Summary: After weeks of working overtime, between looming deadlines and a dreaded annual performance review something just had to give. The AC gave out first. You weren’t far behind.
Can the repairman fix it? Will you let him?
(you’re an overachiever burning out in a corporate job and he’s just a guy who’s fixing your AC—until he’s not)
Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader
Warnings/tags: 18+, no outbreak AU, reader is a neurotic corporate girlie, corporate jargon and corporate burnout, age gap but nothing crazy (29 and 42), pre outbreak!Joel, smut, light sub/dom dynamics, soft dom!Joel
synopsis : There was one thing you knew for sure, absolutely certain: Clark Kent didn’t like you. Not in an angry or rude way, he was still polite, still himself. But you could feel it. His body language and attitude gave everything away. Your coworkers kept insisting you were wrong, but then why did he keep avoiding you?
cw : smut, unprotected sex, coworkers to lovers, idiots in love, insecurities, height difference, chubby reader. (david!clark kent)
words : 12.7k
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It was no secret at the Daily Planet that Clark Kent was a gentleman. His coworkers liked to joke that his mama raised him right—but if only they knew, it was actually his pa who was the emotional one.
Still, the truth stood : Clark Kent had been raised right.
He brought coffee to his colleagues in the morning, at least when he wasn’t running late. If someone forgot their wallet, he’d quietly pick up the lunch tab, never expecting to be paid back. He always volunteered for the articles no one else wanted to write, the stories everyone avoided.
That’s just Clark. A pleaser, through and through.
It did wonders for the office. You hadn’t met a single person who didn’t like Clark, he made it so easy to appreciate him. A gentle, big man with a heart of gold, who could hate that? You certainly didn’t. But still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t like you.
Every time he walked past your desk, he avoided your gaze, eyes low and fixed on the floor, hiding his face from you. Sure, he never left you out of his little acts of kindness, bringing your favorite vanilla latte to your cubicle next to Jimmy’s with that soft, polite smile, but he never lingered. Not the way he did at other people’s desks.
At first, you chalked it up to being the new hire. But as the months slipped by, you started to realize, he just didn’t like you all that much. Which was a shame, really, considering the rather enormous crush you’d developed on the man.
You had done a marvellous job of hiding it. You were always polite with Clark, but you never stared too long, never asked your coworkers about him, never lingered by his desk longer than necessary. Still, every time he was near, your heart would pound like crazy, ready to burst right out of your chest. It was ridiculous.
Almost 26, and you still had crushes like you were in high school. You’d thought you were past all that, especially after enduring so many terrible dates. Maybe the problem wasn’t you, maybe it was the men of Metropolis. Because you seemed to have no trouble falling for a man from a small town lost somewhere in Kansas.
“Hello!” snapped you out of your daydream, along with fingers flicking in front of your face. “Have you even been listening to me?” Jimmy asked, exasperation written all over his face.
Obviously not. You hadn’t heard a word.
“Of course, Jimmy,” you said quickly, looking him in the eye.
You’d been staring at the empty coffee cup on the corner of your desk, the very one Clark had brought you that morning. You grabbed it hastily and tossed it into the trash. It had been sitting there like a quiet taunt, mocking you with the reminder that you could never have the one man you actually wanted.
Jimmy frowned at your abrupt action but quickly moved on, picking up where he'd left off with his story about his latest date. You loved him—really, you did—he was one of your favourite coworkers. But god, did he talk a lot. And since your desks were practically conjoined, you were the default audience for all of his dating escapades.
It had been a long day.
You’d spent it covering yet another political scandal, this time in Gotham City. Something about the Mayor being killed. The details were murky, grim, and far too much for a Wednesday. You couldn’t help but wish the day would just end already.
Dropping your head onto your arm, you let out a groan as you remembered the errands still waiting for you. If you didn’t get to the store soon, you’d be dining on water and regret. If Jimmy noticed you disinterest in the conversation, he didn't act on it as he kept yapping about the girl he had seen the night before.
And to top it all off, you needed a new perfume, your old one was currently sitting in the bottom of your trash can, shattered into a hundred glassy pieces. Just one more little tragedy in a day full of them.
From the moment you woke up, it had been that kind of day. And you couldn’t wait for it to be over.
“Care for a drink tonight?” Lois’s voice cut through the room like a whip, barging in out of nowhere, and mercifully putting an end to Jimmy’s endless rambling.
Normally, grabbing a drink with coworkers would’ve sounded nice. Fun, even. But not tonight.
Your head was pounding, a dull, throbbing ache that had been building for hours. That’s when you realized, you hadn’t had any water today. Just coffee. So much coffee. And now exhaustion clung to you like the plague, dragging you down like a ball and chain around your ankle.
“Not for me…” you mumbled, face buried in your arms. “My head’s killing me, so… no drinks tonight.”
After a few worried words from Jimmy, which you quickly brushed off, he went right back to talking about his date. This time, to Lois. Which, unfortunately, meant he started the entire story over again from the beginning.
You sat up with a quiet groan, realising you still had about two hours left at work. Deciding to make good use of the time, you started preparing questions for your next interview, then moved on to editing your article about the Gotham City scandal, scheduled to run the next day.
Once you were fully immersed in your work, the background noise faded. Jimmy’s voice, Lois’s witty remarks, none of it registered anymore. It was peaceful, being tucked away inside your own head, fingers dancing across the keyboard with purpose.
Unfortunately, that peace did nothing for your pounding headache, especially since your glasses were currently sitting on your coffee table at home, forgotten yet again.
The voices around you quieted when a bottle of water appeared on your desk, followed by a single aspirin. They had been placed gently on the wood, carefully set down so as not to disturb your focus. It was a quiet, thoughtful gesture, tender in a way that caught you off guard.
Looking up, you found yourself met with soft blue eyes, warm and filled with concern.
“For your head,” Clark said simply, before turning back to his own desk under the watchful gaze of three stunned coworkers.
How had he known?
He’d been at his desk the whole time. When you mentioned the headache, your voice had been muffled into your arms, barely audible even to Jimmy and Lois, who were sitting right beside you.
But Clark? Clark had heard you all the way across the room?
You couldn’t begin to figure out the logistics of it, but your heart didn’t care. It tumbled over in your chest, stuttering at the unexpected sweetness of it all.
What you didn’t see, because his back was turned, was the small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of Clark’s mouth as he sat back down.
When you turned your eyes back to your coworkers, both Jimmy and Lois were looking at you with raised eyebrows and matching, knowing smiles.
Jimmy had been teasing you about Clark ever since he caught you blushing the first time Clark brought you coffee. And Lois? She never missed a chance to mention the "energy" she claimed she could feel between the two of you, whatever that meant.
“Oh, fuck off,” you muttered, ducking your head and returning to your article as you twisted open the bottle of water. You popped the aspirin and took a long sip, trying to drown the heat rising in your cheeks.
For someone who didn’t seem to like you very much… Clark was oddly caring.
But that was just Clark. He cared about people, that’s who he was. Thoughtful, selfless, kind to a fault. You were part of his daily life, part of the Daily Planet team, and even if he didn’t like you that way, he would still care.
That’s just how he was. Clark Kent had been raised right. There was no denying that.
A few days later, it was your turn to be late to the Daily Planet. It was rare for you, almost unheard of, but some alien had decided to crash-land on Earth the night before, and the resulting battle with Superman had wrecked part of your subway line.
You’d ended up walking twenty minutes to the office, arriving late, sweaty, and just in time to miss the morning meeting. Your punishment? Covering sports for the day. Fantastic.
You hated sports. Ironic, really, considering some of your old dates used to joke about how unathletic your body looked. Those assholes.
When you finally made it to your desk, your usual iced vanilla latte was already waiting for you, right next to a fresh bottle of water. God. Did he have to be this thoughtful?
It made everything worse. Or better. You weren’t sure anymore. All you knew was that you liked him even more now, which was exactly the problem.
“Thought you were dead,” Jimmy said the second you dropped into your chair. “Was gonna swing by your place tonight and steal your vinyl collection.”
You shot him a flat look. “Yeah, well, if Superman hadn’t turned half the N line into a pile of concrete, I wouldn’t have had to walk twenty minutes to get here.” You groaned and took a sip of your coffee.
Sweet, cold, just how you liked it. The smallest part of you hated how good it tasted, because it meant he remembered exactly what you liked. Again. And of course, he’d made sure it was iced, the summer heat had already started hitting Metropolis like a brick wall.
Jimmy giggled beside you like a child. You glanced over to see him diving into his assignment, politics, the lucky bastard. He had a long day of work ahead, while you were stuck with nothing interesting. Groaning under your breath, you reached into your bag and pulled out your glasses, resigning yourself to a long, boring day. You already knew you were going to hate it.
“Hey.” A soft voice called from behind you.
You turned, half-expecting it to be someone asking for a stapler or sticky notes. But it was Clark. You offered him a polite smile, assuming, like usual, he was there to talk to Jimmy. You were already halfway turned back toward your screen when you noticed something strange : his eyes were still on you.
You raised a brow, unsure. “Hello,” you replied, voice cautious, heart beating fast. He looked like he was fighting back a smile.
God. That little almost-smile. Your heart tripped over itself. How could someone that big be so ridiculously cute? It made no sense. None at all.
“I know you’re not a fan of sports,” Clark began, his tone gentle, “and I got stuck with local news today… which I also know you like.”
Your heart stuttered. You didn’t even need to look, Jimmy was absolutely staring at the two of you, probably wearing that smug told-you-so smirk he always pulled when it came to Clark. He’d insisted for months that you were wrong, that Clark did like you.
“He’s just polite,” you used to argue.
“He’s polite to everyone,” Jimmy would say. “But with you? He’s thoughtful.”
And damn it, now it was starting to look like Jimmy might’ve been right.
“I asked Perry, and he said as long as we’re both okay with it, he doesn’t see any problem with us switching—” Clark stopped mid-sentence.
He’d stepped a little closer to your desk, his expression soft and earnest… but then something shifted. His brow furrowed slightly, as if catching something out of place. “You changed your perfume?”
Oh.
You had. The other night, when you finally made it to the store, they’d been out of your usual scent. You’d spent a good hour testing every bottle on the shelf until you found one you liked, something softer, quieter. No one else had noticed the difference.
But of course Clark did.
You blinked, caught off guard. He wasn’t even that close. You weren’t wearing much of it. How did he notice? You felt your heart knock hard against your ribs. There it was again, that strange awareness. Like he saw and heard and felt things other people didn’t.
“Yeah,” you said, keeping your voice casual even as your pulse betrayed you. “Just trying something new.”
Clark didn’t say anything right away. His gaze lingered a little longer, thoughtful, before that small, secret smile tugged at the corner of his lips again. You didn’t know what that smile meant. But you were starting to want to.
“Anyway,” he said quickly, as if realising how odd his comment about your perfume might’ve sounded. “I figured you might want local news. I really don’t mind sports.”
He offered a soft smile as he handed you the annex documents.
“Oh, thank you so much, Clark,” you said, relieved and maybe a little too enthusiastic, swapping him the sports documents in return.
Your fingers brushed, just barely, and it sent a shiver down your spine. He was warm. Of course he was. He looked like he gave the best hugs. The kind you could melt into and forget the world existed for a little while.
You shook your head subtly, trying to knock the thought loose.
Now was not the time to imagine Clark Kent curled around you in bed during the dead of winter, holding you close while snow fell outside. Not the time to picture flannel sheets and his soft breath against your neck. Those kinds of thoughts were supposed to stay in your bedroom, late at night, when the lights were out and your imagination ran free.
Not in the middle of the office. Not in the middle of the day. And definitely not while standing in front of the actual man who starred in every single one of those fantasies.
You cleared your throat, eyes darting anywhere but his. “You’re a lifesaver.”
Clark gave you a look you couldn’t quite read, something quiet, maybe a little amused, but he didn’t press. Just nodded gently and stepped back toward his desk. And damn it, there went your brain again. Right back to flannel sheets and the curve of his smile.
“Girl, you are down bad,” Jimmy snorted from behind you, pulling you right out of your spiral.
Without even looking, you grabbed the first thing within reach, a ruler, and threw it at his head. It hit him square on. “Worth it,” he laughed, rubbing the spot before turning back to his screen.
You huffed and tried to do the same, shaking off the embarrassment and diving into your article. What you didn’t catch, too flustered and too focused on pretending not to care, was the quiet laugh Clark let slip from his own desk.
Soft. Low. Amused. Like he’d heard the whole thing…
You’d never been particularly fond of walking home.
The streets of Metropolis were always crowded, day and night, and ever since Superman had wrecked part of the N line, your commute had grown by twenty exhausting minutes each way.
Why was it so easy to smash half the city every month, but fixing it always took forever?
So you walked. Again. Winding your way toward the still-functioning stretch of the N line, where you could finally hop on a train for the last ten minutes of your journey. You were just passing a little corner restaurant when you heard your name.
Your full name. Spoken in a voice you’d come to recognize far too easily.
Clark.
Your heart jumped. Turning around, you caught sight of him instantly.
He looked the same as he had in the office, same button-up shirt with his sleeves now rolled up to the elbows, but somehow, he also looked softer. His hair had loosened in the summer humidity, and a single curl had fallen down across his forehead.
He looked good. Too good.
“Oh, hi, Clark,” you said, inwardly cringing at how small and soft your voice came out.
He smiled, warm and easy, walking toward you. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Never caught you around this part of town before.”
You shrugged, trying to keep things casual despite the way your stomach flipped.
“Oh, yeah, no, um…” You stumbled over your words, eyes flicking to the restaurant window behind him like it might save you. “Superman destroyed the N line near the office, so I have to walk all the way to the library station to catch the part that wasn’t damaged.”
Clark winced sympathetically. “Right. The whole N line mess.”
He’d been different with you lately.
Not dramatically, not enough to confirm anything, but just enough to keep your brain in a constant, swirling fog. He talked to you more. Not just about assignments, but about music, coffee, the weather, small things, personal things. His eyes stayed on you when you spoke, warm and focused. He lingered at your desk a little longer than he used to. Not like he did at Lois’s desk, all easy banter and playful grins, but still. It was something.
A start.
And right now, with his sleeves pushed up and that single rogue curl falling onto his forehead, it was definitely doing something to your heartbeat.
There was a pause, not uncomfortable, but charged, and you scrambled to keep the moment going.
“What about you?” you asked, voice softer. “You grabbing dinner?”
Clark nodded, smile easy. “Yeah. I like this place. It’s quiet, kind of tucked away. Close to home. Good food. I come here sometimes after work. Helps me think.”
His voice was slower now, more casual than at the office. The city buzzed around you, horns in the distance, the hum of summer heat, but this little moment between you felt strangely still.
“Have you eaten?” “Well, have a good night.”
You both spoke at the same time, the words overlapping, catching you off guard.
Laughter bubbled out from both of you, soft and awkward, as you stood there on the sidewalk, caught in that strange, fluttery space between goodbye and something more.
You were so drawn in by him, his eyes, his voice, the quiet warmth he carried, that you didn’t hear the teenager barreling toward you on a skateboard until it was too late. But Clark did.
Before the kid could slam into you, his hand wrapped around your forearm, firm, steady, warm, and in one smooth, instinctive motion, he pulled you into him.
The strength of it startled you. You knew Clark was strong, he was tall, broad-shouldered, always lifting stacks of paper like they weighed nothing, but this was different. He’d pulled you so quickly, so easily, it knocked the breath out of you. You stumbled forward, colliding with his chest, hands instinctively pressing against him to keep balance.
Solid. Warm. Safe.
Before you could even register how close you were, before you could say something awkward to ruin the moment, Clark gently let go of your arm, only after making sure you had your balance again.
“Want to grab some dinner with me?” he asked, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And really, how could you say no to that?
What you expected to be a quick dinner between coworkers turned into something else entirely, something easy. You shared the food you ordered, Clark was right: the place was good. Casual, quiet, with a back booth tucked away from the crowd where it was just the two of you and the low hum of the city outside.
You talked. About your lives. Childhood memories. Favorite music. Silly stories from high school. Your mutual hatred for Metropolis sports coverage when he told you he actually didn't like covering sports.
It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t awkward. There were no strained silences, no moments where you felt like you had to fill the space. The conversation simply flowed.
And for the first time in forever around him, your heart was quiet. Not because the feelings were gone. But because they finally felt safe.
Of course, Clark being Clark, he insisted on paying and walking you home, or at least to your subway station. He argued it was late, that the streets weren’t safe, as if you lived in Gotham City. That made you laugh. Ever the gentleman, he made sure to walk on the side closest to the road and even offered to carry your bag.
You had refused, obviously. Walking next to him felt strange. For one, he was so much taller than you, fitter, broader. Beside him, you almost looked like a child in comparison. You’d put on your nice skirt that morning, the one that made your ass look great, but it came with downsides, especially after meals.
Your stomach stuck out, bloated from the food, and with the heat, you hadn’t brought a jumper to hide it. That’s why you insisted on keeping your tote bag, slinging it on the side he was walking on, using it to shield your stomach from his view.
What you didn’t know was how Clark couldn’t help his eyes from drifting downward every time he fell a step behind you on the street, not on purpose, of course. But he couldn’t look away from the bounce of your ass, the way your thighs moved with each step. It was mesmerizing to him.
Finally, you reached the subway station. A bit too soon for your liking, it almost felt like you’d just been on the best date of your life. But it wasn’t a date, and Clark was still that coworker who, as far as you knew, didn’t like you all that much. Even if it didn’t truly feel that way anymore.
Maybe Jimmy was right?
“Well, you get home safe, alright?” Clark said, a small, knowing smirk playing at his lips. Knowing of what, you couldn’t quite figure out.
“Yeah, hopefully Superman took the night off,” you joked.
The smirk faded from his face, just a little, but enough. Maybe you shouldn’t have said that. You knew he and Superman were... friends, sort of. Clark was, after all, the only reporter in the city who ever got interviews with him.
Your subway ride was filled with secondhand embarrassment as you replayed everything you’d said tonight. You’d been awkward, not really that funny, and, overall, it felt like you’d talked way too much. But Clark had brought up topics you were passionate about, and once that happened, well... you yapped.
You shook your head, trying to shake off the uncomfortable weight of cringe. You’d apologize tomorrow morning, just to be safe. No need to give Clark another reason to like you even less.
Once you arrived home, you looked up at the sky, drawn by strange noises echoing above the rooftops. There he was, Superman, fighting off another threat from outer space. The battle was so close to your building you could see the entire scene unfold with startling clarity. That gave you an idea.
You made your way up to the rooftop, sat down, and pulled out your little notebook. You started writing it all out like a novel : vivid descriptions of the fight, the way Superman moved with precision, doing everything he could to avoid causing damage to the city. You noted how he kept trying to push the alien threat higher into the sky, away from civilians, careful not to hurt the beast more than necessary.
Perry would love these notes. Maybe he’d even let you cover the attack for the paper tomorrow. You kept writing, capturing everything, even the moment the Justice Gang showed up to help contain the creature, working together to finally subdue it.
The air up on the roof was lighter, breezier than the stifling heat you’d endured all day, and it made you want to stay. So you fetched your laptop, opened a blank document, and started shaping your article. Even if you hadn't officially covered the attack, yet, Perry would greenlight it, he always did when your writing spoke for itself.
You lost track of time, deep in your work, until a soft cough interrupted your flow… from the sky?
You looked up quickly, startled, and there he was. Superman himself. You’d never met him in person, but then again, who hadn’t seen him? Everyone knew that face. You knew him even better than most, thanks to Clark, who was always going on about him, especially after those exclusive interviews.
“Well, hello, Miss,” he spoke first.
You snorted softly, eyes still on your laptop screen. Not exactly ignoring him, but definitely unimpressed. Typing away, you mumbled a half-hearted, “Hey.” Maybe you were still a little petty about the N line being down.
“You shouldn’t have stayed outside during the fight,” he continued, landing gently on the rooftop and staying a respectful distance away. “It got a bit too close to your building.”
“Hm?” you murmured, barely looking up. “Oh, yeah. I’ll be alright.” You waved off the concern, trying not to sound as dismissive as you felt.
But you could feel his confused gaze on you, lingering, slightly thrown off. Clearly, he wasn’t used to being ignored. That might do him some good. Might help deflate that ego a bit. You kept typing, your fingers flying across the keyboard, but a small part of you couldn’t resist. He was standing right there. And, honestly, he could be useful.
“So, would you say you were a little in over your head before the Justice Gang showed up?” you asked, voice casual, laced with dry sarcasm. “Because it kinda looked like it from here. The alien was clearly kicking your ass for a minute.”
You didn't mean it cruelly, just honest observation. He had looked a little overwhelmed at first.
Superman blinked, clearly not expecting that kind of feedback. His brow arched, just slightly.
“Is that your professional opinion?” he asked, his voice smooth but amused. “From the rooftop press box?”
You shrugged, not looking up from your screen. “Hey, I had the best seat in the house. Front-row view.”
He chuckled softly, the sound low and surprisingly human. Almost familiar. “I’ll admit, he had a few unexpected tricks. But I had it under control.”
“Oh, sure, no doubts,” you said, finally glancing up. “Right up until the part where you got slammed into a billboard. Very graceful.”
He smiled, wry, almost humble. “That was... tactical repositioning.”
You snorted. “Is that what you call getting launched like a ragdoll now? Tactical.”
“Well,” he said, folding his arms, cape fluttering just slightly in the breeze, “you’re welcome for the save.”
“You didn't exactly save me,” you teased, then added with a touch more bite, “Though I will say, I’m glad you didn’t take out the rest of the N line this time.” Your fingers hovered above the keys as you shot him a pointed look. “I wouldn’t have been nearly as nice in the article otherwise.”
Superman’s lips twitched, like he was fighting back a laugh, or a wince. “I see. So your forgiveness is tied directly to public transport?”
“Absolutely,” you replied. “I can forgive a lot, but making me walk fourty minutes everyday? That’s borderline villain behavior.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Noted. I’ll add subway lines to the list of things to protect at all costs.”
“Good,” you said, returning to your typing. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got an article to write. Since I know you only give your interviews to Mr. Kent.”
You didn’t even try to hide the edge in your voice. Petty? Maybe. Deserved? Also maybe.
There was a pause. Then, with a teasing voice, Superman spoke again. “Jealous of Clark?”
You scoffed without looking up. “Please. I’m just saying, he gets exclusives, I get the N line destruction and a rooftop cameo.”
Another pause. A longer one this time.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I’ve read your articles.”
That made your fingers freeze for just a second. You had written about Superman before, here and there. Not often, mostly because your beat was international politics. But he’d made waves recently with the Boravian government, and you couldn’t not cover it.
Unfortunately, you hadn’t exactly been... gentle.
“I don’t think you like me very much,” he said, laughing softly. Not defensive. Not wounded. Just amused.
“It’s not you,” you said quickly. “It’s your actions. You act like you’re above the law, above international conflict and diplomacy. It was just an objective piece, you know? Freedom of the press.”
You tried to keep it light. You really weren’t in the mood to argue with the most powerful metahuman on Earth.
“I’ve never doubted your objectivity,” he replied, his tone teasing. “You’re with the Daily Planet, after all. Home of the most brutally honest reporters in Metropolis.”
That earned a small, reluctant smile from you. But still, something nagged at you. The way he looked at you. The way he spoke, gently, like he already knew how you thought. The rhythm of his voice. That soft smile.
It felt like you knew him.
Not just in the he's a global figure kind of way. But personally. Intimately.
Your brows furrowed slightly as you stared at him. It was so familiar, and yet your brain couldn’t quite latch on to the why. You blinked and shook the feeling off, typing again. Maybe you were just tired. Or maybe Clark had spent too much time talking about this guy.
But the thought lingered.
“Anyway,” you said, stretching your arms with a dramatic sigh, “I’d better get back to my flat. Long day tomorrow, got to write about all the money your heroics cost the city. Call a few insurance companies… you know, the fun stuff.”
You flashed him a teasing grin as you gathered your things.
Superman chuckled. “Sounds thrilling.”
You headed toward the rooftop door, hand on the handle, but paused to glance back one last time. “Goodnight, Superman,” you said, softer this time. Genuine.
“Goodnight,” he replied, already turning slightly as if ready to take off, then paused. “Oh, and… I’m sorry about the N line. I’ll keep an eye on the tracks next time. Promise it won’t get destroyed again ma'am.”
There was a grin on his face as he said it, wide, smug, just a little too pleased with himself. A shit-eating grin. Then he was gone, vanishing into the sky with a gust of wind and a blur of red and blue. You stood there for a second, squinting up at the empty sky.
That grin. You knew it. You’d seen it before, up close, maybe even across the office.
But where?
After that night, Clark started acting... different.
Not in a dramatic way, he was still the same with everyone else. Polite, calm, a little awkward in the way only Clark could be. But with you, something had changed. He was more open, more playful. The teasing started subtly, soft jokes at your expense, quick little comebacks. Nothing cruel. Just familiar. Comfortable.
He stopped watching his feet every time you walked into the room. Stopped leaving the break room the moment you stepped in. And he actually talked to you now, full eye contact, even smiling sometimes like he meant it.
It was whiplash, honestly. Not that you didn’t like it, you did. You just couldn’t figure out why he’d changed his opinion of you so suddenly.
You hadn’t even had time to apologize for being a little too awkward during dinner that night, before he’d smiled and told you he’d had a great time. Then he suggested doing it again, once a week, until the N line was repaired.
Like a standing dinner appointment. A kind of compensation, he’d said. As if he had been the one who destroyed it.
Of course you’d agreed, on one condition: you got to pay next time.
He’d agreed, smiling that soft, unreadable Clark Kent smile. But it had been three weeks now. And somehow, you still hadn’t paid for a single meal. He never let you.
It was a weird dynamic.
Every dinner with Clark felt like a date. The kind Jimmy wouldn’t shut up about, candlelit, good food, long conversations full of smiles and eye contact. You didn’t really talk about them at work. You mentioned them here and there, but you stayed discreet.
Mostly because you were convinced you were overthinking them.
Clark was one of the kindest, most genuine men you knew. Gentle, respectful, always listening, he asked about your opinions, remembered little details you'd said in passing. And he looked at you like what you were saying mattered. Like you mattered.
But you couldn’t help but feel it was just friendliness. Nothing more.
Lois and Cat, of course, completely disagreed. They kept telling you you were letting your insecurities cloud the obvious. “He likes you. Like, actual likes you, likes you.” But no matter how many times they said it, the thoughts wouldn’t leave you alone.
Clark was beautiful, annoyingly so. Funny, in that dry, awkward way. Clumsy, in a way that made him human. And strong in a way that made your brain short-circuit if you thought too hard about it. He could have anyone in Metropolis. Girl, boy, model, athlete—you name it.
And still, your coworkers were convinced he wanted to date you. It didn’t make sense.
You weren’t ugly, at least, you didn’t think so. You just weren’t remarkable either. Mundane, maybe. And yeah, you were overweight. You knew it, even if you tried to act like it didn’t matter. But somehow, when Clark looked at you during those dinners, smiling like you were the best part of his evening, it truly felt like it didn’t matter.
And with every passing week, the dinners lasted longer.
Shaking your head, you looked down at your watch.
Right now, you were sitting in City Hall, waiting for your interview with the Mayor. You were investigating LuthorCorp and its suspicious investments in political campaigns and city projects as well as foreign politics. It wasn’t the first time you’d tried to dig into Lex Luthor’s operations, but every attempt had ended the same way.
He was too powerful. Too calculated. And absolutely unafraid to bribe, threaten, or manipulate any institution that stood in his way.
You’d already been waiting for hours, juggling other article drafts, answering Perry’s increasingly impatient calls every hour about your progress with the Mayor. Which, so far, was absolutely nonexistent.
It was getting dangerously close to the end of your workday—and the end of the Mayor’s. You could already feel the familiar sting of a wasted afternoon.
Looking up from your laptop, you spotted the Mayor’s secretary walking toward you. The expression on his face told you everything before he even opened his mouth. You sighed, here we go.
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice syrupy-smooth in a way that only made it more irritating. “But the Mayor won’t be able to meet with you today.”
You almost admired the effort he put into sounding polite, almost. But you knew the truth : everyone in this building hated reporters. Especially the ones who asked the kind of questions you did.
“Tell him he won’t be able to avoid reporters forever,” you said, not bothering to hide the edge in your voice. “And to stop wasting people’s time.”
You shoved your things into your bag with practiced frustration, snapping your laptop shut and slinging the strap over your shoulder. You stormed out through the main doors, the late afternoon sun catching in your eyes as you stepped onto the front steps of City Hall.
You didn’t get far.
An unfamiliar voice called your name from behind you. You froze mid-step, your stomach already sinking. Turning around, you found yourself face-to-face with none other than Lex Luthor himself, stepping smoothly out of the building like he owned it, which, in a way, he probably did.
“I’m quite sorry you couldn’t meet with the Mayor,” he said as he approached, that infuriatingly calm smirk playing on his lips. “We had a lot to discuss.”
You scoffed, lifting your chin to meet his gaze without flinching. His eyes held no remorse, no real apology, only calculation.
“It’s fascinating,” you said coldly, “how every time I have an appointment with the Mayor, you just happen to show up, Mr. Luthor.”
Lex’s smirk deepened, a flash of amusement passing through his eyes like he was genuinely enjoying himself.
“Well,” he said smoothly, clasping his hands behind his back, “some would say great minds tend to orbit the same circles.”
You raised a brow, unimpressed. “Others would say it’s suspicious."
It was his turn to scoff.
You weren’t impressed by Lex Luthor, not like half the city seemed to be. To you, he was just a man. A rich one, yes, with a dangerous amount of power and polish, but still just a man.
For years, every reporter at The Daily Planet had tried to land an interview with him. None succeeded. Lex was meticulous about his image, controlling every frame, every word. He only appeared on talk shows where he could steer the conversation, only issued carefully worded statements, and never, not once, allowed a journalist past the doors of LuthorCorp.
This wasn’t your first interaction with him. But it was the first time you thought you might have a shot at playing the game differently.
“I thought reporters loved suspicious,” he said, stepping closer. Not enough to invade your space, but just enough to remind you of the power he wielded. Political. Financial. Personal. “It’s almost like you enjoy sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
You crossed your arms, meeting his gaze without flinching. “You make it easier than most, Mr. Luthor. Corruption has a way of attracting unwanted attention.”
His smirk deepened, sharp and knowing, like he was starting to enjoy the direction this was heading.
“Ah,” he said, tilting his head as though you'd just handed him a compliment. “Still, I admire your persistence. Most people back down after one roadblock. But not you. Or your little friends at the Planet.” He spat the word like it tasted rotten, the disdain unmistakable.
“Yeah, well,” you said, eyes narrowing slightly, “we’re not most people, I guess.”
You saw it then, a flicker of something behind his eyes. Anger. Not loud or unhinged, but tightly coiled, controlled. He was a master at that. Lex Luthor didn’t explode, he simmered, he plotted, he waited.
And so you shifted. Softened.
“But I must say, Mr. Luthor…” you added, letting your voice drop just slightly, almost shy, almost deferential. “You impress me too.”
That caught him. His gaze sharpened, not with suspicion, not yet, but with curiosity. You saw the faintest hitch in his breath, the flick of calculation behind his polished exterior. This was unfamiliar territory. Praise wasn’t your usual currency with him, and he knew it.
You smiled, just enough. Meek. Disarming. Let him take the bait.
“You look surprisingly well, considering how much you’re handling these days,” you said, voice casual, light. “Must be exhausting, juggling all those city contracts, private acquisitions… and now all this quiet financing of the Boravian conflict.”
His smirk faltered. Then vanished completely. Silence.
You could almost hear the gears grinding behind his eyes. Then, there it was, the slip.
“How do you know about that?” he snapped, the chill in his voice a sudden, biting thing. “There’s been no official statement.”
Got him. You smiled slowly, the kind of smile that didn’t bother hiding the satisfaction underneath.
“I didn’t,” you said simply, reaching into your jeans pocket. The small recorder glinted in your hand as you held it up between you. “But thank you for the confirmation.”
He stiffened. You stepped back.
“You’ll be hearing from us soon, Mr. Luthor, but I know you won't answer anyway,” you added smoothly. “Have a good evening.”
Then you turned, walking away before he could gather himself enough to spin it back in his favor. Your heart was pounding in your ears, adrenaline surging. You had a lead. You had a quote. And Lex Luthor had finally made a mistake.
Still riding the high of your small victory, you left the City Hall behind in a rush, already pulling out your phone to call Clark. It was supposed to be dinner night, but this couldn’t wait, you needed to tell him what had just happened.
Sure, it hadn’t been entirely ethical. But Lex Luthor never played by the rules, so why should you?
An hour later, you sat across from Clark at your shared table, half-typing, half-talking, your food long forgotten as you recounted every detail of the encounter. He listened patiently, his plate nearly empty, while yours remained untouched, your fingers dancing across the keys in a blur.
“So, let me get this straight…” Clark said, a warm laugh slipping out as he leaned back in his chair. “You didn’t actually record him?”
“Of course I didn’t,” you muttered, not looking up, still deep in the rhythm of your draft. You grabbed a quick bite, chewing fast before continuing, “Why would I have been recording him? It's not like I knew he was gonna talk?”
Clark shook his head, eyes soft, amused. “Not exactly your most ethical moment,” he teased, the smile tugging at his lips belying any real disapproval.
You shot him a look, playful and unrepentant. “Yeah, well, ethics get a little blurry when you're up against a guy who treats international conflict like a business expense.”
He grinned, taking another bite, still watching you like you were the most fascinating thing in the room.
“You know,” he said after a beat, “Perry’s going to lose his mind when he reads this.”
You smirked, finally pausing to glance at him. “Good. Finally got my front page.”
You looked up, and froze for just a second. He was staring at you with the kindest eyes you’d ever seen. Unwavering. Soft. Like you were something rare and remarkable. Like he saw all of you and still chose to look that way.
Your chest tightened unexpectedly. No one had ever looked at you like that. Not like you were just a reporter chasing a story, but like you were everything worth watching. Right on cue, your heart skipped. Flustered, you stabbed another bite of food with your fork and went back to typing, willing the blush from your cheeks.
Eyes still on your screen, you asked, trying to sound casual, “What? Do I have something on my face?”
He let out a quiet laugh, warm and low. “No. I’m just… proud of you,” he said, like it was the easiest truth in the world. “Even if it was a slightly debatable trick.”
You allowed yourself a small smile, hidden by the screen. “Slightly? You’re going soft on me, Kent.”
“Only with you.” He winked, finishing his own food.
That made you stop typing. Just for a beat. Then, you swallowed once, quietly, unsure if it was the food or the flutter in your chest, and resumed typing, pretending like the world hadn’t just shifted a little between you.
You spent the rest of the night writing, the soft clack of your keyboard mixing with Clark’s quiet commentary as he leaned over your shoulder. He offered suggestions here and there—cleaning up a sentence, pointing out a stronger lead, helping shape the tone without ever overshadowing your voice.
It was nice. Sweet, even.
You weren’t used to this kind of collaboration, gentle, unhurried, easy. The back and forth between you felt natural, like you'd been working this way for years.
Sometimes your hands would brush when you passed him your laptop, or when you reached over, completely shameless, to steal a bite of his second dinner. He gave up trying to stop you after the third attempt and just started ordering extra.
He was eating a lot. A lot. But then again, with a body like his, it made sense. Tall, broad-shouldered, solid in a way that felt permanent. You figured all that muscle had to be maintained somehow.
Still, every now and then, you’d glance at the empty plates piling up and mutter, “Where does it all go?”
He’d just grin, dimples and all, and say, “Good metabolism.”
You didn’t believe that for a second. But you didn’t press it either.
The article was nearly done. You were both full, him more than you, and the restaurant had settled into a comforting silence broken only by quiet conversation, shared glances, and the hum of the city through your open window.
Somewhere between line edits and midnight, you realized something dangerous.
You didn’t just like working with Clark Kent. You liked being with him. What had started as a small, harmless crush had grown into something massive, and dangerous.
It crept in quietly at first. But now? It lived in every glance he gave you. Every time his soft, thoughtful smile found you across the table. Every time his hand gently reached out to stop yours from biting at your nails when stress took over. Those small, careful gestures chipped away at your resolve until your heart ached just from being near him.
So when he walked you to the subway that night, the city glowing gold around you both, and pressed a kiss—soft, lingering, infuriatingly gentle—to your cheek… your heart nearly gave out. It thumped wildly in your chest, loud enough to drown out the world for a moment.
You knew you were playing with fire. But God, you longed to get burnt.
You smiled as you descended the stairs into the subway, clutching your bag a little tighter. Hope curled in your chest like something too bold to name.
Maybe, just maybe, one day he’d feel the same way.
Sitting at your desk, you stared at the front page of the freshly printed Daily Planet.
Lex Luthor Admits to Financing International Conflicts
Your name sat proudly beneath the headline.
Perry had been thrilled with the article, grinning like a madman when it hit print, puffing his chest as he waved the paper around the newsroom. The Daily Planet's lawyers, on the other hand, were already on their third round of phone calls before noon. Emails, threats, cease-and-desist letters, they were pouring in from every direction courtesy of LuthorCorp’s legal team.
But Perry had your back. He stood behind the article, behind you, citing freedom of the press with fire in his voice and a cigar practically dangling from his teeth. You hadn’t seen him that fired up in years.
Still, even with the rush of adrenaline and pride, you couldn’t quite relax. You stared at the bold headline again, heart pounding. You’d done it.
You’d poked the beast, and it had roared. But you didn’t regret it. Not even a little.
And just when the nerves started to crawl in again, a gentle tap came on the edge of your desk. You looked up to see Clark standing there, holding two cups of coffee. One was already missing a sip, his.
The other? Yours, just the way you liked it.
“Front page, huh,” he said softly, eyes warm. “Welcome to the club.”
You took the cup, fingers brushing his. That look was back in his eyes again, that same quiet pride from a few nights ago, the one that made your heart trip over itself.
“Thanks,” you said, your voice lower than you meant.
He smiled again before making his way toward his own desk.
You felt so proud of yourself. You couldn't help but smile for the rest of the morning, having a hard time focussing on your work for today. Your eyes always lingered back toward the newspaper lying on your desk. All your team had made sure to congratulate you, filling your heart with warmth.
“Drinks tonight, you can’t say no. We are celebrating you!” Lois’s voice shot across the bullpen like a bullet, barely giving you time to blink before she was already halfway to Perry’s office, heels clicking with authority.
You looked up from your monitor. “I didn’t even say anything yet!”
And she was right, you couldn’t say no. It was Friday night, and you had nothing better to do. You weren’t behind on work, the fridge was stocked, the laundry was done. You had no excuse. And you had made the front page! It was a thing to celebrate.
And maybe it would help taking your mind of Clark, and your not real dates.
They were fun, too fun, really. Liberating in the moment, like you could breathe around him. But afterward? The crash was brutal. Your brain wouldn’t stop spiraling, overthinking every word, every glance, every little laugh. It hurt. Even when it shouldn’t.
That’s how you found yourself, hours later, sitting at a sticky table in O’Sullivan’s, Metropolis’s finest pub, surrounded by your favorite coworkers. Clark and Cat were deep in a heated debate about Superman’s very questionable sense of style, while you, Lois, and Jimmy were somehow talking about... toes?
Jimmy had started it. He always did. The man had a gift for derailing any normal conversation within five minutes.
Oh, and Steve was there too. He hadn’t said much, but he was sipping his beer like a man who had no idea how he’d ended up in a conversation about capes and toes.
As the night wore on, everyone was getting progressively more affected by the alcohol. Everyone but one.
Clark.
He was weirdly good at holding his drinks. Thinking about it, you couldn’t recall ever seeing him drunk. You were fairly sober yourself, a little tipsy, pleasantly warm, but nothing like Jimmy and Cat, who were currently butchering We Will Rock You on karaoke with the absolute confidence of people who had forgotten shame existed.
“How come you’re not drunk?” you shouted over the noise, leaning in a little closer.
He turned away from the chaos, and those soft, annoyingly kind eyes landed on you. Paired with that specialty Clark Kent smile, gentle, quiet, and somehow entirely his, it sent a sudden jolt of heat straight between your legs.
“It’s simple,” he said, holding up his beer. “I didn’t drink that much.”
Sure enough, he was still nursing his first beer, half-full. Meanwhile, the table had gone through at least four rounds.
You stared at the glass, distracted now by the way his fingers wrapped around it, long, strong, careful. The glass looked small in his hands. Like a toy. And for some reason, that sent another ripple of heat through you.
“You seem a little out of it,” Clark added, that soft smirk playing at his lips again, just this side of teasing, but still warm.
You blinked, realising you’d been staring. Hard.
“Oh no, I’m good,” you said, far too loud, and threw both thumbs up in an awkward gesture that immediately felt like a mistake.
Had you been sober, you might’ve cringed. Hard. But right now? Cringing wasn’t on the menu. Not when your brain was soft and hazy, and your eyes were locked on his mouth, on that smirk.
You’d seen it before, of course. He was your colleague, your friend, and Clark smiled all the time. But there was something different about this smile. Something tucked just behind it, something unspoken, almost amused. It tugged at the edge of your memory. Familiar. Too familiar. But just foreign enough to slip out of reach.
Your brows pulled together, the confusion settling in your expression before you could hide it. He tilted his head slightly, watching you. Curious. Patient. Like he knew something. Almost amused.
“Tell him!” Lois’s voice rang out far too close to your ear, snapping you miles away from your little internal investigation. “Tell him about the little cute alien that was glued to your window for days!”
You blinked, turning to find her grinning like a devil, eyes glassy from one too many drinks. Beside her, Steve looked unsure, eyebrows raised, clearly bracing for whatever bizarre story was about to unfold.
They were both watching you. Waiting.
It was a silly story. Embarrassing, even. But one you liked telling, so you did just that. Animated and loud, hands waving around as you launched into the tale.
What you didn’t notice, though, was the way Clark let out a quiet sigh as you turned away. The tension in his shoulders softened, his body subtly relaxing now that he was no longer under your scrutinising gaze.
The hours passed in a haze of laughter, bizarre stories, and absolutely butchered karaoke performances. It had been a long time since the Daily Planet crew had spent a night like this, no deadlines, no looming crises, just fun.
You felt good. Sobered up completely now, like most of the group, except Jimmy, who was still riding whatever chaotic, alcohol-fuelled high had taken hold of him three hours ago.
Thankfully, he lived near the bar, just a few blocks from Lois and Cat. The two women, still giggling, promised to get him home in one piece. You watched them chase after him with fond amusement as they all disappeared into the night.
Yeah. Tonight had been good.
“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath as you checked the time. No way you were making the last subway, especially with the fifteen-minute walk to the nearest working station.
“Everything okay?” Clark asked beside you, concern laced in his voice as his gaze dropped to your phone.
You sighed, trying to wave it off. “I missed the last metro,” you said, almost sheepish. Then, looking up at the soft, quiet summer night around you, you added, “But it’s fine. It’s a good night for a walk.”
“I’ll walk you home,” he said simply, firmly. The kind of tone that left no room for argument.
So, after a quick wave and a goodnight to Steve, you found yourself on the sidewalk beside him, heading off into the quiet streets. Of course, you did try to protest. You told him, more than once, that you were fine walking alone, that he really didn’t need to go all the way to your place when he lived so close to the bar.
But he waved off every concern without missing a beat.
“I’m not letting you walk home alone at nearly 1 a.m.,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “My ma would kill me if she found out.”
You laughed, shaking your head, but secretly? You were glad he insisted.
The thirty-minute walk flew by in what felt like seconds. One blink, and suddenly, you were home.
Conversation flowed effortlessly, like it always did since that first dinner. Comfortable. Familiar. He still walked on the side closest to the road, like always. But tonight, he was a little closer than usual. Just enough that your fingers brushed now and then, barely there, featherlight, but every time, your heart skipped like it hadn’t quite gotten the memo to stay calm.
You didn’t say anything about it. Neither did he. And neither of you moved away, either.
You joked about Jimmy and Cat’s drunken rendition of classic rock songs, gently mocked Steve for always looking like he’d wandered into the wrong timeline, and even admitted that you agreed with Cat about Superman’s questionable taste in suits.
Clark had laughed at that, a soft, genuine sound that made something warm bloom in your chest. And just like that, you were standing in front of your building. The night felt too short. The goodbye, too soon.
Standing on the stairs just before the front door of your building, you found yourself eye-level with Clark, a rare occurrence, given the fact that the man was a literal giant. Something in his eyes, in the way his body leaned ever so slightly closer to yours, in the quiet reluctance on his face, as if he, too, was a little sad the walk had ended, pulled the words from your lips before you could second-guess them.
“Wanna come upstairs?” you asked, the question barely louder than the breeze. A whisper, almost lost to the wind.
But Clark heard you. Of course he did.
Not just because he was standing close, but because it was your voice. A voice he would pick out in a sea of thousands. A voice he'd hear anywhere, no matter how far. Though you didn’t know that part.
He nodded, barely, a quiet “Yeah” slipping from his lips like a promise.
It wasn’t long before your back hit your front door, upstairs, his body pressing gently, but undeniably, against yours. His lips found yours with the kind of urgency that had clearly waited too long. Soft, but certain. Gentle, but wanting. The kiss was rushed, but not careless. It felt like everything you’d both been holding in, months of glances, of almost, of quiet moments too full to name.
This wasn’t a kiss just for the sake of kissing.
You kissed him harder, pushing up on your toes to meet him, trying to say with your mouth what your heart had never dared to voice. That you liked him. That you had for so long. That you hadn’t imagined any of it.
Clark groaned softly into the kiss, lowering himself just enough until, without warning, his arms swept around you, lifting you with an ease that felt unfair. You wrapped your legs instinctively around his waist, breath catching in your throat as he deepened the kiss. He let you no time to protest.
His mouth moved against yours, tongue seeking, exploring, like he had something to say too. Something he hadn’t found the words for yet. And you let him say it this way.
His hands slid under your thighs, pulling you closer until your bodies were flush, his warmth seeping through your clothes and setting your skin on fire. You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, anchoring yourself to him as if you might float away otherwise.
The kiss deepened, slow and searching, a conversation without words. His tongue traced yours, tentative at first, then more sure, like he was learning the shape of you, committing every detail to memory.
Finally leaving the front door, Clark walked inside your flat with the ease of someone who belonged there. Without hesitation, he made his way to the couch and sank down with a quiet groan, the sound thick with relief.
You settled on his lap, feeling the solid weight of him beneath you. At the noise he made, you instinctively tried to shift, to sit beside him instead, worried you might be too heavy. But Clark’s hands found your hips, gripping firmly, holding you in place.
“No,” he murmured, voice low and urgent, his fingers tightening just enough to pull you closer. You froze as his lips found yours again, this kiss deeper, more demanding. You barely had time to protest before his arms wrapped around you, anchoring you to him.
Your breaths tangled together, your heart pounding in a wild rhythm that echoed his own. You felt it under your fingers. Time seemed to stretch, the world outside shrinking until it was just the two of you, suspended in this moment where everything finally made sense.
When he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes were dark, shimmering with something raw and real. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “More than I knew how to say.”
Frowning, you let out a confused sound. "I thought you didn't like me."
Now it was his turn to look confused. Clark blinked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to process your words. Then, slowly, a genuine smile spread across his face, followed by a laugh, deep, sincere, and filling your flat.
“Is that why you always looked so gloomy around me?” he asked, the smile still lingering.
“You avoided me, Clark. All the time. Watching your feet whenever I was near, never talking for more than a minute, never lingering at my desk unless it was necessary…” you said, a hint of frustration creeping into your voice at his teasing. “How the hell was I supposed to know you liked me?”
“I bring you coffee,” he said matter-of-factly, as if that explained everything.
“You bring coffee to everyone,” you shot back, deadpanned, rolling your eyes.
Clark chuckled, shaking his head with that familiar, easy grin. “Yeah, but I always made sure you got the good stuff. Overly sugary milk with a bit of coffee.”
You raised an eyebrow, skeptical, but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips. His lips trailed softly from your cheek to your jaw, then down to your neck. He lingered over your pulse point, as if savouring the gentle thrum beneath his touch.
“Just know,” Clark murmured, his head still resting against your neck, “I’ve always appreciated you.”
Before you could respond, his lips found yours again, silencing any argument with a tender, insistent kiss.
The kisses felt euphoric, as if time itself had slowed to stretch them out for hours. With Clark, everything was effortless and unhurried. Unlike your past lovers, there was no rush, he moved as if he had all the time in the world, and right now, so did you.
His hands explored your body with tender care, caressing softly, never demanding, always gentle. He asked before slipping your shirt off, waited for your consent before removing your bra. Once you were bare, he peeled off his own shirt, never making you feel vulnerable or exposed.
His touch was intoxicating, as soothing as his lips. You melted under the weight of his hands, large, warm, and perfectly fitting as they cupped your breasts. His fingers toyed with your peaked nipples, alternating between soft caresses and gentle pinches, an unspoken apology woven into each movement. Paired with his lips tracing your neck and lips, it was utterly overwhelming.
Without even realising it, your hips began to move, grinding softly against him, responding to the slow, delicious tension building between you.
He chuckled softly against your lips as your covered core pressed against his already hard length. It was one of the hottest sounds you’d ever heard, a breathless, teasing laugh that sent shivers straight through you. Jimmy had been right, you were absolutely down bad.
“Keep going,” he groaned into your ear, his voice thick with need, just as you paused to rest your forehead on his bare, warm, and slightly sweaty shoulder.
His breath fanned over your skin, warm and steady, grounding you in the moment. You lifted your head slowly, eyes meeting his, dark, intense, and full of something deeper than desire.
His hands found your waist again, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. The heat of his body seeped into yours, setting a slow, steady rhythm as your hips moved against him. Every touch, every brush of skin, was electric, soft, like he was memorising every curve, every inch of you. You felt safe, wanted, and adored in a way you hadn’t known you needed.
You felt how wet you were, and judging by the hard length pressing against you, you knew he was just as affected as you were. It felt incredible to be wanted by Clark—needed, desired. For months, you had told yourself you were too plain, too overweight, too annoying. But it turned out he liked all of that about you.
You rocked your hips again, frustrated by the layers of clothing between you. Without thinking, you stood up and hurriedly peeled off your pants and panties in a clumsy, rushed way, like the fabric was burning your skin.
Standing naked before him, you noticed the effect it had on Clark. He froze, almost like his brain had short-circuited, not quite processing the very clear message you were sending, that you wanted him naked too. Instead, he simply admired your body, his eyes tracing you slowly and thoroughly, over and over.
Taking matters into your own hands, you knelt in front of him, fingers already fumbling with his belt buckle. That seemed to snap him back to reality. He gently took your hands in his, kissed your fingers softly, then stood up, pulling you to your feet with him.
After slipping off his pants and briefs, he sat back down on the couch and pulled you back onto his lap.
Your breath hitched as his warm hands settled on your hips, grounding you against him. His gaze roamed over your bare skin, eyes filled with awe and something soft, like he was seeing you in a way no one ever had.
You leaned into him, your hands resting lightly on his broad shoulders, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath his skin. The weight of him was comforting, a promise of care and tenderness.
Slowly, carefully, his lips traced a path from your neck to your collarbone, each touch igniting sparks along your skin. You sighed, the tension of months of self-doubt melting away under his gentle attention.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmured between kisses.
You gasped, eyes wide as a teasing smile tugged at your lips.
"Did Clark Kent just swear?" you teased, knowing full well his reputation at the office for a gentle, swear-free vocabulary. The fact that he’d let loose like this on your skin made your heart swell with warmth.
He playfully nipped at the skin of your breast before his lips closed over your nipple, while his fingers danced teasingly on the other. Your hips began their slow rocking again, finally satisfied by the warmth of his skin pressed against yours.
You felt him twitch against your stomach, biting your lip at the raw desire radiating from him. It had been far too long since you’d felt this wanted.
“Clark,” you moaned softly.
“Hm?” He lifted his head from your breast, eyes searching yours, waiting.
“I need you,” you whispered into his ear, voice tender and full of longing. “Please.”
How could he ever say no when you sounded that sweet?
Clark’s breath hitched, a low growl vibrating in his chest as he pulled you tighter against him. His hands slid down your back, fingers tracing the curve of your spine with a reverence that made your skin tingle.
Without breaking eye contact, he gently tilted your chin up and kissed you deeply, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to memorise every inch of you. His warmth seeped into you, grounding you in this moment where nothing else mattered.
His hands gently lifted your thighs, easing them onto his lap just enough to draw himself closer to your warm entrance. He paused, holding you there, then looked at you through his glasses, silent, searching, asking without words if this was truly what you wanted. You nodded and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
With utmost care, he began to lower you onto his length, inch by inch, never rushing, always attentive to your reactions. The warmth and pressure were overwhelming, but not in a painful way more like a delicious surrender. You should have known, it's always the quiet, nerdy, clumsy ones who surprise you by being big.
Finally settling back onto his lap, you needed a moment to catch your breath. You slumped against him, your head resting in the crook of his neck, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly. His hands were steady and soothing, tracing gentle circles along your back, cupping the nape of your neck with tender care. His soft voice whispered warmth directly into your ear, telling you how good and warm you felt.
He urged you to take your time, to never rush, he could wait as long as you needed, even the whole night. But you didn’t need time. You needed to move. So, slowly and hesitantly at first, you began to rock your hips, a gentle, tentative motion.
It felt good, so good. He was reaching places no one else ever had, not even your toys. The sensation was unfamiliar, almost overwhelming, but far from unwelcome. You kept rocking against him, and each pass of his pelvis against your clit made your breath catch in your throat. It was breathtaking... but soon, it wasn’t enough.
Lifting your head from the crook of his neck, you looked up at him, really looked. You wanted to see his face, his expression, as you began to bounce on him. It started softly, tentative, testing the limits of what your body was discovering. But the more you felt, the bolder you became—and so did he.
His hands found your hips again, guiding them with more purpose, lifting and pressing you down onto him in a steady rhythm. But even that didn’t satisfy him for long. Soon, his hips began to thrust up to meet yours, strong and fast, until his pace overtook yours and all you could do was hold on.
Moans, grunts, whines, and gasps filled the room, raw, honest sounds tangled together with the sharp rhythm of skin against skin. Sounds that had never once filled this flat before Clark.
After a few minutes of his relentless rhythm, you felt your orgasm building, close, achingly close, but just out of reach, like it was trapped behind a wall of glass. You let out a soft whine directly into Clark’s ear, trying to rock your hips in rhythm with his, but you couldn’t keep up. He was too fast, too deep, too much.
But he noticed. Of course he did. The way you whimpered, the way your body tried to move, it told him everything. And he felt it too, in the way your pussy tightened around him with desperate pulses, clenching so hard it almost made him see stars.
He smiled, just a little. His girl only needed a bit more.
His hand slipped between your bodies, fingers sliding down to where you were joined. At first, he just teased, letting his fingertips brush lightly across your skin. It earned him another needy whine, one that made him chuckle softly against your shoulder.
Greedy little thing you were.
And he adored you for it. Clark would give you anything.
Without holding back any longer, his fingers found your clit, circling it in slow but steady motions, firm, grounded, perfect. The added pressure sent shocks of pleasure through you, colliding with the rhythm of his hips pounding into you. Your toes curled. Your hands dug into his shoulders. It was all too much.
And then it happened, your release crashing over you, breathtaking and unstoppable. The moans caught in your throat, your body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure consumed you.
Clark wasn’t far behind. The sound of your climax, the way your body tightened around him like a vice, it pushed him over the edge. With a groan that rumbled deep in his chest, he came hard, spilling into you, filling you with warmth.
Even as the last waves of your orgasm pulsed through you, Clark didn’t stop. His thrusts slowed just enough to keep from overwhelming you, but they were still deep, intentional. He stayed hard inside you, your slick heat coaxing him to keep moving, to draw every last ounce of pleasure from your spent body.
Finally, after a few more thrusts, he stilled remaining inside you. A golden, heavy quiet filled the room, broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing and the gentle thump of his heart against your chest.
Clark didn’t move right away. He just held you. One arm wrapped securely around your waist, the other stroking your back in slow, grounding circles. His lips pressed soft, breathless kisses against your temple, your cheek, your shoulder, everywhere he could reach without letting you go.
“You okay?” he murmured, voice low and careful.
You nodded against him, too dazed to form words just yet. He smiled softly and shifted just enough to grab the blanket off the couch, wrapping it around your back without slipping out of you. He stayed seated, still joined, still holding you close like he couldn’t bear to let you go.
Getting up with you still in his arms, his softening cock still nestled in your warmth, he carried you gently toward the bathroom. He turned on the water, letting it warm up for the both of you, steam already beginning to rise and curl around the tiles.
He set you down carefully on the counter, your body pliant in his arms. Your head came to rest against the cool mirror behind you, eyes half-lidded, lips parted in a dazed smile. Clark let out a quiet chuckle at your blissed-out expression, brushing his fingers tenderly across your cheek.
“I’m gonna pull out now, okay?” he said softly, voice full of care, not wanting to startle you or cause any discomfort.
“Yeah…” you mumbled, barely coherent, too tired and thoroughly spent to say more than that.
The shower was quick, quiet, and sweet. Clark was gentle with every touch, washing your body with thoughtful care, making sure not to linger too long or overstimulate your already-sensitive skin. He moved with reverence, like tending to something precious.
When it was over, he didn’t bother trying to dress you. Instead, he wrapped a towel around your damp body, gently patting you dry before scooping you back up into his arms.
He didn’t go back to the living room for his briefs, didn’t bother with anything else. All that mattered was getting you comfortable.
He carried you straight to your bed, settling you down with the same tenderness he’d shown you all night. Then he climbed in beside you, pulling you into his arms like you belonged there, like you always had.
The soft throw blanket he’d grabbed on the way to the bathroom now covered both of you, a light layer against the summer night. The duvet was folded off to the side, too heavy, too much, especially with Clark radiating warmth like a human furnace.
You let yourself melt into him, safe, warm, held.
You felt like you were on another planet, drifting through the best dream of your life, half-convinced you’d wake up any minute. Needing to make sure he was real, solid and warm beneath you, you clung to him. One leg curled possessively around his waist as you lay nearly fully on top of him, your bodies still bare, still close.
His semi-hard cock rested dangerously close to your still-sensitive cunt. It was a risk… but one you welcomed. A game you were more than willing to play again if it led to the same beautiful consequences.
Your fingers traced idle shapes along his chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breath. When you looked up, you found him already watching you, glasses still perched on his nose.
Weird.
Had he even taken them off in the shower? You couldn’t quite remember. Your brain had been hazy, your body boneless, your mind confused, but you were almost certain he’d kept them on the whole time. Just like he was keeping them on now, even though you both clearly had no plans of moving anytime soon.
You brushed it off, figuring he just wanted to see you clearly. Maybe it was a comfort thing. Maybe it was just Clark.
The silence stretched for a few more moments, soft and content, until you broke it with a rasping whisper. “You know I had the biggest crush on you for months?”
His lips curved into that smug, infuriatingly cute grin. “Oh yeah. I know,” he said, teasing deep in his voice.
You squinted at him, suspicious. “What do you mean, you know?”
Still grinning, he added—without thinking, way too casually. “I could hear how fast your heart was beating.”
Silence. Your brain stalled.
“You could… what?”
His smile faltered. Fuck. Clark had a lot of explaining to do.
"You saved his life. I'm asking you to help him keep it."
Joel Miller x Doctor Reader
Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)
Summary: After Joel's suffering at the hands of Abby, he survives. You, a new resident of Jackson, are tasked with healing him, bringing him back to life in more ways than one.
Warnings: alternating pov, injury, eventual smut, mutual pining, fluff, domesticity in the apocalypse, joel survives, medical jargon, blood, sponge baths
Chapters will have individual warnings.
This request feels a lil bit like a crack fic but here it goes anyway: can you write something about Joel and reader accidentally breaking the bed while ~doing the deed 👀👀
And they just kinda pause, look at eachother, laugh and then keep going, broken bed or not lol
Built to break
Pairing: jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader
Summary: A bed breaks, but Joel doesn’t stop — not the filth, not the laughter, not the love.
Warnings: established relationship, explicit smut (+18), oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, p in v sex, dirty talk, pure filth
The moment you close the door behind you, the air between you and Joel snaps electric. The tension that’s been simmering all evening finally boils over. He doesn’t say a word — his eyes darken, flickering over every inch of you like he’s memorizing your skin, your curves, the way your chest rises and falls with steady breaths. His hands twitch at his sides, muscles taut beneath the worn flannel shirt.
You’re burning up from the inside out, heart pounding like a war drum. Slowly, deliberately, you step closer. Your fingers curl around the collar of his shirt, tugging him down until your lips brush his, teasing, light, the ghost of a kiss.
Joel’s breath hitches. Then his mouth crashes onto yours with a hunger that’s almost desperate. His lips are rough — calloused from years of hard work and harder battles — but so goddamn gentle where it matters. Your tongue meets his, and it’s like a wildfire, scorching every nerve ending awake.
His hands go to your hips, gripping hard enough to leave bruises, pulling you flush against his thick body. You press back eagerly, every inch of you craving him, craving the raw, unfiltered need that burns in his gaze.
The buttons on your shirt come undone one by one as his hands roam your body, sliding underneath fabric, skin burning beneath his touch. He traces the curve of your ribs, the swell of your breasts, teasing, tasting. You arch into his hands, a soft moan escaping your lips as his mouth leaves yours to trail down your neck — teeth grazing, lips sucking bruises into your soft skin.
His fingers slip under your jeans, slick and warm from your arousal. You tremble as he palms you through the thin cotton panties you’re wearing, his touch both commanding and reverent.
“Goddamn, you’re so wet,” he murmurs, voice low and rough like gravel. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you won’t remember your own name.”
Your breath catches. You want that. You want every filthy, brutal second of it.
Joel steps back just enough to shed his shirt, broad chest rising and falling, scars and muscles glistening faintly with sweat. Then, with a quick snap of his belt and a tug of his jeans, he’s bare from the waist down, thick length already hard and glistening.
Your fingers reach out, trembling as you stroke him, feeling his cock pulsing beneath your touch. He groans, hips shifting forward.
Joel doesn’t waste a second — he lifts you up effortlessly, hands firm on your thighs, and carries you backward to the bed with a growl of desire. You wrap your arms around his neck, legs locking around his waist, skin pressing flush against skin.
The mattress dips under your weight, the sheets rustling as he settles you down. His mouth finds your breasts, lips suckling and biting, teeth grazing nipples taut with want. Your fingers dig into the thick hair at the nape of his neck, nails scratching lightly.
Then, he’s pushing your jeans and panties down your legs in one smooth motion, exposing your slick, aching centre to the cool air and his hungry gaze. Joel’s breath fans across your wetness, making your knees tremble.
He licks a slow, teasing path over your folds, tongue flicking over your clit with expert precision. You cry out, hips bucking, fingers tangling in his hair. His hands spread your thighs wide, fingers slipping inside you with ease, curling to hit that perfect spot. You’re drowning in sensation — every lick, every stroke a promise of the madness to come.
When Joel pulls back, you’re gasping, dripping and desperate.
He lines himself up with your entrance, head dipping to kiss your lips once more before he slides in, slow and deep, filling you completely. The stretch is delicious, the burn sweet as he bottoms out inside you.
You wrap your arms around him, holding on tight as he begins to move — slow at first, savoring the feel of you. But soon, his hips start to thrust harder, deeper, each movement a thunderous pulse that sets your whole body on fire.
His hands grip your waist, fingers digging in as he drives into you with relentless hunger.
The sounds you make — gasps, moans, his low groans — fill the room like a storm. Your nails rake down his back, your body arching to meet his thrusts. Every inch of you aches with pleasure, the heat between your legs pooling and spilling over.
Joel’s mouth finds your neck again, biting, sucking, marking. His breath is ragged, mixing with yours in a chaotic symphony of need.
The bed creaks and groans beneath you, springs protesting under the weight and wildness of your passion. You barely notice, caught up in the frenzy of skin against skin, muscle flexing and clenching, the endless rhythm of his cock fucking you harder.
Then — suddenly — a loud, splintering crack shatters the moment.
The bedframe gives way with a violent snap, the mattress tilting and sagging beneath you as wood splinters and bolts fly loose.
You both freeze, chests heaving, eyes wide and locked in stunned silence.
And then — Joel bursts out laughing, deep and rich and utterly contagious.
“Jesus,” he pants, breath still hot on your skin. “We broke the goddamn bed.”
The ruined bed groans one last time beneath you both as Joel pulls out, chest heaving, his hands braced on either side of your head as if he’s still trying to process what just happened. A piece of splintered wood juts sideways from the frame, one of the legs hanging on by a thread. You can’t stop laughing, breathless and flushed, your thighs still slick with him.
Joel chuckles low, a dangerous rumble in his throat. “Guess we got a little carried away.”
You’re still gasping when he leans in, catching your bottom lip between his teeth in a kiss that drowns the laughter right out of you.
“But I ain’t done with you, darlin’,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice dark with promise. “Not even close.”
He grabs your thighs and lifts you in one swift motion, like you weigh nothing, like carrying you through this storm of desire is the easiest thing he’s ever done. Your arms wrap around his shoulders automatically, your mouth on his throat, tasting sweat and salt and the rasp of his low groan when you press your lips there.
Then — he pins you against the wall.
Your bare back meets the cool, painted wood with a quiet thud. Joel shifts his stance, thick thighs anchoring you in place, strong hands gripping beneath your ass. His cock is hot and hard, pressing against your slick folds, teasing you, dragging through the wet mess between your legs.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he grits out. “Look at you. Already ruined and beggin’ for more.”
Your head drops back with a gasp as he rolls his hips forward, cock sliding against your swollen clit, dragging out a sharp cry from your throat. He watches you with those dark, feral eyes, drinking it in — every tremble, every breathless plea.
“Please,” you whisper, and your voice is hoarse from moaning, from screaming his name against the mattress minutes ago. “Joel, please…”
He doesn’t tease you this time.
With a low growl, he sinks back into you, thick and heavy, stretching you wide again as your legs clamp around his waist. The angle is new, deeper, the wall giving him leverage. You cry out, your fingers digging into the broad muscles of his back, as he presses you into the plaster and starts to fuck you like he means it.
Hard. Unrelenting.
Every thrust slams your body into the wall with a faint, rhythmic thud. His grip tightens under your thighs, anchoring you in place as he pistons his hips into yours, cock hitting deeper than before, angled just right to make stars explode behind your eyes.
The room is full of sound — your soaked, obscene noises each time he thrusts into you, the slick slap of skin, his low groans and your ragged moans.
You can barely catch your breath.
“Take it,” he pants, forehead resting against yours, his voice wrecked and filthy. “Take it all, baby. This what you wanted?”
You nod helplessly, thighs trembling, pussy clenching around him with every punishing stroke.
He adjusts slightly, grinding deep inside you, his pubic bone pressing against your clit. You sob against his mouth, your second orgasm building fast and mean, right at the edge of unbearable.
“That’s it,” he breathes, hips slamming into you again. “Come on. I wanna feel you fall apart on my cock again.”
Your mouth opens in a silent cry as your climax rips through you, raw and searing. Your walls flutter and pulse around him, drawing a strangled moan from deep in his chest. Joel doesn’t slow — he fucks you right through it, hips slapping into yours, sweat dripping from his temple onto your chest.
You cling to him, lost in the rhythm, the power of him, the unrelenting heat.
“Fuck, I’m close,” he snarls, voice gone ragged. “You feel that? How tight you are? Jesus, girl…”
He buries himself deep with a final, brutal thrust, and his entire body shudders.
You feel him pulse inside you, thick spurts of heat filling you up as his head drops to your shoulder. His breath fans over your skin, erratic, mouth parted against the curve of your neck as he moans into you — low, needy, spent.
The room goes quiet.
Your heart pounds against his. His grip on you softens, though he still holds you up, forehead pressed to yours as your breathing slowly steadies.
He chuckles again, breathless this time. “Wall held up better than the bed.”
You smile through the haze. “Let’s not test the kitchen table.”
Joel groans. “You say that like it ain’t a challenge.”
You both laugh, tangled together, your body still trembling from everything he just did to you — and everything he still might.
And then his hands tighten on your thighs again.
“Round two?” he murmurs, already hardening against your thigh. “Told you I wasn’t done.”
——
The wall’s still warm where your back had been pressed. Your thighs ache — a deep, satisfying soreness — and Joel finally sets you down, your knees almost giving out as they touch the floor. He catches you, grinning, chest still heaving as he draws you into a messy kiss. It’s lazy now, slow, full of lingering want and heavy breaths. His lips are soft, but his hands still grip you like he doesn’t want to let go.
And when you stumble together back toward the bed — or what’s left of it — you both freeze and burst into laughter again.
The mattress is half-sunken, the wooden frame splintered and canted sideways like a wounded animal. The bedsheet is hanging off one corner like it’s trying to escape the scene entirely.
Joel raises a brow, lips twitching. “We really did a number on it.”
You flop onto the uneven mattress anyway, groaning as your limbs sink into the dip, your body boneless and wrung out. “Bed died doing what it loved.”
Joel snorts and climbs in beside you, careful to avoid the broken frame. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in until your back is pressed to his chest, his skin still hot and slick. His thigh slides between yours, possessive even now, like he needs to anchor you after everything he just did to you.
“Jesus,” he mutters against your shoulder, voice low and lazy, “you’re gonna kill me one day.”
You hum, smiling. “Think you’ll die happy?”
“Mm. Real happy.”
His palm finds your belly, then drifts lower. Not for more — not this time — just resting there, warm and solid. He kisses your shoulder, slow and lazy, then noses at the side of your neck like he’s half-asleep and still trying to crawl inside your skin.
You let your hand drift over his arm. “Gonna have to explain this to Tommy.”
Joel groans. “Don’t remind me.”
“We’ll have to explain why the bed looking like a damn bear tore through it.”
“Hm,” Joel grumbles, nuzzling against your neck. “Man’s been givin’ me shit for months about how quiet I’ve been. Maybe now he’ll shut up.”
You giggle, then turn slightly to face him, your cheek resting against his chest. His skin is warm, dusted with sweat, heartbeat steady under your ear. You trace lazy circles there, grounding yourself in the thump of it.
Joel sighs through his nose, hand smoothing over your hip, his voice a little softer now. “You alright, baby?”
“Mhm. Just sore.” You glance up at him, teasing. “Might need you to carry me around tomorrow.”
He smirks, eyes half-lidded. “Fine by me. You’ll owe me, though.”
“Oh yeah?” you murmur. “And what exactly would I owe you?”
Joel’s grin fades a little, and something tender flickers in his eyes as he looks at you.
“Just this,” he says quietly. “You. Here. With me.”
The smile fades from your mouth, replaced by something deeper. You lean in and kiss him — not hungry, not wild, just soft. Slow. Grateful.
He holds you tighter as you lie there in the half-broken bed, the scent of sex thick in the air, your bodies tangled and warm.
Outside, Jackson is quiet. Snow falls soft against the window, and for now, there’s nothing but the hush of the town and Joel’s breathing in your ear.
You shift slightly, the mattress creaking beneath you, and he groans.
“Alright,” he mumbles. “Tomorrow I'll start to build a new frame.”
You smile. “Something reinforced?”
Joel’s lips brush your temple. “Steel frame. Maybe chains. You know — just in case.”
You laugh into his chest, heart full, body sore, and every part of you content.
Summary: You’ve been watching Joel for a long time and when Maria puts you to take care of the horses, you discover that he’s watching you too.
Warnings: MINORS DNI! F!reader, porn without a bigger plot, AGE GAP (reader is in her early 20’s and Joel is 60), no reader description at all, fingering (f receiving), handjob in general. Not a long thing, sorry.
Word count: 1.1k
A/N: English it’s not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any typos. At this point I feel like oldman!Joel and I have a long term thing and I love it. You can find more spicy and oldman!Joel in my masterlist as well. Feedbacks are utterly appreciated and my requests are always open. 💌
You have known him long enough to realize that Joel Miller is definitely not the man for you. Your parents disapproved of how rude he was to everyone except his own daughter, how he had arrived years later in Jackson and seemed to own absolutely everything with his head held high and not even tolerating minuscule offenses that the rest of the population there would have found harmless.
You were born and raised in Jackson, long twenty years where you never knew anything in the world beyond the fragile walls of the apocalypse. Your father didn't let you go on patrol with the others, and as an important figure on the council, he had enough authority to spare you from that… but you wanted more. You wanted to know the world or what was left of it, you wanted to face something to feel worthy of such protection when certainly there were people out there who didn't have the same privileges.
Maybe that's why you didn't refuse when Maria offered you a temporary job in the stables, promising that she would soon transfer you to the dilapidated and moth-eaten library they were trying to preserve, even without any regular readers. Maybe that's why you didn't respond sharply when Joel arrived with his horse, asking you to help him, and then started returning every single day.
You started wearing your best clothes, which wasn't much, especially there, and started caring more about your appearance, even though no one was there to notice how eager you seemed to attend a manual labor job that involved dealing with animal dirt and vaccinating them, something Joel taught you very well. He would gently take your hand, his rough skin against yours in a delicate way, you could feel his calluses and it sent waves of heat all over your body.
You had never touched yourself before, your father used to say it was a sin, but you knew that not even he believed in God, after all, wouldn't He have spared everyone years ago when it all started?
Then, you discovered the pleasures of knowing your body and felt slightly dirty, felt that thinking about Joel while reaching your orgasm was almost like a mistake, but his smell, something between whiskey and outdated men's cologne, his deep voice and everything else... drove you crazy.
You didn't stop him when he cornered you against the wall for the first time; he was even older than your own father. Joel's suffocating presence soaked your worn cotton panties and he knew it. He had been watching you from afar since the moment you walked into Tipsy Bison months ago, wearing a short dress, and despite feeling immensely guilty, he didn't let it go to his head. Joel was grateful that your father was a big idiot for protecting you from all those stupid men who stared at you like you were a piece of meat in the city. Including himself.
When he found out you were in the stables, he couldn't contain himself. He claimed he would just admire from afar, but the solicitous way you treated him... Joel wasn't made of iron, he was the worst kind of man. And even with his age and being considerably attractive, he had never dared to give in to anyone since he arrived in Jackson.
Not until you.
He pressed his body against the wall, staring into your big eyes that blinked slowly, completely hungry for you. Joel attacked your lips and didn't even care about the possibility of Tommy or Maria walking in at any moment, he needed to devour you, and he did. He pushed up your yellowish-white lace dress, bringing his rough hands to your pussy over your panties, groaning against your lips as he realized you were already wet for him. Joel deduced that you were a virgin and wouldn't dare to be such an asshole, no matter how much he wanted to mark you as his own. He massaged your clit with his fingers slowly and pulled his face away from your mouth just to capture your reaction; you looked like you were about to melt right there, just for him.
Joel groaned undeniably, his own cock hardening against his dark, slightly tight jeans, begging for some kind of relief, fantasizing about fucking you right there and making you moan loud enough for everyone in Jackson to know who you would belong to very soon. Despite being in his sixties, Joel still had a lot of stamina; you awakened his wildest side.
“Such a good girl that ya’ are… Already wet for your old man, hm?” His voice was completely hoarse, his breathing ragged as you felt your own body tremble with the pleasure granted by his brief touch. Joel continued, as if all that mattered was the fact that you were so vulnerable to him. And maybe it was. “Gonna make ya’ cum for me, bet your virgin tight cunt wont’t hold much longer and then… Sweet girl, I’ll find a way to be in the middle of your legs paintin’ ya’ white with my milk.”
“Joel… Please…” You moaned, sighing as his touch seemed to be in every single one of your bones at the same time, his fingers moving in circles on your pussy while his own mouth was busy kissing your lips, neck, and exposed collarbone. You knew you'd have problems later, but you didn't even care when he made a point of marking your neck with a hickey.
“Cum for me, darlin’. Lemme see this pretty pussy of yours pulsin’ just for me.” He asked, and you seemed to hesitate as you realized you were the only one receiving something, but he looked deep into your eyes and shook his head no. “Nuh-uh, later, sweetheart.”
And then, you felt the peak, but Joel didn't stop like you always did when you felt yourself getting there. Your eyes rolled freely in their sockets and you felt your legs tremble. He was still there, moving his fingers and giving you every extra instant of pleasure. When he finally pulled his fingers away from your pussy, Joel brought them to his own lips, tasting you, his eyes still dark and his own cock clearly hard and needing attention. He would never be satisfied with just a little of you.
“There you go, good girl. So sweet for me.” He held you more carefully, bringing one hand to your hair and pushing the graying curls back in an attempt to look minimally presentable, and then looked deep into your eyes and said: “On your knees, honey. I’mma teach ya’ a lesson and then take care of ya’.”
Summary: After fleeing a toxic relationship, you return to your hometown, craving a fresh start. But when Joel, your dad's friend of five years, enters your life, he upends everything you thought you knew about yourself. Caught between a past that haunts you and an undeniable connection with Joel, you face a choice: open your heart to the unknown or risk losing the fragile new life you're building.
Pairings: Dbf!Joel x Reader.
Tags/Warnings: Joel x Reader, soft!Joel, age gap (mid-40s/early 20s), dad!Joel, mild slow burn, angst, miscommunication, fluff, pining, reader has anxiety from ex toxic relationship, (flashbacks to domestic violence, gaslighting, manipulation), insecurity, mentions of (Sarah’s) death, daddy issues, canon divergence. Mature Content: fingering, oral sex, handjob, unprotected sex, dirty talk.
Tommy Miller x Fem!Reader, Slowburn!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader
Summary: Traveling through the post-apocalyptic world is never easy. Lucky for you, the Miller brothers make decent company, most of the time.
Warnings: This story is 18+. Included, but not limited to: Explicit smut (chapters will be marked with a ** ), canon typical violence, language, gore, and horror. Minor character death, child death, SA / rape , suicide, and depression. These warnings may change at any time, as this story is not completed.
Reader, Joel, and Tommy are not polyamorous; the story explores romantic relationships with both Tommy and Joel, but not at the same time.
Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Doctor Female Reader
Chapter Rating: T.
Chapter Summary: You've been preparing him for this moment for weeks. The exercises you help him through, strengthening his legs, rebuilding his muscles that had begun to weaken during his bedridden days. He’s been determined to regain what was taken from him, no matter how much it hurts.
Chapter Warnings: HEAVY SPOILERS FOR S2E2, FIX IT FIC, pov switching, joel survives abby's encounter, injuries, healing, domesticity in the apocalypse, joel teaches you wood carving, first steps, maria seeing things before everyone else, beard trimming, so much pining and yearning (promise it pays off next chapter)
Words: 4,030
A/N: It's been SO HARD staying away from smut, but the slow burn has been so fun. Though, I'm not giving too much away for next chapter.... the rating WILL turn to E. Thank you to @mothandpidgeon, @schnarfer, and @for-a-longlongtime for all of their help and plotting.
Healed Masterlist
AO3 Link
Masterlist
Previous Chapter
—-
He wonders how it happened. Why he survived. Why he was saved.
How, out of all the people in the apocalypse, you were the one fate chose to pull him back from the dead.
How you’ve become more than just his doctor.
How the lines between caretaker and something else have begun to blur beyond recognition.
The questions circle endlessly through his mind. Questions too large for him to hold.
He settles himself the only way he knows how to now. By looking at you.
You’re sleeping in the recliner, the same chair he used to rock alone in and wonder just how silent his life could stay, once Ellie moved to the garage. He tries to look away from you, but you look too peaceful to ignore. Your breaths come out in small puffs between your slightly parted lips, your features softened as you’re unburdened now by the weight of keeping him alive.
He thinks he’s only here because of you.
Because you never gave up.
Because you heal him every day, piece by piece.
—-
Everything feels more alive as Joel’s health improves. The days seem brighter, the sunlight shining in through the windows stretches farther across the floors, as if the beams are following his progress.
You’re learning more about him every day, as he gets better. He’s a contradiction. His gruff, sometimes intimidating exterior is a shell that holds in his gentle ways.
There’s been a constant low thrum of tenseness since the bathing incident, neither of you have mentioned it—but there is a new kind of awareness between you.
There’s now a familiar sound of Joel’s wheelchair gliding across the hardwood as he masters navigating his home with it.
As expected, there are hiccups.
You’re in the kitchen, peeling potatoes for dinner, when a loud crash of ceramic shattering across the floor makes you jump.
“God damnit,” Joel growls from the living room.
He’s there, gritting his teeth and shaking his head as he surveys the broken lamp on the floor.
You immediately spring into action, doing what you’ve been doing for the last few months, fixing his problems. The broken lamp is quickly swept up as you reassure Joel it’s not a big deal, things like this are going to happen.
He gives you a look of understanding and acceptance, before telling you “thank you” in a low voice that sends goosebumps across your body.
Soon, Joel spends all evening in the dining room where Tommy has set up a small workshop for him to pass the time. Tiny animal figures line the tabletop, some as small as a few inches.
He sits in his wheelchair at the table, leaning forward and focused, holding a small knife, his large hands guiding the blade over a piece of pine. Wood shavings pile on the tabletop. His brows are furrowed in concentration, eyes narrowed and focused behind his reading glasses as he turns the small block of wood.
You've been watching him from your chair in the living room, too fascinated by this side of him to look away. You find yourself watching him a lot, not just to make sure he’s doing okay, but because you can’t help yourself. There’s something that mesmerizes you… The way his calloused hands move with such confidence and precision despite their size.
"What are you making?" you finally ask, getting up and moving closer to see the small sculpture taking shape in his hands.
Joel looks up his glasses perched on the end of his nose, as he turns the wood over in his palm, examining it.
"Bear," he rumbles.
“He’s so tiny. You’re really good at that.”
Joel shrugs, thumbing away a splinter. "Used to do it a lot. Before..." He doesn't finish the sentence. He doesn't need to. Before. Before the attack. Before you saved his life. Before everything changed.
"Can I watch?" you ask.
He nods, gesturing to the chair beside him. You pull it closer, sitting close enough to feel the heat radiating off of his body, to smell the scent of pine and cinnamon, and something distinctly Joel.
You lean even closer and watch as Joel's hands move, the knife peeling away thin layers of wood to reveal the features of the bear.
His eyes flick up to yours, then back to his work. His knife pauses mid-stroke. "Want to try?"
The offer catches you off guard. Joel Miller, who bristles at help, who growls at vulnerability, is offering to teach you something.
"Sure.”
He pulls out another piece of wood and a small knife from a storage box next to him. Tommy must have brought his entire collection down from upstairs. Joel places them on the table, sliding them toward you.
"Here. Start with something simple. Maybe a duck."
“Oookay,” you sigh, turning the wood in your hand, unsure where to begin.
"Think of the shape, and just start. Like this," Joel instructs, demonstrating on his bear. "Always cut with the grain and keep your fingers clear of the blade."
Your blade catches the wood on your first cut. You try again, cutting against the grain, your knife skidding across the wood.
Joel watches, letting you try and fail a few times before he sets his bear down. "Here," he says, leaning a bit closer. "Let me show you."
His hand covers yours. He’s so warm. You can feel the strength in his fingers as he positions your hands on the knife.
"Hold it like this," he says. He’s so close you can feel his breath against your ear. "Thumb here, against the handle for control."
You have to tell yourself to breathe as Joel adjusts your grip. His other hand covers yours on the wood, angling it for you.
“Be gentle," he guides your hand, helping you make a smooth cut along the block of wood. "See? Let the knife do the work."
You nod, finding it difficult to speak. His hand guides yours in a slow, smooth motion, and a curl of wood peels away.
"Good," he praises when you make a particularly nice cut. "You're getting it."
He doesn't pull away. He leans in closer, watching you work. Your whole body is heating under his attention and closeness, but you focus on carving, holding the wood tight with as steady of hands as you can muster.
“Now,” he rumbles next to you, removing his hands from yours. “Try on your own.”
Curled and thin wood shavings gather on the table. Joel leans back, watching you with the almost-smile of his you’ve been seeing more often.
Soon, a shape resembling a duck begins to take shape thanks to Joel's occasional instructions.
He hums an approving noise. "Took me months to get cuts that clean. You're good with your hands.”
“I’d hope so,” you reply, without looking up from your duck. “I have to be. I'm a surgeon, remember?"
The sound that comes from Joel startles you—a chuckle. It’s the first time you’ve actually heard him laugh.
"Keep going," he says softly, nodding toward your carving. "You're doing good."
A comfortable silence settles between you and Joel as you both work together. Occasionally, he glances over, giving you a nod of approval. When you’re all done, something resembling a duck sits on the table amongst his lineup of carved animals.
"Not bad for your first try,” he admires.
You snort, trying to keep your smile at bay. “You don’t have to be so nice.”
“No, really,” he says. “Pretty good for your first try.”
“I guess I owe you, I’ll have to teach you knitting now.”
He turns and looks at you, his brown eyes staring into yours. “You’ve already done enough for me.”
Not nearly enough you think to yourself, as you feel the tension settle heavily between you.
—-
As the cherry blossom tree outside trades its petals for leaves, Joel’s ready to walk again.
You've been preparing him for this moment for weeks. The exercises you help him through, strengthening his legs, rebuilding his muscles that had begun to weaken during his bedridden days. He’s been determined to regain what was taken from him, no matter how much it hurts.
All for these first real steps.
"Remember," you say, handing him the cane. "We're not rushing this. If it’s too much, we stop and try again tomorrow."
To hell with that.
He’s tired of not being able to help, of not being able to shoulder some of the burden of his injuries.
He’s ready.
Now, he sits on the edge of his recliner, knuckles white around the handle of the cane.
Joel grips the cane tightly. Too tightly. He lifts himself from the chair, fighting a rough sound tearing from his throat, his body trembling as he balances on his good leg.
He hates this. Hates the struggle, hates the slow progress, hates the way you hover in case he falls. Most of all, he hates the weakness. But you, he looks at you, your eyes wide, a proud smile lifting your lips. He wants to make you proud. He wants all of your efforts to be worth it. He wants to be worthy of your pride.
He takes a deep breath, his chest rising with the effort of it, then forces his left foot to move. It barely moves, but it’s just enough to send a spike of pain through his leg. His whole body protests. His knees almost buckle under the stress, making him stumble.
You’re there instantly, reaching out and helping him stabilize himself before he falls. He’s grateful for your help, but the embarrassment and frustration escape before he can stop it.
“Don’t need help,” he grunts.
You ignore him, like you always do.
"Again," he says, shrugging off your hands as soon as he's stable.
"Maybe rest a minute—"
"Again," he repeats, more firmly this time. "I've had months of rest."
His second attempt goes better. He manages three steps before needing to rest. You stay beside him, hands hovering just inches from his back, ready to support but not interfere.
"Good," you encourage. "That's it."
He’s going to make you proud, he’s going to prove to you that all of your care and dedication have paid off. It’s what gets him halfway across the room before his strength dissipates. When his balance begins to falter again, he reaches for you on his own this time, his hand gripping your forearm as he steadies himself.
“I got you,” you comfort. He doesn’t know why his heart is racing, if it’s from moving so much for the first time in months, or the way your hand runs up and down his back soothing him.
And then, he pushes off and moves again, all the way across the living room, your voice cooing soft words of encouragement to him, giving him the strength he needs.
With only five steps, he can be at the kitchen table. He pauses, breathing heavily. He’s exhausted and sweaty, but his eyes remain fixed on his destination. With a final surge of determination, he covers the remaining distance.
His free hand grips the back of a kitchen chair. Made it.
He sways slightly, catching his breath before collapsing into the chair with a deep exhale.
“Joel,” you say, a huge grin lighting your face, "you did amazing.”
He knows now why his heart is shattering against his chest… it’s all because of you. He’s made you proud, he wants to make you prouder.
"Tomorrow,” he says. “We go further.”
—-
Joel keeps his word, and he goes further every day. He moves, then rests. Moves, then rests. And so it goes.
With each new day, he adds a few more steps to his count. Always, you’re there with him, ready to help if he stumbles, yet still allowing him the dignity of trying on his own.
He struggles some days, breathing hard, stopping and resting his weight against the wall or a chair. Sometimes you notice him glancing towards you, taking in your reaction, his breathing evening whenever he sees your encouraging smile.
You fall into a familiar routine.
In the morning, you stretch his tired limbs, helping him build his muscles.
During the day, he moves as much as he can before it’s too much for him to stand. You help him settle into his bed, rubbing salve all over his aching limbs, trying hard to ignore the sound of his soft grunts before he takes a nap, letting his body and mind recover.
Lonesome Dove sits unfinished on the table next to the recliner you sleep in. Now, your evenings are spent together differently, both of you in the dining room at the table across from each other as you knit and he whittles.
You look forward to it. The companionship. Sometimes you talk, other times it’s silent, save for the sound of his knife against the wood and your needles clicking against one another.
It’s all so domestic, so comforting.
It’s all beginning to feel like Joel’s more than just your patient.
—-
“So,” Maria begins, combing through Joel’s hair with gentle fingers, “how are things going with you and your doctor?”
He shifts uncomfortably in the dining chair she’s placed in the center of the living room. A towel drapes his shoulders, snippets of his hair falling onto it with each clip of her scissors.
“Hm?” he grunts, trying to calm his racing heart at the thought of you being called his.
“Tommy says you’re getting stronger every day. My guess is she can move out soon.”
He tries to hide the tenseness that overcomes him.
"Move out?" The words come out sharper than he intended.
Maria's hands pause in his hair. "I mean, she's been here for months. I figured once you're mobile enough..."
Joel swallows, his throat suddenly dry. "Right."
He hadn't considered it. Hadn't let himself think about what happens after he heals. About an empty house again. About waking up without the sound of your soft humming from the kitchen, or evenings without you sitting across the table from him.
Maria resumes cutting, her voice careful. "Unless you want her to stay?"
He doesn't answer; his silence says enough.
“Joel,” she sighs. “You’re allowed to want things. To have things.”
Before he can even respond, the front door swings open, you’re lit by the bright afternoon light shining in, holding a small tote with a wide smile across your face.
“I traded a scarf for a steak!” you exclaim proudly as you make your way to the kitchen. “Biscuits and steak for dinner tonight?”
A scarf. You created something, and here you are trading it for a steak—something he can’t remember having in ages. All just for him. He wants to tell you that you didn’t have to do that, but he knows the look you’d give him. He knows you’d insist, because that’s the type of person you are.
Joel nods. “That sounds great,” his voice cracks at the end, torn between gratitude and guilt.
“Good,” you pause. “I’ll go tell Ellie, and we’ll celebrate you getting all cleaned up. Leave the chair there, I’ll trim your beard once I get the biscuit dough made.”
The smile you send him makes his heart race even faster.
He can feel Maria’s shrewd, knowing eyes flicking between him and you before she goes back to cutting his hair.
“Or she can just stay here with you,” she murmurs just loud enough for him to hear.
—-
"Comfortable?" you ask, draping the towel around Joel’s shoulders.
He nods, his brown eyes following you as you pick up the scissors. Maria’s haircut has already done wonders for him, his dark, salt and peppered waves now sit just above the collar of his cream colored button up.
“Ready?”
Joel nods. His long, scraggly beard with wiry white hairs has become unruly. Despite your combing and applying oil, it's grown into too much of a tangled mess during his recovery.
"Going to trim it first. Then shave. How do you want it?"
"Used to keep it trimmed. Not this wild."
"Like in Ellie's drawing?” you ask, tilting your head towards the fireplace.
His face softens when he looks over at the paper propped up on the mantle. "Yeah. Like that."
You nod and step closer, positioning yourself between his spread knees. All of a sudden, the living room feels too small and intimate, as you quickly realize just how close you are to Joel. You've been this close to him countless times during his recovery—changing bandages, helping him bathe, supporting him as he gained his strength—but this time it feels different. More deliberate.
"Tilt your head back.” Your fingers gently tilt his chin, positioning his head before you make your first cut.
Dark brown and silver clippings fall onto the towel and floor as you work the scissors around his face, slowly revealing his handsome face beneath the tangled wilderness of his beard.
Soon, his beard is trimmed to just a few inches long. You step back, trying not to let Joel see the way your breath catches as you take in just how handsome he is beneath all that hair.
“How’s it look?” he asks.
"G-good,” you say so low it’s almost to yourself. “I mean, a lot better. I can actually see you now.”
His brown eyes darken as they stare into yours. You clear your throat and reach for the small bowl of shaving soap you made earlier.
“I made this soap to help your skin,” you say, trying to focus on anything else besides the intensity of his gaze. “It’s made from aloe and yarrow.”
“You didn’t have to do that, I don’t need anything fancy like that.”
“Your skin does,” you counter, dipping your fingers into the soap. “It’s been through enough.”
You try to hide your trembling fingers as you begin to lather the soap over his face.
Alive and vital. His pulse beats steadily against your fingertips as they glide across his warm skin. It still amazes you after seeing him so close to death.
Joel's eyes flutter closed as your fingers move through what’s left of his beard, massaging the soap against his skin.
“Feel good?” you ask.
"Hmm," is his only response, a low rumble you feel more than hear.
You rub the soap into his skin slowly, stretching out your time to be able to touch him so freely while also letting Joel melt under your touch.
“I’m going to shave you now, okay?” you say quietly as you wipe your hands on the towel.
"Hmm," he hums again, fluttering his eyes open and sitting up straighter.
You reach for the straight razor Tommy sharpened for you on the side table.
“You’re going to need to hold very still for me,” you say, your voice soft. “I don’t want to nick you.”
“Right.”
You work carefully, gently pulling the skin taut with one hand while the other guides the blade in short strokes.
You’re so focused on the razor scraping through the soap and hair, that you don’t notice how close you’re leaning in. You don’t notice the way Joel’s openly watching you, studying you, and the way you’re biting your lip as you concentrate.
The sharp line of his jaw is slowly revealed to you. God, he’s handsome.
As you work, Joel remains perfectly still, following every instruction you lowly tell him to do.
"Almost done," you tell him, wiping excess soap from his cheek with a damp cloth.
Just a couple more swipes of the razor against his skin, and the Joel Miller from before the attack is revealed to you. The neatly trimmed beard now frames his face perfectly, lining his strong jaw. You knew he was good-looking, but he truly is otherworldly. He might just be the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.
You swipe away the last remnants of the soap with your thumb, wanting to feel his skin against your fingertips for just a little while more.
"There," you whisper, still closely hovering over him. "Much better."
For a moment, you both remain perfectly still. His eyes lock with yours, before they drop to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze. “Thank you,” he says. His mouth is so close to your skin, you can feel his words.
You nod. "You're welcome," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. The tension is too much for you to take, finally, you pull away, and hand Joel his cane. “Why don’t you go take a look in the mirror and rinse your face off while I clean up?”
—-
He swears you can do it all. You’re a marvel. He can’t stop feeling his smooth skin. Sure, there are now a couple ridges from the new scars that lay across his face, but he’s almost forgotten what his skin felt like underneath everything. He feels so much lighter.
Once again, you’ve helped unburden him.
You’re in the kitchen, humming while you prepare dinner. Sometimes you’ll peek your head out to check on him, as he rests in the recliner with a book in his hand. Honestly, he hasn’t read a word. He’s far too busy remembering the feel of your touch against his skin, the way you bit your lip as you concentrated, how low your voice would get as you’d tell him how to move.
Seems these days all he can think of is you.
He’s so deep in thought that he nearly jumps when the front door swings open, breaking him from his reverie. Ellie breezes in, throwing her jacket haphazardly against the coat rack before she even looks at Joel.
When she does, her eyes go wide, her mouth falls open as she takes in his freshly shaved face and haircut.
“Oh shit,” she breathes. “You almost look like you.”
“Thanks, I reckon,” he replies.
You step into the living room, wiping your hands with a towel. The whole house smells delicious, he can tell you’ve been hard at work in the kitchen.
“Oh good, Ellie, you’re here just in time,” you greet. “Dinner’s almost ready. Why don’t you set the table for us?”
Ellie follows you into the kitchen without a word.
From his chair, he can hear the two of you laughing and talking. A warmth spreads through his heart at how you’re slowly making parts of his life a part of yours. It’s a feeling he never thought he’d allow himself to want, and yet, here he is, smiling to himself as he hears Ellie’s indisputable giggle floating through the house.
“Joel!” Ellie calls out from the kitchen, "Dinner’s ready!”
He stands, running a hand through his hair that he’s taken the time to slick back before he grabs his cane, pushing himself up before moving to the kitchen. He’s getting better and better every day with it.
When he walks into the kitchen, you glance over your shoulder at him, checking to see if he needs any help, but he doesn’t. It’s hard to focus on each step as he watches you do such a simple act as brushing butter on top of biscuits. He can’t imagine not having you share this home with him.
He takes a seat at the table, resting the cane against the wall. His mouth is watering, he’s not sure if it’s from the food or watching you move around the kitchen.
Ellie plops down in the chair next to him, her eyes surveying the steak, peas, and mashed potatoes on the table.
He can’t keep his eyes off of you as you bring over a basket filled with golden biscuits. You give him a shy smile as you sit across from him.
He looks at Ellie and then back at you, realizing just how much at home he feels right now, right here.
The thought hits him then, as he sits with the two people who make him feel the most at home.
He wants you to stay… especially when you pick up a biscuit, breaking it open with your delicate fingers that he just felt against his skin. He tries hard to look away, but he can’t. You bring it to your lips, eyes fluttering closed when you take the first bite.
“Mmm,” you sigh, humming with satisfaction.
His posture stiffens as you enjoy such a simple pleasure—a biscuit. He swallows hard at the thought of making you moan like that.
He needs you to stay.
—-
A/N: My taglist has grown too large. Please follow @whocaresposted and turn on notifications to be alerted about new chapters!
My perma tags: @forspringcleaning, @schnarfer, @mothandpidgeon
[SUMMARY: Tess is willing to do anything to keep you away from Joel, even if it means making you afraid of him.]
You weren’t even trying to fight him, he could see the complete fear you felt towards him in that moment. The desperation you felt to protect his own unborn child from him.
Angst drama
Part one and Part 2 links are at the bottom!
PART 3
Maybe it was the stupidest thing you could’ve done but there was no way in hell you could look Joel in the eye and tell him you were carrying his baby. More than anything, there was no way you could take a moment longer near Tess, especially after her learning that you were pregnant. The thought of being out on your own terrified you, but you’ve done it before…you could do it again.
Joel was angry walking ahead of Ellie, his flashlight helping him look around into the dark night.
“I should’ve woken you earlier” Ellie whispered as she looked around.
“Yeah, ya should’ve” Joel snapped back in an angry whisper before looking at Ellie and realizing how he sounded. Not only that, but he blamed himself. He should’ve known something else was going on with you.
“It ain’t your fault, kid”
Ellie looked up surprised by his quick change of opinion.
“What about Salt Lake?”
“They’re gonna have to wait” he responded as he looked around focused.
“And Jackson?” He quickly turned to her.
“How do ya know about Jackson?”
“Over heard” Ellie admitted.
“Ya overhear a lot of things, don’t cha?”
“I heard y/n throwing up last night, don’t know what cause she couldn’t even eat” Joel looked over at Ellie realizing how much he missed what was right in his face.
“She ain’t eatin’?”
“No, she took one look at what I had and-“ Ellie made a loud barfing noise making Joel stop and look back at her.
“Sorry” she whispered with an awkward chuckle.
“If she’s sick like that and hasn’t eaten, she shouldn’t get far.”
And that he was right about.
You found yourself leaning on trees the farther you attempted to walk. The dark trail ahead of you fading as your vision blurred. You stopped for a moment, took a deep breath and tried to pull yourself together until from afar you saw what looked like…Tess.
“Tess..?” You whispered, you swore your mind was playing tricks on you.
“I don’t have a lot of time” she ran up to you looking behind her.
“What?” You panted, confused.
“You need to go, he’s coming-“ she looked behind once again.
“And he told me what he’s gonna do to you”
“I don’t understand” you followed her eyes trying to piece her words together. Nothing making sense.
“You need to get out of here, he’s looking for you. I tried stopping him-“
“Tess, what the hell are you talking about?!”
“Joel knows you’re pregnant, he’s pissed. You don’t know what he’s capable of doing to you-“
“No” you shook your head refusing to believe what you were told.
“Joel wouldn’t-“
“What the hell do you know what Joel would do?” She whispered with desperation.
“You don’t know the things he’s done, the man didn’t even tell you he had a daughter, you think he’d tell you about the people he’s killed or his reasons? Some were for no reason at all”
A part of you tried to fight against what you were being told, you couldn’t picture Joel hurting you in any way but who were you kidding. There was so much you didn’t know.
Still, Tess could see the doubt in your eyes.
“Look, I know it’s not what you wanna hear but you can’t trust him, he’s dangerous-“
A sudden flash of light was pointed at both you and Tess, the sound of Joel’s voice making you stumble backwards.
“What the hell are you doin’, Tess?” His voice was cold, you could see the anger in his eyes, the knife in his hand.
“Go,” Tess whispered.
“Go now!”
Still feeling weak, you began to run as fast as you could. Joel took a quick step forward, you heard him call out your name until Tess blocked him, taking out a gun and aimed it at him.
“What the hell do ya think you’re doin’”
“Drop the knife” she ordered.
Ellie stood behind Joel in silence, she could see the gun he had in his back pocket, she knew she had to do something.
“After everything we’ve been through, just like that, she matters more?” Tess kept the gun pointing at Joel, he could still hear you running, he knew you were too weak to go far.
“You’re makin’ a mistake’”
Joel replied.
“That baby’s a mistake!” She yelled as tears welled up in her eyes.
The further you got, the slower you became.
Tess only became angrier seeing how distracted Joel was, how still even with a gun being pointed at him his focus was on you.
“I need to help her”
“Unbelievable” she chuckled sarcastically.
“Even with a damn gun to your face you’re still worried about her” Joel didn’t know what to think, this was a side of Tess he had never seen.
“If anything happens to her-“
“Oh please, something should happen so you can finally let her go” Tess responded when the sound of a gunshot went off making you stop in your tracks and look back. Joel stepped back in shock as he turned to see Ellie holding a gun.
“S-sorry” she whispered in a panic quickly handing Joel the gun.
He didn’t say a word, a simple nod of approval to Ellie before he turned and ran off in the direction you went.
Not far from where he was, Joel found you hunched over, the sound of his footsteps making you look up.
“Don’t-“
“I’m not gonna hurt you” he stood back raising both hands. He could tell you could barely balance yourself let alone speak, he took one step forward.
“S-stay back!” The concern in his eyes hard to not notice but even harder to ignore the gunshot you just heard.
“I’m trynna help you”
You shook your head, stumbling as you took another step back just as Ellie caught up behind him. Before you could say another word everything quickly went black and just like that you were on the floor.
Joel called out your name running towards you, his hand gently sliding under the back of your neck as Ellie rushed up behind him.
“What do we do?”
It was dark out, there wasn’t many options, looking up he noticed a gas station down the hill and had a plan.
Joel took off his jacket and rolled it up beneath your head on the floor. Looking around the gas station he double checked for any way in. Making sure all doors were covered he spent the next hour sitting beside you thinking over what the hell he was supposed to do next.
Ellie watched as he grabbed his backpack and took out two cans of food looking indecisive at each.
“Which one do you think she’d be able to eat?”
Ellie shrugged when you moaned slowly turning your head.
Slowly your eyes opened, you blinked a few times clearing your vision before noticing who was standing over you. Joel’s brows furrowed as he looked down at you, not knowing how you would react or what you would say-
You gasped, the fear in you jolting you to push yourself up as fast as you could. Joel’s instinct being to go and help you but you backed away against the wall.
“Get away from me!” You looked around in a panic trying to spot an exit.
“Wait a minute, baby” he pleaded taking another step forward.
“No! Don’t touch me!” You weren’t even trying to fight him, he could see the complete fear you felt towards him in that moment. The desperation you felt to protect his own unborn child from him.
“You don’t have to run from me-“
“I need to get the hell out of here-“ you yelled.
“You can barely stand on your damn feet”
“What the hell do you care?!”
“You’re pregnant, you think ima let cha just run outta here?” You shook your head looking away holding back tears, you could see him moving close with the corner of your eye.
“Look at me” although he spoke in a whisper, you could hear the demand in his tone.
“I ain’t gonna hurt you, do you hear me?”
“You just shot Tess!” You cried out looking up at him.
“I killed Tess” Ellie’s words silenced you. You both looked her way.
“She was…she was setting you up, she pulled a gun on Joel” she explained waving her hands around frantically just wanting you to know and believe the truth.
“Tess just wanted you gone” Ellie whispered realizing how insane it sounded. Joel looked back at you, he could still see the confusion you felt. The hesitation as your eyes met his.
“I know what she told you” you could see tears forming as he spoke.
“I know there’s things I should’ve told you, things I don’t speak of….but I would never hurt you.” You looked at Ellie, you could see the genuine concern she felt.
They both felt it.
“You gotta believe him, please. Don’t go” she whispered. Truthfully, you knew even if you wanted to, you couldn’t. Still dehydrated and weak you slowly slid down against the wall and closed your eyes with a sigh. Joel crouched down kneeling on one knee beside you.
“Drink” he handed you his bottle of water that you quickly chugged. His eyes softened watching as you took a deep breath.
“I just wanna take care of you, I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” He assured you, you nodded slowly as you felt his hand cover yours. You had no idea what this journey would bring, you had no idea what the next move was but one thing you did know was Joel didn’t play about you or his unborn child..
part two of STORMY NIGHT but can be read as a stand alone
part 1 here | Joel’s Masterlist here
Summary: Joel’s mind is full of doubts after you two slept together for the first time, but you remind him of how much you want him in a heated phone call.
WC: 3.3k
Tags/Warnings: smut, minors DNI, dirty talk, age gap, phone sex, masturbation, joel feels insecure about his age, reader babysits sarah.
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You’ve continued your life with normality, babysitting Sarah like you’ve been doing for the last six months.
Joel hadn’t touched you since that night a week ago in his kitchen. He hadn’t talked about it either. You didn’t insist. You wouldn’t even know what to say.
The silence screamed every time you looked at each other too long. It sat between you like a ghost, whispering reminders of the way his body had crushed yours into the counter, the way you’d gasped his name like a prayer.
But things had shifted—subtle, unmistakable. The air between you buzzed differently now, thick with something unspoken and restless. The way his eyes lingered on you when he came home and found you curled up on the couch. Like he was memorizing the shape of you. Like he was fighting the urge to touch. The way his fingers brushed yours a little too long when he handed over your pay. That fleeting contact burned like a brand.
He was more talkative too. He’d open up more often than before, telling you about his day—grumbling about busted tools, long hours, or the price of gas. His voice would soften when he talked to you, his words less guarded, like he forgot to keep the walls up. Sometimes, he’d even eat dinner with you before you left.
But he still hadn’t touched you. And it was killing you.
Because you remembered. Every second. The feel of his rough hands trailing over your skin, claiming every inch of you. The way his palms had held you like something precious, like he didn’t want to let go. The way he moved inside you, how his body fit against yours like you were made for him.
You still heard your own moans echoing in your head when you closed your eyes. Still felt the ghost of his weight pinning you to the kitchen counter, still ached from the way he took his time. You tried to recreate it, night after night, fingers buried deep between your legs—but it never came close.
It wasn’t Joel.
One evening, you were with Sarah, both of you sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, working on her science fair project—a little volcano that had already claimed half the carpet with glitter glue.
You first heard the rumble of the truck engine, then headlights sweeping across the living room wall.
Moments later, the front door clicked open and Joel stepped inside. He looked wrecked. Hair tousled. Shirt clinging to the sweat on his chest. Dust streaked across his jeans.
But his eyes—those warm, grey eyes—they looked like he’d barely slept, but yet they landed on you, and they didn’t leave. Heat coiled in your belly, sharp and familiar
“Dad!” Sarah shouted, springing up to wrap her arms around him. “Look at the volcano we’re making!”
Joel smiled, tired but real. “Goddamn, that looks amazin’, sunshine,” he said, voice full of that proud dad tone.
Sarah beamed, pulling him down to show him all the little details, explaining exactly how you two had made it and how the lava would erupt.
You watched Joel watching her, and something twisted in your chest. He looked at her like she was his whole world. That softness—the gentleness in his voice, the way he crouched next to her with such care—it made your heart ache.
Eventually, a little yawn slipped out of Sarah.
“Alright, kiddo. Time for bed,” Joel said, playfully squeezing her arm before leaning in to kiss the top of her head.
For once, Sarah didn’t protest. Didn’t beg for another episode of her favorite show. She just mumbled a sleepy “Goodnight, you two. Love ya,” and trudged upstairs.
“Sweet dreams, sunshine,” he called softly.
And then it was just the two of you.
The silence was immediate. Charged. Heavy with the words neither of you had dared speak.
“You alright?” Joel asked, voice low and rough.
You nodded. “Yeah.”
He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck with a slow, tired motion—like the weight of the world sat there. “I mean… well—” His words faltered, caught in something unspoken. “You been okay since… that night?”
There it was. The question hanging in the air, the elephant you both had danced around. He was addressing what had happened between you two.
You lifted your eyes to meet his—searching, honest. “Yeah. You?”
He swallowed hard. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I shoulda stopped. Shoulda been the adult.” He let out a humorless breath. “Hell, I am the adult.”
“I am an adult too, Joel,” you said quietly. “And you didn’t make me uncomfortable.” Your voice was steady, but your chest was tight with everything you wanted to say and couldn’t.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I don’t wanna screw this up. You’re… you’re important. To Sarah. To me.”
The way he said it—quiet, unsure, like it hurt to speak—made your chest tighten. You wanted to take that weight from him, to make him believe he wasn’t doing anything wrong just by feeling.
Your heart pounded. It thudded so loud in your chest you wondered if he could hear it. “Who said anything about screwing things up? You’re not screwing up anything.”
Joel exhaled slowly, like he was trying to breathe out the tension in his chest. “I been sleepin’ on the couch every night. Can’t even look at my bed without seein’ you in it. Smellin’ you. Even after changin’ the damn sheets.”
“I don’t want you to pretend nothing happened,” you whispered. The words cracked as they left your lips. Your hands trembled slightly, clenched into fists in your lap.
“I’ve been tryin’ not to think about it,” he said. “But I can’t. I walk around half-hard every time you’re near. I don’t know how to act. Don’t know what to say.”
“Joel—”
“I don’t get it,” he muttered. “You’re young. Hot. You could have any guy you wanted. Why the hell would ya want me? I’m old. Rusty. Can’t even get through a day without my back crackin’ in three places. Probably forgot half the shit I used to know.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” you said, almost laughing. “Joel, we had a great time the other night, it was probably the best night of my life. You’re overthinking it. Don’t do that.”
“You don’t get it… I—” He shook his head, covering his face for a moment. His shoulders hunched forward like the weight of his doubts was too much to carry. “I need time to process this, yeah? Gimme time to think, I don’t wanna ruin it.”
You nodded softly. You weren’t going to push, there was no use in that. That would only make him retreat.
If he needed time, then you’d give it to him. Even if it hurt.
You grabbed your bag quietly, your fingers lingering on the strap a moment before you murmured a soft goodbye. Stepping out into the night, the cold air hit your skin like a shock—but it was a relief, somehow. You let the door click shut behind you and took a deep breath, knowing this was far from over.
Joel had been tossing and turning for forty minutes, nowhere near sleep.
Your conversation kept replaying in his mind on a torturous loop. Your voice, soft and sure, kept echoing in his ears—“You didn’t make me uncomfortable.” And it only made the ache in his chest deepen.
He cursed himself—quietly, sharply—for getting tangled in this whole mess.
Was it wrong? Maybe.
Sure, you were over a decade younger. But you were an adult. You wanted him, he’d never pushed you or forced you into anything. And It wasn’t like he was a pervert chasing every younger girl who walked by, it was only you that he liked.
And that terrified him.
What if this was just a phase for you? Just a fun, wild story to tell later, he pictured you laughing later with your friends telling them about— “That time I hooked up with the hot single dad I worked for.”
You were just a girl in her college years, trying to experiment, testing boundaries. Joel knew that world well—hell, he remembered exactly what it was like when he was your age: reckless, hungry for anything new, chasing moments that burned bright but didn’t last.
Joel wasn’t stupid. You’d get bored real soon, grow out of this. Move on and go for someone your age. Someone who didn’t wake up sore from bending the wrong way. Someone who didn’t carry the weight of a lifetime of mistakes.
Someone with a future who could provide something more than a mortgage and a busted back. Someone to have your own family with, not having to take care of someone else’s daughter. Not bound to a man still trying to figure out how to be enough—for himself, for Sarah… for you.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, curling into himself.
Your phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Joel’s name lit up your screen, and your breath caught in your throat.
You scrambled to grab it, heart thudding, fingers fumbling just a little like your body already knew it was him.
You answered quickly. “Hey. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, sorry for callin’ so late,” Joel said, his voice low and scratchy. It was that deep, half-broken tone, like he hadn’t spoken in hours. Like he’d been lying in bed thinking about you just as hard as you’d been thinking about him.
You could hear the exhaustion in him. And something else. Something heavier. Something low and aching, wrapped in need.
“I just needed to hear your voice. That okay?”
“Of course,” you said softly. “It’s good to hear yours too.”
“What’re you doin’?”
“I’m in bed.” You said, shifting under the blanket instinctively, suddenly hyper-aware of the heat pooling between your thighs, the empty ache. The place between your legs throbbed sensitive and wanting.
You heard his breath hitch—just a subtle catch, but it made your skin prickle. Your nipples tightened beneath the fabric of your shirt. Your thighs pressed together on their own. One little sound from him and your whole body was already unraveling.
“Me too,” he whispered.
“I miss you,” you confessed. “So bad it hurts. I wish you were here. I wish your hands wer—”
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, voice breaking. “You know you’re killin’ me right now, right?”
You smiled, cheeks heating.
Your thighs pressed together under the covers, trying to soothe the throb you felt blooming low in your belly.
Silence stretched between you, humming with tension. The kind of silence that pulsed with need, with wanting, with everything you both weren’t saying but felt too deeply to ignore.
Then Joel’s voice came back, low and thick. Like honey and gravel, dragging across your nerves.
“You touchin’ yourself, babygirl?”
You swallowed, heart hammering.
“Not yet.” Your voice came out breathy, almost trembling with anticipation. Your fingers twitched, already itching to move.
Joel let out a low groan—the kind that made your toes curl. You could hear the frustration in it, the hunger.
“Can I hear ya? Please. Lemme listen.”
Your breath caught. “Yes.”
“Good girl,” he rasped, voice like silk.
Your whole body shivered at the praise. You slid your hand beneath your oversized T-shirt, the fabric brushing over your hardened nipples. Your skin felt electric, too hot.
You trailed your fingers slowly down your stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of your panties until you found your slick folds. You were drenched. The heat between your legs was almost unbearable, your pussy aching, begging.
God, you were soaked. Swollen. Your body already reaching for something it knew only he could give.
“Tell me what you’re doin’,” Joel murmured. “Wanna picture it.”
“I’m… touching myself,” you whispered, lips parting as you circled your clit, just small circles around that bundle of nerves. A soft moan spilled from you, your hips already lifting slightly, chasing the sensation.
Joel’s breath hitched again. “You wet for me, baby?”
“So wet,” you gasped. “I’m dripping.”
“Fuck,” he muttered. “Wanna spread you open. Eat you out. Make you cum on my tongue.”
You whimpered, your fingers teasing just enough to build the pressure. Your hips rolled instinctively, chasing more. You imagined the scratch of his beard against your thighs, the heat of his mouth, the way he’d groan against you like he was starving.
“Joel,” you moaned. “I wish it was you…”
“I know, baby. Think bout my mouth on you,” he said, voice rough. “Think bout my cock inside you. Stretchin’ you out. Fillin’ that pretty pussy up.”
You sucked in a sharp breath and pushed two fingers inside your tight entrance, your walls clenching around the intrusion. It wasn’t enough. Not even close. You needed him. The weight of him. The stretch. The depth.
You let out a cry, hips arching off the mattress.
“That’s it, babygirl. Touch yourself f’me. Make yourself cum.”
“Joel…fuck,” you gasped. “My fingers… they’re not enough. I want your cock. It’s so big—I need it.”
You heard the faint rustle on the line, Joel groaning as he fumbled with his belt. You could picture it so clearly—legs spread wide, back against his sheets, his strong hand wrapped around himself, around his thick, throbbing cock, desperate and slick, stroking to the sound of your voice.
Then you heard the wet sound of him spitting on his hand.
“Shit—I’m gonna give it to you next time I see you. Gonna give you my cock. It’s all yours.” You could hear the rhythmic creamy sound on the background. Wet and steady. Fucking obscene. It made your walls flutter again, clenching around nothing.
You moaned, waves of pleasure crushing over you as you pumped your fingers, knuckles deep, in and out of you, fucking yourself harder, the slick sound of your fingers echoing in the quiet room, your breath coming in gasps.
“Put the phone closer, baby… lemme hear how you fuck yourself,” he said, voice thick with breath, gravel dragging at every word.
There was hunger in it. A rawness that made your toes curl. Like he was starving for every part of you—even just the sounds.
You obeyed, lips parted, breath catching as you shifted the phone lower. Your hand trembled slightly as you moved it, angling the speaker toward the slick heat between your thighs. The wet sounds of your fingers working through your folds filled the receiver—slow, messy, obscene.
You heard him groan on the other end. Sharp. Desperate.
“Wish I was there,” he muttered. His breath hitch, the sound of him losing control. “Wanna bury myself in that sweet little cunt. Fuck you slow. Make it last all night. Give you every fuckin’ inch.”
You moaned his name with a broken sob of pleasure, thighs trembling, back arched as your fingers fucked into your drenched heat.
“Joel…fuck—” your voice cracked, wrecked with want. “Nobody’s ever touched me like you… nobody’s ever fucked me like you do.”
His breath came through the line sharp and ragged, almost pained.
“I know, baby…” he groaned, voice thick with pride and hunger. “You were insatiable. Wasn’t enough to fuck you in the kitchen, was it? No— you wanted my cock when I took you to bed too, again and again.”
Your body jolted with the memory. The way he had fucked you over the counter, so hard you nearly screamed. And then the multiple rounds that followed after you two went to bed, allegedly to sleep.
He had picked you up, carried you to his bed like you weighed nothing, and then mounted you like a man starved. He hadn’t just fucked you. He owned you that night.
“I kept beggin’,” you breathed. “Told you I couldn’t take another round but I still opened my legs for you.”
Joel groaned like he was in pain. “God, I remember. You said you couldn’t, but your pussy was still so fuckin’ hungry. Grippin’ me tight, milkin’ every drop I gave you. You took it so well f’me.”
“You came inside me so many times,” you whispered. “It was leaking out of me all night.”
“Shit— I remember when you were lyin’ on your stomach, ass all red from how hard I’d fucked you. Still twitchin’. Could barely breathe. You kept beggin’ me not to stop.”
“Tell me what you’re doing now” you begged, breathless.
“Got my fist ‘round my cock,” he said, voice breaking a little on a breath. “Squeezin’ tight. Thumb right over the tip. It’s—fuck—it’s leakin’, baby. Been hard since I called.”
You whined at that, pressing your fingers deeper, hips arching up. The ache inside you swelling like it knew his voice could reach all the way in.
“Wish it was your mouth,” he groaned. “Wish I could fuck into that pretty throat, hear you gag on it like a good girl.”
He groaned again, louder this time. The rhythm of his stroking matched the slick, wet sounds coming from your end of the line.
“I’m close… Joel, I’m so close—” your voice broke as your muscles tensed, your body strung tight like a bow, curling your fingers just right to hit your g-spot.
“I’m right behind you, baby… cum with me. Wanna hear you lose it.”
You cried out, pleasure crashing through you like a wave.
Your thighs trembled violently, your back arched, and you clenched down hard around your fingers. You came with a broken sob, his name falling from your lips like a spell.
You heard him gasp, and then his breath hitched a ragged, broken sound as he came. Hard. There was a wet, rhythmic slap and a final low growl from deep in his chest as he spilled into his hand, breathing heavy, almost panting.
You could picture him now—spread out, chest rising, hand still loosely around his softening cock, skin flushed, hair damp at his temples, thick ropes of cum coating his stomach.
“That’s my girl… fuck, you sound so goddamn good when you cum,” he said, still breathless. “Shit… made a mess on the sheets.”
“Was it worth the mess?” you murmured, breathless.
Joel let out a lazy chuckle. “Darlin’… you have no idea how much it was worth it.”
“Don’t change the sheets,” you said between gasps, still catching your breath. “I want to see it tomorrow.”
He chuckled, deep and low. “You wanna see my dry cum on the sheets?”
“I want the proof of how bad you wanted me.”
“Jesus… you’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispered, voice reverent.
“Just so you know, I’m not going anywhere, Joel. No matter how much you try to push me away.”
“Don’t say that shit unless you mean it,” he said, voice low, but vulnerable. “Not if this is just somethin’ you’re gonna grow out of.”
“I meant it, Joel,” you whispered. “I still mean it.”
“I just… I don’t get why. Why me? I’m not—”
“How can you not see it?” you said with a soft laugh, still glowing from the high. “Joel, the other night you made me cum so much I felt like I was gonna pass out. I’ve never been with a guy who could make me cum, and you do it just by talking to me. That’s how much I want you. How can you not understand?”
“I just worry… one day this won’t be enough. You’ll get bored once the thrill’s gone, that you’ll wake up and realize you should’ve been with someone younger. Someone who can give you a clean slate, not a man with a teenage daughter and a bad back.”
“I promise you, Joel, I’m not in this for the thrill,” you said gently. “You and Sarah… you both matter too much. I wouldn’t mess with that.”
Joel let out a shaky breath. “How can ya be so fuckin’ perfect and still want an old man like me?”
“Well, the old man has some serious skills.” You said, hearing his chuckle on the other side of the line.
“I just— Christ, I’m like fifteen years older than you. My back cracks every time I bend down to tie my boots. I make old man noises gettin’ outta bed. I got a mortgage, a busted knee, and a daughter who depends on me. I don’t exactly scream eligible bachelor, darlin’.”
“Joel, listen,” you tried to say.
“I just don’t get it,” he muttered, quieter now. “You’re smart. Young. Fuckin’ gorgeous. You’ve got a future. Hell, I probably already lived through the best parts of mine.” He let out a bitter little huff. “What happens when you want marriage? Kids? I can’t start over again. I—I don’t know if I have that in me.”
“You’re not just some older guy to me. You’re Joel. The way you see me, the way you listen… that means more than anything else.”
He chuckled, shaky but real. “Damn, you’re good at this. Makin’ a man feel wanted when he’s been feelin’ invisible for so long.”
“Do you believe me then?” you asked. “That I want you? That I mean it?”
“I do,” he whispered, soft as a secret. “I wish I could be there right now,” he murmured. “Just to hold you. Just to—fuck—I don’t even know. Fall asleep next to you. Wake up with your leg thrown over me. Make you coffee in the mornin’.”
A beat passed. Then: “I know I’m older, baby. I know there’s things you’ll want one day that I probably can’t give. But I swear to God… if you let me keep you, I’ll try to do my best. I’ll damn well try.”
You smiled, curling into your pillow, heart full.
Your body still tingled, warm and sated, but it was his voice in your ear that soothed you. That made everything feel right.
Joel stayed on the line, breathing steady in your ear, until sleep took you both— the connection crackling softly, his breathing a steady comfort in your ear like a silent promise.
A/N: Thank you so much for all the support on the first part. It made me so happy to see how much you enjoyed it, I hope you liked this part as much🫶🏻🩷
Summary: Joel needs to use you sometimes. Sometimes.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, unprotected piv, creampie, anal, and a bad understanding of anal prep, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), spanking, choking, fucking everything, loving sex is a warning in this too, mean joel but reader can handle it, he doesnt mean it guys hes a loverboy :(
i'm suffering horrifically from writers block so this is my way of writing like 4 smut oneshots in one lol. end of the semester is kicking my ass
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
He only brings you here when it gets bad.
Not bad like blood-in-the-streets bad, not even when deals go sideways or when FEDRA gets too close. Not because it’s safe, though it is. No—Joel brings you here when he’s bad. When he’s seconds from cracking. When the city feels too tight, and he needs something real to hold on to. Something that reminds him he’s still alive.
And more and more lately, that something has been you.
Inside the city, he keeps his voice low and his hands to himself. Tess gives him side-eyes when you’re around, and everyone else knows better than to ask what you are to each other, knows better than to give you any trouble. But out here? Past the fences, past the dead brush and the broken steps?
Out here, he doesn’t pretend he doesn’t want you.
The safehouse is a crumbling old farmhouse outside the QZ perimeter, long abandoned and half-swallowed by the forest. It looks like nothing. That’s the point.
Clean sheets. Wood stove. Whiskey. A real bed. You and Joel.
He slams the door shut behind you with one hand and has the other already on your waistband, fingers digging into the worn fabric of your jeans.
“Clothes. Off. Now.”
You don’t ask, you never do. You know this version of him. Wild-eyed and breath hot against your neck as he crowds you backwards, the floorboards creaking under his weight.
“You gonna say hello first?” you tease, already peeling off your jacket. The fabric rasps against your skin as you shrug it off, the chill of the room prickling your arms.
He grabs your chin, tilts your face up, calloused fingers pressing just shy of bruising. His eyes burn into yours, dark and hungry, pupils swallowing the hazel.
“Keep talkin’ and I’ll give you something to say.”
You grin, even as your heart thuds heavy in your chest, pulse jumping under his grip. “Promise?”
And just like that—he’s on you.
His mouth crashes into yours, all heat and desperation, lips rough from the cold, tongue sliding against yours with a possessive growl. His hands are everywhere—yanking your shirt over your head, the drag of fabric sending sparks across your skin, then palming your waist, your ribs, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. The scrape of his stubble burns your chin, the bite of it sharp and sweet.
The back of your knees hit the bed, and you drop with a gasp, legs falling open, welcoming him in. The mattress groans beneath you, the sheets cool against your now feverish skin.
“Fuck.” Joel mutters to himself as he slides a hand down, pressing between your thighs, fingers slicking through your arousal with a satisfied hum. “Already so fuckin’ wet.”
His touch is electric, rough pads of his fingers circling your clit just once, just enough to make your hips jerk.
“You miss me, Miller?” you breathe, grinding into his palm, the friction sending sparks up your spine.
He doesn’t answer. Just presses his forehead to yours, jaw clenched, breath ragged. His fingers slide lower, dipping inside you with a slow, deliberate curl that punches a moan from your throat.
“You gonna keep talkin’,” he murmurs, voice thick, “or you gonna let me shut you up?”
“I like it when you try,” you whisper, biting back another moan as his thumb finds your clit again, pressing just hard enough to make your vision blur.
He slips two fingers in, thick and unrelenting, the stretch burning and spreading fire through your limbs. Your head falls back, a broken sound ripping from your throat as he crooks them just right, hitting that spot inside you that makes your toes curl.
“Jesus—”
“Say my name.”
“Joel.”
He growls low in his throat and kisses you hard, swallowing your gasp and working you open with brutal efficiency. His free hand fists in your hair, tugging just enough to sting, his mouth moving to your neck, teeth scraping over your pulse point.
When you finally reach for his belt, fumbling with the buckle, his breath hitches. The leather slides free with a sharp hiss, the clink of metal loud in the quiet room. You yank his jeans down, freeing him, his cock heavy and hot in your hand.
He groans against your skin, hips jerking into your grip.
“You think you can handle me like this?” he mutters, voice wrecked.
You wrap a leg around his waist, heel digging into the small of his back.
“Prove I can’t.”
He pushes in with a groan, one slow, steady thrust, stretching you full until you gasp. His hands are planted on either side of your head, muscles trembling with restraint as he holds himself still—just long enough for you to feel every inch of him, the heat of you wrapped around him, the way your body clenches instinctively.
“Goddamn, baby,” he rasps. “Always so tight for me.”
Then he moves, slow and deep. Every drag of his cock inside you is maddening, the fullness unbearable. His hips roll against yours, grinding just right, drawing out your pleasure until you’re writhing beneath him, nails biting into his shoulders.
He watches your face, drinks in every twitch, every bitten-off moan.
“Look at you,” he breathes. “Actin’ like you don’t beg for this every time I call you out here.”
You claw at him, pulling him down to kiss you, your teeth dragging over his bottom lip.
“Only ‘cause I know you can take it.”
He growls, hips snapping harder now, each thrust knocking the air from your lungs. The bedframe rattles against the wall, the headboard thudding in time with his pace.
“Fuckin’ right I can.”
His hand finds your throat; possessive, anchoring. Yours goes to his jaw, thumb brushing the scar that cuts through his temple, feeling the flex of his teeth as he grits them.
There’s nothing but heat between you. The wet sound of skin on skin, his ragged breaths mingling with yours, the creak of the bed beneath you. Your voice breaks around his name, whispering it like a prayer, like a curse, like the only word left in the world.
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
You can feel it before he even speaks.
Joel’s pissed. Not the quiet, simmering kind from before, but something sharper. Bleeding off him in waves as he yanks the safehouse door shut behind him, the wood groaning under the force.
You barely get a word out before he’s on you.
His hands slam against the wall on either side of your head, the impact vibrating through the plaster. His breath is ragged, uneven—hot against your cheek. Clothes still soaked from the storm outside, the fabric cold where it brushes your skin. Blood streaks his sleeve. Not his.
“Joel—”
“Don’t.”
His voice is low, dangerous. Not like before. This isn’t foreplay.
You press your back to the wall, chin lifted, eyes locked on his. The flicker of the oil lamp paints shadows across his face, deepening the lines of tension in his jaw.
“What the fuck happened out there?”
He doesn’t answer. His teeth grind, the muscle in his cheek jumping. Eyes won’t meet yours.
“Was it Tess?” You reach out, fingers skimming the soaked leather of his jacket. Cold. Stiff with rainwater.
“No.”
“Then what?”
His eyes finally snap to yours. And it hits you—whatever it was, it rattled him.
“Almost didn’t make it back.”
You inhale slowly, the air thick with the smell of him—sweat, whiskey, the iron tang of blood. “Shit.”
“Yeah.”
For a second, the tension is quiet.
Then suddenly, Joel grabs your waist, yanks you toward him, and slams his mouth against yours like it’s the only way to make the world shut up. His tongue is rough, tasting of salt and smoke, and you whimper when his teeth catch your lip.
You break it, panting.
“What the fuck is this, huh? You almost die and now I’m just—what? Your therapy?”
“No.” He pulls you closer, “You’re mine.”
You barely make it to the bed.
He tears your shirt over your head, the fabric ripping at the seams. Pushes your pants down with one hand, growling when they catch around your knees. His fingers dig into your thighs, callouses scraping skin as he spreads you open. You’re wet already—because of course you are—and he knows it. Smirks when he drags his fingers through your slick, then brings them to his mouth.
“Always ready for me, aren’t you?”
You moan, grinding back against him.
“Maybe I like it when you lose your shit.”
He drags his mouth down your neck, biting at your shoulder hard enough to bruise. “Yeah? You like makin’ me crazy?”
You arch into him, gasping.
“Love it.”
That’s all he needs.
He flips you onto your stomach, hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. The mattress dips under his weight as he kneels behind you. His cock drags between your thighs, hot and heavy, smearing your wetness against your skin.
Then his fingers press against your ass, testing, circling.
“This what you want?” he rasps, voice wrecked.
You push back into his touch with a grin. “Fucking try.”
He spits, the sound obscene in the quiet room, then works a thick finger into you, slow and deliberate. Your breath hitches, muscles fluttering around the intrusion.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, curling his finger just right. “Take it.”
A second joins the first. You bury your face in the pillow, muffling a whimper as he scissors you open.
Then his fingers are gone, replaced by the blunt press of his cock.
“Breathe,” he orders, and pushes in.
The stretch is brutal, exquisite. You gasp, fingers twisting in the sheets as he sinks deeper, inch by relentless inch. His grip on your hips is iron, holding you still as he works himself inside, groaning through clenched teeth.
“Fuck—Joel—”
“Shhh,” he soothes, though there’s nothing gentle about it. His palm rubs slow circles over your lower back. “Just relax, baby. Let me in.”
When he’s fully seated, he stills, letting you adjust. Sweat drips from his brow onto your spine, his breath hot against your shoulder.
Then he pulls out almost all the way—and slams back in.
You cry out, the sound punched out of you as he sets a punishing rhythm, each thrust driving the air from your lungs. The bed creaks under the force, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the room.
“That’s it,” he growls, fingers digging into your flesh. “Take it. Take all of me.”
Every stroke is a claim. You’re here. You’re both alive. You’re his.
His hand slides around your front, fingers finding your clit. Rubbing hard. Fast.
“Come on, baby. Gimme one.”
Your mouth falls open. Eyes squeeze shut. “I—I can’t—”
“Yes, you fuckin’ can.” His voice is rough, possessive. “This body’s mine. You come when I say.”
You shatter with a broken scream, clenching around him so hard he curses, hips stuttering.
He groans and comes inside you with a final, deep thrust, burying his face in the crook of your neck.
You collapse. Boneless. Breathing like you’ve run ten miles.
Joel stays on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, one arm curled under your body like he can’t let you go just yet. His lips brush your shoulder, the touch almost tender.
“Mine,” he murmurs again.
And god help you—you are.
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
You should’ve kept your head down.
You know that. Joel told you—explicitly—to let him do the talking. Just like he always does when you’re dealing with FEDRA.
But the guy was being a prick. All attitude and a swinging rifle. And maybe it was stupid, maybe it was reckless, but you couldn’t help it.
Joel didn’t say a word at the time. Didn’t look at you. Didn’t flinch.
Just handed over the rations, gripped your arm a little too tight—his fingers digging in like a warning—and steered you out of there before the guard could decide to make an example out of you.
The walk back is silent.
He doesn’t say a damn thing until the safehouse door slams shut behind you—and even then, it’s not words. Not really.
It’s the click of the lock sliding home. The thud of his bag hitting the floor. The way his boots scrape against wood as he turns, slow and deliberate.
His eyes track you—dark and furious, jaw tight enough to crack.
You feel it before he touches you. The heat. The pressure. The way the room seems to shrink until it’s just the two of you, the tension coiling tighter with every second.
Joel stalks forward, slow and deliberate, until your back hits the wall. He braces one hand beside your head, leaning in close. His breath is warm against your lips and his eyes search yours like they’re trying to burn the lesson into your brain.
“What the hell were you thinkin’?” he says, low and dark.
You swallow hard. Try to keep your voice steady. “He was a dick.”
Joel’s nostrils flare. His jaw ticks.
“You think that matters? You think they need a reason to put a bullet in your head?”
“He wasn’t gonna shoot me—”
“You don’t know that!” His voice rises, sharp and ragged, cutting through the quiet like a whip. “You don’t know what they’ll do, you don’t know what line you’re walkin’, and you sure as fuck don’t get to decide when to run your mouth.”
His hands are trembling. Just barely. But they are.
You stare up at him, chest heaving, mouth dry.
“You gonna hit me?” you ask, soft but sharp.
His eyes narrow. “Don’t,” he growls.
“Then what?” you whisper, stepping in close, chest brushing his.
His expression flickers—something feral and frustrated flashing through before it all slams back into place. That mask he wears so well.
He grabs your chin, thumb pressing against your lower lip, eyes locked to yours like he’s daring you to speak again.
“You think this is a game?”
You smirk, licking the pad of his thumb, slow and deliberate.
“I think you like it when I piss you off.”
There’s a second, only one, then he snaps. Grabs your waist, spins you around, and pulls you over his knee before you can even blink. The sudden shift knocks the breath from your lungs, the rough fabric of his jeans scraping against your thighs as he pins you in place.
“Since words don’t seem to sink in,” he mutters, voice rough, “maybe this will.”
The first slap lands hard, his palm connecting with a sting that makes you gasp. The heat blooms instantly, sharp and bright, and you squirm, but his arm locks around your waist, holding you still.
“You don’t get to gamble with your life,” he growls, delivering another sharp smack, then another, each one landing with punishing precision. “Not in there. Not ever.”
You bite your lip, trying not to whimper, but the sting is relentless, the ache spreading with every strike. Your skin flushes hot under his hand, the sound of each slap echoing in the quiet room.
Finally, he stops, his palm resting possessively on your reddened flesh.
“Still think it’s funny?” he asks, voice dangerously soft.
You swallow, thighs pressing together, the throbbing heat between them impossible to ignore.
“No,” you admit, breathless.
He hums, fingers tracing the curve of your ass, then sliding lower, teasing.
“Good.”
Then he flips you onto your back, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he unbuckles his belt. The leather slides free with a whisper, the metal clinking as he tosses it aside. His fingers grip your hair, tilting your head back.
“Open.”
You do, and he guides himself between your lips, the thick heat of him heavy on your tongue. The taste of him fills your mouth as he pushes in, groaning when your lips stretch around him.
“That’s it,” he growls, fingers tightening in your hair. “Take it. Every inch.”
You hollow your cheeks, sucking hard, your tongue working the underside as he thrusts deeper. His breath comes rougher, his hips jerking when you hum around him.
“Fuck—” His voice is ragged. “You’re gonna learn your lesson one way or another.”
He fucks your mouth with slow, punishing strokes, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat until tears prick your eyes. You gag, but he doesn’t let up, his grip unrelenting as he watches you struggle to take him.
“Should’ve thought about this before you ran your mouth,” he mutters, dragging himself out just enough to let you gasp for air before shoving back in.
When he finally pulls free, your lips are swollen, your chin wet. He drags his thumb over your mouth, his eyes dark with satisfaction.
“Now,” he says, flipping you onto your hands and knees, “let’s make sure you remember.”
His hand grips your hip, and then he’s pushing inside you in one brutal thrust. You cry out, fingers clawing at the sheets as he sets a relentless pace, each snap of his hips driving the point home.
“This is what happens,” he growls, teeth scraping your shoulder. “You don’t listen? You get punished.”
You whimper, the pleasure and pain blurring together as he fucks you raw, his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.
You shatter with a sob, your body clamping around him as the orgasm rips through you. He follows with a groan, spilling deep, his hips grinding into you as he rides it out.
“Next time,” he murmurs, voice rough, “you keep your damn mouth shut.”
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
You were only supposed to stay the night. Just one.
Tess had taken a bullet on a bad run, nothing fatal, but she needed time to recover. Joel didn’t want you on the street alone. Didn’t trust anyone else to watch your back. So he’d handed you a key without looking at you and muttered something like, “Just until she’s back on her feet.”
You thought maybe he meant to sleep on the couch.
The room’s dim. Just a sliver of golden light leaking through the curtain from the streetlamp outside. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in one of his shirts. It’s soft and faded, hangs loose over your thighs. Joel’s across the room, stripping down in silence. His movements are slower than usual. No tension. No frenzy.
You watch him undo each button, eyes trailing over the strong lines of his body—broad shoulders, the cut of muscle under worn skin, the trail of hair down his stomach that disappears beneath his waistband.
He doesn’t look at you right away. Just folds his shirt and sets it on the chair like he’s buying himself time.
When he finally turns, the look in his eyes steals your breath.
It’s not lust, not really. Not only. It’s want, yes—but it’s wrapped in something deeper. Something unspoken. Something aching.
You slide back beneath the blankets and hold them open for him.
“Joel,” you say, soft.
He gets in beside you without a word. The bed dips with his weight, and his arm immediately comes around you, pulling you in like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.
You settle into his chest, fingers tracing slow circles across his skin.
“You ever done this before?” you murmur.
He huffs a soft laugh. “Had sex?”
You glance up at him with a crooked smile. “No. Had someone in your bed. Like this.”
His face shifts. “No,” he says quietly. “Not in a long time.”
You nod. You knew the answer before he said it.
Joel’s hand finds your jaw, tilting your face to his. His thumb strokes your cheek, slow and reverent, like he’s still not sure you’re real.
“I want this to be different,” he murmurs.
You lean into his touch.
“It already is.”
And then he kisses you.
Soft. Careful. Like he’s trying not to break you. His lips linger, his breath warm against your skin. He kisses you like he has all the time in the world.
Your hands drift to his body—familiar and unfamiliar at once. You’ve touched him before, felt him everywhere, but not like this. Not when there’s no fire to put out. No edge to ride.
Just him. Just you.
He slides the shirt off your shoulders, slow as molasses, like he’s unwrapping something delicate. Like the heat between you needs to simmer tonight.
“Want you,” you whisper, tugging him closer. “All of you.”
“You got me,” he says, voice hoarse.
Joel kisses you like it’s the first time all over again. Slow, aching, unhurried. His hands explore every inch of you like a man trying to memorize something fleeting.
And then he starts trailing down—kisses ghosting over your jaw, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. He pauses to mouth at one, sucking softly, tongue flicking over your nipple until your back arches. His hand massages the other, fingers pinching just enough to draw a whimper from you.
“Joel,” you breathe, your voice already wrecked.
“I got you,” he murmurs against your skin.
You feel him shift lower. His kisses follow a path down your ribs, over your stomach, reverent and slow. He’s in no rush—he’s savoring. And when he settles between your legs, spreading you open with calloused hands, it’s with a look that’s nothing short of worship.
You’re already dripping for him, aching, and he just stares for a second—eyes dark, mouth parted slightly.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So fuckin’ pretty like this.”
You reach for him, fingers threading into his hair, but he gently presses your hips down, keeping you still.
“Let me.”
He lowers his head, and the first drag of his tongue over you nearly breaks you.
Soft. Wet. Slow.
He hums against you like he’s tasting honey, and you can feel the sound in your spine.
He flattens his tongue and licks a long, slow stripe up your center, then does it again, lips wrapping around your clit with practiced care. He sucks gently—just enough to make you gasp—then releases with a soft pop before diving back in, tongue circling and teasing, building you slow.
“Jesus, Joel—”
Your hips buck, but his grip tightens, holding you steady.
“Stay still, baby,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “Lemme take care of you.”
And he does.
He devours you like it’s the only thing he wants in the world. Like your pleasure is something sacred. His tongue moves in perfect rhythm—languid, focused—while one of his hands slides up your thigh, then down, two thick fingers easing into you as he keeps his mouth on your clit.
You keen at the stretch, hips grinding against his face now, too far gone to care.
Your hands fist the sheets. Your thighs tremble.
“You’re gonna come for me,” he murmurs into your skin. “Come on, sweetheart. I know you can. Just let go.”
You fall apart with his name on your lips, coming hard against his mouth, thighs clenching around his head as he groans like he’s the one being wrecked.
He doesn’t stop right away. Keeps licking you through it, tongue gentle now, coaxing you down from the edge like he doesn’t want the moment to end.
When he finally comes up, his mouth is glistening, beard wet with you, and his eyes are dark—wrecked—like the sight of you falling apart has undone him completely.
You tug him up by the shoulders, breathless and shaking, pulling him into a messy, deep kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue and moan into his mouth, hips already rolling against him again.
Joel grins into the kiss, rough thumb brushing your cheek.
“Didn’t know you could sound like that,” he murmurs.
“Neither did I,” you say, still dazed, still breathless.
He presses his forehead to yours, chest heaving.
“Wanna hear it again.”
When he finally sinks into you, it’s like exhaling after holding your breath too long. No rush. Just the warmth of him, stretching you full, grounding you to the mattress like he’s pressing you into something sacred.
His forehead rests against yours, and he groans—quiet, almost pained.
“Jesus, baby…”
You wrap your legs around his waist, hands tangled in his hair, holding him impossibly close.
He starts to move, slow and steady, each thrust purposeful and deep.
Your fingers drift over his back, nails tracing lazy lines into his skin. His name leaves your lips in a breathless whisper—no begging this time, no teasing.
“Look at me,” he says, voice low. “Wanna see those eyes.”
You do. And what he sees there makes his rhythm stutter. He’s not used to softness like this. Not used to being allowed to want without fear.
You touch his face, thumb tracing the crease of that familiar scar.
“I’m here,” you whisper.
“I know.”
Joel’s hand finds yours and threads your fingers together, pressing them into the pillow beside your head. You don’t say anything else. The way he moves inside you—slow, aching and reverent—says everything.
He kisses you through it. Again and again. Mouth gentle, tongue soft. When you finally come, it’s quiet and full-body, radiating out until your fingers curl tight around his.
He follows close behind, hips grinding deep as he buries himself with a low groan, your name on his tongue like it’s holy.
After, he doesn’t let go.
Just holds you to him like something he’s afraid to lose.
You curl into his side, lips brushing his chest.
“Feels real,” you whisper, afraid to break it.
Joel kisses the top of your head, pulling the blanket higher over your shoulders.
summary: A clicker bite should’ve ended your life. Instead, Joel made a brutal choice to save you. Now, one hand gone and your place in Jackson hanging by a thread, you're left to battle grief, survivor’s guilt, and the town’s growing fear.
pairing: jackson!joel miller x fem!reader
content warnings: angst, trauma, PTSD, pain, guilt, no y/n used, she/her pronouns, joel being supportive, established relationship, jackson setting, ellie being supportive, teasing, banter, some fluff
a/n: divider by @saradika-graphics.
“She’s infected. Why are y’all lyin’ about it?”
The words cracked through the lodge like a whip, sharp and loud, and all heads turned toward the man standing near the back — Keith, one of the older, loud-mouthed settlers. His voice carried, thick with accusation, and it made your stomach lurch.
The council meeting had spiraled fast.
You sat stiffly beside Joel, your good hand laced tightly in his. His grip was unyielding, steady in a way that should’ve calmed you, but only made you aware of how tense he was. His jaw clenched hard, the muscle ticking beneath his stubble, and though he hadn’t spoken yet, you could feel the storm building under his skin.
The lodge was packed, the air thick with murmurs and stifled whispers. Everyone’s eyes kept sliding to you, flickering over the bandaged stump where your wrist should’ve been, then away just as quickly.
How did she get bitten and not turn?
A miracle, some had whispered.
A curse, others hissed.
And now, rumors had ignited like dry brush in a windstorm.
Maria had insisted on a meeting. A town-wide gathering to clear the air, settle the unrest before it fractured Jackson from the inside out. Neither you nor Joel wanted it, but you’d known it was coming. Better to face it head-on than let it fester.
Still… sitting here, the weight of the lodge pressing in, it felt like you could barely breathe.
Joel hadn’t let go of your hand once.
Keith’s words hung in the air.
“I don’t want my kids around any infected,” another voice grumbled.
Your heart kicked up, your throat tightened, and a cold sweat broke across your skin.
Joel’s hand flexed around yours—the only outward sign of what was brewing inside him.
Maria’s voice cut through the rising noise, sharp and steady. “That’s enough. Nobody here is infected.”
Keith barked a humorless laugh. “Then explain it. She gets bit, loses a hand, and she’s still breathin’? Still sittin’ there like one of us? I ain’t buyin’ it.”
Joel stood slowly.
The scrape of his chair against the floor was a harsh, grating sound that made the room fall dead silent.
He didn’t say a word, but the weight of his glare as it landed on Keith spoke volumes.
You could feel your pulse pounding in your ears, the hot press of too many eyes suffocating you, your chest tight, and your breath shallow.
Joel’s hand stayed in yours as he shifted, positioning himself half in front of you, not blocking you completely, but close enough that if things went bad, you knew exactly where he’d be.
Between you and everyone else.
And somehow, that steadied your breath—just a little.
“She ain’t infected,” Joel said, his voice cutting through the thick, heavy silence like a drawn knife. He didn’t yell, didn’t snarl, but it landed harder than if he had. Low, steady, calm enough to be dangerous. The kind of voice that made people listen.
“It’s been a week,” Joel went on, eyes fixed on Keith, but speaking to the whole room. “She hasn’t turned. She’s eatin’, talkin’, walkin’. Breathin’. What’s so hard to get?”
For a breathless moment, the room stayed quiet.
Then it broke.
Questions and accusations burst out at once, sharp and frantic, like a dam giving way. Words like ‘How do you know?’ , ‘What if she’s different?’ , ‘What if it’s in her blood?’ , cutting through the air, a dozen voices talking over each other, their fear thick and ugly.
You felt your stomach twist, your throat tighten. A low, exhausted sigh slipped past your lips as you lowered your gaze to the floor, unable to meet the eyes darting toward you like you were a loaded weapon waiting to go off.
Joel’s hand in yours squeezed tighter, and you caught the roll of his eyes, the muscle in his jaw ticking again.
He leaned down, murmuring low by your ear, the warmth of his breath steadying. “Bunch of goddamn children.”
His thumb brushed along the back of your hand, rough and familiar, like a tether keeping you from floating away.
You wanted to disappear, crawl out of your skin, anything to escape the barrage of voices clawing at your nerves.
Joel was still standing there — a steady wall between you and the noise, radiating that quiet, simmering protectiveness that told you without a word: I’ll burn this place down before I let ‘em touch you.
And you clung to that.
Even if your heart wouldn’t slow.
“Enough!”
Maria’s voice cracked through the rising noise like a whip, sharp and commanding, slicing through overlapping shouts and accusations. The room fell abruptly silent, the thick tension almost choking.
“She was kept in quarantine for forty-eight hours,” Maria went on, her tone clipped, steady. “There’s no infection. No fever. No twitches. No symptoms. It’s been a goddamn week. She’s alive. She’s fine.”
You swallowed hard.
Joel’s hand tightened around yours, and when you moved to stand, his head snapped toward you, brow furrowed deep with concern.
Your legs felt heavy, unsteady beneath you, but you made yourself move. You gave him the smallest, weary smile — a silent I need to do this — before gently pulling your hand from his. His fingers lingered, reluctant to let go.
You stepped past him, each stride toward the table where Maria and the council members sat feeling heavier than the last. The eyes in the room tracked you, the weight of their stares like knives against your skin.
Your pulse thundered in your ears.
At the front of the room, you stopped, the whole lodge so quiet you could hear the faint crackle of the old fireplace in the corner.
And then, with a hand that trembled despite your best effort, you tugged up your sleeve.
The bandaged stump where your wrist and hand used to be was raw, angry, and a reminder of what had happened. The room visibly recoiled, not in horror but in shocked silence. Even Keith’s face paled, his mouth snapping shut.
“I was stupid,” you said softly, the words barely carrying in the still air. “I wandered off… got bit. Joel found me. He… he saved my life.”
Your voice cracked on the last word.
You forced yourself to look up, to meet the gazes staring back at you. Some filled with guilt. Others with pity. A few still wary. But the questions had stopped.
“Joel cut it off before it could spread,” you whispered, swallowing hard. “I made it. I’m still here. That’s all I know.”
No one spoke because they could see it now. The weight of what you carried, the thin thread you were hanging by, the brutal price you’d paid.
The room wasn’t full of rumors or fear for the first time since the meeting started.
You took a shaky breath, feeling the thick knot in your throat threaten to rise again as you lowered your arm. The sleeve fell back into place, hiding the bandaged wound from view, but the image of it lingered in the room.
Every eye stayed on you, the silence now heavier, but not hostile or suspicious. Just… heavy.
You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding in your ears as you returned to Joel. The steps felt endless, your legs stiff and unsteady beneath you, but the moment you were close enough, his hand reached for yours without hesitation, fingers lacing tightly through yours.
His thumb brushed over your knuckles, rough and steady.
“You did well,” Joel murmured, his voice soft enough for only you to hear, its gravelly edge frayed with quiet pride.
The corner of your mouth twitched, a flicker of something close to a smile.
Maria cleared her throat, straightening at the head of the room.
“This discussion’s over,” she announced, her voice sharp, leaving no room for argument. “What happened was handled. She’s not a threat. She’s one of ours.”
A few people exchanged glances, but no one spoke.
Maria’s gaze swept the room like a blade. “We move on.”
Then she stepped around from the table, signaling the end of it.
The chairs scraped against the floor as people stood, murmuring, the tension breaking like a brittle branch. Joel squeezed your hand once before leaning down, pressing a quick, rough kiss to your temple.
“C’mon, let’s get outta here,” he muttered.
And you went, your steps lighter now, his hand a steady tether pulling you through the remains of the storm.
“Hey, y’all!”
You heard Tommy’s voice before you saw him, his easy smirk already in place as he jogged up to you and Joel, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. He looked like he was trying to play it casual, but you could see the flicker of concern under it.
“I was gonna head out to the range, do some practice shootin’ with Ellie. Thought maybe you’d wanna come?”
You shook your head, a sharp breath hissing through your teeth. “I can barely lace up my boots,” you muttered, the frustration bleeding through your voice sharper than you meant it to. “How the hell am I gonna shoot?”
The words tasted bitter in your mouth, the familiar sting of uselessness settling in your chest.
Joel’s jaw flexed, his expression tightening for a moment before he let out a slow sigh, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck.
“You gotta keep tryin’, sweetheart,” he said softly, a quiet kind of stubbornness that left no room for argument. “Might do you some good. Get your hand on somethin’ familiar. Muscle memory, y’know?”
Tommy grinned, nudging your shoulder with his elbow. “Yeah, and if nothin’ else, you can cuss out a couple of bottles. Gets the rage out.”
You huffed a small, reluctant laugh despite yourself. The knot in your chest loosened a fraction.
“I’ll probably miss every shot.”
“So will Joel,” Tommy fired back with a grin.
“Bullshit,” Joel grumbled, shaking his head, though the corner of his mouth twitched.
That easy, worn-in banter settled something in you. It wasn’t normal — nothing was normal anymore — but it felt close enough to it that you wanted to hold onto it.
You glanced between them, their faces lined and weathered, but both looking at you like you were still you . Not broken. Not something to pity.
“Alright,” you sighed, rolling your eyes. “But if I outshoot either of you one-handed, you’re both buyin’ me a drink.”
“Deal,” Tommy grinned.
Joel smirked, brushing his knuckles against yours. “You’re on, darlin’.”
____________
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Tommy smirked, leaning against the fence post as he watched you line up your shot, the revolver surprisingly steady in your hand.
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” you shot back with an eye roll, though your lips twitched. It felt good to fire something back at him, even if it was half-hearted.
You’d been at it for over an hour — sweating through the frustration, relearning the weight of the gun in your grip, adjusting to the awkward angle of your left hand, compensating for the absence of your right. The ache in your shoulder was constant, your nerves frayed thin, but your head wasn’t full of spiraling thoughts for the first time since the bite.
Just you, the gun, and the target.
“Ignore him, sweetheart,” Joel murmured near your ear, the low rumble of his voice sending a warm, grounding shiver down your spine. He stood just behind you, close enough you could feel the heat of him at your back, his hand settling lightly on your hip while the other guided your wrist.
His touch was steady, sure. Not coddling — just there.
“Focus on the sight line,” he continued, angling your hand slightly. “Don’t fight the recoil, let it come.”
You let out a slow breath, tension bleeding from your shoulders as you adjusted your grip. Joel’s presence alone eased something tight in your chest.
“Y’know, if you hit that bottle, I’m callin’ beginner’s luck,” Ellie called from a few paces away, grinning over the butt of her own rifle.
“Watch it, kid,” you warned, a teasing edge creeping into your voice. “I might be down a hand, but I’ll still outshoot your scrawny ass.”
Ellie grinned, giving you a mock salute. “Bring it, pirate.”
That made you laugh — a sharp, sudden sound that felt strange and unfamiliar in your throat, but good. God, it felt good .
You glanced at Joel, who was already watching you, something softer in his eyes, and for a moment, you weren’t thinking about what you’d lost, just about what was still here.
The sting of grief wasn’t gone—not even close—but out here with them, in the cold air and fading light, it felt a little easier to breathe.
You took a deep breath, your chest rising tight against its weight.
You were good at this before.
It wasn’t like you had to learn how to shoot again. You just needed to figure out how to do it one-handed. That’s it.
But it felt bigger than that. Felt like every part of you was holding its breath, waiting for you to fail so it could say, see, you’re not who you used to be .
You shook your head, jaw clenching.
Instinct.
You squared your shoulders and raised the revolver. Your fingers were a little awkward around the grip, but firm enough. The cold weight of it felt familiar and grounding.
You focused. Breath out. Eye on the target.
You squeezed the trigger.
The shot cracked through the air, echoing off the nearby trees.
It missed.
Not by much — close enough that it startled one of the bottles off balance — but it missed.
Your stomach twisted, a flash of heat prickled at the back of your neck, and your mind spiraled.
Of course, you missed. Of course you did. You can’t even—
“Hey,” Joel’s voice was low, steady, cutting through the churn of your thoughts. His hand settled on your lower back, warm and sure. “It was close. Real close.”
“Yeah,” Tommy chimed in, grinning. “Coulda knocked the dust off it, easy.”
“Better than my first shot,” Ellie added with a shrug, shouldering her rifle. “And I got two hands.”
You let out a shaky breath, your throat tight, the sting behind your eyes sharp and sudden. Their voices didn’t fix it completely, but it slowed the spiral.
Joel leaned in, speaking just for you. “One shot, baby. That’s all it is. Next one’s yours.”
You swallowed hard, nodded, and squared your stance again.
Raised the gun. Focused.
Pulled the trigger.
Another crack. Another near miss — closer this time, the bottle wobbling on its edge.
And weirdly… you didn’t feel the same crushing weight in your chest. Your grip didn’t shake as much. The burn behind your eyes didn’t sting as sharply.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was better.
You exhaled slowly, lowering the revolver.
Joel grinned, his thumb brushing the small of your back. “See that? Told you.”
Ellie whistled. “Give it a week and I’m screwed.”
You laughed—a real one this time. Small and breathless, it cracked through the heaviness in your chest like sunlight through storm clouds.
“Looks like you owe me a drink—” Tommy started, smug as ever.
“I think not,” you cut him off, straightening with a spark of stubbornness. “I’m not done yet.”
Joel huffed a soft, amused sound, shaking his head, but there was a flicker of warmth in his eyes — the kind of look you hadn’t seen in days. Not pity or worry. Just that quiet, familiar pride.
“There she is,” he murmured, mostly to himself.
Tommy grinned, shouldering his rifle as he stepped aside. “Alright then. Let’s see it. Family competition, it is.”
Ellie perked up from where she was reloading a fresh clip. “Oh, hell yes. If this turns into a drinking bet, I’m in.”
“Kid, you’re barely old enough for a sip,” Joel shot back, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“I’m old enough to drink you under the table,” she teased, tossing you a wink.
You rolled your eyes, but your grin didn’t fade as you lifted the revolver again, setting your sights on the same wobbling bottle. The grip still felt a little awkward in your left hand, and the aim was not quite natural, but it didn’t matter. Not right now.
You fired.
Missed.
Tommy let out a dramatic wince. “Oof. Might wanna aim at the bottles, not the sky, darlin’.”
“Screw you, Miller,” you shot back, already lining up another.
The next one missed, too, but closer. You didn’t care.
You could feel the tension unraveling from your shoulders, the sound of their voices, the crisp air, and the gun's weight in your hand easing something tight inside you. Each miss stung less. Each laugh came easier.
Joel stepped up behind you again, his hand brushing your hip, voice low in your ear. “Don’t stop, sweetheart. Keep goin’.”
And you did.
Miss after miss, everyone met with teasing from Tommy, smart-ass remarks from Ellie, and that steady, unshakable warmth from Joel.
You hadn’t hit a damn thing, but for the first time since that night, you felt like yourself.
And it was enough.
____________
Slowly, you were getting the hang of things again. It came in uneven waves — good days where you could laugh, tease Ellie, steal sips from Joel’s coffee, and almost forget how different things were. And then some days felt like drowning in it. Days where every missed button, dropped utensil, and sideways glance scraped raw against your nerves.
You never blamed Joel.
Not once.
But God, some days you wanted to scream. Not at him, not at anyone. Just at it — at the sheer unfairness of it all.
Through it, Joel stayed patient in that quiet, steady way, never pushing or treating you like glass.
“I can do it,” you snapped one morning, your voice sharp as you fumbled to tug your boot with one hand. The heel caught on the edge of the floorboard for the third time, your good hand slipping, frustration spiking hot in your chest.
Joel had been crouched nearby, ready to help like he always was, and you saw the instinct in his eyes — that protective urge to step in, to take over. His jaw twitched, his shoulders tensed for half a second.
Then he eased back, straightening and giving you a little space.
“Alright,” he said softly, voice rough but even, lifting his hands in a small gesture of surrender. “You got it.”
And that was why you loved him.
Because he understood. Understood that you needed to fight this battle yourself, even if it meant snapping at him and struggling through the small, humiliating things that no one else would think twice about.
As you tried again, your teeth dug into your bottom lip, angling the boot and jamming your foot inside with a stubborn grunt. It wasn’t graceful, but it worked.
You exhaled a shaky breath, your hand trembling as you adjusted the laces.
When you finally looked up, Joel watched you with that steady expression. No pity. No smugness. Just something warm and proud in the soft lines around his eyes.
“See?” he murmured, stroking a loose strand of hair from your face. “Told you.”
“I’m not…” You sighed, jaw clenching as the words tangled in your throat. You let your eyes fall shut for a second before forcing them open again, meeting Joel’s gaze. The tenderness in his face made your chest ache. It wasn’t pity. It was worse — it was love. Steady, aching, all-consuming.
“I’m not angry at you.”
A flicker of confusion crossed Joel’s face, his brow furrowing. “Never said you were.”
“I know,” you murmured, your voice thin, brittle, unraveling despite your best efforts. “But I don’t want you thinking I am. Or… or sitting there in that head of yours, blaming yourself. For what you had to do.”
Your voice cracked at the edges, a raw scrape of sound you couldn’t swallow down.
“I should be grateful,” you whispered. “I should be happy I’m alive, that you didn’t shoot me. I didn’t turn and…and still, sometimes I feel like I… I wish it’d just happened. Just to make it stop.”
The confession was ugly and unfiltered, but Joel didn’t flinch.
He breathed out a low, rough sound and sat beside you on the edge of the bed, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. His hands hung between them, calloused and scarred, flexing like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if you’d let him.
“You think you’re the only one that feels that way?” he said quietly, staring down at his hands. “I ain’t ever told you… but when I was out there, holdin’ you down, watchin’ you bleed and beg me not to—” He broke off, jaw tightening, a muscle jumping in his cheek. “I ain’t never hated myself more than I did in that moment.”
Your throat tightened, tears stinging behind your eyes.
Joel finally looked up, and it wrecked you — the guilt, the tenderness, the bone-deep love there.
“I didn’t know if it was gonna work,” he admitted, voice rough as gravel. “Did it anyway. ‘Cause losin’ you… it wasn’t an option for me. Even if it meant you’d hate me for it.”
You reached for him without thinking, your good hand curling around his wrist, feeling the steady thud of his pulse beneath your fingers.
“I don’t hate you,” you whispered. “Never could.”
His hand turned under yours, calloused fingers threading through yours, squeezing tight.
“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured, tugging you closer until you were against his chest, your face tucked into the crook of his neck. His arms came around you, solid and safe, and for the first time in days, you let yourself cry, not out of pain or anger, but out of the aching relief of not having to carry it alone.
Joel’s hand moved in steady circles over your back, the rough pads of his fingers a grounding warmth through the fabric of your shirt. You felt his breath against your hair, his chest rose and fell beneath your cheek, and the thrum of his heart, faster than usual, but solid.
He pressed his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply as if he were memorizing you, clinging to the simple, aching comfort of having you there, real and warm in his arms.
“I love you, Joel,” you whispered against his skin, the words small but sure, the last of your tears drying on his neck.
His arms tightened around you, one hand cradling the back of your head like he couldn’t stand the thought of letting you go. You felt the press of his lips against your temple — rough, trembling, and impossibly gentle.
“I love you so goddamn much, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice breaking on the words.
You pulled back just enough to look at him, his face lined and worn, eyes glassy with unshed tears. The rawness between you wasn’t sharp anymore. It had softened, leaving something fragile but steady in its place.
“We’re gonna be okay,” you murmured, not a promise, not a lie — a hope you needed to say out loud.
Joel gave a shaky breath, his thumb brushing along your cheek. “Yeah,” he said softly. “We are.”
After sitting in quiet, heavy comfort for a while, the two of you finally stood and made your way through Jackson. The early morning air was sharp against your skin, the kind of cold that bit at your fingers and made your breath fog in the space between you.
Joel had a patrol shift with Tommy, and while you weren’t cleared to tag along yet, much to your irritation, you still walked him down to the stables. The dirt paths were half-frozen, patches of old snow crunching under your boots. It felt good to be out, even if your body still ached in ways you wouldn’t admit.
Joel moved toward Whiskey’s stall at the stables, grabbing the saddle and bridle from the hooks. You reached for the reins before he could, the leather cold and stiff against your palm.
“I got it,” you said, your voice even, leaving no room for argument.
Joel hesitated, watching you with his careful, quiet gaze, weighing whether to step in or let you have it. Then he gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod and stepped back, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned against the stall door.
“Alright,” he murmured. “Show me how it’s done, ma’am.”
You smirked, though your stomach twisted with nerves. The saddle felt heavier than you remembered, awkward in your grip as you tried to balance its weight one-handed. It took a few fumbling tries, the leather slipping against your hip, but you managed to heft it up and over Whiskey’s broad back, a puff of dust rising from the worn fabric.
Joel didn’t move. Didn’t say a word.
But you felt his eyes on you, not critical, not hovering. Just there . Steady as a shadow.
Your fingers fumbled at the girth strap, the buckle stiff and uncooperative, your palm sweaty inside your glove. Frustration curled in your gut.
“C’mere,” Joel said softly, and for a second, you bristled, but he only guided the loose end of the strap toward you, letting you finish the buckle yourself.
“There,” he muttered, a trace of a smile in his voice. “Knew you could.”
You exhaled shakily, your chest easing a little as you brushed your hand down Whiskey’s neck.
“Thanks,” you murmured.
Joel’s hand found the small of your back, warm even through the layers of your jacket.
“You don’t gotta thank me,” he said. “You’re still you. Always were.”
“Look at you go,” Tommy called as he stepped into the stable, a soft, easy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
You huffed a laugh, but it felt thin, brittle around the edges. You turned toward him, brushing your hair from your face, and motioned to the nearby saddle. “Figured I’d give you a hand.”
“Appreciate it,” Tommy grinned, nodding toward his horse. “Got plenty of work for both of us.”
You moved to grab the saddle, the weight awkward in your grip, but you’d done it for Whiskey. It wasn’t perfect, but you managed. This should be fine.
It wasn’t.
The leather slipped from your fingers, the strap tangling, the angle all wrong. Your body still stiff and clumsy, your left hand straining to hold it steady. The buckle wouldn’t catch. Your stomach knotted, your throat closing up with that tight, bitter ache of frustration.
You felt Tommy’s eyes on you, which were too gentle.
“Here—” he started, stepping in.
“No, I—”
But his hands were already there, steadying the saddle, looping the strap without effort. He didn’t mean anything by it. You knew that. But it landed like a gut punch.
You bit the inside of your cheek, hard enough to taste copper, and forced a tight, brittle smile. “Thanks.”
Tommy offered a crooked, easygoing grin and a shrug, not catching how your shoulders tightened.
Joel called to him a moment later, mounted on Whiskey and waiting by the gate.
“See ya later,” Tommy said, tipping two fingers to his brow before leading his horse to join Joel.
You gave a stiff wave, turning away before they could see your face.
The second the stable doors creaked shut behind them and the sound of hoofbeats faded down the path, the tight knot in your chest snapped.
You grabbed a half-empty feed bucket and hurled it across the stall. It hit the wall with a dull clang, scattering grain everywhere. A sharp, ragged sob tore out of you before you could swallow it down.
“Fuck!” you snapped, kicking at a pile of hay, sending it flying in a useless, angry cloud.
The barn smelled of dust, leather, and horses, the cold air biting your face, but your skin burned. Your good hand balled into a fist, nails digging into your palm as you paced, shoving a pitchfork over, knocking down a stack of saddle blankets.
It wasn’t about the saddle. It wasn’t about the goddamn buckle.
It was about everything.
About what you lost. About what you were still fighting for. About how fucking unfair it all was.
You dropped onto a bale of hay, burying your face in your hands as your shoulders shook. Your breath came in harsh, uneven pulls.
No one was here to see. No one to tell you it was okay.
So you let it come.
Let the grief bleed out into the cold, empty stable, your voice lost beneath the weight of it. The scattered hay, the tipped-over pitchfork, and the bitter sting behind your eyes felt like the only things left tethering you to the world.
“You okay?”
The voice startled you.
You jerked your head up, wiping your sleeve across your face too fast to be subtle. Ellie stood a few feet away by the stall door, hands shoved deep into her jacket pockets, a brow arched, like she’d been standing there long enough to catch most of your breakdown and was politely pretending otherwise.
“I’m fine,” you muttered, hating how hoarse your voice sounded.
Ellie snorted, stepping inside. “Yeah. And I’m the goddamn mayor of Jackson.”
Despite yourself, your mouth twitched in a small smile.
She crossed the stable, stepped over the spilled feed, and dropped onto the hay bale beside you. Not too close, just enough for the warmth of her shoulder to brush yours.
“I heard you toss that bucket,” Ellie said casually, glancing at the dent in the far wall. “Pretty solid throw, considering.”
You let out a weak laugh, staring down at your hands.
A long, easy silence stretched between you. The only sounds were the restless snuffle of the horses and the occasional creak of the old beams.
“Y’know,” Ellie spoke up again, her voice quieter now, “you’re still you, you idiot.”
Your throat tightened.
She shrugged, scuffing her boot against the floor. “I get it… kinda. What it’s like when people look at you differently. Like you’re about to break, explode, or become a monster. Or worse — like you’re this sad, fragile thing they gotta tiptoe around.”
You glanced over at her then. There was something raw in her voice, in how her gaze stayed fixed on the ground.
“I’m scared too,” she admitted, so soft you almost missed it. “Scared you’ll… fade. Stop being you. Or decide this place isn’t worth it anymore.”
Your chest ached, the knot in your throat making it hard to swallow.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you rasped.
Ellie finally met your eyes. “Good,” she said gruffly. “’Cause if you did, I’d have to track your dumb ass down and drag you back.”
You let out a shaky laugh, and she cracked a crooked grin, nudging your shoulder with hers.
“C’mon,” Ellie said, standing and offering you a hand. “There’s coffee. And I wanna kick your ass at cards.”
You took her hand, let her pull you to your feet. The grief wasn’t gone—it never would be, but the weight of it felt a little less suffocating.
“Hey, watch it, kid,” you shot back, a crooked smile tugging at your lips as you brushed hay off your jacket. “I might be down a hand, but I could still wipe the floor with you at cards.”
Ellie snorted, shouldering her pack higher. “Please. You barely kept up with me before .”
“That’s a damn lie and you know it.”
“I seem to remember someone owing me a week’s worth of firewood after last winter’s poker night,” Ellie grinned, cocking a brow.
You rolled your eyes. “Beginner’s luck.”
“Sure, sure,” she teased, smirking, walking backward toward the stable doors. “Bet you five bucks I win again.”
“You don’t even have five bucks.”
“Neither do you,” Ellie fired back. The easy back-and-forth didn’t sting. It felt familiar, like a scar that didn’t ache anymore.
You laughed, shaking your head as you followed her out into the cold, the weight on your shoulders just a little lighter than it had been.
“Joel—are you su—”
“Let’s go.”
Ten minutes ago, you were sitting in a freezing police station with no phone, no money, and a record waiting to happen. Then Joel Miller—your daddy's ex best friend—walked in, spoke six words to the cop, and took you home like you already belonged to him.
Now you’re in his house. Wearing his shirts. Sleeping in his spare room. He buys you a brand new phone, stocks the fridge with things he knows you like, leaves cash on the counter like it’s nothing.
In which Joel Miller ends up being your sugar daddy who absolutely ruins you.
author's note: hi, this is my first time publishing fanfiction to tumblr. (please tell me if i'm not doing something right.) i've only been an ao3 author(bridgerton/stranger things). so here is sugar daddy joel. now, it's not full on. it's not he's buyin' her expensive stuff — think practical sugar daddy? i'd like to thank my bff karina for encouraging me to try another fandom out.
tags: content warning!! blowjob, male orgasm, dbf!joel, joel miller x f!reader, lots of smut, slowburn on romance, dom joel, alternative universe - no outbreak, !light sugar daddy, sugar daddy/sugar baby, joel is bad at feelings, age gap, joel is 50s x reader is 26-27.
word count: 4.2k
status: ongoing.
chapter 1: i'm starvin', darlin', let me put my lips to somethin'
I think I'll take my whiskey neat
My coffee black
and my bed at three
you're too sweet for me
The police station ain’t exactly the best place to be on a Thursday night.
It’s cold. The bright lights are flickerin’ on and off giving you a headache that rings in your skull. You sit there, arms crossed, eyes on the dirty tile like it might somehow make the time pass a little faster.
How the hell did you end up here?
Well, that’s easy. Your dad.
Fraud. Money Laundering. Stolen Cars.
Stealing cars?
Yeah. That included the one you were driving home.
Figures.
The lobby’s dead. Cold air blowing in from the doors, buzzing lights, and the smell of someone’s dinner filled the air. Nobody wants to sit at a police station unless they have to. Fuck, you just wanna go home.
To make matters fuckin’ worse, you lost your phone.
You had the cop call Tommy—your dad’s friend, well sort of. The only one who might answer and not make a huge scene out of all of this.
That was over an hour ago.
Were you going to be stuck here forever?
The officer walks over, bored expression and a small note pad in his hand. “Tommy answered,” he says. “Said his brother’s on his way.”
He looks down at the paper in his notebook. “Joel, I think his name was.”
Fuck.
Joel.
Joel was your dad’s best friend. Well…before all this.
Told him not to get involved in all that messy shit. Warned him somethin’ bad was going to happen. Said it to him straight, like he always did. But your dad…he didn’t listen. He never really did.
You grew up around Joel around. He was there–almost every barbecue, every holiday. Always showing up with a six pack and that quiet look that always said so much more than your dad’s drunk yelling ever did.
After your mom left, he stuck around. Checked in every once in a while. Fixed your car when your dad was too drunk to. Made sure your dad didn’t drink himself stupid. You’d watch his daughter, Sarah, she was younger, always tagging along like a little shadow.
He was always around.
That’s what made this worse.
You sigh and stare down at the checkered tile, the kind that somehow looks dirty even when it’s scrubbed clean. You’re just waiting now. For this mess to be over. For a way out.
The front door creaks open.
Heavy boots echo across the lobby floor.
You don’t even have to really look up to know who it is.
It’s Joel. Rugged. Grey streaks in his hair. Worn denim and that damn tan jacket he’d had for years. Jeans. Boots scruffed. That look on his face—the one he wore when someone around him did something stupid. Like this wasn’t the first time he had to clean up someone else’s mess.
“Hey, kiddo,” he says, casually, like you’re not sitting in a fucking police station.
“Hey,” you mutter back, quietly.
“Y’they lettin’ you go?” Joel asks.
You shrug. Been there for hours at this point and honestly, no one’s told you shit.
“They won’t say much,” you say. “Talkin’ to me like I’m five.”
Joel doesn’t say much. Just walks over to the cops, starts talking in that low voice that somehow makes people listen. It’s been a while since you’ve seen him. Between work and part-time classes, life just… got in the way.
But Joel?
He hasn’t really changed. He’s always had this way of making you feel—calm. Safe, maybe. Even now. Joel handles shit the way men are supposed too. Not like other people who’d just talk too loud and make things a thousand times worse.
You find yourself staring. Too long. Watching him as he talks to the cop, his voice low, hands in his pockets like he doesn’t have a worry in the world. Like he’s got everything handled.
Joel walks back over, his expression unreadable.
“Get your stuff,” he says.
“–Joel—are you su–”
“Let’s go.”
You grab your backpack, sling it over your shoulder, and follow him out.
He’s already at the truck, passenger door open, just waiting. It’s newer, bigger, and cleaner. You can smell the leather and sawdust as you climb in.
Your dad had mentioned the construction business was doing well. Said Joel had a crew now. Jobs lined up for months. You’d seen it too; last year at the neighborhood barbecue, when he showed up in a clean shirt and boots that didn’t look like he’d been wearing them for a decade.
He shuts the door and doesn’t look at you. Just rounds the truck, climbs in, and starts the engine.
He doesn’t say a word as he drives.
Neither do you.
Feels like Joel don’t even know what to say. Truth is, you don’t either. He just picked you up from a goddamn police station. You were so fucking close to being tangled up in your dad’s mess.
“Where ya stayin’?” he asks finally. “Dorm?”
You shake your head. “No…I–uh.”
School wasn’t something you could afford anymore. Had to drop to part-time. Scrape by. Make payments late and hope the university didn’t send you notices.
Your dad was paying for it.
Until he wasn’t.
“I’m crashin’ at a friends,” you mutter. “Just ‘til I find somewhere.”
“Your dad said you were livin’ in the dorms,” Joel says. “Or was he payin’ for that?”
“He was.”
Joel just nods. Doesn’t say nothin’ else for a while. His eyes fixated on the road.
“You’re comin’ home with me,” he says.
“Joel…” you sigh. “It’s fine. I’m good, really, I promi–”
“You’re stayin’,” he says, sharper now. “Got the space. You don’t gotta figure this shit out on ya own.”
You nod, slow.
“Ain’t forever,” he says, looking over. “Just ‘til ya get settled.”
And you can’t help but wonder—
Is he just sayin’ that ‘cause you’re his friend's kid?
His only kid.
“Ya eaten anythin’?” Joel asks.
You shake your head. “No.”
Before you know it, Joel’s pulling into your favorite fast food place.
Doesn’t ask. Just knows.
Maybe–just maybe–this won’t be so bad.
Stayin’ with your dad’s best friend?
Can’t be the end of the world.
Right?
🎀🌟🎀💫🎀✨🎀🌸🎀💖🎀🌟🎀💫🎀✨
You wake up to the smell of bacon.
Don’t know what time it is. Don’t even remember falling asleep, really. First night in a new place–well, not new. Just unfamiliar. Same floors, same creaky hall, different energy.
You slept in a baggy T-shirt Joel gave you last night.
Soft, worn with a hole in the bottom of it, it smelled like fabric softener. You stretch, muscles feeling stiff, hair a fuckin’ mess, then slip out of bed.
The house is quiet as you wander downstairs, your feet brushing against the cold hardwood floors. The clock in the living room blinks:12:30.
Fuck.
You step into the kitchen, Joel’s at the stove, back to you, flipping something in a pan. He looks over his shoulder, shakes his head at you.
“It’s past noon,” he says. “Whole damn mornin’ gone, sunshine.”
“I don’t ‘member what time I fell asleep,” you mumble through a yawn. “Hard to sleep.”
Joel doesn’t say anything. Just keeps working at the stove, like he hears you, like he understands what you mean.
You sit down at the table. The chair creaks loudly under you.
It’s strange being here.
Still not yours.
But it’s quiet. Feels like something solid after years of nothing but mess.
It was quiet for a while. Just the sound of the pan and the clock on the wall ticking. Then he moves, walks over, grabs something from his bag.
A small box.
Black Bow.
He sets it down in front of you.
“Ain’t like not bein’ able to reach you,” he says, firmly. “Use it. Set it up how you want.”
You look down. It’s a phone, a brand new one. You’re speechless. You’re not even sure what to say to him. Joel doesn’t look at you.
“Didn’t ask what color,” he mutters. “Don’t bitch.”
“Joel–you—” you start.
He cuts you a look, a look that was sharp.
You know better than to argue with him.
“Thank you,” you say, quietly.
He sets a plate of breakfast down in front of you, still hot. He writes something quickly on a different piece of paper, then he grabs a scrap of paper and a pen from the counter.
“I’ll grab your stuff later,” he says. “Write the address.”
That’s it. No offer for you to go with. No questions.
You just do it.
Used to bite people’s heads off who told you what to do. Your parents, they constantly told you what to do. Exhausted you with it. But with Joel? You don’t. You just listen.
“You sure you don’t want me to come?” You ask, quietly.
“Quicker if I do it myself,” he mutters.
You write the address. Slide it over and he grabs the paper, grabs his work bag. Doesn’t say nothin’ else. Just leaves.
Now you’re alone.
In Joel’s house.
You look down at the box, phone still laying neatly inside.
He bought you a phone. Just like that. No big talk about it, no strings attached. You’re sleepin’ in his spare room. Eating his food. Staying here “until you figure shit out.”
And he’s not asking for a damn thing.
Why does that feel so fuckin’ strange?
That he’d just do this. No questions. No rules. Just–here.
You finish up your breakfast, scrape the plate, head to the sink.
There is a note.
Home late.
Order Pizza.
–Joel.
Twenty dollars sitting on top of it.
That’s it.
🎀🌟🎀💫🎀✨🎀🌸🎀💖🎀🌟🎀💫🎀✨🎀
It’s been almost two weeks at Joel’s.
Feels longer. Feels like nothing. He’s barely home. Out before you wake up, back late.
You get rides to work. Keep your head down mostly. Classes are on break ‘til spring, not that you’ve paid your tuition bill at all. You’re not even sure if you can.
Joel doesn’t say much.
But he does things.
Keeps the fridge stocked. Leaves a clean towel on the counter for you to shower. Bought you face wash last week–just left it by the sink. No note. No comment. Just there.
You never asked for any of it.
You keep wondering what he gets out of this.
It’s not like you’re doing anything. Not helping. Not giving him a reason to keep getting you things. You just exist in this house. Taking up space. Most likely annoying him.
You’ve started thinkin’ maybe you should cook dinner.
Something simple. Just…something.
Feels like the least you could do.
Joel’s never been picky. Not that you know. But cooking feels like a way to give a little back.
It’s been quiet though.
He works all the time.
But not the bad kind.
The kind that makes you feel safe, but drives you mad.
Still, you’ve found yourself lying awake more than once, staring at the ceiling, wondering what he’s doing just down the hall.
If you knocked on the door; if you asked to just sit with him.
Would he let you?
You don’t.
There’s a line.
Should you cross it?
No.
Yes.
No.
Today, you got home later than usual. Picked up a shift at the restaurant for a friend. Didn’t mind it–kept yourself busy to keep out of your head. You take a quick shower when you get in. Let the water rinse the entire day off your skin. Let yourself feel clean again.
You head downstairs, barefoot. Hair still damp, dripping down your back. Thin tank top. Shorts. Should be fuckin’ freezin’, it’s winter. But Joel kept the house warm for you.
You round the corner and see him.
Feet kicked up on the coffee table. One hand wrapped around a half-empty beer. TV playing some old black-and-white western, the kind he’s probably seen a hundred times. He doesn’t look away from the screen.
Just says–
“C’mere.”
You do.
No hesitation.
You walk over, eyes landing on the screen. “What’s on?”
Joel doesn’t look over at you.
“Nothin’ good,” he mutters.
You sit beside him. Close, but not too close. His arm draped around the back of the couch. Casual. Calm. But it’s there.
He smells like cedar soap. The kind you saw in the shower earlier. And underneath that–sawdust and a little bit of sweat after a long day.
After a while, he speaks.
“Work was a bitch.”
You look over at him. His head leaned back, eyes on the ceiling. Then his hand drags down his face, slowly. He looked tired, completely worn out.
“Delivery truck didn’t show,” Joel mutters. “Big job. Had me on the damn phone all day with some fuckin’ kid who didn’t know shit.”
He shakes his head and takes a slow slip of his beer.
“Bein’ in charge just means cleanin’ up everybody else’s fuckups.”
It’s the first time he’s ever opened up and said anything about work. Or when you think about it, his day.
You reach out to him, slowly. Hand resting on his arm–just above the elbow, your touch so light and careful. Your thumb moves softly over the fabric of his shirt.
You’re nervous.
You shouldn’t be.
But you are.
Your fingers keep fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.
You look up at him. “You do a lot,” you say. “You…deserve to relax.”
He tenses, shoulders shift, like he’s a little caught off guard. You freeze–should you stop? But…he isn’t pulling away. Doesn’t move at all. So, you leave your hand there. Fingers dancing along his arm. You’re not trying to push, just trying to be there. A quiet way of showing that you care.
He continues to watch the movie, keeping his eyes on it like nothing’s changed. You feel the change in him, the tension, the stillness. Like he’s holding his breath and doesn’t even realize it.
The movie keeps playing, slow, pointless background now. You’re used to the quiet now, used to him. Joel’s never been a man who needed to fill the space with words.
You don’t even realize how much time’s passed. Not ‘til Joel shifts. Subtle, just barely. Then his hand finds your knee. He still doesn’t say anything, just leaves it there.
A minute later, it moves.
Slow.
Steady.
Fingers drifting up, stopping just shy of the hem of your shorts. He squeezes your thigh lightly. Then his fingers slip higher, pushing your shorts up a little, settling on the bareskin. Like it’s nothing, like he’s just mindlessly doing it.
Your breathin’ practically stops. He just keeps watching tv, and doesn't flinch. Doesn't look over at you.
Maybe he didn’t notice. Or maybe, he did.
He just keeps watching the screen like nothing’s changed.
But…something has changed.
🎀🌟🎀💫🎀✨🎀🌸🎀💖🎀🌟🎀💫🎀✨🎀
Joel’s been on your mind for weeks.
Won’t leave your head. Not when you’re awake, not when you’re dreaming. You know it’s wrong–thinking about him like that. Wanting him so fuckin’ bad it keeps you awake.
Imagining what it would feel like for your lips to be on his, him on top of you. Imagining what it would be like to knock on his door in the middle of the night.
But you don’t. You stop yourself…every time.
After that night on the couch, movies became your routine. Evenings where he wasn’t workin’ late, you’d sit together on the couch, watching whatever you’d bicker about puttin’ on.
Somehow it was just…easy.
Money left on the counter without a word. A new pair of headphones when you complained that yours stopped workin’. Always buyin’ your favorite snacks. One afternoon, last thursday, he dropped you off at the mall–handed you his credit card.
Said, “Get what you want.”
Still, somehow, didn’t ask for anything back.
But no matter what, you settled nicely into this routine. Nights with Joel. He’d sit beside you on the couch, he’d rub your leg with that hand of his, like he didn’t even realize he was doin’ it. You’d lay against him sometimes, feel his chest through that old flannel, watchin’ whatever movie he picked–usually some western, sometimes an action flick that had low ratings.
One night, you talked him into Friday the 13th.
He just grumbled about it being total nonsense.
But he still watched it all the way through.
You wanted to cross that line, needed to. Every night, it got so much harder not to. But you held back.
Until now…
You woke up late. House was quiet already. Joel was gone… at work.
But when you walk into the kitchen, there’s a box on the counter. Wrapped, a bow on top of it. Joel’s thing he did with his gifts for you.
You recognize it before you even open it—the necklace. The one your mom gave you. The one that snapped last week when it got caught on your sweater.
He fixed it.
Didn’t say a word.
Just left a little note folded under the ribbon.
For you, Darlin’.
—Joel.
You’ve been tryin’ to get used to the gifts.
To the way Joel leaves things for you without a word. Pays for what you need. Asks for nothin’ back. You don’t know if it’s guilt over your dad bein’ locked away—or if he just likes takin’ care of you.
There’s a part of you that wrestles with it. That still wants to earn it somehow.
But there is another part.
One that secretly loves the idea of being taken care of.
You made him dinner tonight, even he was a little shocked. He ate in silence, like he asked. You left him there while you showered. Now you’re headin’ back downstairs. Back to him.
Back to this new routine.
You’re wearin’ one of his shirts–big, warm right out of the dryer. You took it from his drawer a few weeks ago, he didn’t notice.
But he’s seen it on you.
“We ain’t watchin’ another one of them damn horror movies,” Joel grumbled, settling back on the couch. “Last one was fuckin’ terrible.”
You roll your eyes as you sit down next to him.
“Fine,” you mutter. “You pick, then. Since I’m so awful at it.”
He picks some older movies. Lettin’ it play in the background, more noise than anything else. You take a small sip of beer he put out for you.
“How was work?” you ask softly.
Joel just huffs. Doesn’t look over.
“Long,” he says. “Tired of dealin’ with people who don’t know what the hell they’re doin’.”
He seemed a little better when he walked through the door. A little less stressed out. You wonder if it’s the movies. The silence. Just sittin’ together.
You lean into him, slow, like you always do.
And he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t shift away from you. He’s gotten used to it.
You watch him. Not sayin’ a word—just takin’ in the way his jaw stays tighty, the way he grips his beer a little too firm. Eyes on the TV, but not really watchin’.
He’s so wound up. You can see it.
The movie drags on, just background noise between the two of you now.
You debate it.
Talk yourself out of it.
Then back into it.
Then out again.
And then his hand moves.
To your thigh, fingers slowly grazing your skin.
Like he means it this time.
Fuck it.
You slide off the couch and down to your knees. Settle between his legs–spread wide and lazy where he sits.
He looks down at you. Eyes dark. Jaw tight.
“What’re y’doin’, sweetheart?” he asks, voice low.
You don’t answer at first, just reach for his belt; your fingers trembling, eyes locked on his.
“Helpin’ you relax.”
Joel doesn’t stop you. Doesn’t flinch. Just exhales through his nose.
You tug the belt free quickly. Pop the button, fingers slippin’ to the zipper–but he gets there first. Reaches down before you, grabbing it.
Drags it down himself. The sound cuts through the room. Then he pushes his jeans and boxers down to his thighs, stopping just under the muscle. Hard. Already waiting for you.
Joel leans back into the couch. One arm thrown over the back like he’s settlin’ in. His eyes are on you, just watching.
You pause. Just for a second. Because he’s there–thick, swollen, and the tip of his cock is glistening with pre-cum.
You swallow hard.
“Go on, princess,” he mutters. “Ain’t the time to get shy on me now.”
You reach out, wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock. A low groan comes from his throat when you start stroking him.
“Fuck,” he says, jaw tight. “This’ a bad fuckin’ idea.”
But he’s not pulling away. Just lets you keep going.
You stroke him, feel him twitch in your hand, just a little. Then again. You do it just to tease him, you hear him moan, strained, quiet, fighting that need to thrust into your palm.
Leaning in, you lick a slow line from the base of his cock to the tip. Draggin’ your tongue over the thick vein. The taste of him–salty–spreads across your lips. Then your mouth wraps around the head of his cock, tongue swirling.
Joel’s hand moves fast–right to the back of your head and his fingers knot in your hair, firmly. Holding you.
You open your mouth wider, taking him in slowly. Let him guide across your tongue, inch by inch, until your lips are nearly at the base and your throat tightens around him.
“God—fuck,” he breaths. “That mouth... Been thinkin’ about this. Thinkin’ how good it’d feel.”
You set a rhythm, steady, wet and he lets you for a minute. Just watches. His cock disappears into your mouth over and over, until your chin’s slick and his cock’s shining with spit.
“You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me,” Joel mutters.
He grips your hair tighter, it hurts a little.
“You hear me?”
You moan around him. You’re drooling now, a filthy fuckin’ mess and he’s lovin’ it.
His hands lock in your hair now, fingers twisting deep as he starts to move.
Not sloppy.
Not rushed.
Controlled.
He knows what he’s doin’. Knows how to use your mouth…how long to keep you right there on the edge. Just enough to drive you crazy. Just enough to make you fuckin’ need it.
“Just like that, baby,” he groans. “Goddamn–y’know what you’re doing, don’t you?”
You gag, just a little, when he pushes deeper and he grunts, breathless.
“Easy,” he says, even as his hips roll forward.
“Don’t choke, sweetheart,” he breaths. “Ain’t done with you yet.”
Your spit is all over his cock, your throat is raw, eyes glassy, tears threatenin’ to spill. Joel watches, doesn’t miss a thing.
“Look at that mess,” he groans. “Drippin’ down your chin. So fuckin’ pretty like this.”
He holds your head steady and starts to thrust harder into your mouth. Your hands dig into his thighs, bracing. Your jaw burns–but you don’t stop. You take it, like you’re supposed to.
“Shit,” Joel growls, voice cracking. “The way you suck my cock–princess, fuck.”
A deep moan.
“Makin’ me lose my fuckin’ mind.”
He’s breathing is ragged now. Not gone…not yet…but close. Right on the edge.
“You wanted this, didn’t you?” he asks. “Wanted me usin’ that mouth like this.”
You moan around him and his cock twitches on your tongue.
“Baby,” he breaths. “You keep doin’ that–I’m gonna fuckin’ cum.”
But you don’t stop. You moan again–on purpose. Throat tight, lips wrapped, tongue draggin’ slow along every thick inch as he fucks your mouth.
Joel moans, louder this time.
“Jesus–fuck—you’re takin’ me so good,” he pants. “So. Fuckin’. Good.”
You can feel it. The way his thighs tense up. The sharp jerk of his hips, the rough sound of his breathing.
“I’m gon’ cum,” he growls. “You ready for it? Gonna swallow for me, huh?”
You nod–best you can, mouth full, eyes up. He pushes you down deeper onto his cock.
“That’s it,” Joel groans. “That’s it–God—don’t—”
Then he spills into your mouth. Thick, hot, endless. You try to swallow every drop, but he’s still twitching, still pulsing, and it leaks past your lip.
His chest heaves, breath ragged.
And then—
Buzzzzz. Buzzzzz.
The phone on the coffee table goes off.
Joel exhales hard, like the wind just got knocked out of him. Then carefully, he pulls out of your mouth, stands up, pulls up his pants and grabs the phone off the table.
You’re still on your knees. Panting. Lips swollen. His cum at the corner of your lips.
“Yeah?” he answers.
A pause.
“I’m home.”
His eyes drop down to you. He reaches out and swipes his thumb across your bottom lip. Smears the cum away with one slow drag.
“Tommy,” he sighs. “Was workin’ on somethin’.”
Walks into the kitchen like nothin’s changed. Pulls his zipper up, belt clicks as he threads it back through. Phone still pressed to his ear.
He leaves you there. Kneeling. Swollen-lipped. Messy. Wet.
And you don’t know what’s worse.
That he walked off like nothin’ happened–like everything’s still the same.
Or that you’re just kneelin’ there–cunt throbbing, soaked, mouth wrecked from takin’ him.
Wanting more.
| Joel didn’t know why he’d let his little brother convince him a night at the bar was what he needed. But he might need to listen to him more. Smut!
[this is pure FILTH. I don’t know what came over me, I need this out my system and I need Joel in mine STAT. If you’re a minor pls don’t interact, this is not a safe space.]
Warnings; language, drinking, age gap (Joel is in his late forties, reader is 21) masturbation reference, daddy, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, oral (both receiving), over stimulation, come eating?let me know if I’ve missed anything
"Still haven't gotten your dick wet, huh?" was Tommy's way of greeting his brother.
Joel grumbled something, propping his foot on the coffee table in front of him. "Get lost, Tommy."
He'd thought that with his daughter, Sarah, at summer camp he'd get six weeks of peace, get work done, maybe take his daughter somewhere nice when she got back. But he forgot he had a brother and he forgot how annoying he was.
Sure, six weeks without his kid was a perfect and maybe a once-in-a-lifetime to get his dick 'wet' as Tommy put it. But he'd been out the game for years, out of practise. He wouldn't know how or who to approach.
"C'mon, what kind of brother would I be if I let you mope around alone in the house," he said, whacking Joel on the shoulder.
"A good one." Joel took a swing of his beer, watching the sport without knowing what team was doing what.
Tommy turned off the tv and snatched away Joel's beer, getting him up from the sofa. "There's a bar I know where everyone looking to get fucked goes, c'mon."
Joel decided he didn't want to know how his brother knew this place but as Tommy was already grabbing his truck keys and heading out the door. He'd be damned if he let Tommy drive his truck.
Yeah... that was why he was going...
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The bar was already loud when he and Tommy got there and ordered their beers. Joel would have one, maybe another if he was here long enough but then he'd go home and... see to himself if he had to.
It would have been nice to have something for the evening. It had been a long time and his own fist wasn't enough. He had a pick if he needed, he guessed. He wasn't immune to all the single middle aged mom's around him that would talk to him on the school drop off, invite him to one of their garden parties. Even some with rings on their fingers always lingered too long when shaking his hand or asking for some 'construction' advice.
But none of them did anything for him.
Tommy patted his brother on the back as he winked at the lady behind the bar. "See anything you like, yet?"
They'd been there... what? Ten minutes.
Then yes, he saw something he liked and his jaw almost dropped.
Tommy spotted the way he stilled and followed his gaze. "Holy shit."
You were with three girls- your friends, Joel assumed- and a guy hanging onto you, an arm draped around your hips. You were nursing a drink, laughing with your friends, tongue darting out to the straw of your cocktail.
Joel was done. He knew it immediately.
You were only twenty-one, young and beautiful and worse, Sarah's baby-sitter. Sure, his daughter was fourteen but on the late nights he had to work he didn't like to leave her alone.
Enter you. Good grades, polite, always called him Mr Miller like it wasn't the hottest thing. You stayed every night Joel needed to work, you cooked for Sarah, even ensured there was left overs for Joel and Tommy sometimes.
You'd tidy when he never asked, you never drank the beers he left for you. You were perfect.
And Joel knew, the first day you'd baby-sat his daughter over a year ago he'd made a mistake. He knew it when he watched you walk down his porch, when he started offering you lifts home and wishing you'd accept, when he had a wet dream like a horny teenager and it was you under him.
This was some cruel joke.
As if you could hear his thoughts your eyes caught over the noise of the bar. There was shock registering first and then you were dismissing your group to walk over to the Millers.
Joel gulped when he spotted what you were wearing. A tight high collared shirt, your hair pinned and the shortest skirt with heels.
Like a present to be un-wrapped...
"If it isn't the Miller brothers," you grinned.
"Hey darlin'," Tommy greeted first, reaching up to give you a small hug.
Joel's jaw clenched as you hugged him back. But Tommy was respectful, hands staying high on your body. Better than Joel would do.
You pulled away and smiled at Joel. "Mr Miller."
He nodded, taking a swig of his beer as he watched your tongue dart out in search for the straw. Fuck.
Tommy held a hand on your back. "I gotta take a leak, keep him company would you."
Joel didn't know what kind of game his little brother was playing.
"Of course," you smiled, sliding into the seat Tommy had vacated. "Don't I strive to look after the Millers."
Tommy chuckled and winked at Joel as he disappeared into the crowd.
"Hi there," he drawled.
You smiled. Maybe it was the lighting, or the alcohol, but your eyes were darker than he'd ever noticed. "Hey. Didn't expect to see you here tonight."
"Sarah's at camp," he said. He was painfully aware you knew. You hadn't been around in two weeks because he'd had no reason to ask you. Well, no appropriate reason.
"She enjoying it?" you threw a leg over yours, grazing his leg as you did.
"Think so," he said, "what about you, huh? Enjoyin' your freedom?"
You chuckle. "You know I love working for you, Mr Miller."
"Joel," he corrected you. He took a swing of his beer, watching you watch him.
"Jo-el," you draw out his name.
Something in Joel stirred, his pants couldn't be growing tighter, right? Thank god for the dim lighting.
He cleared his throat. "So this is where the kids hang out these days, huh?"
"I dunno about kids?" you said, leaning your body over slightly. "Am I a kid?"
Joel let his eyes wander down. The expanse of your legs, the skirt riding up your thighs and the way your chest rose and fell with your breath. Then slowly, he trailed back up your body. "I guess not."
Of all those times he'd watched you from the porch, you'd always looked back at him at least once, maybe twice to give a little wave as he leaned on the door. Or when you'd started accepting his lifts home and would always linger in his seat when he turned the engine off, the two of you leaning over the console and chattering a bit longer. Or when it came to staying to watch a game with him when Sarah had gone to bed when he knew you hated sport.
Of all those times he'd never let his mind wander as much as it was not.
"Tommy dragged me out," said Joel, taking more of his beer.
"He dragged you?" you chuckled. "You didn't want to come?"
"I'm glad I did," he said.
You take a longer sip of your drink, nodding. "I'm glad you did too."
Joel watched you a second as you tilted your head, a small tilt to your head. "You wanna another drink?" he asked. He wasn't even sure how much you'd had already. Was all this new look and attitude the cocktails talking?
"I should be good," you muse.
Joel decided in that moment he'd either spend the rest of the night in your company, or go home alone. "Your friends not missing you?" he didn't even want to look back at your friends maybe waiting for you. Or that guy watching you.
You also didn't care to look back. "Let them."
Joel smirked as he brought his bottle to his lips. "Atta girl."
He heard your intake of breath and felt satisfied. Your leg kicked off your other one and had grazed his, going down and down and he was sure you weren't doing this on accident. Not anymore.
"You can't say things like that," you chuckle, shuffling in your seat.
God, your thighs were pressing together tightly. Such a pretty sight...
You leaned over in your seat. "Do you know how many women would kill to hear you say that to them?"
"Well, i'm saying it to you, ain't I?"
You look at him through your lashes and Joel's legs widen to accommodate for the rising need in his crotch. It was wrong. It was so wrong. It was crossing a line. "I think I'll take that drink, if you're still offering?"
Joel nods and waved someone over to get you the same. The two of you talked a little more as you waited, your drink sliding over moments later.
"It must get lonely," you said, fingers dancing around the condensation of the glass. "That house all alone."
It seemed both of you had forgot about Tommy at that point.
The game being played between the two of you suddenly seemed real to Joel. "You tryin' to get an invite over?"
"Maybe."
You didn't miss a beat.
Joel looked at you. People were piling into the bar, music was being played but all he could focus on was you.
Your hand darted out, your fingers grazing his knee.
He looked down at his knee, where you touched him. Could you make out the dent in his jeans. "You know, i'm old enough to be your father."
"So should I start calling you daddy?"
He chocked on his beer. He managed to finish it, smirking to himself. "You got a mouth on you."
"You started it looking at me like that."
Joel rested against the bar. "I'm your employer."
You shrug. "And i'm not at work."
Joel looked around the bar and found his brother making out with a woman at the furthest end. He was sorted. "Why do you hang out here, huh kid?" if what Tommy told him was true he wasn't sure he could handle the idea of you coming here, looking out for someone that wasn't him.
You shrug. "It's a good bar, good drinks, good company usually."
"Usually?" he teased, his hands on his thighs. "You know, Tommy told me some filthy things around this place."
You lick your lips, holding back amusement. "Really?" you stand to your feet, leaning on the bar closer to him. You slot perfectly between his thighs.
His hand danced close to your hip but didn't touch you. Not yet. "People come here for one thing."
"Enlighten me, Joel."
His name from your lips made his brain fuzzy, effecting him more than any beer. But he couldn't do it, god, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Of the counter. Of how good you'd look bent over the counter, tight skirt bunched up at your hips.
But the words failed with him.
It was like you could tell, like you knew every move of his and every twitch.
You take one more sip of your drink before sliding it over the counter.
Joel watched as you got to your feet and worry rose on him. Worry he'd lose all he wanted.
"I'm going around the back, i'm going to be there for two minutes before I call an uber to go home. See you."
You meant it to. He watched you walk off, only briefly waving to your friends as you wove in and out of the people.
You were giving him two minutes to fuck over his life.
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You waited, and waited for what you thought was two minutes. Truth be told you didn’t have a watch and lingering around the back of the bar probably wasn’t the greatest idea.
You could tap your foot and wait, rethinking your words and actions and hope that every time the door swung open, it would be your boss.
Joel fucking Miller. What game were you playing? More to the point, what was he doing?
Looking at you like that, carelessly letting his eyes wander as he imagined everything he wanted to do to you? You weren’t immune to his looks, his touches that lasted too long and the way he always watched you walk up to your front door, the engine only roaring once you were safe inside.
But now it seemed- faced with the ultimatum of fucking you or leaving you as nothing but his daughter’s babysitter- he was choosing the latter.
You’d really thought your lonely nights with only toys and fingers for company may have been rectified.
As you push yourself off the wall you really thought-
A sudden strong and rough hand grabbed your wrist and turned you back until you were against the wall and until lips were on yours.
You knew the scent, knew the strength of the body as Joel Miller pressed himself against you, groaning and licking into your lips.
You hands are in his hair, tugging at the curls of black and grey as you let him feel all your body, his arms caging you in and hand dragging down and down and-
"That was three minutes, sweet girl," Joel’s beard scratched your neck as he dragged his lips over your pulse.
You hold back a moan. The music in the bar was loud and the only people coming this way were the ones looking for a quick piss. Still you wanted nobody to stop this. "Wanted to give you a chance."
He nodded into your neck, biting the skin and winning a gasp from you. Joel tilted his head back, searching your gaze that only saw him. "Tell me you want this."
You nod. "I want it."
His hand cupped your cheek, thumb dragging down your bottom lip. He watched, entranced. "You’d let me down anything, wouldn’t you?" He whispered, looking as if he wasn’t all there. That some part of his mind was already fucking you against the wall.
You lower your head until you can reach the pad of his thumb, kissing the tip. "I want it."
"Oh, fuck baby," he groaned, pushing the pad of his thumb further into your mouth. Promises of things to come. "You’re gonna kill me sweet girl."
Your hand ran down his stomach until it meant the tightness of his pants and running up and down until you could feel the press of his length in your palm.
Joel indulged for a minute. His thumb in the warmth of his mouth while your other hand rubbed him right. Then he snapped back into reality as the door banged on the wall.
Not there.
Against himself, he took his thumb from you and grabbed your wrist, alerting you.
"I need your word that if we do this, Sarah doesn’t find out," he said sternly.
You chuckled. "Well I’m hardly gonna tell her I screwed her dad, am I?"
"Hey," he held one finger in front of your face, defying your smirk. "Your word, little miss, or I can drop you off home and you can watch while I take care of the problem you created."
You gulped. Maybe for a moment you forgot it was Mr Miller you were affronted with. Quickly, you nodded your head.
"Good girl," he surged forward and sucked on the bottom of your lip, his hips digging into yours. He groaned as you ground on him, nails digging into his biceps. "Feel wha’ you do to me, huh? You know how many times I’ve had to fuck my own fist and think of you?"
You practically melt at his words, leaning back into the wall. "Joel… please."
"Please what? Huh?" he taunted, rutting his clothed hips into your own, biting down on his lip as you threw your head back, moaning at the sensation. "C'mon, tell me what you want. Be a good girl and say it."
"I want you to fuck me," you whispered.
Joel scoffed. He left his hips against yours. He tutted. "I'm an old man, darlin', you're gonna have to speak up."
"Fuck me!" you all but screamed, desperation turning you into a mess.
Joel grabbed your hand and started to drag you from the alleyway, searching around as if his daughter might pop up out of nowhere.
You couldn't care less, didn't think about the group of friends you were leaving, or the guy that wanted you. Your hand circled over Joel's stomached t shirt, nails scratching as you leant into his side, lips marking up his neck.
"Fuck, baby," Joel groaned as he searched in his pocket for his keys. You joined the search, your fingers searching all around the dent in his jeans. "Fucking desperate, aren't you, huh?"
"Can't wait, Joel," you whisper in his ear, lips brushing, shivers running down his spine as you squeezed his crotch. "Please baby."
Joel grunted. He was practically shaking with the need to fuck you, to feel you against him. To have his hands wander all over you and memorise the way you moaned under him. There was so much more he wanted. Wanted to have you scream, wanted your neck bruised with his love and his back to carry the scratches from you.
He just needed.
"Fuck," he couldn't believe he was being so reckless. Couldn't believe that with a kiss and a grope you had rendered him a horny teenager. "Get in the back, babygirl."
He held open the door and practically pushed you in, climbing over you.
You jumped into his lap as soon as the door slammed shut and Joel chucked his keys somewhere to the front. Your lips worked against his, claiming it as yours and invading an unknown territory. You moaned as his tongue ran against yours and sucked it into his own mouth.
His hands were warm and large as they gripped your ass harshly, a soft slap echoing around his truck.
"You gonna let me slide my fingers into your pussy, baby?" he asked against your lips.
You moaned.
"Hey!" he grabbed your chin, pulling you back to stare at him. Your lips were already red and swollen. "You gotta talk to me baby. You want my fingers? Say yes."
"Yes please," you say, catching your breath. Your chest felt heavy, your pussy throbbing. "Please, want your fingers."
Joel smirked, finger tips brushing under the band of your skirt. "So polite."
The space at the back of his truck was small and cramped but he'd be lying if he hadn't thought about this. Hadn't thought about you in the back of his truck, cock stuffed down your throat or his face buried in your thighs.
All those times he'd taken you back, it had never been as innocent as he would let on.
But having you in his lap, begging for it, practically drooling with just his words, he had a feeling you weren't as innocent as you'd always made out to be.
Joel let the elastic of your skirt slap into place, causing you to jolt into him. As you jolted, he used the leverage of your hips to pull your skirt up and feel under you. "Jesus baby- you're soaked."
His finger slid up the cloth of your panties, collecting the dampness and smearing it.
You gasp as he presses into your pussy, pushing the cloth into you. "Joel please, I asked so nice."
"You did, sweet girl, you did," he nodded, watching as your eyes squeezed shut. "Hey- eyes on me baby, right here." He gently slapped the under part of your chin to get you to look at him as he easily hooked your panties to the side and sunk a finger in.
You hum out a moan, head tilted back.
Joel found the crevice of your neck, dragging his beard against the soft skin and relishing in the red that bloomed. "You like it? You like my fingers inside your heat? God, you're so warm."
"Like it," you nod, eyes shutting again.
Joel groaned low in his throat as he grabbed your chin and forced your forehead against his. "You keep your eyes on me, you understand me. Or i'll drop you off home. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mr Miller."
"Oh-" Joel sunk his ring finger in until he was knuckle deep. "You're so good for me."
You tighten around the feel of his fingers. He's barely curling them and already you're squirming at the sound of your own slick.
"Ride my fingers, babygirl, gowan' now."
Obediently you started to move, riding his hand. His rough palm moved with you. His mouth remained open in a small 'o' as you wither against him, moaning.
Joel couldn't help the filth that spilled from his mouth. But with every clench you gave around his fingers, you didn't seem to mind.
"So good for me... such a good girl,"
"Dirty too, riding me in the back of the truck you and Sarah ride in."
"Fuck, i've dreamt of this, you look so good with my fingers stuffed inside of you."
At his encouragement you grip his shoulders, moving faster until your skirt is ridging up your hips and the little wisps of your hair are sticking to your forehead from sweat.
His thumb pressed down on your puffy and begging clit.
"Shit- ah- fuck!"
Joel's hips involuntarily bucked up to yours. "You wanna cum, sweet girl?"
You bite down on your lip, nodding and looking at where his forearm- taunt and veiny- disappeared under you.
Joel rested his head next to yours, kissing the sweat at your neck. "Tough baby, you're so dirty. Dirty girls have to do a lot of waiting till they get their reward."
Slowly, he retracts his fingers.
"Look at all this mess," he tutted, looking at how his fingers glistened with your need. He pats your hips, "up."
You fall onto the seat next to him, legs spread and head resting back on the car door.
You watch as Joel lifts his hips, un-buckling his belt as he starts to pull off his boxers and jeans. Your foot danced over to his lap but he impatiently pushes it away.
"You want to cum, don't you?" he asked, sending you a dark look. His hand grabs your ankle as you nod and kisses the bare skin above your heel. "Then behave."
The hand that you had just been riding wrapped around his cock and brought it out.
Your mouth opened as you stared at the beauty of the thing. He was big, bigger than you'd seen and bigger than you'd dare dreamed. He shone with pre-cum and your arousal as he spread what was on his fingers. His hand worked himself up and down as he relaxed back in his seat.
He looked over at you. "Eyes up here, baby."
Your gaze flicked up to him. "So pretty, Joel."
He chuckled and tugged himself. "Always knew you'd like it. God, you've no idea the things i've dreamt."
"Tell me. Please."
Joel leaned his head back, moving up and down his length slowly as he re-called every filthy dream his mind conjured. "Your hands wrapping around me. Your mouth being so warm and wet as you fuckin' choke on it. God, bet your throat's not used to a man's cock, huh? Only used to boys, ain't that right?"
He opened his eyes, peeking at you.
You'd dared closer to him, leaning over. You nodded.
"Bet that kid in there was hoping you'd give him a chance," he went on, his other hand coming up and thumb and forefinger tugging at your chin. "He didn't stand a chance as soon as you saw me, did he?"
You shake your head, shuffling closer into his side.
He jerked your head toward him. "Answer me."
"Only want you, Joel," you tell him.
You lick your lips, eyes darting from him to his leaking cock. The tip was red, begging for attention. "Can I- Can I please?"
Joel stroked back your hair. "Go on then, baby. Have a play." He stretched his arms along the back of the truck and watched to see you move.
But Joel quickly realised you didn't come around to play.
You'd always seemed so innocent- so un-knowing- when you looked after Sarah, when you helped him clean down the kitchen, when he'd offer you lifts back or to stay over you'd always blush and lower your head.
You were lowering it now, throwing your hair back over your shoulder and holding the base of him.
First, you touch him with your lips lightly and he smiles, daring not to think this might be the only time he lets you touch him like this. Your lips are so pretty and pink, swollen and wet from kissing him as you drag them along the sides.
Then you pepper kisses along the skin and start moving your hand around the base.
"You really gonna tease me?"
"Wanna take my time," you mumble into his though, kissing the skin.
Next, your hand cups his balls that were heavy with need. He wasn't exaggerating, it had been years since his last good fuck and no amount of jerking himself off to the thought of you could satisfy him. As your fingers played with his balls, rolling them around and giving them warmth and attention they craved, you made out with the tip of his cock.
You collected his pre-cum with your lips and tongue while still fondling him.
He could feel his shirt stick to him, his chest rising and falling quicker. Shittin-fuck. How was he supposed to last if this was what you were giving him?
"Easy, baby, easy," he eased you, stroking back your hair.
He knew you heard cause you were smirking then opening your mouth and taking him deep, almost all the way in one.
Joel groaned and grabbed the door. "Shit-ah-"
He didn't care if he wasn't far from the bar. Didn't care if anyone tried to get a look in through the fogging up windows. He didn't care if Tommy came by and applauded him for getting his dick wet. All he cared for was the feel of your wet mouth all the way down him, spit drooling down his cock.
You were doing so well and he wanted you to know.
"You wanna take me deep, huh?" he grunted, clutching onto your hair and holding you down. You gagged around him. He chuckled. "I'm not even all the way in there. You got room for more?"
You dragged your mouth up, taking a deep breath and nodding. You wiped your mouth from the mess you made and went in again.
This time, you took him again and again, deeper, bobbing him in your throat until he was a grunting and groaning mess. His hips moved of their own accord, shoving himself in even when there was nowhere else to go.
But the sounds of gagging, of his balls slapping against his own thighs as he moved, of the moans coming out of you were enough to almost having him finishing in your mouth. Almost.
He wanted to, boy did he, but he wouldn't, not until your cunt had swallowed him.
Joel pulled you up, letting you release him with a pop. "Want to be inside, need to be inside."
The truck wasn't the best place but it was the only place he had for you. He wished he could give you a bed, give your hours to welcome him, but Joel needed like he'd never needed. He imagined this is what starvation was, having your treat dangled in front of you.
And you were moving with him, lying down on the back seats, legs accommodating him as he slid in between you.
Joel gently pulled down your panties and stuffed them in the back of his pocket. If he was gonna have to jerk himself off to thoughts of you again, having your soaked panties was the least he deserved.
He glanced down at your swollen pussy and salivated.
Your hand trailed down, circling your clit as you moaned at the time he was taking.
Joel grabbed your wrist, bringing it up to his mouth and nipped at the skin. "Only I get to touch, yeah, babygirl?"
"Yes," you answered, breathless.
Joel loomed over you, bringing the tip of his leaking cock to smear himself over your folds. "Tommy told me somethin' real interestin'. Ask me what?"
"I don't- I don't care about Tommy, right now," you grab his shoulders, trying to pull him forward.
"He tol' me-" Joel strained, his lips brushing yours. It wasn't just your torture he wad delivering. It was his own. "He said people go to that bar to get fucked. Is that why you were there?"
For a moment you seemed shocked to hear it. Then the palm of your hand held his cheek, running over the stubble.
"Worked, didn't it?" you teased.
Joel sunk into you with ease. "Yeah."
He hid his face in your neck as you arched your back into him. 'Take it, take it,' he spoke into your skin, tattooing the words there.
"Joel-" you gasped, holding onto his back. "Fuck!"
"You're ok, baby. You're ok, babygirl," his breath was short. He needed to feel you more, the half way in wasn't enough. "Fuck, you grip me so well."
You gasp, holding him in you. "Need-need more."
"I dunno baby, you think you got it?" he teased.
"Yes, yes."
"What have I said about speaking up?"
You groan, throwing your head back on the seat. "Fuck me, please Joel!"
With a grunt loud enough to be heard outside, Joel sunk further into you. 'Shit, yeah.... fuck,' spilled from his lips as he slowly took himself out of you before sinking in all the way again.
"You feel me?" asked Joel. He held himself up over you because he'd be damned if he wasn't gonna watch you fall apart on his dick.
"Feel it, feel you everywhere," you mumble.
You really did. You felt the soft seats of his truck, smelt him everywhere. The smell of old cologne, cigarettes (though you were sure he didn't smoke) and new wood. It wasn't just his cock sinking into you but his voice as he mumbled filthy things in your ear. His hand dragged down your face, gripping your neck. Not tight enough to cut airways but tight enough to make you squeeze him.
He stuttered, "sh-shit. If you do that again I won't last," he told you. "And I want you to come first."
"Then fuck me Joel," you said, looking up at him.
Joel looked down to where he disappeared into you. You were already rocking your hips into his, desperate for something- anything. His hand pushed back some of your hair as he stared at you with something more than need. Desire. "Are you sure this is what you want?"
Wasn't it? Wasn't it everything you wanted since he first laid a hand on your shoulder and led you into his home, welcoming you to his life. "Yes."
His thumb dragged out your bottom lip before his lips were smashing onto yours, wet and sloppy as his thrusts increased.
He moved his hips in and out rapidly, giving you no more time to adjust. It wasn't long before he had to release your lips to breathe.
"Ah- shit!" you yelled.
"That's it baby, be as loud as you like. Let the whole fucking street know who's fucking you," he panted. His hands were at your neck, holding the both of you steady.
"Joel!"
"Shit! You feel so good!"
Joel tugged down your top, not in the mood to care if it rips. It's not like he was letting you back in that bar. He pulled out your tits and latched onto them like a child, nipping at the nipple.
Your hand winds itself in his hair, pulling at the roots and throwing your body into his. You could feel his cock stretch you, the pain mixing delightfully with the pleasure. With every thrust he tipped you closer and closer onto the ledge and as his warm, wet mouth sucked on your nipple, the other hand squeezing and playing with the other, you knew it would be the best orgasm of your life.
"I'm gonna, arg-"
Joel licked around your nipple. "Not yet."
"Joel!"
"Hold it!"
He pushed himself up, holding onto the back of the seats as he used the position to put a foot on the ground and fuck into you harder.
The windows were steamed, your bodies slick with sweat.
The truck was fucking shaking at how hard he was moving you.
You threw a hand out behind you to hold onto the door, bracing yourself as you rocked your body into his.
Joel threw his head back, his neck stretching you and tempting you. "Best fucking pussy out there. And I've been wasting you as a babysitter."
"Yours," you mumble. He hadn't even asked and you were giving him the promise.
His lips tilted into a lobsided smirk as he leaned closer to you. "You mine, huh? All mine? My girl, my pussy?"
"Yes," you nod.
For a minute you can only hear your breaths with the sound of his hips slapping into yours.
Joel's fingers dig into your thighs and bring your leg up to wrap around his waist. "Mine," he all but growled into your chest, nipping at the skin. "Show me. Show me you're mine. Cum."
He thrusted into you hard, his thumb holding your stomach down and playing with your clit until you were coming all over his cock. 'That's it baby... all over me.... there's a good girl.... keep coming,'
Joel fucked you throughout. He had his own finish to reach but watching you fall apart, your mouth open in a silent gasp as your fingers claw into his shoulders.
He cupped your chin, smiling down at you. "You gonna help an old man out?"
You were in no state to, coming down from your highest high.
Joel cupped your ass and lifted you from the seats that were slowly soaking in both of yours juices. "Ah-" he yelled out at the new angle he was reaching, his balls heavy hitting your pussy. "Yeah- there- just there baby."
"Joel!" you yell. "S'to much."
"No it's not," he shook his head. His eyes were screwed up as sweat rolled down his cheeks. "You can take it. You know you can."
Your pussy was throbbing, squeezing him so intensely you didn't know how he was still moving.
You bit down on your lip as you watched him concentrating hard. You test the waters, wrapping your legs around his waist until your entire lower body was in his weight.
"Fuck!" Joel's jaw clenched as he looked down at you, his fingertips digging into the skin of your soft thighs until he was sure bruises would be there for only him to see. "I'm gonna... shit- Where you want it?"
"Inside, please," you mewl.
Joel looked at you, danger in his eyes. "No, baby, we can't."
You nod and squeeze his hips. "I'm on the pill."
The words were heaven to his ears.
You squeeze around him and Joel yelled out, falling atop you as he spilled out inside of you.
"Take it! Take it! Fucking let me- let me in!" he yelled, hips stuttering as he fell into you. One of your legs remained around him but the other he let drop, holding it weakly.
You were sure you were still coming down from your high as his hips stuttered on yours. You could feel every drop of him smear on your pussy and leak out.
Then Joel's fingers danced around the space his cock was softening in you, pushing it all back in.
His brows rose as he looked down, a shaking laugh coming out. "I-"
You didn't want to hear the words that came after. The regret. The 'we shouldn't have' or 'think about Sarah'. You just wanted this moment of feeling held and cared for by Joel to last a little longer.
Your lips move against his slowly, tasting the salt of sweat from the both of you on there.
He didn't push you away, he just held his lips close to yours, in small and attentive brushes. "How do you feel?" he whispered, pulling back enough to look around your eyes.
"Good," you nod, "real fucking good."
Joel chuckled and looked down. Slowly, as not to hurt you, he pulled out.
You moaned at the sudden emptiness in you, lying there to catch your breath and so you didn't have to prepare for regret in his face.
But it seemed regret was the last thing on Joel's mind.
He had no idea what kind of animal was possessing him or just how far his need went. But when he fell back against the door, listening out to the low drum from the bar, he saw your swollen cunt. Red and white. Red from how hard he'd fucked you and white from the mixture of you and him.
Something growled inside of him- maybe it was him- but before either of you understood what was happening, Joel lunged back in and spread your thigs, diving in.
You lurched up onto your elbows, looking down at him. You could see the top of his hair, his eyes closed and you could feel his nose moving around you and nudging you. "Joel, what are you- holy-"
Joel hummed into your pussy. It was heaven on his tongue, dripping into him. So sweet and all you. He'd never felt closer to a person before. Never felt such a need. He was slobbering like a damn dog over your pussy.
"What the fuck have you done to me, huh," he'd pulled back only enough so you could understand his words.
Neither of you were sure if he was talking to you or what laid between your legs.
He opened up your pussy and went in, tongue fucking into you. He was caught between wanting to push his spill back into you and eating you out till you were dry.
"Joel!" you screamed, voice breaking. "You-you can't-"
"I fucking can," he snarled. His face was being pushed into your cunt as he shook it, smearing both of you all over him.
There was nothing you could say or do before your legs trembled and you came all over his beard and lips. You didn't know what to do, whether to push him off you or pull you closer.
Joel held your hips into his mouth and groaned as he took in everything you gave him.
Every flick of his tongue had you shaking. Every time he gripped your thighs you made a noise of pleasure.
Hours might have passed since he first discovered heaven between your thighs before he pulled himself out.
His face was wet with you. It was sinful and like nothing you could ever imagine. "Look at what you've fucking done to me."
Warnings (18+): NSFW, age gap (reader 21+, Joel mid-to-late 30s), daddy’s best friend trope, dom!Joel, possessive behavior, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PIV, rough sex, breeding kink undertones, hair pulling, dirty talk, size kink, spanking, emotional tension, angst + aftercare
Joel Miller had known you since you were barely up to his knee.
He’d carried you on his shoulders at barbeques, pushed you on the tire swing in your backyard, brought you candy when your braces hurt and scared off your first boyfriend just by standing in the doorway.
And now?
You were sitting on your dad’s couch in a crop top and cotton shorts, legs spread just a little too casually, licking the rim of your popsicle while pretending not to look at him.
Joel shifted on the couch beside you, crossing his legs.
You smirked. “Something wrong, Mr. Miller?”
His jaw ticked. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?”
“‘Cause I know what you’re doin’, sweetheart. And you need to stop.”
You leaned in just enough to let him catch a glimpse down your shirt. “What if I don’t want to stop?”
He stood up fast, dragging a hand over his face.
“You’re your daddy’s little girl,” he growled. “I’m supposed to be watchin’ out for you, not—”
“Not what?” You stood, walking toward him slowly, toes curling into the carpet. “Not staring at my ass when I walk outta the pool? Not jerking off to the thought of me in the shower upstairs? You think I don’t hear it when you sneak off to the bathroom when I bend over?”
Joel’s eyes snapped to yours, dark with something dangerous.
“Girl,” he warned. “You got no idea what you’re playin’ with.”
“I know exactly what I’m playing with,” you whispered. “Question is, are you man enough to take it?”
That’s when he snapped.
He gripped your wrist, dragged you into the guest room, and shut the door behind him. The sound echoed like thunder.
“You got a filthy little mouth, baby,” he rasped, walking you backward. “Think that means you’re ready for a real man?”
You nodded, breath hitching. “Please.”
That was all he needed.
Joel’s mouth crashed down on yours, hot and punishing. His hands were everywhere—palming your tits, squeezing your ass, dragging your shirt over your head and tossing it without looking.
He stepped back to stare at you.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathed. “You’re trouble.”
“You like trouble.”
He smirked, then shoved you back onto the bed.
“Take ‘em off.”
You blinked up at him. “What?”
“Shorts. Now. Wanna see that pretty pussy you been teasing me with.”
You obeyed, dragging them down slow, letting him see the wet patch darkening the front of your panties.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.
Then he was on you, kneeling between your thighs, yanking the panties to the side, and licking a long, slow stripe through your folds that made your hips buck.
“Hold still,” he growled.
You whimpered as his tongue worked you open, strong hands gripping your thighs to keep you spread for him. His nose brushed your clit just enough to make your toes curl, and when he slid two fingers inside you, you arched off the bed with a cry.
“Such a tight little thing,” he groaned. “You ever been fucked right?”
“Not like this,” you gasped.
He smirked, sucking your clit hard enough to make you see stars.
“You will be.”
You came hard on his tongue, thighs trembling around his head. He didn’t stop until you were whining, squirming, breathless.
Then he stood, unbuckled his jeans, and pulled out his cock, thick, heavy, already leaking at the tip.
“Get on your knees.”
You scrambled off the bed and obeyed, mouth already watering.
But he shook his head, fisting your hair gently. “Not this time, baby. You tease a man like that for weeks you don’t get off easy.”
He turned you around, bent you over the bed, and dragged the tip of his cock through your soaked folds.
“Joel, please—”
“Say it.”
“Say what?”
He leaned down, his chest against your back, mouth at your ear.
“Say you need your daddy’s best friend to fuck you.”
You moaned, body shuddering.
“I need you, Joel please, I need you to fuck me.”
That was enough.
He slammed into you in one hard thrust, knocking the air from your lungs.
“Fuck,” he hissed. “You’re gonna ruin me.”
He fucked you rough—deep strokes that made your legs shake, your face pressed into the sheets. One hand on your hip, the other in your hair, yanking your head back so he could hear you scream.
“You want everyone to hear what a little slut you are for me?” he growled. “For your daddy’s friend?”
“Yes, Joel, yes!”
He reached around and rubbed your clit, fast and tight, while his hips slammed into you hard enough to shake the bed.
“Gonna fill you up,” he gritted. “Gonna come inside and make sure no boy your age ever feels this sweet pussy again.”
That pushed you over the edge. You came with a sob, squeezing him so tight he cursed loud and spilled inside you, grinding deep as he emptied himself.
Afterward, he lay beside you on the bed, breathing hard, his hand tracing lazy circles on your thigh.
SUMMARY: You’ve always disliked Joel Miller, your dad’s grumpy friend and neighbor. Growing up, he was nothing but short responses and cold glares, never bothering to hide how little he cared to even speak to you. Rude. Dismissive.
You never thought you could feel anything for him. But years later, everything feels different. And so does the way he’s looking at you.
WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, no ellie, dbf!joel, age gap, mean joel,pet names, alcohol consumption. weed consumption, oral m!receiving, dirty talk, degradation
A/N : First time writing Joel Miller, but this fucking guy is stuck in my head on a loop and I had to get him out of my system. Even created a whole new blog just for him. And now that I’ve written this, I somehow have even more ideas?? No beta, because life is life. Hope you enjoy
"Waiting for you at the exit!" the text from your dad read. You checked it one last time as you made your way toward the terminal exit, eyes scanning the crowd. The rolling of your suitcase felt almost too loud in the busy airport, but you barely noticed it as you searched.
And then, a hand waved in the air—there he was. Your dad. His face lit up with that familiar, wide grin, and before you knew it, he was already moving toward you, eager and excited.
As you reached him, he pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you like you were still his little girl. You sank into the embrace, feeling the warmth of his chest against yours, the steady beat of his heart familiar and comforting.
You pulled away from your dad’s embrace, smiling up at him. "You look like you’ve been waiting forever," you teased, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. Your dad chuckled, ruffling your hair like he used to when you were younger.
"I’ve been here for a while, actually," he said, his voice a little too cheerful. "Couldn’t wait to see my favorite graduate."
You rolled your eyes playfully. "I’m your only graduate, Dad."
"Yeah, yeah." He laughed again, clearly proud. "Still feels like a big deal."
You smiled again, the pride bubbling up inside you. It felt surreal ; starting college years ago, it seemed like a lifetime ago. And now, here you were, finally done with it all. Sure, college had been a great experience, but nothing beat the satisfaction of being done.
Your dad reached for your large suitcase, lifting it from your hand. “I can take it, really,” you protested with a smile, appreciating the gesture.
“No, no,” he responded, waving off your offer. “The flight must’ve been tiring. Today’s about you, so let me take care of you.”
You thanked him, feeling a warmth spread through you at his caring words, and the two of you made your way outside the terminal. As soon as you stepped into the Texas air, the familiar thick heat hit you like a wall. You had almost forgotten just how intense the summer heat could be, especially after spending so much time in the cooler, more temperate climate of Chicago.
You both made your way to his car, and soon you were on the road toward your childhood home.
"I'm so happy you're here," your dad said, his smile wide and genuine as he glanced over at you.
"Come on, I was here for Christmas," you chuckled, brushing off his excitement. "It’s not like we haven’t seen each other in years."
"It felt like it for me," he replied, his voice softening a little as he focused on the road. "The house always felt so lonely without you. I’m really happy you're home."
"I'm happy too, Dad," you said, your own smile creeping up. It felt good to hear that—good to know your presence meant something more than just the occasional visit.
The conversation naturally flowed as the miles ticked by. Your dad asked about your last few days at school, how the flight had been, and whether you’d managed to catch up with any of your friends before leaving. You found yourself laughing and reminiscing, the easy familiarity between you two making it feel like no time had passed at all.
After a little while, the car slowed, and you could see the familiar neighborhood signs in the distance. The streets, lined with houses you once knew so well, felt like a snapshot of your childhood, almost frozen in time. And then, the house came into view. The old oak tree in the front yard stood tall as ever, its branches casting long, familiar shadows over the driveway.
As you opened the car door, you could see your dad grinning from ear to ear, his excitement practically radiating off of him. You shot him a questioning look, but shrugged it off, assuming he was just that happy you were home. If you’d been paying closer attention, you might have noticed the unusual number of cars parked along the street—more than you'd expected for a quiet neighborhood.
But you didn’t notice. Not yet.
When your dad handed you the key to the house and told you to go ahead and open the door, you were too caught up in the warmth of the reunion to think twice about it. You turned the key in the lock, pushing the door open slowly, expecting the quiet stillness of home.
But before you could even step inside, someone flipped on the lights.
In an instant, a chorus of voices erupted from the shadows, and people leaped out from every corner, yelling, "Surprise!" Laughter and cheers filled the air as you blinked in shock, your heart racing. There, in the middle of the living room, was a crowd of familiar faces—family, friends from home, and even some you hadn't seen in years—all smiling wide with excitement, their surprise catching you completely off guard.
You clenched your hand to your chest, letting out a startled yelp. You hadn’t expected this. The shock of the surprise hit you hard, and before you could even catch your breath, your dad patted you on the shoulder from behind.
You turned to him, eyes wide. “What the—?”
He smiled, his voice loud enough for the entire crowd to hear. “She’s home!” And the room erupted in cheers once more.
“Say hello,” he continued, his grin never fading as he gestured to your luggage and backpack. “I’m gonna take these to your room.”
You were still frozen in place, your mind racing. This wasn’t how you had imagined the evening going at all. You’d expected a quiet night—maybe convincing your dad to order some takeout and watching a stupid movie together, just the two of you. Definitely not a surprise party in your honor.
Before you could even process it, people were already crowding around you, greeting you with warm smiles and happy chatter. It took a few sentences before your brain caught up with reality, but once it did, you found your rhythm, smiling and thanking everyone as you pulled them into quick hugs. You exchanged brief words, trying to take it all in, but it was impossible to focus on everyone.
You couldn’t even guess how many people were there—maybe twenty? Most of them had already split into smaller groups, some headed toward the kitchen, others into the backyard. The whole house felt alive with laughter and conversation, buzzing with energy.
Just then, your dad returned, his arm slipping around your shoulders as he pulled you in for a brief side hug. You squeezed his shoulder, still processing the surprise.
“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice full of warmth.“Is it impolite if I go take a shower and change?” you asked, motioning to your travel outfit—a worn pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt. You felt ridiculously underdressed for a party like this, your clothes inadequate for the occasion.
He chuckled, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He kissed the top of your head, then nudged you toward the stairs. "Go on, don’t take too long."
You quickly excused yourself, sprinting toward your room. Your dad had definitely gone all out to surprise you—the room was spotless, everything neatly in place, just as you remembered. It was a comfort to see your space waiting for you, a small piece of familiarity in the chaos of the evening.
You threw your suitcase on the bed, quickly unzipping it and rummaging through the contents in search of something nice to wear. It didn't take long before you darted into the bathroom, the cool tile floor a relief after the heat of the day. You were the type who loved to take long showers, sometimes staying under the warm water until your dad had to yell from downstairs, complaining that he also needed hot water for his own shower.
Tonight, though, you needed to be quick. You didn’t want to keep everyone waiting too long, especially after they’d all come out to celebrate you. The trip had been exhausting, and while the time under the water was always soothing, you knew there was no time to indulge tonight. The warm water washed away the tension from your muscles, soothing the soreness from the weird position you'd managed to fall asleep in on the plane. You barely bothered to dry your hair, knowing the humid air outside would do the job quickly enough.
You grabbed the first sundress you had found, a simple white one that was light and breathable enough for the Texas heat. It wasn’t too fancy, but it was comfortable and easy, and right now, that was all that mattered.
You made your way back downstairs, already feeling more like yourself. The shower had worked wonders, and the light sundress helped you settle into the warm, familiar air of your childhood home.
Your dad spotted you first, his face lighting up again. He was mid-conversation with one of your aunts but paused as you approached. “There she is,” he said proudly, motioning for you to join them.
Your aunt greeted you with a warm hug, immediately launching into the usual questions—congratulations, how was school, what was next. You gave her a polite smile and nodded through the compliments, but when she asked about your future plans—a question you weren’t ready to answer—you skillfully deflected, asking her about her work, her garden, anything to shift the spotlight.
Your dad stepped in then, mercifully. “I didn’t even offer—do you want something to drink?”
“Sure,” you said, flashing a grateful smile at your aunt before following your dad toward the kitchen.
On the way there, you exchanged quick hellos and short hugs with a few familiar faces scattered through the living room. The noise of the party pulsed gently around you—music low, conversations layered, the clink of glasses in the background.
Once in the kitchen, your dad turned to you, hands already moving toward the fridge. “What’ll it be?” he asked.
“What are you offering?” you asked, leaning against the counter.
He opened the fridge. “Well, we’ve got enough beer to last us a few days,” he said with a grin. “Or, if you’re feeling bold, I could get you something stronger.” He nodded toward the assortment of bottles lined up neatly on the counter.
“A beer’s fine to start,” you replied, smiling.
Your dad handed you one, and you popped it open, ready to head back and rejoin the crowd. But just as you turned, you collided with something solid—someone, actually.
You stumbled a little, beer sloshing near the rim of the bottle, and barely had time to react before your dad’s voice cut in, cheerful and unaware of the tension that had just shifted the air.
“Joel! Wondered where you went!”
Your whole body tensed for a beat, instinctual and sharp. Of course. You took a quick step back, enough to finally look up and get a good look at the man you’d just bumped into.
Joel Miller, your dad’s best friend since the day he moved into the house next door. He stood there, looking down at you with that same gruff expression he always wore around you. Taller than you remembered. Broader, too. The kind of presence that filled the room without trying.
“Was just outside,” Joel said, his tone casual as his eyes slid right past you. “Came in for a new one,” he added, lifting his empty beer bottle like proof.
Your dad reached into the fridge and tossed him another without missing a beat. Joel caught it with practiced ease, cracking it open one-handed. Then, for the first time, he actually looked at you—and at the matching bottle in your hand.
“Since when are you old enough to drink?” he asked, the words edged with something that wasn’t quite teasing.
You met his gaze, unimpressed, and took a slow sip before replying. “It’s been a while.” Your voice was flat, arms crossing over your chest.
The man had known you your whole life and somehow still looked at you like you were a surprise—and not a pleasant one.
The air between you bristled, charged with the same tension that had always simmered there. You didn’t like him. He didn’t like you. And neither of you bothered to pretend otherwise.
Joel turned away, launching straight into a conversation with your dad as if you weren’t even there. Like this wasn’t your party. Like none of this had anything to do with you.
Typical.
He’d never really cared about you, and he’d never made an effort to hide it. The bond between him and your dad had been instant, the kind of easy friendship built on shared interests you’d never been part of. Their jobs, fixing things, football and other stuff you’d always found boring or just flat-out irritating.
With you, Joel was different. Always had been. You weren’t part of the equation, just some brat he had to tolerate in order to spend time with your dad. He’d never been subtle about it either—rolling his eyes when you asked questions, sighing when you pushed his buttons, offering only the bare minimum in response when forced to talk to you.
You used to think he hated kids. But no—he just didn’t like you.
Which was fine, because you didn’t like him either. You tolerated him, because your dad liked him, but as you got older, you stopped pretending to be polite. If Joel couldn’t be bothered to try, then why should you? You rolled your eyes when he spoke, talked back when he got snippy. Your dad had always tried to get you to see the good in him, but you never did. And honestly, it didn’t really matter. Joel was just… there. Always hanging around whenever you came home, like part of the furniture : annoying, unavoidable, and easy to ignore.
You left them to their conversation, not bothering to hide your disinterest, and stepped outside to find people who actually enjoyed your presence. The scent of barbecue drifted through the air, warm and familiar, and your stomach growled as you grabbed a plate from the folding table piled with food.
Before long, you found yourself seated at a picnic table with a mix of childhood friends and cousins you hadn’t seen in ages. The conversation flowed easily, catching up, teasing each other, slipping back into old rhythms like no time had passed at all.
People came and went as the night wore on, stopping to hug you, offer congratulations, ask about school. You recognized a few of your dad’s work friends lingering on the patio, most of them clustered in the same spot—around your dad and, of course, Joel.
The conversations kept going, and so did the beers. You were genuinely grateful to whoever had stocked the fridge like they were prepping for the apocalypse, because no one was going easy on them, least of all you and your friends.
As the night wore on, people started saying their goodbyes. A few last hugs, warm smiles, and congratulations passed between you and the guests as they filtered out. You thanked them all, the praise and attention making your cheeks ache from smiling.
Eventually, only a handful of people remained—six or seven at most. You and your friends made up one little cluster, your dad and his made up the other. Joel, of course, was still right there with your father, like he’d just been absorbed into the foundation of the house itself.
When your last friend finally stood to leave, mumbling something about an early shift, you pouted dramatically. “You’re really gonna leave me here with them?” you whispered, tilting your head toward the older crowd.
She snorted, pulling you into one last hug. “You’ll survive. But in case it gets too hard…” She slipped something into your palm with a grin.
You looked down to see a neatly rolled joint nestled in your hand.
“Figured you haven’t had time to stock up yet. Consider it a graduation gift,” she said with a wink.
You stifled a laugh, hiding it quickly in your fist like a teenager. “You’re the best,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
“Don’t I know it,” she called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the night.
You watched her disappear down the driveway, then turned back toward the house, heading toward the patio where your dad and his friends were still gathered, half-lit by the string lights draped above.
“Goin’ to bed already?” your dad asked as you passed by, the buzz in his voice saying he hoped you’d stick around a little longer.
You smiled, still carefully cradling the joint in your closed hand. “Nope. Just takin’ a lap. Think I might’ve had one too many.”
Frank leaned back in his chair with a chuckle. “Can’t hold your beer, huh? Like daughter, like father.”
You shot him a grin, backing away into the house. “Give me five minutes and I’ll prove I can outdrink him.”
That got a round of laughter, your dad laughing loudest of all while his friends chimed in with mock protests and teasing.
You were a smoker—on and off. Mostly when you were stressed, or buzzed just enough not to care, like tonight. Your dad wasn’t—never had been—and you didn’t exactly feel like getting a lecture tonight. You just wanted a little more fun, to stretch the evening a bit longer.
So you slipped into the kitchen, quietly opening one cupboard, then another. You were hoping, maybe, some old forgotten lighter had been tossed in a drawer. A leftover from a guest. Anything. But no luck so far.
You didn’t hear the back door creak open. Didn’t notice the presence behind you until a low voice cut through the quiet.
“What are you doin’?”
You startled, spinning around. Joel stood a few steps inside, the kitchen light casting a warm line across his face. You must’ve looked caught—like a teenager up to something—because his brow lifted in that way of his. That silent judgment.
Normally, he wouldn’t have cared. Would’ve walked right past you without so much as a glance. But not tonight.
He moved to the fridge, opened it like he’d done it a thousand times—which, to be fair, he had—and grabbed a beer. ““What’re you diggin’ through drawers for like that?”’
“Nothing,” you said, crossing your arms like a shield.
He cracked the cap off with one hand, took a long pull, then looked you over again. “Nothin’, huh.”
His voice was skeptical, casual in that way that always grated on your nerves. He didn’t believe you. That much was obvious in the way he leaned back against the counter and just... looked. Waiting.
The stare stretched long between you, hot and heavy like the Texas summer outside.
You didn’t look away. Just stood there, jaw tight, staring back. The message was clear in your eyes:
Why the hell are you still here?
You didn’t want to be the first to break, to move, to let him think he’d gotten under your skin. But at some point, your patience thinned, you just wanted to smoke and unwind. So you walked past him, your every step saying I’m done with this.
You didn’t bother hiding the way your shoulder brushed his slightly on the way out. Didn’t mask the glare you shot up at him as he looked down at you, still leaning there like he owned the place.
You didn’t speak. Didn’t offer a word. Just walked out of the kitchen, your footsteps solid on the hardwood as you made your way to the stairs.
You didn’t look back—but you could feel his eyes on you, lingering, sharp as ever, watching you disappear.
Once in your room, jaw tight and heart still a little too fast, you dropped to your knees by your bag. You were annoyed—annoyed at him, at the whole damn moment—and all you wanted was the comfort of a quiet high. You unzipped the front pocket, fingers digging past receipts and pens, and there it was.
The lighter.
Right where you needed it.
You walked down the stairs slowly, careful with each step, not wanting to draw any attention—especially not from Joel. If he was still brooding in that damn kitchen, you had no interest in crossing paths again.
A quick glance confirmed the coast was clear. No voices. No movement. You slipped through the front door without a sound.
Outside, the night wrapped around you in a warm hush. The air was thick with leftover summer heat, cicadas buzzing low in the distance. You made your way to the old oak tree, the one that had watched over you since childhood, and slid down with your back against its trunk.
The joint was still in your hand, slightly bent from your grip. You brought it to your lips and flicked the lighter you’d grabbed from your bag upstairs.
Nothing.
You tried again. Pressed harder.
Still nothing.
“Fucking really,” you muttered under your breath, jaw clenching as you stared down at the useless plastic.
You shook the lighter, flicked it again, and like a gift from someone above, a blessed spark appeared long enough for you to light your joint. You inhaled, slow and satisfied, the burn calming, the quiet of the night wrapping around you like a weighted blanket.
Then, a voice cut through it.
“You serious right now?”
Your eyes flew open mid-exhale. Joel.
He stood at the edge of the porch, arms crossed over his chest, face shadowed—but the tone was all too clear. Disapproval, plain as day.
You coughed lightly, caught off guard, waving a hand like you could erase the smoke between you. “Jesus, do you ever make a sound when you walk?”
“Didn’t think I needed to,” he said, stepping off the porch, boots crunching against the grass as he came closer. “Didn’t figure I’d catch you hidin’ out here like a damn teenager.”
“Not a teenager anymore,” you shot back, trying to steady yourself, annoyed by the interruption.
“You sure? Then why are you smoking here, hiding from your daddy?” he asked, his tone low, judgment lacing the words.
“Can’t I just want a moment to myself?” you retorted, holding his gaze steady as you took another hit.
Joel didn’t answer right away. Just stood there, arms crossed, eyes flicking down to the joint between your fingers. The judgment was all over his face. If a cigarette would've earned you a lecture from your dad, this? This would light a fuse.
But you didn’t hide it. You didn’t even flinch. Hiding it would’ve meant guilt. It would’ve meant Joel won.
And you weren’t giving him that.
He huffed through his nose, like he couldn’t believe you had the nerve, but wasn’t surprised either. “Y’know he’s gonna smell it the second he steps outside,” he muttered.
“Then maybe he shouldn’t step outside,” you said calmly, shrugging as you brought the joint back to your lips.
“You never admit when you’re in the wrong, do you?” he snapped back, his tone clipped. Joel didn’t like getting talked back to—especially not by you.
You stood up, brushing grass from your dress, chin lifting as you squared up to him.
“Oh my god, Joel. It’s one joint. I’m not twelve anymore,” you said, voice rising with each word. “I drink. I smoke. I do a lot of things.”
That made him pause. His eyes locked on yours, and for a second, it looked like he might ask what exactly those "things" were. You saw it, the curiosity, judgment, maybe even a flicker of something else but he bit it back, jaw clenched.
“Let’s not pretend you’re some saint who’s never touched a joint in your life. Or worse,” you added, eyes narrowing. “We both know that’s not true.”
He took a step closer, slow and sure like he always moved, and before you could react—before you could even take another inhale—his hand reached out. Quick. Firm. He plucked the joint from between your fingers like it was his.
“What the hell—” you started, already ready to snap, but the words caught in your throat when instead of lecturing you, instead of crushing it under his boot like you half-expected, he brought it to his own mouth.
Joel inhaled. Long, steady. The ember flared, lighting up the edges of his face—the hard line of his jaw, the crease in his brow, the scar on his temple..
He stood there, smoke curling from his lips, his eyes half-lidded as he brought a hand up to run through his hair like the weight of the night had finally sunk into his bones. There was more gray than you remembered. At his temples. Scattered through the strands like dust on old wood. He looked… older. In a good way.
You blinked hard. You didn’t want to notice things like that, not about Joel.
“Never seen you smoke before,” you said, trying to cut through the strange haze between you.
“That’s ‘cause I know how not to get caught,” he muttered, taking another pull. Calm. Unbothered.
You scoffed. “Oh, so you’re hiding too? What, scared my daddy’s gonna ground you?”
That pulled the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile, exactly, but close enough to spark something sharp in your chest.
“You’re gettin’ old, you know that?” you said, letting it land like a tease, but there was an edge to it.
He tilted his head, gaze pinning you in place. “Am I now?” he said, voice low, thick with that familiar southern drawl—like honey and gravel. He stepped in just enough that you caught the scent of smoke and the heat from his skin. “Funny, comin’ from the girl sneakin’ off like she’s still seventeen.”
You rolled your eyes. You were starting to think this might be the longest conversation you’d ever had with him.
You reached out, palm up. “You gonna give it back?”
Joel didn’t answer. Not with words.
Instead, he stepped forward—close. Too close. The air shifted instantly, thick with something that wasn’t just smoke or summer heat. His hand lifted, steady, unhurried. And without asking, without a word, he pressed the joint back between your lips.
Your breath hitched. Not just from the inhale—but from him.
His fingers brushed your lower lip, slow and deliberate. Not an accident. Not rushed. Just enough to leave heat in their wake.
You stared up at him, lips parted slightly around the joint. Your heart beat too loud in your chest, but your body stayed still.
He didn’t look away.
Didn’t blink. Didn’t move.
His gaze locked on yours, heavy and unreadable, like he was waiting. Like he was daring you to break the silence first.
But for once, you didn’t.
You took a slow drag. Held it. Exhaled—right between the two of you.
And still, neither of you moved. Joel held your gaze for one long second more.
Then, like a switch flipped, he stepped back, just a half-step, but it felt like miles. The heat between you cooled instantly, and when he spoke again, his voice had that old, familiar edge.
“Well,” Joel said, his eyes flicking over you with that familiar, judgmental gaze, “didn’t even last a day before you were back to your old tricks.”
The words landed sharp, biting in that casual, offhand way only he could manage. Like everything you did was somehow a little wrong, a little too much..
And just like that, there he was—that Joel. The one who couldn’t help but offer a comment about everything. The one who never missed a chance to nitpick, to point out what you were doing wrong.
You scoffed, jaw tight. “There he is,” you muttered, dragging on the joint, blowing out a thick plume of smoke. “Was wonderin’ how long it’d take for the real Joel to show up.”
He raised an eyebrow, his voice low and sharp. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
You took another hit, your thoughts swirling for a moment. You could just let him go, ignore him like you had countless times before. But no, he had to make that damn snarky comment, didn’t he?
You turned to him, the frustration boiling over, and before you could stop yourself, the words came sharp. You stepped in, jabbing a finger into his chest—hard, deliberate. “Always so fucking rude to me. What the hell did I ever do to you?”
He stiffened at your words, clearly not expecting the bite behind them. You poked him again, harder this time. “You never said anything nice to me, never even looked at me like I was a person. Just a damn inconvenience in the way of your ‘good time’ with my dad. So tell me, what did I do to deserve that, huh?”
Joel’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist before your finger could make contact again. His grip was tight, not painful, but enough to stop you in your tracks. His eyes—those goddamn eyes—narrowed as he looked down at you, frustration boiling behind them.
“Come on,” he said, voice low and cutting. “You really wanted me to coddle you? Like your dad does—pretending you don’t make everything harder than it has to be?” He laughed once, bitter and short. “You’ve been a storm since the day I met you. You’ve been acting out your whole damn life, never grateful, always pushing. What, you think that deserves kindness?”
He stepped in closer, the distance between you shrinking, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m not your dad, sweetheart. I don’t have to pretend to care. And I sure as hell didn’t have to put up with you when you couldn’t even take care of yourself. You think I wanted to deal with you?” He gave you a smirk, as if the very thought was laughable.
The bitterness in his voice cut through you like a knife, the words searing with years of unspoken resentment. Maybe you had been a pain in the ass as a kid, always causing trouble, always pushing boundaries. But you were a kid. Yes, your dad worked himself to the bone to provide for you, and you were left trying to figure it out on your own.
You looked up at him, jaw clenched, trying to hold on to the anger that was threatening to slip away.
“You think I asked for any of this?” you snapped back, your voice dripping with contempt. “I didn’t ask for you to come around, either. You think I wanted to be stuck between you and my dad, always the damn inconvenience? Maybe I was just trying to figure out my own damn life. Maybe I didn’t need someone like you breathing down my neck every time I fucked up.”
His eyes flashed at that, but he didn’t move. Didn’t back away.
"Was I just a disappointment to you, then? Is that it?" you spat out, the question lingering in the cold air between you two.
“No,” Joel replied, his voice hard but low, like he was forcing the words through clenched teeth. “You never disappointed me, kid. You were always exactly who I expected you to be.”
It hit you harder than it should have. Those words stung, but you didn’t let it show. You fought to keep your composure, to hold onto that anger that had been building in your chest. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much it hurt.
You yanked your wrist from his grip, the heat of his touch still burning into your skin. “Fuck you, Joel,” you muttered, the words biting as they left your lips. You didn’t give him a second glance as you turned and walked toward the front porch, the weight of his gaze heavy on your back.
The joint had stopped burning, but you didn’t care anymore as you trew it away. You needed a moment to breathe. You went straight to the bathroom, splashing some cold water on your face to shake off the heat of the argument. You stared at yourself in the mirror, frustration building inside you. Fuck him, you thought. Fuck him.
You spritzed some perfume, just in case the lingering scent gave you away, and then walked back down the stairs, your steps purposeful and steady. In the kitchen, you opened the fridge, but it was the bottles on the counter that called to you. You didn’t bother with the beer. Instead, you grabbed whatever whiskey was within reach, pouring yourself a drink and letting the burn settle in your chest.
You walked back toward the backyard, taking slow steps as you made your way to the patio. Your dad was deep in conversation with Frank and Bill, laughing lightly at something one of them had said. When he saw you, his face lit up with a smile.
“I thought you wouldn’t come back,” he said, his voice warm.
“I said I would,” you replied, offering him a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You didn’t feel like explaining much right now.
You found a chair around the table, making sure to settle yourself just far enough from your dad. You didn’t want him to notice anything—the lingering scent or the storm still brewing in your mind. There was no need for him to ask, and no need to bring it up.
Joel wasn’t around the table, and part of you felt a little relief. Maybe he was already on his way home, back to wherever he belonged. But, as if summoned by your thoughts, there he was—appearing from the same way you had come.
"Thought you forgot where the bathroom was," your father teased as Joel slid into the empty chair across from you.
"Not that drunk," Joel muttered, a little too casually, his eyes flicking over to you like he was trying to catch your gaze. But you didn't bite. Instead, you focused on Bill next to you, making small talk, pretending not to notice the tension building in the air.
Your father’s attention shifted to your drink. "Didn't expect you to be a whiskey girl," he remarked with a smile, eyebrows raised.
You shrugged, taking another sip. "It's nice," you replied, your voice nonchalant, though the warmth of the alcohol barely did anything to calm you.
Your father patted you on the shoulder. "Well, finally, something you’ve got in common with Joel, huh? He’s the one who brought it, you know." He looked over at Joel, pride edging his voice. "You should see his collection," he continued, clearly pleased with the fact that you two could now bond over something.
You kept your eyes on your glass, trying to avoid the sharp edge of Joel’s stare, but it didn't escape you—the way your father was so eager to find common ground, any excuse to connect you with Joel. You gave your dad a small, practised smile enough to ease his attention off you. But your eyes caught Joel’s across the table.
He was staring.
Not in the careless, absent way people sometimes do when lost in thought. Joel was watching you, steady, unreadable, like he hadn’t stopped since he sat down. Like the words you’d thrown at him earlier were still echoing somewhere behind his eyes.
You tilted your head just slightly, a silent question or maybe a challenge, and took a slow sip of your drink—intentional, deliberate. His gaze didn’t flinch.
If anything, it sharpened.
Frank leaned forward slightly, swirling the wine in his glass. “So,” he said, glancing at you with a friendly grin, “Happy to be finished with school ?”
You nodded, taking a sip. “Yeah, finally..”
“Damn, time flies,” Bill said, impressed. “Feels like we were just talkin’ about you leavin’. What’d you end up majoring in?”
“Communications,” you said, voice light. “Which is code for ‘I still don’t know what I’m doing with my life.’”
That got a laugh from Frank. “Well, join the club. Took me years to figure out what I wanted, and even then, I changed my mind half a dozen times.”
Your dad beamed quietly, pride flickering behind his eyes. “She’s smart,” he said. “Always has been. Stubborn as hell, but smart.”
You gave him a small smile, choosing not to argue.
“So what about work?” Bill asked. “You stayin’ around here, or just visiting?”
You hesitated for a moment. “I don’t know yet. Thought I’d come back, take a breath before jumping into anything serious.”
There was a pause, and then Frank grinned. “And anyone special back at school—or here—giving you a reason to stay?”
You raised your eyebrows and laughed under your breath, deflecting with a sip of your drink. “Jesus, Frank.”
He held up his hands, grinning. “What? Can’t ask a question?”
Your dad chimed in, playing along. “Hey, pretend I’m not here if it helps.”
You laughed, relaxed. You didn’t mind your dad. The two of you had gotten close, especially in those past years, separated by college. If there had been anyone serious, he’d probably already know.
“No one worth mentioning,” you said after a moment, flicking your eyes back to Frank. “Just me for now.”
Frank gave you a look, all charm and teasing. “I don’t buy that for a second. Pretty thing like you? I bet you left a trail of broken hearts in Chicago.”
You let out a soft laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Eh,” you said lightly, the smile not quite reaching your eyes, “disappointment’s kind of my thing, apparently,” you said, smiling just enough to pass it off as a joke.
Your dad chuckled, clearly not reading the undercurrent. “You? Please. You’re doing just fine.”
But Joel—he wasn’t laughing. He stopped mid-sip, his eyes fixed on you over the rim of his glass. His gaze was sharp, piercing, the silent understanding hanging between you like a weight.
You didn’t acknowledge him. You didn’t have to. You knew he heard it.
You kept the conversation going with Frank, though his words were starting to blur as the alcohol made him a bit more loose-lipped than usual. Bill, ever the more sober one, finally pointed out that it was time for them to head out. Frank, clearly one glass of wine too many, was a little wobbly on his feet, but that didn’t stop him from giving you his signature ruffle on the head. You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at your lips.
“You’re gonna find someone who sees you for who you are, kid,” Frank slurred, his voice filled with an odd mix of affection and drunken sincerity. “You’re too smart, too pretty, not to," Frank said, his voice a little louder than necessary as he nudged you with a playful grin. “Ain’t she, Joel?”
Joel, who had been deep in conversation with your dad, looked up, clearly caught off guard by Frank’s question. "What?"
“She’s pretty, don’t you think?”
You raised an eyebrow, already anticipating the awkwardness that would follow. Frank was a little tipsy, but you knew he didn’t mean any harm. It was just Frank being Frank.
You half-expected Joel to brush it off, mutter something gruff, or look away entirely—anything to avoid the attention. But instead, he met your gaze briefly, his eyes looking you up just for a second, before shifting back to Frank.
“Very pretty,” Joel said quietly, the words not quite as reluctant this time. It was almost as if he couldn’t help it, like Frank’s teasing had pulled it out of him.
“See?” Frank said, giving Joel a playful shove, not realising the undercurrent of tension in the air. “Even Joel says so!”
Joel’s shoulders stiffened slightly, but he didn’t say anything more.
Frank and Bill left, their goodbyes echoing softly as they promised to invite you and your dad for dinner soon. You stayed outside as your dad continued his conversation with Joel about the upcoming game and who was going to host it. The voices of the two men blended into background noise, the hum of the conversation barely registering in your mind. You were half-listening, half-distracted, your thoughts lingering on the anger you’d been holding onto all night.
The burn of the whisky slid down your throat, and without even realizing it, your eyes found Joel. You were still mad at him, the words he’d spoken earlier lodged under your skin. It stung in a way that made it harder to push away. Normally, you would’ve brushed it off, moved on, but tonight, his words had managed to hit deeper than usual. And for some reason, it bothered you more than you were willing to admit.
At first, you looked at him with nothing but irritation, your gaze sharp, unforgiving. The way he leaned back in his chair, so at ease after everything he’d said—it grated on you. But then, without meaning to, your eyes lingered. You noticed how the porch light caught the strands of gray in his hair, more than you remembered. The lines around his eyes were deeper now, the rough stubble along his jaw peppered with silver. And yet, somehow, it suited him. He looked… good. Annoyingly so. That solid kind of good that didn’t come from trying. The kind that made some of your dad’s female friends earlier laugh too loud at his jokes and linger a little too long near wherever he stood.
He shouldn’t have looked good. Not after the shit he said. Not after the way he always made you feel small and in the way.
And then, as if he could feel the weight of your gaze, his eyes found yours.
You hesitated for a second, but didn’t look away. You couldn’t. Not this time. You weren’t going to let him think he had any power over you. Not now. Not ever again.
He held your gaze, serious now, almost as if he was silently asking you what the hell you were looking at. It was like a challenge, an invitation for you to either break or keep going. But you didn’t flinch, didn’t break the connection.
Your dad, oblivious as ever, continued tidying up the table, clearing away the bottles, while he kept talking to Joel. But you didn’t shift your focus. And so, knowing damn well he was watching, a strange boldness crept in, aided by the drinks you’d had. You let your eyes trace him—across his chest, his hands, then slowly, almost instinctively, to his lips.
You took a slow sip of your drink, letting the tension hang in the air, lingering just enough on his lips for him to feel the weight of it. Then, you lifted your gaze back up to his. You saw the way his brows furrowed for a second, his eyes narrowing as if trying to make sense of what you were doing.
In that instant, your dad clapped his hands, breaking the tense silence between you and Joel. Both of you snapped your gaze away, turning towards him.
"I'm busted," he said with a grin, clearly oblivious to the quiet storm that had just passed between the two of you. "I think it's time for me to go to bed. What about you two?"
You raised your drink to him, trying to mask the lingering heat in your chest. "Gonna finish this first, then I'll crash too," you said, voice calm, though your mind was anything but.
Your dad chuckled, giving you a playful look. “Whiskey, huh? Careful, it goes under your skin quickly.” He glanced at Joel, raising an eyebrow. “What about you?”
“I’ll finish my drink too and go,” Joel replied, his voice steady.
Your dad nodded, then walked over to you, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. “So glad you’re here,” he said warmly. You squeezed his hand, smiling up at him, before waving as he turned to head back inside. As he passed Joel, he gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder.
And just like that, the two of you were alone again. Your eyes drifted to the door your dad had disappeared through… then back to Joel—only to find him already watching you.
“It’s rude to stare,” he said casually, but that familiar edge was there—like he was already halfway into a fight.
You scoffed, lifting your glass. “Funny, coming from you.”
Joel raised a brow, slow and deliberate. “What’re you tryin’ to say?”
You didn’t flinch. “That you’ve been staring at me all night. Like you’re tryin’ to set me on fire.”
He took a long sip, unfazed. “And why the hell would I wanna do that?”
You shrugged. “You’re the one who keeps acting like I’m a pain in your ass.”
Joel gave a low, humorless laugh. “Darlin’, you are. Don’t mean I gotta kill you for it.”
You leaned back, a smirk tugging at your lips despite yourself, the word darlin’ echoing like heat under your skin. “How kind of you.. So what do I owe this stare? Full of love and all,” you added, letting the word drag with thick sarcasm.
Joel scoffed, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “Love ain’t exactly the word I’d use.”
“Mm,” you hummed, tilting your head. “Could’ve fooled me.”
He lifted his glass, took another long sip, then set it down with a soft clink—clear as day he was ending the conversation. Funny how he’d been the one to start this fight, but didn’t want to finish it. You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out; pushing his buttons was too tempting to resist.
“Am I really that pretty?” you pressed, leaning forward, voice low. “Is that it? Enough to make you unable to look away?”
You saw the way his jaw twitched before he met your gaze again, his eyes darker than before. In the past, that little tell would’ve tipped you off and you’d have backed down, let him off the hook. But tonight, you didn’t care. If he couldn’t find the decency to be kind, why should you?
“Not gonna answer?” you teased, your voice soft but edged. You lifted the glass in a salute, then drained the last drop.
“Careful.” His voice was low, dangerous and it made your stomach tighten.
“Or what, Miller?” you shot back, setting your empty glass on the table. “Gonna ground me? You’re not my dad, remember.”
With those words, you stood, smoothing the hem of your dress. For a heartbeat, you saw his gaze drop to your bare leg—just a glance—before snapping back up to yours.
“Always gotta be smart, don’t ya?” he called after you, voice rough as you stepped toward the door.
You stopped mid-step, one hand on the doorframe, and turned back. The patio light caught your face just right. Arms crossed, you gave him a small, mocking smile. “Oh, so I’m smart now?” you snapped, tone brittle with sarcasm. “Pretty and smart—what’s gotten into you, Joel? Running out of insults?”
Joel didn’t miss a beat. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his eyes hard. “Don’t push your luck,” he said, his voice low and dry. “I said you were smart, not that you stopped bein’ a brat.”
“Oh, right,” you scoffed. “Because you’re the king of saying exactly what you mean. Never cryptic, never cruel, never hiding behind that goddamn scowl.”
He stood then—slow, deliberate—his glass forgotten on the table behind him. His height always had a way of pressing down on a room, and now, with only the patio light casting long shadows between you, he felt even closer than he was.
“You done?” he asked, low and tight.
“No,” you snapped, taking a step toward him without even thinking. Your heart thudded hard in your chest, but you didn’t let it show. “You’ve been staring at me all night like I’m something stuck to your damn boot, but God forbid I look back. You start shit, and then when I give it back, suddenly I’m the one who’s too much?”
Joel didn’t flinch, didn’t move at first—but you saw it in his jaw, the way it clenched, the way his fingers flexed at his sides like he was holding something in.
He stepped toward you, and the space between you narrowed into something heavy—your skin prickling with heat, not entirely from anger. His voice dropped, rough and controlled, but far from calm.
“Does that mouth ever do somethin’ other than complain?”
The words hit like a slap, and a dare. The way he said it, slow, his voice coiled tight with something darker, something heavier, made your pulse jump.
Your breath caught, not from fear, but from the sudden pulse of heat that curled low in your stomach. Maybe it was the whiskey still humming through your veins, the warmth of it making you bold, reckless. Sober, you never would’ve said what came next.
You looked up at him, stepping in just enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, the space between you now little more than a breath; eyes fixed on his, daring. “Why?” you said, voice low and steady. “You want my mouth to do something else?”
Joel didn’t hesitate. His fingers came up, rough and warm, catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, firm, not gentle. He tilted your face up, forcing you to meet his eyes.
“You wanna play like that, kid?” he muttered, the word kid sounding more like a warning than an insult. “Keep talkin’ like you know what you’re askin' for.”
The word echoed in your head—not just what he said, but how he said it. Low, rough, like gravel under pressure. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just stared, like he was waiting to see if you’d flinch first. Your heart kicked harder against your ribs. You should’ve backed off. Maybe any other night, you would’ve. But the way he was looking at you — like you were the last line he hadn’t crossed — made your mouth move before your brain could stop it.
“Not scared of you,” you said, but the words came out softer than you meant them to.
He leaned in closer, just a breath away, the porch light casting deep shadows over his face. “You should be,” he paused, his eyes dark. ”Get on your knees.”
Your breath hitched at his words, the patio suddenly too quiet. For a second, you weren’t sure you’d heard him right. The heat that rushed between your legs, however, confirmed that you had.
“What?” you asked, your voice a little breathless.
Joel didn’t blink. His gaze stayed locked on yours, unmoving, unreadable. “You heard me, girl,” he said, voice rough, low.
You should have backed off. You knew that. It was Joel, for crying out loud. The one you couldn’t stand. He was your dad’s best friend, your least favourite person in the world. The guy who made you feel small with every sharp word, every lingering glance.
And yet, you sank to your knees. The hand that cupped your chin went to the top of your head, guiding your descent. Joel’s breath became more rugged as you did, never leaving your eyes.
Your knees fell on the cold patio floor, but you didn't care. Joel's gaze was intense, unreadable, yet unmistakably focused on you. His eyes locked onto yours, steady and unwavering, as if he was trying to see right through you. You feel the weight of it pressing in on you, challenging you to see how far you were willing to go.
You didn't want to back down. You looked in front of you, his crotch right there. Your hands quickly moved to unbutton his dark jeans, making them fall to the ground. He was already hard, the fabric straining against his thickness, precum staining the front of his boxer, leaving a print that made your mouth salivate a little more than it should.
Joel was big, of course he was. Broad shoulders, large hands, big cock. It made sense. You would be lying if you said you’d never thought about it. After all, Joel Miller was the better-looking of your dad’s friends. He just happened to be the most annoying.
You brought your mouth closer, letting Joel feel your hot breath on his cock. His hand was still in your hair, a little tug inviting you closer, wordless but clear. Your hand rested on the waistband of his boxer, not taking it off just yet. You could see a bit of his happy trail, his dark hairs inviting you to explore more of his body. You pressed your lips into a small kiss where you could see the print of his tip, earning you a low, guttural groan from Joel. The sound was exquisite, and you already wanted to hear it again. So you pressed a few more kisses, relishing in the small noises he was making. You couldn’t wait to take him in your mouth.
Finally, you took down his boxer, and his throbbing cock stood in front of you. Large, thick. perfect. You swallowed a gasp, realising you’ve never taken one so big in your mouth — or anywhere else for that matter. It only made it more enticing. You looked up to Joel, who had his eyes on you. Waiting, hungry, and he looked way too good in that instant. It made you feel things you didn’t want to think about Joel. Made you want to take a hand between your thighs and deal with the heat that had been pulsing all evening. But later. Now you only wanted to focus on him.
One hand on his thigh, the other finding the base of his length, you looked at him one more time before opening your mouth. Slowly, teasingly, you licked his tip, tasting the glistening precum off him. Salty. Musky. Joel. Then, you pressed your lips around his length, the warmth of your mouth making the man grunt. Knowing you were the one making him moan like this was exhilarating. Powerful even. The need to hear this sound again pushed you to take more of him, inch by inch. You started a steady rhyme, your mouth so full — and you hadn't taken all of him yet.
Joel let out a guttural moan, his hand pushing you further down his length as he thrusted his hips up slightly into your warm, wet mouth. You dared look up to him and saw how his head tilted backwards, the hand that wasn't in your hair on the table behind him, keeping him steady. Fuck, he looked so good and you were the one doing that to him. You clenched your thighs together, feeling a wetness you couldn't take care of right now.
“Fuck, darling…” he groaned, his calloused fingers tightening their grip on your head when you took him a bit deeper, hitting the bak of your throat. The pet name made you moan around his cock without you even realising, the sound vibrating around his cock.
At that, Joel looked down at you, a slow, smug smile spreading across his face. Your nose pressed agasint the base of his cock, your throat bulging obscenely with his girth.
“You like it, don’t you? Choking on my dick like that ?” He asks, his voice rough, almost breathless. His eyes darkened with something primal, something hungry, and it sent a shiver down your spine so sharp it left your skin buzzing. You nodded on his cock without even realizing. “Of course you fucking do, you mouthy little thing.”
He started to thrust harder, faster, driven by the thrill of having you here, worshipping his cock like it was your sole purpose. You had sucked dick before, sure. It was something you enjoyed, making your partner come undone with only your mouth. College had been the right place to experience it, but you never had your throat fucked like that. And you liked it more than you thought was possible.
“You take me so good, baby, “ Joel praises you, his voice heavy, taking in the sight of you, the way you are so eager on his cock, and the feeling shouldn't feel so good. You looked up at him, your eyes, your lips stretching around him, your eyes watering slightly as you take him as deep as you can. “F-fuck…” he curses, his breath ragged, as he watches himself disappear inside you inch by inch.“Gonna make me cum doin’ that. Are you gonna be perfect for me and swallow like a good girl ?”
The answer came in the way of a whimper you couldn’t stop, causing Joel to chuckle darkly as an acknowledgement. He picks up the pace and, with a final, hard thrust, Joel buries himself deep in your throat, coming in a strangled moan that sounds very much like your name.
And so there you were—knees on the cold patio floor of your dad’s house, lips still tingling and your mouth full of cum. Joel Miller, the man you despised, was standing in front of you, his chest rising with rough, uneven breaths. His hand was still tangled in your hair, idly, almost possessively, like he hadn’t decided to let go yet. He looked down at you, and you swallowed under the weight of his gaze. His eyes dragging over your mouth, down your throat, and finally meeting yours again, his breathing just beginning to steady. Then, he loosened his grip in your hair, allowing you to move from him, a strand of cum and saliva connecting your swollen lips to the tip of his softening cock. The sight of you—lips parted, breath shaky, eyes still wide—made Joel chuckle, low and dark. There was no humor in it, not really. Just heat. Satisfaction.
He helped you back up, his touch steady, almost too gentle after everything. You wobbled for a moment, heart still racing, and smoothed your dress with shaky fingers, eyes avoiding his like they might burn. The silence was deafening as he pulled back his clothes. You couldn’t even look at him, not really—not with the feel of his dick still lingering in your mouth, the taste of him still not gone. The air felt colder now. Or maybe it was you, sobering fast under the weight of everything that just happened.
But before you could say anything, his thumb slid over your lips once more. Just like earlier with the joint, but this time it wasn’t casual. This time it lingered, drawing a painfully slow line against your skin. His eyes were fixed on your mouth, dark with something primal, an intensity that made your breath hitch. It was like he could still feel you there, still feel the way you had taken him so well, so eager. And from the smug tilt of his lips, it was clear he liked it.
Summary: Feelings grow, along with some insecurities.
Warnings: language, age gap, food and alcohol consumption, cigarette use, weed mentioned, jealousy/possessiveness, mutual pining, secret relationship, smut (18+ MDNI), dubcon due to reader being tipsy, oral (m!receiving), unprotected piv sex (reader is on bc), multiple orgasms
WC: 9.4K
Part One | Part Two | Part Three
I'll be at dad's tomorrow afternoon...
Joel glances at the timestamp and makes a face — you sent that text nearly two hours ago but the buzzsaw in his ear all morning kept him from hearing his phone. He leans into his truck and grabs his cooler without looking, then kicks the door closed.
That so?
His boots crunch over the dusty gravel as he makes his way to the shade where Tommy and the rest of his crew had set up a quiet place to eat lunch. He hears their voices in the distance but his eyes are glued to his phone, waiting for those three little dots to appear. An unwilling smile stretches across his face when he finally sees them, then—
Will I see you around?
Joel presses his lips together the closer he gets to his crew. The last thing he needs is them noticing the dopey look on his face.
Just might find the time to return some tools I borrowed from your old man
Who was he kidding? He had nothing going on that weekend. With Sarah still in Spain and Tommy going on some date, his only plans were to shuffle around the house in the hopes you'd keep him entertained, one way or another.
Looking forward to it. Wear something slutty.
He can't stop the loud bark of laughter that slips past his lips and it catches Tommy's attention.
Whatever you want sweetheart ;)
Joel pockets his phone with a smile still tugging at his cheeks when he plops down next to Tommy in the grass. He's instantly met with pain and his smile falls.
"Shit," he winces, rubbing his knee for a moment before sliding open his lunch cooler.
"Need some ibuprofen?"
Joel nods and Tommy begins to rummage in his pocket for the small, worn plastic bottle. He deposits two orange tablets into Joel's palm and he pops them into his mouth.
"Lookin' forward to that date of yours?" Joel asks as he unwraps his sandwich. Tommy grins around a mouthful of cold pasta.
"Third date. Goin' pretty well so far. I like her."
"Where'd you meet her?" one of the other men ask.
"Bar. Eddy's."
"You picked up a girl from Eddy's?" someone else laughs. Joel smirks and keeps his head down.
"Why the hell not?" Tommy shoots back defensively.
"That place is a shithole, Tom," he replies. "You ain't findin' the love of your life at Eddy's."
"Who says I'm lookin' for the love of my life?"
"You're gettin' up there. Thought you'd wanna settle down some day. Get yourself a woman who can make you real food instead of cold fuckin' spaghetti."
After a ripple of laughter and a few harmless elbows to Tommy's side, he shakes his head with a grin.
"What're you gettin' on me for? Joel's older."
"And Joel's doin' just fine, thank you very much," Joel interjects on his own behalf before any of the others can speak.
"Not with that shitty sandwich, you ain't," Tommy teases.
"What's wrong with my sandwich?"
"It ain't homemade fried chicken and rice," says Hector, holding up his plate. "My lady woke up at four thirty this morning and made it fresh for me."
Joel and Tommy glance around at the rest of the men eating similarly hearty lunches and, yeah... leftover pasta and a ham sandwich suddenly didn't look so great.
"Well... small price to pay to not get nagged for watchin' a ball game with a few beers when I get home," Tommy grumbles around another bite.
"Nah, man. Carm's my rock. Life's so much better comin' home to someone who loves you."
A beat of silence passes through the group. Joel expected someone to pipe up and make fun of Hector for being so uncharacteristically sentimental, but the others remain quiet.
Until Tommy jumps back in.
"That so? She know you're whistlin' at every college girl that's walkin' by?"
A low oooooohhhhh followed by soft laughter makes Joel grin.
Hector waves him off dismissively. "That ain't anything. She knows I'd never step out on her. We all do that."
"I ain't whistlin' at college girls," Tommy shoots back. "At least the girl from Eddy's is my age. You won't ever catch me messin' 'round with someone that young."
The other members of the crew shake their heads and turn back to their lunches, but Joel finds himself pausing halfway through his sandwich.
"Perverts," Tommy mumbles so only Joel can hear.
"What's, uh—" Joel clears his throat and pretends to focus on something else in his cooler. "What's too young, y'think?"
"Huh?"
Joel shrugs, eyes still cast down. "Y'know. Like you said—"
"Oh," Tommy says when he pieces it together. He leans back and thinks about it for a second. "I dunno. More than ten years younger?"
Joel's stomach sinks. He had more years than that on you.
"The hell I got in common with a twenty year old, anyway?" Tommy adds.
Joel bit the inside of his cheek. He has plenty in common with you. You like the same movies, you have a similar sense of humor, and you even like most of the music he listens to. You aren't crazy about sports but he had been fantasizing lately about taking you to a baseball game and changing your mind.
He loves hearing you talk about photography or work or your friends. Really anything you're passionate about. He could sit there for hours listening to you talk about absolutely nothing and be perfectly content.
That's enough... right?
"What if she's, y'know..." Joel says, hoping to sound casual. "What if she's more mature for her age or — somethin'."
Tommy glances idly in his direction and Joel's cheeks being to warm.
"You seein' someone?"
Tommy asks it quietly enough so the others can't hear, but Joel still vehemently denies it.
"No, no. Nothin' like that. Just makin' conversation, is all."
Tommy studies him for a moment, watching the way Joel's jaw clenches and his eyes dart guiltily in every direction except his own. He's not stupid. He can tell when his own brother is lying, but he also knows not to bring it up in front of the men who work for him. So he tucks it away, deciding to let it go and bring it up another time. Maybe when he can drag his brother to a bar and get some assistance from whiskey to loosen his lips.
---
You sat on your dad's back porch, hunched over in the shade. A clean towel is spread out in front of you and resting on top are delicate pieces of the camera you're currently tinkering with.
It's an older model, a Nikon FM-10. You bought it for a steal at a thrift shop after determining all it needed was a few new parts and a good cleaning.
Now you just had to put the damn thing back together again.
"What'cha workin' on?"
Joel's deep, familiar voice comes out of nowhere, nearly making you drop the camera.
"Geez, you scared me," you say, turning to him with a scowl that quickly slips off your face when you see what he's wearing. He smirks when he notices your greedy eyes slowly drift down to take in the blue striped linen button up shirt he had picked out that morning.
Only he had left three buttons undone, just for you.
"Take a picture, it'll last longer," he teases.
You swallow dryly and force your eyes back up.
"Wish I could but I'm still putting the damn thing together."
Joel shrugs and leans casually against the deck railing, pretending to examine the siding of your dad's house. Your eyes drop back to the generous amount of chest he left exposed and you bite your lip, wishing you could stand up and drag your tongue across his tanned skin.
"Nice shirt," you finally murmur. The corners of his mouth twitch. He catches your eye and shoots you a wink.
"Told me to dress slutty."
You giggle and the sound makes his heart skip a beat.
"Hey, Miller."
Your laughter is cut short when you turn to find your dad stepping out from the sliding glass door.
"Hey, yourself," Joel replies, sounding just as cool and relaxed as he looks.
"What brings you by?"
Your dad steps around your towel and you make a face, fearful he might misstep and break something important.
"Saw your truck in the driveway. Figured I could drop those tools off you let me borrow."
Your dad nods when Joel points to the saw and drill he left at the bottom of the deck stairs.
"Yeah, thanks. You stickin' 'round for lunch? I got burgers."
"Uh, sure. That sounds good. I ain't interrupting anythin', am I?" Joel asks. Your dad shakes his head and strolls down the steps.
"Nah. Just got back from the hardware store with this one," he says, jutting a thumb over his shoulder towards you. "Now she's just fiddlin' with some Polaroid somethin'-or-other."
"It's a Nikon," you correct him quickly.
"Whatever it is can't take a better picture than this right here," your father says while holding up his phone. You frown and shake your head before focusing back on the last few remaining pieces. "Can I get you a beer, Joel?"
"Yeah, thanks."
When your dad disappears into the garage with the retuned tools, you and Joel instantly lock eyes.
"You look real pretty, darlin'," he says lowly. You grin and feel your cheeks warm.
"Thanks," you whisper, then add even quieter, "I miss you."
The smile on his face must have looked ridiculous.
God, he was so fucked.
"Miss you too, baby," he murmurs, fingers fidgeting restlessly on the railing, itching to touch you. His eyes slide up and down your frame. The smoldering look he gives you sends a shiver down your spine and in that moment you would give anything to be alone with him, just for ten minutes. "What're you doin' later? Can I come by?"
You open your mouth to answer then clamp it shut when you catch sight of your dad exiting the garage with two chilled bottles of beer.
Your focus goes back to the camera, shaky fingers desperately trying to maneuver little springs and screws so you could finish assembling the damn thing already.
"C'mon, why don't you help me out with the grill." Your dad eyes up Joel's shirt for seemingly the first time when he hands him a beer. "Careful not to get anythin' on that. Looks new."
You keep your gaze trained on the camera in front of you, biting your lower lip to keep your smile in check when you hear Joel stammer some neutral response as he follows your dad into the garage.
---
Even if you couldn't drape your leg across Joel's lap or wipe the ketchup from the corner of his mouth like you wanted, it was still enough to just be near him in some capacity. You still are able to admire the way his smile made his eyes light up and find comfort in his deep, soft voice next to you.
It almost feels like a date. That is, if your dad wasn't there.
It's nice enough in the shade, so you seize the opportunity to eat outside. Your refurbished Nikon came in handy after you devoured your burger because Joel and your father wouldn't shut up about football. Or maybe it was basketball. Either way, it's boring, so you load film into your camera and test the zoom on some nearby potted plants. The shutter caught their attention and ends up causing a lull in the less than riveting conversation.
"Hey, you got it up 'n runnin' again," Joel says warmly. You peek at him over the lens and grin at the look of pride he gives you.
"Look at that. Way to go, kid," your father adds while wiping his mouth with a napkin.
"Thanks," you reply to them both before quickly turning and bringing the camera to your face. "Cheese," you grin after snapping a picture of your dad mid-chew.
He groans and rolls his eyes.
"Delete that."
"Can't. It's film."
Then just as quickly, you spin and snap Joel's picture. He just chuckles and keeps looking at you in that way that makes your heart flutter and your knees weak. For a second, it's like your father isn't even there. Until he says—
"Where was this smile earlier at the hardware store?"
Your face instantly drops then you rest the camera on the table and pin your dad with a look.
"What's that mean?" Joel asks when neither of you speak. Your dad sighs and takes a swig of his beer before answering.
"Took her to Jeff's. His boy... Luke, you remember—"
Joel nods and already feels a lump forming in his throat.
"Anyway. He was tryin' to talk to her, bein' real nice. Funny, smart... good lookin' guy. But this one couldn't get outta there fast enough," he says, jutting his chin in your direction. You're fiddling with the camera, avoiding both their gazes.
Joel hums and tries to stifle the swell of emotion rising in his chest.
"I don't need you setting me up with anyone, Dad," you mutter, shooting him a glare.
"Wasn't settin' you up." He raises his hands in the air in surrender. "Just thought it'd be nice for you two to catch up."
You roll your eyes, cheeks burning under Joel's intense stare next to you. Briefly, your thoughts flicker back to the last time Joel offered his opinion about Luke and you shift a little in your seat.
"Wouldn't hurt to keep your options open," he adds as he stands with a grunt to dispose of his plate. "Has this other boy you're tellin' me you're interested in even taken you out?"
Thank god your dad's back is turned because the embarrassment painted across your face must be painfully obvious. Even Joel's cheeks begin to tint as he adjusts uncomfortably in his chair. Unbeknownst to you, you're both silently reflecting on the realization that you've never been out on a date. Not that you didn't want to — but the lines of your relationship have blurred to the point where neither of you really knew how to define it. Were you technically dating? Were you monogamous? Is this still just a fling or was there something more?
You knew how you felt but have always chickened out asking Joel for his thoughts, too worried about ruining a good thing.
"That's nobody's business," you finally mumble. You suddenly become extremely interested in tearing up your napkin into teeny tiny pieces.
Your dad joins you again with two fresh beers — one for him and one for Joel. He must sense your discomfort and sighs.
"All I want is f'you to find someone who makes you just as happy as your mama made me," he tells you softly. Your cheeks feel like they're on fire.
"Daaad..." you whine, hoping he gets the hint and drops it. He glances at Joel and it clicks.
"Alright, alright, I'll let it go," he says. You breathe a sigh of relief but still shrink a little as you pull out your phone and pretend to busy yourself with something else. It's hard not to notice how silent Joel had been throughout the entire conversation. It has your heart thudding nervously in your chest, wondering what was going through his head.
"You gotta get goin' soon?"
Your eyes flicker up to your dad, then back to the time.
"Uh, yeah," you say, remembering your plans. You briefly look at Joel, who's busy picking at the label on his bottle. "I gotta shower and get ready, Chelsea's picking me up at seven."
Finally, Joel steals a glance in your direction and clears his throat.
"Big plans?"
You're both thinking the same thing — Joel's earlier request to stop by your apartment later was still left unanswered.
Regretfully, you explain, "One of my friends is going through a break up so a few of us are taking her out for dinner and drinks."
He nods and only you happen to catch the look of disappointment in his eyes before he blinks it away. You bite your lip and turn to your dad.
"Thanks for lunch," you tell him, standing to gather your camera and phone. He nods around a sip of his beer.
"Anytime, kiddo."
You offer Joel a wave and he gives you brief nod before refocusing on your father. It makes your heart sink a little to just leave without him kissing you goodbye, like you want.
As you walk to your car, you hear their voices picking up where they left off with their earlier conversation, but something tells you Joel's mind is somewhere else entirely.
---
"I fucking hate men!"
You and Chelsea exchange amused, tired looks at Liv's latest outburst. She's fucking hammered. You lost count of the shots an hour ago and you're grateful dinner consisted of pasta and bread because if it had been anything lighter, your head would be in the toilet by now.
"C'mon, not all men are ba-"
Gina hiccups next to you and the four of you dissolve into a fit of giggles.
"Bad! I was gonna say — not all men are bad!"
"Shut up," Liv whines with a sad pout. "We all know you're madly in love, don't rub it in."
Gina blushes and tries to hide her grin behind her glass, but Liv catches it and narrows her eyes before looking in your direction.
"Help me out," she pleads with you, leaning across the table so she could be heard over the music coming from the live band in the back of the bar. "We're th'single ones now. We gotta stick t'gether."
The end of her sentence mushes together in her drunken haze and you have to reach over to brush her hair away from spilled beer pooling on the table.
You linger for a second, unsure what to say as all your earlier questions about Joel and your relationship come back to haunt you. Your hesitation unfortunately doesn't go unnoticed.
"Do not even fuckin' tell me..."
Liv looks like she's about to flip the table when she and the other girls piece it together. Quickly, you shake your head and wave her off.
"No, no, it's nothing — nothing serious," you say. And it's not. Wanting what you had to be serious is different and technically not a lie.
"Well, who the fuck is it?" Chelsea demands, looking offended this is the first she's hearing of a new guy in your life. You swallow and try to sort through your foggy thoughts: it was imperative you didn't reveal something you'll regret in the morning, but it was getting so late and you were feeling really fucking good.
"It's just — he's just some... some guy I met a long time ago," you say slowly, doing your best to be careful. You take a sip from the drink in front of you and try not to make a face — it was almost empty and the bartender didn't mix it well, leaving all the alcohol for the end.
"Yeah, and does this guy have a name?"
You roll your eyes at Gina's question but you can't stop the lazy smile from stretching across your face.
"He does, but I'm not telling you freaks anything. You'll have his goddamn... social security number or... whatever... in an hour."
You look down at your phone for the time just to find a text from Joel almost an hour ago. You bite your lip and pray your friends don't pick up on your excitement at simply seeing his name.
"Well, okay. So it's some guy you've known for a'while," Liv says, counting off the clues on her hand, "'n he's got a social security number. Anythin' else?"
You giggle and leave Joel's text unopened, deciding to save it for later when you have some privacy.
"Um, well..." you begin, playfully tapping your chin as you pretend to think. "He's funny and sweet and treats me like I'm a queen."
"Please tell me he's got'a pencil dick," Liv says with a jealous scowl. You feel your cheeks heat up and you press your lips into a tight line, trying your best to keep yourself from grinning like a fool, but it's no use. The entire table groans in unison.
"You better lock that shit down," Gina says, jabbing you in the ribs with her finger.
"It's not like that," you tell them, draining the rest of your glass. "It's just casual."
"Yeah well, pickings are fuckin' bleak out here," Liv tells you, "might wanna rethink jus' how casual this situationship is."
Chelsea scans the bar, which is somehow still insanely crowded considering how late it is. Then a devilish smile pulls at her cheeks and she grabs Liv's shoulders, forcibly twisting her around and pointing in the direction of a tall, fit guy leaning against the bar and dragging his long fingers through wavy brown hair.
"I spot your rebound," Chelsea says mischievously in her ear. You saw the glint in Liv's eye — it was game on.
"'Scuse me, ladies," she says while fluffing up her hair and fixing her dress. You laugh when she hikes up the hem and wiggles her hips for your amusement. "I might've spoke too soon," she adds, tossing a wink in your direction before sashaying across the bar towards her new target.
"You're in charge of her," Gina says, pointing at Chelsea.
"What? Why?" she exclaims.
"Why?" Gina repeats, eyebrows raised. "You just sent a shark out into the water after some fresh blood!"
"I was trying to be helpful! She's miserable!" Chelsea has her hands on her hips and makes a face when she notices Liv pulling up a barstool next to her tall and handsome stranger. She was settling in.
"Yeah and now it's on you to make sure that guy doesn't murder her because Sean's here and I'm going home," Gina says, scooping up her purse and keys before blowing you both a kiss.
It's only after she disappears that you remember Chelsea's your ride and you really, really don't feel like staying at the bar until last call.
"I'm just gonna get an uber." You pick up your phone, declining Chelsea's pleas to stay before reminding her that her boyfriend promised to stop by and join once he got out of work. But when you went to open your phone, you saw the notification from Joel still waiting for you.
"I'm just gonna get some fresh air," you tell Chelsea. She nods and scoots up to the bar to get herself another drink while you slink your way through the throngs of people and step outside.
The air has a bit of a chill to it, but it feels good on your skin. The bar was crowded and hotter than you realized, so you find an empty bench to sit and read Joel's text.
Hope you're having fun. Let me know when you get home safe.
You could call an uber. You should call an uber. It's late and Joel is most definitely asleep. But it's been a week since you've been alone with him and after talking him up to your friends, you realize you really fucking miss him.
So you tap the small picture of his smiling face and then the call button before you can talk yourself out of it.
He answers after four rings.
"What's wrong?"
You instantly feel guilty. His voice sounds thick and sleepy with a dash of panic.
"Nothing," you answer quickly, "nothing, I'm — I'm fine. I'm good. Real good."
"Scared me," he sighs, and you can imagine him scrubbing a hand down his face.
"Sorry," you say softly.
"S'okay, darlin'. What's goin' on?" he asks. He sounds so gentle now that the fear is gone that you close your eyes just to imagine he's sitting next to you.
"Nothing. Just... thinking about you. Wanted to hear your voice."
You stare down at the sidewalk under your feet, but you don't really see it. You're picturing Joel sprawled out on his bed in the dark without a shirt on. You've seen it before, it's easy to imagine, and you miss it.
"You home?"
You shake your head. "No. I was about to order an uber but saw your text..."
You trail off, not really sure where you were going with that line of thought. Well, you did know, you just didn't want to say.
"Lemme come get you," he says.
"No, Joel. It's late, you're already asleep—"
"I'm up." You hear the sheets rustling in the background and then the lamp turn on next to his bed. "Where are you? I'll take you home. Don't want you gettin' a ride from some stranger."
You bite back your smile, absolutely adoring the sound of his voice, the protective hint behind his words.
"I'm at Eddy's."
He pauses on the other end, then chuckles.
"What?" you ask curiously.
"Nothin'. Long story," is all he says, then, "I'll be there in fifteen."
"Okay," you agree. You stay on the phone til he has to hang up so he can focus on driving, then look around. The front of the bar is relatively quiet now. Just a handful of smokers and one guy leaning up against the building looking like he just puked his guts out.
You close your eyes and breathe deep. The alcohol is slowly wearing off. Your vision isn't as wobbly but you still find yourself giggling uncontrollably over a bumper sticker that says I brake for whale tails.
You'll feel it tomorrow, but right now you feel pretty damn good.
Before you forget, you pull your phone back out and text Chelsea that your uber is almost here, and she answers quickly with the promise to chat tomorrow.
Just as you're pocketing your phone, you hear your name and you perk up.
"Sal, hey!"
You see Chelsea's boyfriend heading in your direction with a lit cigarette hanging from his mouth. You grin and stand to give him a hug, then blanch at the smell.
"You reek like fried food, weed, and menthol."
He laughs and lets you go just as a pair of headlights sweep across the parking lot.
"Chels doesn't mind. Hey, you need a ride?" he asks with a frown when he realizes you're alone. You are about to reply when a sharp beep catches your attention.
"Uh, no. That's my... that's my uber," you lie, pointing in the direction of Joel's truck.
"You sure?"
You nod and begin to walk across the lot.
"Yeah, I'm good. Tell Chelsea to make Liv drink some goddamn water!" you shout as you put some distance between you and him.
Sal says something in response that you can't hear, then disappears inside the bar.
You raise a hand up to shield your eyes from Joel's headlights, then jog over to the passenger side and yank open the door.
"Hey," you say breathlessly after you climb in. Before you buckle your seatbelt, you twist in your seat and shoot him a grateful smile. He looks tired — his hair is disheveled and you can tell he just pulled on the first shirt and pair of pants he saw, but he looks happy to see you.
"You're drunk, honey," he scolds, but his eyes glimmer and his mouth twitches in amusement.
You giggle and stretch across the console. When your lips finally press against his, you hum softly, content to feel his mouth on yours once again.
You flick your tongue over the seam of his mouth and you feel him hesitate before groaning and pulling away.
"What? What's wrong?" you breathe, still staring at his lips.
He shakes his head and glances out the windshield. "Nothin'. Let's get you home."
You frown but slowly retreat to your side of the cab. He watches you fumble with the buckle for a moment, then shifts his truck into drive before backing out of the parking lot and onto the dark, quiet backroads of Austin.
"Sorry I woke you up," you say after a few minutes of silence.
"Don't be. Glad you called," he replies with eyes still fixed on the road.
You study him for a moment, trying to decide if your boozy haze was making you believe something was wrong, or if he really was put off for some reason. It was hard to tell.
"Who was the guy?"
There it is, you think.
You smile and roll the back of your head back and forth against the seat.
"Chelsea's boyfriend."
His shoulders relax and you can't help but add, "Why? Jealous?"
His dark eyes snap to yours once, quickly, then they're back on the road.
"Never said that."
"You don't have to be, y'know," you say bravely. He holds his breath for a second until you clarify. "Jealous, I mean. You don't have to be jealous. I'm only seeing you."
The corner of his mouth curls into a smile and his grip on the steering wheel loosens a bit.
"You look pretty."
You hear the shift in his tone. It's back to being soft and sweet, just for you, but you notice he fails to offer anything about his own dating life.
"No, I looked pretty earlier," you correct him, "now my hair went flat, I'm sweaty, and my makeup must look like shit."
He grins, then chuckles under his breath.
"Still look pretty."
The warmth in his eyes when he gives you a look at a red light has your breath catching in your throat.
"I like that you think of me if you need somethin'," he admits. You swallow and blink slowly, desperately trying to commit what he's saying to memory so you can replay it tomorrow and search for a deeper meaning. "I want you to do that. I wanna be there f'you."
"Yeah," you whisper, then the light switches from red to green. "Yeah, me too."
He turns his attention to the road, satisfied with your response.
It isn't exactly putting a label on your relationship, but it still makes you feel warm and giddy the rest of the drive home.
---
Joel has never had the chance to really look around your apartment. Whenever he's been there in the past, it's always felt rushed and typically spent in your bedroom. But right now, you're in the shower, washing off the evening while he's been wandering around your space. He's already examined the countless framed photos you have decorating your living room; some are of your friends and family, but most are objects or landscapes you've photographed and felt proud enough of to hang on your wall.
He made a mental note to compliment you on them when you come out of the bathroom before he moves into the kitchen and flicks the lights on. He pulls a clean glass from your cupboard and goes to fill it with water, knowing you'll need to hydrate before bed when he spots some formal looking documents pinned to your fridge.
Joel sets down the glass and plucks the papers from under the magnet shaped in the state of Texas to look at them closer.
"Hey."
He spins around with the papers still in his hand when he hears your voice, all raspy and sore from drinking and shouting with your friends.
"Hey," he says, eyes drifting down when he notices the oversized shirt you chose to wear.
It's just a plain white shirt with a Blue Moon logo on the left breast, a shirt he got for free years ago, but he recognized it as his instantly. One he didn't realize he was missing until that moment. And it doesn't help that your wet hair is beginning to make the fabric translucent around your shoulders.
"Hope you don't mind," you say, shyly fiddling with the hem. He shakes his head numbly and swallows when he notices your lack of sleep shorts.
"Looks better on you, anyway."
You grin and bite your lip, then your gaze drops to the papers in his hands. He blinks and snaps out of it before holding them up.
"Sorry. I was—"
"It's okay," you tell him. You pad over to take them from his hands. "I'm not telling Dad. It's just one night class twice a week for three months," you explain, glancing down at the partially filled out paperwork for your local community college. "I want to take one course, and if I like it and do well, maybe he'll understand."
"I think that's a good idea," he says, and the way you look up at him with your eyes all big and soft and happy makes his stomach flip.
"You do?"
"Yeah. I think you'll do great, too," he adds. "I was just lookin' at your pictures. You got a real talent, sweetheart. You deserve to do somethin' that makes you happy."
You smile and slowly rest the papers on the counter. Casually, you lean forward a bit, taking a small step towards him. He watches you with an amused expression as your gaze drifts lazily across the slopes of his shoulders and chest. His shirt is a little wrinkled and for some reason it makes you smile wider.
"Well, since you're already here and it's so late," you begin with another playful step forward, "do you wanna have a sleepover?"
His laugh rumbles deep in his chest and when you see the way his smile reaches his eyes, making the dark brown shine with flecks of gold, your heart skips a beat.
"Drink this," he says, handing you the glass of water he filled up. You frown but take it from his outstretched hand anyway.
"If I do, will you stay?"
He tsks and gently taps the bottom of your glass.
"I'll stay, but we're just sleepin'."
The glass is halfway to your lips when you stop.
"Why?"
"You're shitfaced, darlin'," he reminds you with a raised eyebrow. You scoff and shake your head before taking a long drink.
"No, I'm not," you finally say when you come up from air. Then an ill-timed hiccup makes him tilt his head knowingly at you and you roll your eyes.
"It was the water. I'm fine," you insist. Then you take a few steps back, hold your arms out at your sides, and begin to walk in a steady, straight line while touching your nose with alternating hands. The hem of his shirt skims the tops of your thighs, exposing the fabric of your underwear. His stomach tightens.
"See?" you announce triumphantly when you make it all the way back to Joel without stumbling.
"Impressive," he says dryly.
"I know."
He grins and brushes past you, ignoring the way your shoulders roll back to draw more attention to your chest.
"C'mon, let's get you to bed," he calls after he disappears inside your bedroom. You pout, drink the rest of your water, and shuffle after him.
At first, you settle for curling up next to him after he sheds his shirt and jeans and slips underneath your covers with a tired sigh. But his warmth is too comforting and his scent too intoxicating, so your leg eventually slots between his and the hand on his chest seems to drift lower, like it has a mind of its own. When your fingertips brush against the sensitive skin above his boxers, you hear him inhale sharply in the dark and grab your wrist.
"We don't gotta—"
He stumbles over his words when your lips find the hollow of his throat. You feel him swallow roughly then you shift your hips, lightly grinding against his thigh.
"I— I didn't—"
He tries again and fails when his grip loosens and your fingers slip past his waistband.
"Honey, I didn't — didn't come get you just for—"
"I know," you murmur. You hook your leg around his waist and pull yourself up so you're straddling him. He grunts and his hands fly to your hips, holding you still. You let out of a whine of protest, then he lightly swats at your ass underneath your shirt. You yelp and giggle, fold your body forward, and resume your assault on his neck.
His body sags in defeat. Deep down, he knew he never stood a chance. It had been a long week and he was desperate to feel close to you again. So he didn't try to stop you when you pulled his boxers down his legs, followed closely by your own panties. Through heavy lidded eyes, he watches as you strip your shirt — his shirt — off, and fling it to the floor, leaving you both completely bare.
He rakes his eyes slowly up and down, taking in every inch of your body before meeting your gaze again.
"Y'so beautiful, baby."
Even through your slightly drunken haze, you realize that nobody has ever made you feel the way Joel Miller makes you feel. It's the way he says it that has your heart jumping into your throat. He sounds awestruck, like he can't believe he's not dreaming. And even though he's fully hard and twitching ever so slightly against his belly, you're willing to bet money he would be perfectly content just laying next to you all night without doing anything more.
You crawl up the bed, over his legs, and pause right at his waist.
"I talked about you tonight," you admit with a sly grin. His cock twitches again and your eyes drop down. Should you even be admitting that?
"Don't worry. I didn't tell them your name or anything," you assure him.
Joel grins when you settle onto your forearms, bracing them on either side of his hips.
"Yeah?"
It's a feeble response, but he can't offer much else. Not with your perfect fucking mouth so close to his cock.
"Mhm," you say, lowering yourself down and flicking your tongue over his tip. You hear him inhale and do it again. "Thought about you a lot, too."
He groans and throws his head back into your pillow as your lips wrap around him. Beside you, his fingers curl around your sheets, tightening his grip the further you take him into your mouth.
"Oh, fu-uk," Joel pants above you. The broken sound of his voice only spurs you on, taking him deeper until he nudges the back of your throat.
He's big, but you manage to take at least half of him. Your fingers do the rest, curling around the base, fist moving in rhythm with your mouth.
"Christ, you gotta— shit, d-don't, wait—"
Your neck aches from how you hold yourself up, bobbing up and down on his cock. It's a little sloppy, but you don't care. You're craving the salty taste of him, wishing he would spill down your throat and give you what you want.
His hand finds the back of your head, fingers tangle in your hair, and he lifts his hips ever so slightly, making you gag. You don't pull away, you recover and keep going, keep hollowing out your cheeks and taking him as deep as you can. You can practically feel your pulse between your legs with how turned on you are, how fucking soaked and ready you are for him, but you keep going because he deserves to have something be just for him.
The noises he makes for you is worth the burn in your throat and jaw. He sounds like he's in absolute bliss every time you suck him back into your mouth. Your saliva pools around your fist and you drag it down, coating his cock with slippery warmth every time you work him up and down.
Every twitch, every throb, every moan makes you work faster, harder, until his fingers tighten around your hair and he roughly yanks you off him.
You're both a mess. Your eyes are watery, face hot and mouth sticky. His chest is sweaty and heaving, eyes wild and fiery as he stares down at you.
"Get up here."
Three words spoken at a low octave you never heard before tumble from his mouth. It has an ache pulling between your legs so deep, it makes you moan.
You do as he says. You clamber up and settle over his hips once again. His spit coated cock rests comfortably between you, spreading your folds and pressing against your clit while you both take a second to catch your breath.
"Dirty fuckin' girl," he groans when you begin to slide up and down. You grin and keep going. His eyes are pinned low, where you're grinding down on the underside of his cock.
"Got this wet just from suckin' on my dick, hm?"
You nod and keep moving, gasping when the tip of his cock catches on your clit. He splays his hands wide over your ass, clutching you close and helping you move.
The friction is exquisite but it's not what you want. Still, you slowly rock forward, roll your head back and sigh towards the ceiling. You're desperate to have him inside you but you know by now he needs a few minutes to calm down.
"So pretty like this," he murmurs softly. You drop your chin forward and open your eyes. His fingers lightly trace up your sides, admiring each curve and imperfection in their path. He looks utterly enraptured, like he's gazing upon a piece of art or a stunning view from a high rise. Your cheeks burn but your heart flutters from his attention and you can't remember the last time anyone made you feel so attractive.
"Bet you say that to all the girls."
You're teasing, obviously. The moment felt too heavy and you needed to say something to break it. He lifts an eyebrow at you and holds back a smirk.
"That your way of askin' if I'm seein' anyone else?"
Shit. Okay, so maybe your comment was also aimed at the unspoken question from back in his truck.
You shrug, trying to act nonchalant. Your hips never stop gliding back and forth on his cock and when you drop your gaze to avoid looking at him, you notice a bead of sticky arousal slowly dripping down his shaft.
"I'm not," he finally adds after a beat of silence. You drag your eyes back up to his, hips pausing for a moment. One corner of his mouth curls into a half-smile and you swear you can see some uncertainty flicker across his face before he says, "Y'know. In case you were wonderin'."
With a grin you lean forward and capture his lips in a kiss. You both stop breathing for a moment as his hand comes up to cup your face. It's soft and tender and heated and it says everything you can't.
You assumed he wasn't seeing anyone. He said as much when you began sleeping together, but that was almost three months ago. It still fills you with relief to hear it.
You shift your hips forward and break the kiss with a gasp when you feel the head of his cock notch at your entrance.
"Fuck," you whimper, the word huffing against his lips as you begin to sink down. Joel hisses and grabs your waist, mouths still hovering over the other, and you just feel it. You breathe deep, go slow, and savor the feeling of him stretching you open, inch by inch.
A broken cry slips past your lips when he can't help himself and he thrusts upwards. It's only a little bit, but it's unexpected. He shushes you, kisses your chin, murmurs your name sweetly and says, "S'okay, you can take it. Take it so fuckin' good, don't you?"
"Yeah," you breathe with a nod. Your eyes slip closed and you moan when he does it again.
Joel grins and kisses you again. There's absolutely nothing that compares to feeling you wrapped around his cock for the first time. The little whines and gasps of his name coming from you send him into orbit — it makes him feel like he's losing his mind a little bit, like he can't believe someone as perfect as you would ever want anything to do with someone like him.
"Yeah, that's it," he groans, pressing his forehead to yours. Your chest heaves and you wiggle a bit in his lap once he's fully sheathed inside of you. He watches, mesmerized, as you squirm. "Christ — y'feel so good, baby, you got no idea."
You whine and bite at his lip in an attempt to convey how good he feels, too, because you find you're always tongue-tied whenever he's got you like this.
You push yourself upright and with an experimental roll of your hips, your mouth falls open with a sharp gasp. Joel's gaze drifts down your body, all across your face, and then you lock eyes once more.
He looks at you with that tenderness again that makes your stomach flip. His eyes are glassy, chest and neck are a little splotchy, and it fills you with a burst of pride. A streak of confidence races through your veins and you begin to ride him faster, palms pressed firmly against his chest for support. You can feel his heart thudding underneath your fingertips, can see the way his eyes darken when you moan his name, can feel the way his cock throbs inside of you whenever you meet his eye. He's so deep from this angle. Your clit catches the coarse hair dusting the base of his cock just right every time you roll your hips that it has you seeing stars.
You can't look away when his brows pinch together and his lips part with a sharp inhale. His fingers bruise your hips, your thighs begin to burn, your nails dig into his chest, and you can't stop. It's too good. It feels sinful for it to be this good. When he opens his mouth to speak, you expect to hear the usual filth that is typically shared between you. Instead, he says—
"Wou- would you wanna go to a - a Longhorns game with me?"
You blink, then pause. Tilt your head to the side, and blink again.
"What?"
You're breathless, so truthfully you're grateful for the excuse to take a break, but still utterly confused.
Joel gives you a lopsided grin and loosens his grip on your middle.
"Or anythin' you wanna do. Doesn't gotta be a ball game. There's a, uh, a show— what'dya call it...? With photos?"
He's still panting, same as you. His eyes shift nervously from your face to the ceiling and you bite back a smile at how fucking adorable he looks right now.
"You mean an exhibit? At a gallery?"
His gaze snaps to you and he nods.
"Yeah. If y'want, there's a spot 'bout an hour outside the city." He swallows and skims a hand down your thigh. "No pressure or anythin'. Just thought either would be fun."
You can't stop your smile this time. It spreads wide, pulling at your cheeks and crinkling your eyes. You feel a rush of excitement bubble up when you lean forward to plant a kiss on the tip of his nose.
"Is this about what my dad said earlier?"
Joel scowls, groans, and scrubs his palms aggressively up and down his face.
"Don't talk 'bout him when I'm inside you."
You giggle and yank his hands away, pinning his wrists playfully into the pillow on either side of his head. He can easily overpower you but he just sighs in defeat and lets you do it. He gazes up at you, slightly embarrassed and a little vulnerable, waiting for your answer.
"So?"
You nod and bite your lip.
"I'd love to. Both sound great."
Instantly, he has a smile that matches yours. He shakes his hands free, reaches up, and pulls you in for a deep kiss. You let him rock you forward, grinning the entire time, and melt into his chest.
When Joel slides his tongue past your lips with a groan, you can tell your little intermission is over.
"Why don't you bounce on it a little f'me," he murmurs. "Make me feel good, baby."
You hum, lean back, and watch his face when you slowly roll your hips forward. His breath catches in his throat so you do it again.
He curses softly and you begin to move faster until you fall forward onto your hands for support so you can properly drop your hips up and down.
A guttural groan rips from his throat, the sound sending a thrill right down your spine so intense that you clench down around him.
The angle and speed at which you're fucking him quickly makes your eyes roll and legs shake. It's intense, hitting all the right places and causing pathetic, desperate sounds to fall from your lips with each drop of your hips.
"Oh, fuck, Joel—" you whine through clenched teeth. You can't even keep your eyes open any longer, it feels too fucking good. "Fuck, that's- you're so deep, ohmyg—"
With a sudden lurch, Joel sits up. You yelp in surprise and freeze, grabbing onto his shoulders in the process. One of his arms remains behind him, fist pressed into the mattress to support his weight, and the other wraps around your waist.
"Lemme help you," he says lowly. Your eyelids flutter and you nod, then the next thing you know his hips are snapping upwards, slamming into you. Your head tips back and you cry out his name, desperately trying to match his pace but it's damn near impossible. It knocks the air from your lungs, sets your soul on fire, and has you feeling dangerous things.
His teeth graze your throat, tongue slides over your skin, hand grips around your ass and it suddenly feels like he's absolutely everywhere. Not just physically. He's in your dreams, in your thoughts — he's the first person you think of in the morning and the only one you want to call when something happens, good or bad. It makes your stomach twist and your chest tighten with the painful realization that you have unknowingly put yourself into a very delicate position, one where you stood a very good chance at getting hurt.
As much as it scares you, it spurs you on. It keeps you going, keeps your hips rutting and grinding down on him, keeps your mouth open and panting over his own.
"Don't stop," you beg.
Joel nips at your chin.
"Go on. Come f'me," he urges with a lazy grin. "Lemme feel you. I— I need you to—"
His smirk falters but you don't notice. You're too lost, too close to your peak, too desperate for everything and anything Joel has to give you. You don't notice the way his eyes soften as he watches you come, memorizing the way you look whimpering his name, or the hand that leaves your back to wrap around your shoulders. Your eyes are squeezed shut, unable to focus on anything else other than the release flowing through you. Your entire body feels boneless. Relaxed. Loose. Really fucking good.
The room could be on fire and you wouldn't have a clue. Nothing else exists outside of the two of you in that moment.
When Joel pushes off the bed and twists you around so your back is flat against the mattress, it takes you a second to realize your positions changed.
"Such — a — good — girl," he grunts, each word punctuated with a sharp snap of his hips. "Doin' exactly as you're told, huh? Every — fuckin' — time — Jesus, y'feel so fuckin' g-good, honey,"
When Joel grabs the underside of your knee and hauls it up to press into your chest, your eyes roll back with the filthiest noise you're fairly certain you've ever made in your life. Each stroke has your body jolting forcefully under him and if it weren't for the way he has you pinned into the mattress, you would be breaking your headboard right now.
"Joel—"
Your voice cracks. The heat swirling in your stomach feels more like an inferno. Tears spring to your eyes and threaten to spill over. Your nails find his biceps and you press down hard, almost drawing blood.
He sees it all and he fucking loves it.
"I know, baby, I know," he pants. The way he has your body folded underneath him has your faces just inches apart. He can see everything — every emotion, every feeling, every ounce of pleasure that he's pulling from your body for a second time.
You finally let go again with a wet gasp. Your eyes fly open wide, your muscles go rigid, and you clamp down around him. A choked sound sneaks up his throat and his own climax takes him by surprise. His hips stutter as he groans your name, filling you up more and more with each weak thrust until he releases your leg and collapses on top of you.
As if it's second nature, your arms wrap around his shoulders and pull him close. You comb your fingers soothingly through his damp curls and you feel him sigh into your neck, his breath tickling your sweaty skin when he exhales softly.
"'M sorry," he mumbles tiredly, "was that too rough? I—"
"No," you whisper hoarsely. You swallow, throat tight and dry, then shake your head. "No. It was perfect."
He makes a small noise of acknowledgment then drags his arms up, sliding underneath your shoulders so he can hold you. Your legs tremble a bit as you continue to lie there in the dark, listening to your shared breaths and the occasional car driving down your street.
Joel lifts his hips and slides out of you with a grunt. You feel a sharp pull, an emptiness between your legs, then he's settling back in the same position again: covering you with his body, face buried against your neck.
Enough time passes where your breaths even out and he still hasn't moved. You wonder if he's fallen asleep when your eyes drift longingly towards the door, where your bathroom sits, beckoning you.
You twitch a little under him, shifting your body ever so slightly to try and see how easily you can maneuver without waking Joel up when he suddenly speaks.
"You really wanna see a ball game together?"
You stop, grin, and thread your fingers through his hair again.
"Can we get hot dogs that'll make me sick on the ride home and beers as big as my head?"
He laughs, presses a gentle kiss against your throat, then nods.
"Anythin' you want."
"Then I'm in," you giggle.
"Oh, that's all it takes, huh? Feed ya and you'll go anywhere?"
He lifts his head from your shoulder but otherwise remains draped across your body.
"Pretty much, yeah," you shrug.
"Doubt they got hot dogs at this gallery, though," he tuts. You raise your eyebrows at him, ignoring the way your heart skips a beat from the way he's gazing down at you.
"You really wanna do that with me?"
"'Course I do," Joel says. "Why?"
"I didn't think it was your thing," you explain.
"It ain't. But it's your thing," he replies, then brushes some hair away from the side of your face when he adds, "Baseball ain't your thing but you're willin' to go to a game."
You're skirting around the same thing: you're willing to do things for the other you normally wouldn't do because you care. But you're both too stubborn to just fucking admit it. Instead, you deflect with a joke.
"Think I can sneak in hot dogs with my purse?"
"Was hopin' you'd say that."
You giggle and give his chest a light push. He rolls off you with a smile so you can sit up and take a deep breath. Already your legs and hips are feeling sore, but you shake it off.
"Okay, Miller. It's a—"
You pause, catching yourself before you say the word date.
"—plan. Sounds like a plan."
Before he can say anything further, you slip out of the bedroom to go clean yourself up.
It sounds like a date. You're certainly fucking like you're dating. You've both admitted to not seeing other people, yet you're too scared to just ask the question.
If he wanted to call it a date, he would have called it a date.
You try not to let it bother you after you slink back into bed and burrow underneath the covers. Joel instantly rolls to his side and pulls you close, pressing your back against his chest and circling his arms around your middle with a deep sigh.
It's easy to fall asleep, just like that. In your own little bubble, untouched by the concept of labels or judgement from your loved ones.
All either of you really know for sure is you enjoy spending time together, and whatever you have to do to make that happen is worth it.
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