling your mouth perfectly. you loved to feel its lengh getting bigger and bigger on your lips.
“you want grandpa’s milk, sweetheart? so you can fall asleep nice and full like a good baby?”
you whimper around his cock and nod desperately, looking up at him with needy, pleading eyes.
taking a little courage, you slowly push your head forward, taking more and more of him until you feel the head pressing against the back of your throat. it made you choke softly, but the feeling was delicious.
grandpa’s breath hitched.
“easy, baby… be careful with that little throat,” he murmured worriedly. his hand stayed gentle in your hair, only soothing.
but you loved the feeling.
you kept going, moving your head slowly so you could feel every thick inch sliding along your tongue and against your throat. it was delicious.
grandpa’s cock was now all wet and shiny with your spit, glistening beautifully in the soft lamplight.
joel’s fingers kept playing with your hair while his other hand gently cupping your cheek as he watched you with adoring eyes.
you kept sucking with eager devotion, humming happily around him.
“grandpa…” you pull off just enough to whisper, voice pleading, “can i have your milk?”
joel’s expression melts with pure affection. he cups your cheek gently with his hand, thumb stroking your swollen lips.
“oh, my sweet baby,” he murmurs tenderly. “you want grandpa’s milk so bad, huh?… grandpa’s gonna give you all his warm milk. just keep sucking.”
you take him back into your mouth eagerly.
grandpas cock was so slippery in your mouth, it was delicious to feel his precum taste mixed with your spit.
the vein underneath felt prominent and warm as you sucked, sliding smoothly as you moved your head.
you loved how it stretched your lips and filled your mouth so completely.
joel’s breathing grows heavier. he holds your head tenderly and whispers, “here it comes, baby… grandpa’s gonna feed you.”
with a deep rough mature groan, grandpa starts to cum inside your mouth. you can feel the warm liquid filling you. the taste was delicious. so warm. you moan happily feeling the taste. you swallowed every drop, savoring the warmth as it slid down your throat.
you kept sucking gently even after he finished treating grandpa’s cock like it was your favorite feeding bottle.
you loved feeling it slowly soften on your tongue, the thick hardness gradually relaxing into a velvety softness that still filled your mouth so perfectly. the skin felt silky and sensitive now, and you savored every bit of his taste.
only when he was completely soft did you pull off slowly with a wet little pop, licking your shiny lips. you gave one last lick along his length, cleaning him thoroughly, before nuzzling your face into the warm sweaty grey pubic hair at the base. the comforting, intimate scent of him made you hum happily.
“do you like how grandpa tastes, baby?” joel asks after catching some breath. mesmerized by the feeling.
you nodded eagerly, cheeks flushed.
“i love it, grandpa. it is so sweet…”
joel let out a fond chuckle and pulled you up into his arms, holding you close against his chest.
“come here, baby.” he murmured, pressing a deep, loving kiss to your lips.
you melted into him, cuddling tightly as he wrapped his arms around you.
“now i can go to sleep,” you whispered happily against his neck.
joel smiled and kissed the top of your head. "that's right. my little baby needs his milk to sleep well, doesn’t he? grandpa's gonna tuck you in.”
joel gently rolled you onto your side and tucked the blankets snugly around your body, making sure you were warm and comfortable. then he pulled you back against his chest while his hand gently played your hair.
you sighed contentedly, feeling safe in grandpas arms.
with his heartbeat against your ear and his warm body surrounding you, you drifted off peacefully.
Little by little, Grandpa Joel’s bedroom was becoming your own.
At first it was just your favorite hoodie mixed in with his clothes, then you brought some of your plushies into his bed. A soft brown teddy bear now lived permanently on his pillows.
You liked holding them when Grandpa had to leave for work, burying your face in their fur while breathing in the scent of his pillow. It helped you feel a little less empty until he came back home.
joel carefully slipped out of bed. he looked at you for a moment, smiling softly at how peaceful you looked. he reached for your favorite teddy bear and gently placed it in your arms, tucking it against your chest like a little substitute for him.
he went downstairs to make himself some coffee. when he returned a few minutes later, mug in hand and now fully dressed in his jeans and soft flannel.
you were curled up on your side in the middle of his bed, hugging the teddy bear tightly… but your legs had shifted in your sleep. the blankets had slipped down, leaving your sweet ass completely exposed and slightly raised in the air. it looked so soft and inviting that joel let out a quiet breath.
he set the coffee mug on the nightstand next to the unfinished storybook and his reading glasses, then climbed back onto the bed.
your morning wood was evident.
he started pressing slow and sweet kisses all over your body. his grey beard brushed tenderly against your skin with every kiss.
you stirred awake with a soft, needy sound. blinking sleepily as you felt his warm lips on you.
joel smiled against your skin.
“did i wake you, baby?” he asked gently, voice full of affection.
you shook your head, letting out a happy little sigh as he wrapped his hand around your morning wood, stroking it slowly and lovingly.
“no… grandpa,” you whispered with voice still sleepy. “i love the way you’re playing with me"
joel chuckled softly
“you look so lovely here in grandpa’s bed,” he murmured, “i couldn’t resist.”
you let go of your teddy bear and turn your head to look at him with big pleading eyes. “grandpa… can i be your cowboy? like the ones in the stories you read me before bed?”
“of course you can, baby,” he whispered.
he moved back against the wooden headboard, pulling you with him. before you straddled him, you watched with wide, adoring eyes as grandpa started undressing. he slowly unbuttoned the soft blue flannel shirt you loved so much. the one you often wore when he was away just to feel close to him. the fabric carried his comforting smell, and seeing him take it off made your heart explode.
you love watching your hot mature grandpa undress himself. his broad chest with its silver hair, his soft belly, the powerful arms that always made you feel safe.
he shrugged the flannel off his shoulders and tossed it aside, then pushed down his jeans and boxers. his thick, heavy cock sprang free, already hard and ready for you.
“come ride grandpa like a good little cowboy.”
you eagerly straddled him in reverse, your back to his chest. grandpa spit on his own thick cock, stroking it a few times before helping you adjust. you lowered yourself slowly onto him with a sweet, breathy moan.
grandpa was so big, his thick cock stretched you so open it hurt a little. but you were a bronc rider.
you felt every inch of him as he filled you up, the slight burn quickly turning into that delicious fullness you loved.
“easy, cowboy… grandpa’s got ya”
when you finally got used to his size, you started riding him like a bucking bronco.
bouncing up and down with eager energy, taking his thick cock all the way in with every movement. your ass nestled perfectly against his lap.
grandpa joel groaned deeply, his hands gripping your hips with loving firmness.
“ohhh, that’s my good boy”
you loved riding him. the feeling of his thick cock stretching you open and hitting that perfect spot deep inside made you moan loudly.
“oh yeah, baby… moan for grandpa. let me hear those pretty sounds”
“am i riding you good, grandpa?”
“you’re such a rough little rider. you sound so sweet when you’re full of old bumpa”
the praise made you ride him even harder. the pleasure was driving you crazy.
you cried out sweetly because you couldn't hold any longer.
you came first, spilling all over your own stomach while clenching tightly around grandpas thick cock.
the feeling of you cumming pushed your grandaddy right over.
he groaned deeply, pulling you down hard onto him as he splashes his cum deep inside you.
you sat all the way down, wanting to feel every drop as your tight little ass opened up to receive his warm milk.
soon it started leaking out around his cock, dripping down your trembling thighs and making you all wet and messy.
joel held you close, breathing heavily against your neck.
“you’re such a good little rider, baby.”
joel chuckled lovingly and pulled you down against his chest, kissing your messy hair.
when grandpa pulled out from you, a thick rush of his cum leaked from your used hole.
he gently laid you down on the bed and tucked the blankets snugly around your body, making sure you were comfortable.
you looked up at him with sleepy, adoring eyes.
joel smiled down at you, brushing a strand of hair from your sweaty forehead.
“i can’t wait to hear more of your cowboy stories, grandpa.”
taglist @mydarlingjoel @littledes1re @stitch-away @lotsofsalem @worthmysteries @holaadiostite @jose-balmaceda @billyloveworld88 @joexymoonzz @glugglugg3000 @uniqueoafempathmuffin @xxerotica @millerslut @simp-for-steve ride em on cowboys!
thank you so much for tagging me @pedritofics! i loved this.
The last book I read: Camera Lucida: Reflections on Photography by Roland Barthes. I had to read it for a college course about Literature and Photography and i really enjoyed it. it has this personal writing even thought it was supposed to be a theory book.
A book I’d recommend: Cosmos by Carl Sagan. because you can learn a lot about history in a fun way, also because i read it in an old edition and it has a lot of images. idk if more recent editions are like this but i think everyone should read it.
A book I couldn't put down: Moldy Strawberries by Caio Fernando Abreu. it is a collection of short stories and i read it on the beach during summer. when i realized i read all of it i got sad because it was such a nice reading.
A book I've read twice or more: Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk.
A book on my tbr: A LOT OF BOOKS. but the first one i thought of was Os Donos Do Inverno By Altair Martins because my brazilian literature teacher recommended it to me and when i opened the first name i saw on the page was bruce springsteen! and the story sounds interesting im looking forward to read it.
A book I've put down: i don't remember giving up on any recent books but i couldn't find time to read all of Beautiful World Where Are You yet
A book on my wish list: Beautiful Losers by Leonard Cohen. i have to own ittttt
A favourite book from childhood: Phillipe Oak. it is silly but i remember enjoying it and reading it after class when i was very little. unfortunately literature wasnt a big part of my childhood even thought my mother would read for me and motivate me to read more. luckily, it is never too late for that!
A book I’d give to a friend: a collection of short stories by Clarice Lispector.
A book of poetry or lyrics that I own: Amar se aprende amando by Carlos Drummond de Andrade.
A non-fiction book that I own: ASTRONOMY FOR DUMMIES lol also Pale Blue Dot by Carl Sagan
What I'm currently reading: Los Detectives Salvajes by Roberto Bolano and The Summer Boy by Philippe Besson.
What I'm planning on reading next: Bread of Angels by Patti Smith
im not sure who to tag :( to all people that follow me feel free to do it and tag me so we can talk about literature and books in general!!!!
"nikolaj coster-waldau should've played joel!!!" "baby THATS joel miller" "we lost so bad"...i present to you a much sexier scenario...
nikolaj actually plays a character that is joels bisexual awakeing. at first joel is annoyed by this guy they're forced to work together constant eye-rolling "i work alone" energy you guys know joel. but they have something going on.
cut to them arguing on the truck suddenly they're grabbing each other, slamming against the car intense makeout session with years of repression finally exploding!!! joel shoving him against the car their thick beards scraping rough as they finally devour each other. their strong masculine smells mixing together weird at first but fuck it makes it so much hotter arghhhhh neither one willing to pull away first almost like they are fighing to dominate the kiss hips pressing hard both of them growling and breathing heavy like they’re pissed off arghghkgj HOW ABOUT THAT
"I used to lick cream off strawberries in the summer..."
summary: Your best friend’s dad Joel Miller had the warmest smile and the most charming little winks and that was all it took for you to develop a massive crush on him. You started finding every possible excuse to be around the old man, drawn to the way he proudly cared for his garden overflowing with the sweetest strawberries you’d ever tasted.
tags: 18+ (mdni). best friend's dad! joel x male! reader. reader and his friend are college classmates. teasing. flirting. pining. secret relationship. smut with feelings. oral sex. come play. outdoor sex. horny on main. joel calls his son best friend "bud" and "big guy".
wordcount: 3,8k
n/a: this is pretty much inspired by the two first verses from "wink wink" by charli xcx, just thought it was a nice concept. i know its hard to see joel as a "boy dad" but lets pretend to the sake of this au ok!!!!
"like its summer take my clothes off"
joel was proud of his garden. and honestly? it was adorable.
rows of fat ruby red strawberries spilled over the edges of raised beds, their leaves were dark green and glossy under the summer sun.
he tended them every evening after work, sleeves rolled up, sweat darkening the back of his flannel shirt.
you thought it was cute, how proud he got when the first berries ripened, how he’d carry a little basket inside full of fruit.
and joel himself… god, he was stupidly hot. broad shoulders, strong forearms corded with muscle, a salt-and-pepper scruff that that looked even better when he smiled. because fuck, that smile, it was crooked and dangerously charming. every time he caught you staring, he’d flash it and toss in a playful little wink that made your stomach flip.
“careful, you’re gonna make me blush,” he’d tease whenever he noticed your eyes lingering too long.
his voice was rough, the kind that settled warm in your chest.
you couldn’t stop staring at the way his jeans sat on his hips or the way the veins stood out on his hands when he gripped his gardening tools.
that’s why you kept finding excuses to be at your best friend's house every chance you got.
you two would play soccer in the backyard almost every afternoon, grass stains on your knees, shouting and laughing while joel worked nearby. he’d pause with his hands on his hips, watching you both with that crooked grin.
“keep your head up, big guy” he’d call to you, tossing the ball back when it sailed too wide.
he was always nice like that, never annoyed when you stayed for dinner, actually, he was glad you did.
“good to have you here,” he’d say, ruffling your hair as he passed by.
one july night, you and your friend were sprawled across his bedroom floor, speakers blasting some raw punk rock, fast, angry and perfect for drowning out the thoughts you definitely shouldn’t have been having about his dad. the bass vibrated through the floorboards. we were headbanging dramatically, laughing like idiots, when a shadow filled the doorway.
joel leaned against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, one eyebrow raised. the sleeves of his worn henley were pushed up, showing off those forearms you couldn’t stop thinking about.
“you boys seriously listening to this crap?” he drawled, voice cutting through the distortion.
your friend grinned and turned it down a notch. “it’s punk, dad. it’s supposed to sound like that.”
joel shook his head, clearly unimpressed. “sounds like someone’s strangling a cat with a guitar string.” he stepped into the room, filling it in that quiet way he had, and pulled out his phone. “here. let me show you something that actually has melody.”
he tapped the screen and started playing “strawberry fields forever” by the beatles. the dreamy, psychedelic intro floated through the room.
joel stood there looking proud of himself, like he’d just handed us the keys to real culture.
“see? this is music,” he said, nodding along, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his mouth.
you laughed, but your heart was hammering. you would get too nervous around him and he would notice the way your breathing seemed to stop or quicken once he got closer, see the way you'd get tense.
joel’s gaze flicked for a second longer than usual.
“you like it, big guy?” he asked.
“yeah,” you said, voice a little too soft. “i like it a lot.”
after the beatles song ended and joel had gone back downstairs with a satisfied little smirk, you and your friend stayed up a while longer talking nonsense.
eventually your friend’s yawns got longer and longer until he finally passed out, sprawled sideways across his bed.
then you slipped out of the sleeping bag and crept toward the door, lying to yourself that you were just going to the bathroom but actually you wanted to see what your best friend’s dad was doing.
he was lounging on the couch, a half-finished beer loosely held in his hand. his legs were stretched out, feet propped on the coffee table.
the tv was playing some old western but his eyes were half-closed, head tipped back against the cushion like he was two minutes from dozing off.
god, he was this really cool dad. the kind of cool that made you sometimes wish that he was your dad instead… or at least something a lot closer than your best friend’s father.
“well hey there bud” he said, voice extra rough and warm from the almost-sleep. “couldn’t sleep?”
you shrugged, trying to look casual even though your pulse was racing. “yeah… guess the punk rock got me too wired.”
joel gave a low, sleepy chuckle. “c’mere. this western is going to make you sleep. hell, i’m having a hard time paying attention to what’s even going on.”
you padded over and sat on the couch beside him, tucking your legs under you. the cushions dipped, bringing you closer than you expected.
he took a slow sip of his beer, then tilted the bottle lightly in your direction.
“want a sip? nah, don’t tell your parents i offered that,” he added with a playful wink. “i’m supposed to a responsible adult”
you smiled up at him “i won’t tell,” you whispered “i’m good at keeping secrets.”
for a few minutes you both just watched the movie in comfortable silence. the old western flickered across the screen, cowboys riding across dusty plains but you were far more interested in the way joel’s arm rested along the back of the couch, just inches from your shoulders. slowly, carefully, you leaned back until your shoulder brushed against his arm.
you swallowed hard, nerves buzzing under your skin. “i… i should probably try to sleep again,” you whispered, voice a little shaky. “don’t wanna keep you up.”
joel gave a soft grunt and a small nod. “yeah, get some rest, bud”
you stood up slowly, letting your fingers graze lightly along the back of the couch as you passed him. you glanced back once with a shy little smile before heading upstairs, heart still racing the whole way.
The next afternoon after class,
you rode your bike straight to their house, knowing your friend was out.
deep down, you were craving more alone time with his dad.
joel’s truck was in the driveway, but the house was quiet.
you found him in the big garden, sleeves rolled up, working among the strawberry beds.
the sun was warm on your skin as you leaned your bike against the fence and walked over.
you stopped at the edge of the beds, watching him for a moment.
the way his flannel stretched across his broad shoulders and the sweat glistening on his forearms made your mouth go a little dry.
“hey joel,” you said softly, not wanting to startle him. he straightened up and turned, brushing dirt from his hands.
a warm, surprised smile spread across his face when he saw you. “well, hey there, bud. didn’t expect to see you today.”
“i was just riding by… saw you out here working.”
“yeah, these strawberries are ripening fast. gotta stay on top of ‘em before the birds get all the good ones.”
joel reached down, gently twisted off a big, deep-red strawberry, and held it out to you without even looking up.
“here, try this one. should be real sweet.”
your fingers brushed against his as you took it. you brought the strawberry to your lips, took a slow bite, and the flavor burst across your tongue. it was incredibly juicy and sweet.
you looked up at him with bright, admiring eyes while you finished the berry, stepping just a little closer under the excuse of looking at the plants.
you looked up at him with bright, admiring eyes while you finished the berry, stepping just a little closer under the excuse of looking at the plants.
“these are perfect, joel,” you said softly “i swear they’re the sweetest i’ve ever had”
joel’s smile grew bigger, warm and a little bashful, the way it always did when someone praised his strawberries. you loved that look on him.
he ended up pulling a couple of cold drinks from the house and a blanket, and the two of you settled into a shady spot at the edge of the garden. bright red strawberries piled up between you.
at one point you reached for the orange juice, laughing at something silly, and tipped the bottle too fast.
cold juice spilled all down the front of your shirt, soaking the fabric and making it cling to your skin.
“ugh—” you looked down at the mess, cheeks heating up.
joel chuckled. “it’s hot out anyway, bud. just take it off so it doesn’t stick to you.”
you peeled the wet shirt off slowly, feeling the sticky juice and strawberry juice on your chest and stomach. the sun warmed your bare skin, but the stickiness from the fruit made you feel strangely aware of every little drip and smear across your torso.
you caught joel’s eyes flicking over you for a brief second before he looked back at the strawberries.
you dipped the berry into the small bowl of cream he had brought out from the kitchen, then brought it to your mouth.
instead of biting right away, you let your tongue catch a thick drop of cream that was about to fall.
slowly you licked your finger clean, eyes half-lidded in pleasure.
the cream was cool and silky against the warm, sun-ripened strawberries. you dipped another one, letting the thick white cream coat it generously before bringing it to your lips. a little spilled at the corner of your mouth, staining your lips a deeper, glossy red from the berry juice.
“mmm… this is dangerous,” you murmured playfully. “the strawberries were already too sweet… now with cream? i might never leave.”
he cleared his throat “you’re enjoying those a little too much, bud.”
“it is your fault,” you teased “everything you grow tastes this good. how am i supposed to behave?”
joel’s eyes darkened as he watched your tongue chase the cream. he shifted on the blanket.
“fuck… it really is hot today,” he muttered. without thinking twice, he reached back and tugged his flannel shirt off over his head, revealing his broad and sweaty chest.
your mouth watered instantly.
god, your best friend’s dad was so fucking hot.
joel caught you staring.
a dangerous little smirk tugged at his mouth.
he leaned back on one hand, the movement making his muscles flex, and reached for a strawberry himself. instead of eating it, he dipped it in cream and held it out toward you.
your lips parted. you leaned in and took the berry straight from his fingers, sucking the cream off slowly while your red, glossy lips brushed against his fingertips.
joel’s breath hitched. he watched as you licked and savored, clearly losing the battle with temptation.
he leaned back on one hand, muscles flexing, then kicked off his boots and started working on his jeans.
“too damn hot for all this,” he said, voice rough. he pushed the jeans down his thick thighs and tossed them aside, leaving him in just a pair of snug black boxers. then he stretched out fully on the blanket, arms behind his head, letting the sun kiss his sweaty body.
you couldn’t stop looking.
his chest rose and fell with each breath. sweat glistened across his skin, trailing down his abs. your eyes kept drifting lower… to the heavy bulge straining against the thin fabric of his boxers. it was impossible to ignore.
“you not feeling hot too?” he asked, his eyes were slowly dragged over your bare chest and sticky skin. “come on… fair’s fair.”
without hesitation, you hooked your thumbs into your shorts and pushed them down your legs, kicking them aside. now you were lying beside him in just your boxers, the sun warming your skin
joel’s gaze darkened with approval as he looked you over.
he reached for another strawberry, dipped it generously in cream, and brought it to his own mouth first. he let the cream coat his tongue, then turned to you with a wicked little smirk.
“these are so fucking sweet…” he murmured, voice husky. “come here. taste.”
he leaned in slightly, tongue slightly out, covered in thick white cream.
the invitation was clear.
you moved closer on the blanket, heart racing, until your faces were only inches apart. slowly, almost shyly, you leaned in and licked the cream right off his tongue.
the sweetness mixed with the taste of him made you whimper softly.
joel groaned quietly at the feeling of your tongue sliding against his.
“atta boy…”
one of his hands came up to cup the side of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw like he was testing how you felt under his palm.
he let out a quiet chuckle, the sound vibrating between you. “do you like how this old man tastes, huh?”
before you could answer, joel closed the last inch and kissed you properly.
so deep, so wet.
his mouth was hot, tongue sliding slow and heavy against yours, licking into you like he wanted to devour every whimper. the thick scratch of his beard dragged roughly over your smooth skin, burning deliciously against your chin and cheeks as he tilted his head and went deeper.
both of you were already half-hard in your shorts, the growing pressure obvious when your thighs brushed.
joel pulled back just enough to breathe, lips shiny and swollen, then dropped his mouth to your sticky chest. “so fuckin’ sweet…”
he licked another slow stripe over your chest, savoring you like you were the best thing he’d tasted all summer.
you could barely believe this was happening. your best friend’s hot dad, the guy you’d been fantasizing about for months was licking sweat off your chest.
he sat back on his heels, his eyes were playful as he hooked two fingers into the waistband of your boxers, pushing them down and freeing your cock.
it sprang up hard. joel’s gaze dropped straight to it, and that wicked smirk grew wider.
“well shit… ” he teased, voice low and rough. he wrapped one big, calloused hand around you and gave a slow, lazy stroke, clearly proud of the way you twitched in his grip. “now you’re the one that’s gonna feel this old man, right bud?”
he leaned in and kissed you again, quick and filthy, beard scratching your face as he laughed softly against your lips.
“big boy’s rock hard already. that’s real cute.”
joel wrapped those perfect, full lips around the head of your cock and sucked slow and wet, and so damn good your hips jerked off the blanket. his mouth was scorching and silky, the perfect tight heat.
“fuuuck…” you gasped, fingers threading into his hair.
joel pulled off just enough to grin up at you, lips shiny.
“tastes even better down here, bud.” then he sank back down, taking you deeper. his tongue kept teasing you mercilessly, sucking hard for a few strokes until your toes curled, then slowing down to lazy licks and soft kisses along the shaft, just to hear you whine.
his beard scratched lightly against your thighs and balls with every bob of his head.
the afternoon sun beat down on your skin, making everything hotter and slicker. sweat rolled down your chest and stomach.
every time he took you deep, your thighs trembled and your breath hitched, little desperate sounds slipping out that you couldn’t hold back.
the wet heat of his mouth was driving you crazy.
he slid two fingers into your lips.
“open up, bud. suck on these for me.”
you obeyed instantly, wrapping your lips around his fingers and sucking eagerly.
“that’s it… ” he murmured.
he pulled his fingers free, now shiny and dripping, and dragged them straight to your chest. he circled one stiff nipple with the wet pad of his finger before pinching and rolling it gently. the cool-wet sensation against your hot, sweaty skin made you moan loudly, back arching up into his touch.
you were a sweaty whimpering mess under him, hips bucking, skin flushed and shining in the sun.
finally, you couldn’t wait anymore.
you pushed at joel’s shoulders, and he let you flip positions with a surprised, amused chuckle.
you shoved his boxers down his thick thighs, freeing his heavy cock. it slapped up against his stomach, hard and leaking, and your mouth watered at the sight.
joel let out a deep, delighted laugh that turned into a groan as you leaned in and dragged your tongue up the length of him.
“fuck” he grinned, one hand sliding into your hair. “… show me what that pretty mouth can do.”
he tasted so fucking good.
the leftover sweetness from the strawberries and cream still coated your mouth, mixing perfectly with his musky flavor.
you opened wider and took him into your mouth. his cock was thick and pulsing. the head leaked a little precum that tasted slightly sweet.
every time you pulled back you swirled your tongue around the head, chasing that sweet-salty mix, then sank down again, letting spit drip messily down his balls.
you were sucking him like a total expert cocksucker. eager and shameless. moaning around his thick cock like it was the best thing you’d ever tasted.
“c’mere, big boy. lay down with me.”
you stretched out on your back beside him under the hot sun, both of you sweaty and shining. joel immediately rolled closer, pressing his body against yours, his arm slid over your shoulders as he pulled you closer.
“fuck, look at that,” he chuckled, turning his head to kiss you deep and filthy, tongue sliding against yours while his hand pumped faster. “that’s it… stroke with me, bud”
your whole body was trembling, thighs shaking, toes curling into the blanket as the pleasure built fast and sharp.
you couldn’t stop staring. joel’s cock was so fucking big. you were mesmerized by it, watching the way he stroked himself like a real man. the sight made your mouth water all over again.
you started stroking yourself harder, matching his rhythm, your hand flying over your own cock while you kept sneaking glances at his massive one.
“arghhhh…” you moaned.
joel kept teasing you between filthy kisses, his deep voice right in your ear.
“you like that, don’t you?” he growled, his breath ragged.
“that’s it, big boy… fuckin’ cum for this old man,” he groaned against your lips.
the words hit you hard.
your back arched off the blanket, a loud broken moan spilling into joel’s mouth as you came thick ropes of cum splattering across your sweaty stomach and chest.
joel didn’t stop kissing you for a second, swallowing every whimper and moan, his tongue sliding deep while you pulsed and spurted in his view, clearly loving the sight of you falling apart right beside him.
“look at you makin’ such a mess.”
he slid down your body and dragged his hot tongue slowly over your cum-covered stomach, licking up every drop of it.
the feeling of his warm, wet tongue sliding through the mix of your cum and sweat made you shiver hard under the blazing sun. he moaned low and filthy as he tasted you, beard scratching your sensitive skin while he cleaned your chest.
““mmm… fuck, bud.”
he gathered the last thick streak of cum on his tongue, then crawled back up and kissed you deep and dirty.
the cum-soaked kiss was perfect. you could taste yourself on his tongue as he pushed it into your mouth, making you whimper softly.
he sat back on his knees, still between your legs, and started stroking his thick cock harder. his fist flew fast and tight, muscles flexing in his arm as sweat rolled down his chest. he kept his eyes locked on you the whole time, completely focused on your body.
you watched as he chased his own orgasm with low, rough grunts. his hand moved with raw need, thumb swiping over the slick head on every stroke while his chest heaved.
“urghhhhhh” with a deep, guttural groan, joel came hard. thick ropes of his cum splattered across his own stomach and chest, shiny and hot under the sun.
he milked every last drop, breathing heavy.
still catching his breath, he reached over and picked one of the ripest strawberries from the basket beside the blanket. he dragged it slowly through the mess on his chest, coating it generously with his warm cum, then brought it straight to your lips with a filthy little grin.
“have a strawberry with this old man’s cream on it. sweetest thing you’ll ever taste.”
he pressed the cum-covered strawberry to your tongue, eyes locked on yours the whole time, clearly enjoying every second of feeding you his mess in the middle of his garden.
the burst of the juicy strawberry mixed with the warm salty taste of his cum created a flavor that made you moan softly around it as you bit down. warm juice and cum ran down your chin while joel watched with proud eyes, thumb brushing the sticky mess from your lip.
so fucking delicious.
“can you keep this little secret about my garden?” he asked with a lazy smile and a wink.
you nodded.
“need a ride home?”
“i’m good, i rode my bike.”
you pulled your shorts back on and grabbed your bike.
the heat of what you two had just done refused to leave your body.
"nikolaj coster-waldau should've played joel!!!" "baby THATS joel miller" "we lost so bad"...i present to you a much sexier scenario...
nikolaj actually plays a character that is joels bisexual awakeing. at first joel is annoyed by this guy they're forced to work together constant eye-rolling "i work alone" energy you guys know joel. but they have something going on.
cut to them arguing on the truck suddenly they're grabbing each other, slamming against the car intense makeout session with years of repression finally exploding!!! joel shoving him against the car their thick beards scraping rough as they finally devour each other. their strong masculine smells mixing together weird at first but fuck it makes it so much hotter arghhhhh neither one willing to pull away first almost like they are fighing to dominate the kiss hips pressing hard both of them growling and breathing heavy like they’re pissed off arghghkgj HOW ABOUT THAT
series: guilty as sin? (I - all i used to do was pray/II - you're a crisis of my faith)
summary: Trying to distract himself from temptation, Joel starts working on his old Harley in the driveway, attacking the engine with focused violence in a desperate attempt to keep his mind off you. But when you appear on a picnic blanket on your backyard, his guilt-ridden resolve begins to crumble. Despite every sermon screaming in his head, your older neighbour takes you for a ride by the beach. There, you both find something sacred.
tags: 18+ (mdni). protective neighbour!joel x male!reader. religious guilt. internalized homophobia. angst. sexual tension. slow burn. mutual pining. summer romance. beach setting and sunset vibes (it is summer after all!)
wordcount: 3,7k
n/a: oh to long for joel miller while sucking on a cherry popsicle!!! unfortunately i have too many college assignments rn but i promise part III will be out soon! this is a story i've had in mind ever since i first listened to "cruel summer" so to writing it (and living inside it) has been a delicious experience. i was obsessed with "sons of anarchy" a few years ago so i can only refer to a motorcycle as a "bike" lol
taglist: @awkwardpaws @stanierses @dendulinka6 <3 if you want to be tagged on part III let me know!
"Oh my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee
And I detest all my sins because of Thy just punishment
But most of all, because I have offended Thee, oh my God
Who art all good and deserving of all my love
I firmly resolve with the help of Thy grace
To confess my sins, to do penance, to amend my life
And to avoid the temptations of evil
Oh my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee
And I detest all my sins because of Thy just punishment
But most of all, because my God, I have offended Thee
Who art all good
Like I knew you would
And deserving of all my love
I reserve, I reserve, I reserve
I reserve, I resolve...
… i don’t even know what to ask anymore”
it was habit more than hope now.
the bible on the nightstand. leather cracked, pages soft from years of turning, looked suddenly foreign. the cross on the wall, small and plain, might as well have been a picture frame. the air in the room felt thin, used up. like he’d been breathing the same exhausted oxygen for decades and only just noticed how little was left in it. no grace. no relief. just the stale aftertaste of guilt.
the days after that night passed in a strange and quiet drift.
joel kept the shutters cracked open each evening, telling himself it was only so he could make sure you were something besides pizza and wasn’t smoking yourself stupid in that empty house.
he didn’t go over. you didn’t come over. it was like both of you had silently agreed to let the heat of that evening cool off into something manageable.
normal. neighborly distance.
tuesday he saw you hauling groceries in from your car, shoulders rounded with the weight of the bags. he noted the milk, eggs, and chicken with a quiet grunt of approval. good. you were eating real food. that was what mattered.
“looking wasn’t the same as touching. looking wasn’t sin. not really.”
wednesday afternoon you mowed the lawn wearing nothing but those gray athletic shorts. joel braced his thick forearms on the kitchen counter and didn’t move for a long time. his eyes tracked every flex of your back, the shining path of sweat carving down the groove of your spine.
lust and protectiveness twisted together until he couldn’t tell them apart.
you were beautiful. strong. too young. his. no—not his. never his.
when you finally pushed the mower into the garage and disappeared, he stayed at the sink another full minute, breathing hard, shame burning behind his ribs.
thursday evening you sat on your back steps with a single beer.
joel watched from the shadows of his back porch door, half-hidden behind the curtain.
his gaze dragged slowly down the line of your throat as you took a long pull from the bottle, the way your adam’s apple bobbed.
without meaning to, his hand rose. his fingertips brushed his own mouth, tracing the lower lip exactly where yours had pressed days earlier.
“what the hell are you doing?” the kiss came back to him in broken pieces. the soft, surprised sound you’d made, half laugh, half breath, right when your lips met.
the exact pressure: gentle at first, almost playful, then the slight parting of your mouth like you’d been waiting for permission.
that single half-second before it happened... the way you’d been laughing, faces close, the sudden hush when the air changed.
he kept looking at you, bargaining silently.
“looking ain’t lusting. not if i don’t act on it. i’m just making sure he’s not spiraling. not getting into trouble.”
he watched until you stood and went in, then closed his own shutters like he was closing a book he had no right to keep reading.
“checking on him isn’t lust.”
“you both were just drunk and you were just playing… a part of a joke”
“i haven’t touched him. not really.” he would think to himself.
joel rubbed a rough hand over his face, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw sparks. he was disgusted with himself. not just for the desire, that was bad enough, but for how it had infected everything else.
the protectiveness he once felt toward you now felt poisoned. was he really worried about you being alone, or was that just a prettier word for possession? when he brought you dinner or told you to eat properly, was he being a good neighbor… or was he just finding excuses to stay close to something he knew he couldn’t have?
this was the man who used to pray with real conviction. now the prayers came out dry and mechanical, like he was performing a ritual for a god who had already turned away in disappointment.
that night, every time he closed his eyes he saw you on those back steps, legs spread, throat working around that beer, fingers drifting lazily under the waistband of your shorts. and every time, the same sick loop started
“you’re twice his age.”
“you’re supposed to be looking after him, not getting hard while you watch him exist.”
by friday afternoon the want had burrowed so deep under his skin it felt like part of his bones.
joel dragged the old harley out into the driveway and told himself it needed work.
it was a lie, and a weak one.
tools lay scattered across the concrete, grease streaking his forearms and worn gray t-shirt. he attacked the engine with focused violence, sleeves rolled high, sweat dripping down his temples.
anything to keep from remembering the weight of your body pressing him into the carpet, the soft sound you’d made when his tongue touched yours.
“just a joke…”
the little radio you’d carried outside crackled to life a few steps away.
you’d be laying on the ground in a picnic blanket wearing nothing but that tiny black swimsuit. legs spread lazy and wide, one arm slung behind your head, reading a book, trying to keep focused. the radio played something low and rhythmic with a heavy bass line that pulsed through the warm air.
you were sucking on a bright red popsicle, slow, lips wrapped around it while the melting juice ran down your chin and dripped onto your chest.
joel straightened slowly, wrench still gripped tight in his grease-stained hand.
his gaze dragged over you, your broad chest, ridged stomach, the way the tiny swimsuit barely contained the growing outline of your cock, and he felt it like a physical blow.
you were pure temptation.
the very image of forbidden fruit laid out before him, glistening and inviting, sent straight from the devil to test the weakness of his flesh.
every slow pull of your lips around that popsicle felt like an act of seduction.
the sticky red trails sliding down your chest looked like offerings, like an altar of warm skin and youthful hunger begging to be worshipped… or devoured.
your eyes drifted over. half-lidded. heavy. they locked on joel’s across the short distance between houses, full of want and uncertainty all at once. you pulled the popsicle from your mouth with a soft, wet pop.
“bike giving you trouble, mr. miller?” you called, voice lazy and warm.
“always somethin’,” he answered, voice rough and low. he didn’t step closer. boots planted like they were nailed down. his eyes, though—his eyes betrayed him. they stayed on your mouth, on the sticky red shine on your lips.
“lord, help me” he thought, but the prayer felt flat, useless. the space where his faith used to live had grown airless. the god he had spoken to for decades suddenly felt very far away.
you smiled around the popsicle, but it wavered.
you didn’t know what that kiss had meant either. you weren’t sure if you wanted it to mean something. making excuses to yourself that you were just drunk and playing around.
little did you know he wanted to wipe that sticky juice off your chest with his thumb and tell you to stop playing with fire before it consumed you both.
he wanted to drop to his knees right there on the concrete and pray for strength he no longer fully believed in, but instead he was imagining dropping to your knees right there in the yard and tasting cherry on your tongue.
your body was perfect and ready for that…
you stayed on the blanket for another long minute, sucking lazily on what remained of the popsicle, eyes never leaving him. then you pushed yourself up, wiped the sticky red juice from your chest with the back of your hand, and padded barefoot across the grass toward his driveway.
joel’s entire body tensed as you crossed the invisible line between your houses.
you stopped a few feet away from the harley, close enough that he could smell the warm cherry on your skin mixed with sunscreen and sun-heated sweat.
he looked… damn good. sweat glistened on his thick forearms and biceps, tracing dirty paths through the grease on his skin. his gray t-shirt clung to his broad chest. the afternoon sun caught in the silver at his temples and in the damp hair at the nape of his neck. he looked rough, every inch the older man who used to tear up these backroads on a bike decades ago, back when life felt simpler and his sins were smaller.
“you used to ride a lot, right?” you asked quietly, circling the harley slowly, eyes running over the chrome and black metal.
joel wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist, leaving a streak of grease. his heart was hammering.
“yeah,” he grunted. “back in the day. did a lot of stupid shit on bikes like this.”
he straightened up, trying to put some distance between you, but the driveway felt too small. you were standing right there, nearly naked, sun-kissed, smelling like summer and sin, and he couldn’t stop looking.
he cleared his throat, voice rougher than he wanted.
“you know how to ride?”
you shook your head, a small, almost shy smile tugging at your lips. “never learned. always wanted to, though.”
“too dangerous for a kid like you,” he muttered, half to himself. the words came out grumpy, almost mad, but the anger wasn’t for you. it was for the way his faith kept fracturing every time you got close. every time you looked at him like that…. another piece of the man he used to be crumbled away.
you didn’t push. you just kept looking at the bike with quiet curiosity, then back at him, at the sweat rolling down his neck, at the way his soaked shirt clung to his chest. that look undid him more than any bold move ever could.
joel exhaled through his nose, jaw tight. he knew he should send you back to your blanket. instead, the words left his mouth before he could stop them.
“go put some clothes on. jeans and boots if you’ve got ‘em. i’ll take you out for a bit.”
your eyes widened, surprised. you nodded quickly and jogged back to your house without argument. joel stood there staring at the empty driveway, already regretting the decision and powerless to take it back.
fifteen minutes later you returned in dark jeans, a loose white t-shirt, and a pair of scuffed boots.
joel had wiped most of the grease off his arms and changed into a cleaner black tee that still stretched across his broad shoulders. he looked solid, sun-warmed, and unfairly handsome standing next to the harley.
the ride to the beach was quiet.
you sat behind him, hands resting lightly on his sides at first, almost hesitant. as the wind picked up and the bike leaned into the curves, your arms slowly slid further around his waist, palms flattening against his stomach. joel kept his eyes fixed on the road, jaw locked. he tried not to notice the warmth of your chest pressed to his back, the way your thighs bracketed his, or how perfectly your body fit against him.
at a quiet stretch of beach road, he pulled over.
“get in front,” he said gruffly. “i’ll teach you how to ride.”
you looked nervous but excited. joel guided you through the basics, his big hands covering yours on the grips, his chest pressed to your back as he leaned in to speak over the engine. the closeness was excruciating. every small correction of your posture, every brush of his fingers, felt like fire.
“easy, kid,” he murmured close to your ear, voice low and steady. “i’ve got you. if anything feels off, i’ll take over.”
the protectiveness came out instinctively, the same tone he used when he made you eat real food or told you to stop smoking alone in your room.
his prayers had gone completely silent now.
there was only the roar of the engine and the pounding of his own guilty heart.
“relax your shoulders,” he said, palm smoothing briefly down your arm. “you’re gripping too tight. let the bike work with you, not against you.” his beard brushing your shoulder, his large hand adjusting your grip or the angle of your wrist.
when you finally managed a longer, smoother stretch, you let out a happy laugh that made something dangerous bloom in joel’s chest. he allowed himself one quiet moment of pride.
“nice job, kid. i think you were born to be wild.” he murmured close to your ear.
a small smile tugged at both your lips at the same time.
neither of you said anything about how much you’d missed this.
for the entire week you’d both spent drifting apart, avoiding eye contact across the yards, keeping your curtains closed, pretending the kiss on his living room floor hadn’t happened but you had missed this. missed the low rumble of his voice and his smile.
you eventually parked near the sand as the sun dipped lower, painting everything in deep gold and orange.
you stepped off the bike first and walked a few paces toward the water. joel followed a few steps behind.
a light offshore wind brushed across both your sweat-damp arms and neck, carrying salt and the faint metallic tang of the sea.
you stopped at the edge where water met sand. the rose-gold light washed over your face and shoulders, catching in your hair and along the line of your jaw.
for a long moment you simply stood there, eyes on the horizon, breathing slow and deep.
it was like you had found something holy in the fading light on the water, in the rhythmic hush of the waves pulling at the shore.
a kind of wordless religion.
joel was watching you and tried to find the same feeling somewhere inside himself.
it held him there, rooted in the sand, wind moving over his skin like a question he had no answer for.
a small crack opened inside him. just a quiet, uneasy shift.
“this… this is what it’s supposed to feel like?” he would think to himself.
not candles and carefully chosen scripture. not the rituals he had repeated for decades. but this… salt wind on skin, dying light turning the ocean into fire and rose, a boy standing in the sand with something like worship on his face. the way the amber glow traced your silhouette, the soft rise and fall of your chest as you took in the scene, the peace in your eyes…
the comparison unsettled him more than he wanted to admit. it made the foundations he had built his life on feel suddenly fragile.
a particular sermon drifted up, uninvited. the pastor’s voice, tight with conviction: “the body is a temple, but the flesh is weak. worldly beauty is the devil’s bait. pleasure that leads only to ruin. turn your eyes from the temptations of the skin and the senses, for they are fleeting and false.”
he tried to lay those words over what he was seeing now. you, glowing in the amber light, open and alive. they didn’t fit.
the sermon felt stiff, narrow, and suddenly irrelevant against the living warmth in front of him.
the beauty he was witnessing didn’t feel like bait. it felt like… grace.
you turned toward him then, the last of that amber light still clinging to your skin, and gave a little shy smile.
he'd spent decades learning what reverence was supposed to look like. candlelight through stained glass, dust motes hanging gold in church air, the particular hush that fell over a room when the priest lifted his hands.
he knew the shape of it.
he'd built his whole life around chasing that feeling back into himself, week after week, kneeling until his knees ached, hoping the ache meant something.
nobody had ever told him it might look like this. a boy standing in his old boots by the sand, salt-drying on his skin, smiling like he had no idea what he'd just done.
"you look like—" he started, and then stopped himself, because the rest of that sentence scared him too much to say it out loud.
you tilted your head, that small smile still there, waiting on him.
you look like something i used to pray to.
the thought came blasphemous and tender all at once.
joel cleared his throat, forcing his gaze away from your mouth.
“—you need a popsicle. the cherry ones. i’ve seen you sucking on them all summer”
there was a gruff fondness in his tone, the kind he used when he was trying to steer things back into safer territory, back to the role of responsible older neighbor, the man who made sure you ate real food and didn’t float through the day in a haze.
but even as he said it, he couldn’t quite shake the image of you in your backyard all afternoons, lips wrapped around bright red ice.
“i like how they taste,” you said lightly, but your eyes lingered on his face a second longer than necessary.
the sun had dropped even lower now, bathing everything in that rich, honeyed amber.
you both walked to a small beach stand and bought two cherry popsicles. you ate yours quickly, grinning at him with red-stained lips like a kid who’d been caught doing something mildly naughty.
joel tried to eat his like a normal man, but a drop of syrup caught at the corner of his mouth.
before he could wipe it away, you stepped closer.
your eyes flicked left, then right, checking that no one was paying attention. then you lifted your hand and slowly dragged the pad of your thumb across the corner of joel’s lips, collecting the sticky cherry syrup.
joel’s breath stalled.
that slow swipe of your thumb against his mouth felt like pure temptation.
there was something disarming about it. the quiet way you were paying such close attention to him. like you couldn’t help but touch. like you wanted any excuse to feel his lips under your finger.
a playful little smile tugged at your mouth.
“this boy is going to be the death of me”, he thought, half prayer, half curse.
you just smile, licking the cherry from your own thumb while holding his gaze.
"it's getting dark," you say nodding toward the horizon where the amber had gone to a deep purple. "we should probably head back."
"it's getting dark," you say nodding toward the horizon where the amber had gone to a deep, bruised purple. "we should probably head back."
temptation, he'd been taught, was supposed to announce itself. nobody had warned him it might just walk beside him in the sand, quiet and easy, smelling like salt and cherry, close enough to touch.
the tide was coming in behind them, erasing their footprints one wave at a time, like the beach itself was in a hurry to forget what had happened there. joel almost envied it. he wasn't going to get off that easy.
you both climbed onto the harley. this time you sat behind him without hesitation, arms sliding around his waist and holding him close. your chest pressed warmly against his back, thighs bracketing his, hands resting low on his stomach.
the ride home was quiet except for the roar of the engine and the wind rushing past.
by the time the two houses came into view, his jaw ached from how hard he'd been holding it shut the whole walk. every unsaid thing sat behind his teeth like a stone.
he killed the engine in his driveway.
you stopped at the low fence between your yards, same as always. neighbors saying goodnight. except nothing was the same between you two anymore.
"thanks for the popsicle, mr. miller" you said, and there was that smile again, soft this time
"yeah," joel said. his voice came out rougher than he meant. "course."
you lingered for half a second longer than necessary, then gave him a small nod and crossed into your yard. joel stayed on the bike until your door clicked shut behind you.
inside his kitchen, he stood at the counter with both hands braced on the edge, staring at nothing.
butterflies had no place in a man his age, but whatever this was… warm…. restless pull in his chest…refused to settle.
he rubbed a hand over his face, salt and cherry still lingering faintly on his skin.
“maybe if i can’t stop wanting him”, he thought, the words were heavy “maybe i can at least let the shame destroy me cleanly. maybe that’s the only honest thing i have left”
penance had always been part of his language. this felt like the last scrap of integrity he could still claim.
across the yard, you closed your bedroom door and leaned against it for a moment, a quiet grin tugging at your mouth.
the ride had left you buzzing too. the vibration of the harley between your thighs and joel’s warm body against yours felt right in a way you couldn’t explain.
you reached into your pocket and pulled out the polaroid you’d taken of him by the water the other day. joel standing at the edge of the water, hands in his pockets, looking out at the horizon with that quiet strength carved into his face.
the light had caught him perfectly.
you set the photo on your nightstand, propped against the lamp. for a long minute you just looked at it, the way the fading sun had softened the hard lines of him.
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