andy omg write something for this PLEASE (if u can and want ofc)
baby girl you’re insane for sending me down that rabbit hole on the account. for the record, the kissing scene?? i tried to explain this as best as i could!!!!!!
i don’t like the way he’s lookin’ at you
ft: jealous x dbf!joel miller x you genre: angsty smut
contains: insane makeout, fingering, mdni 18+, possessive joel, jealous stalkerish (sorta) joel, age gap
summary: your dads best friend can’t seem to shake you from his mind, especially when he’s watching you sit across from a guy who isn’t him. but you’re not anyone’s but joels. he makes that very clear. (2.1k)
jealous
Joel’s hands were tight on the steering wheel, knuckles pale in the dim streetlight glow. He hadn’t meant to stop—hadn’t meant to park a block down from the diner he knew you’d gone to. But the second he saw you walk in with him—some kid, hair too neat, shirt too pressed—Joel’s stomach twisted into knots he couldn’t untangle.
He tells himself he’s just making sure you’re safe. That’s the excuse. The same one he’s been using for months now every time he hovers too close, every time his eyes stray where they shouldn’t.
But sitting there in his truck, headlights off, engine ticking as it cooled, Joel knew damn well it wasn’t safety that had him watching. It was you. Always you.
You were laughing. Joel could see the way you tilted your head back, hand over your mouth, shoulders shaking. That laugh used to be his reward after long days—after fixing your busted faucet in your new apartment your dad got you, after teasing you over your stubborn streak.
Now it was for someone else.
The boy reached across the booth and touched your hand. Joel’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. You didn’t pull away. Hell, you leaned in.
“Christ,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the wheel harder. “What’re you doin’, girl?”
The sight of it gutted him. Not because he thought you owed him anything—hell, he’d made damn sure to keep the line between you sharp and clear—but because he couldn’t stop imagining the way that kid must think he’d won something. Like Joel hadn’t been there first. Like Joel hadn’t already memorized the sound of your voice soft and close, hadn’t already felt your hand brush his arm a little too long when you thought nobody was looking.
The longer Joel watched, the worse it got. Every smile, every lean-in, every flicker of your lashes across the table was a blade turned in his chest.
He hated himself for it. Hated how old he felt sitting there, hidden in the cab of his truck like some coward. Hated how much it mattered.
You deserved this, didn’t you? Someone your age. Someone who’d take you to crowded diners on a Friday night. Someone who’d dance with you in the parking lot, buy you flowers, write you stupid songs. Not a man twice your age with scars he didn’t talk about and a temper he barely managed to leash. Not a man your dad trusted.
Still—when that boy reached out again, this time tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, Joel’s body jolted forward before he even realized it, like his truck was about to lurch into gear.
He stopped himself with a ragged breath, pressing back into the seat, scrubbing a hand down his face.
“Easy, Miller,” he growled at himself.
But his eyes betrayed him, snapping back to the window, to you. You looked so soft in that yellow glow, so damn beautiful it hurt.
And then—like you knew. Like some invisible tether was stretched tight between you—you turned. Your gaze flicked past the boy, past the window, straight toward where Joel’s truck was parked in the dark.
His chest seized.
For half a second, he swore your eyes met his. Recognition flared across your face, faint but real. The corner of your mouth twitched—almost a smile, almost an acknowledgment—and Joel felt the air leave his lungs in one crushing rush.
Joel didn’t move when your eyes found him through the window. Didn’t duck, didn’t pretend he wasn’t there. He just sat, heavy and solid in the shadows of his truck, watching.
And you—oh, you caught on quick. The way your lips curved, just slightly. The way you leaned a little closer to the boy sitting across from you, hand sliding across the table until your fingertips brushed his. Joel’s chest went hot, his jaw tight.
You were putting on a show. For him.
The kid looked thrilled when you laughed at something dumb he said, like he’d earned it. You let him. Even leaned in enough that Joel swore his blood pressure spiked.
Then you reached for your phone, thumb tapping deliberate. Joel’s own pocket buzzed. He dragged it out, eyes never leaving the diner window.
“Yeah?” His voice came out rougher than he meant.
You smiled—smiled right at him while that boy sat clueless in front of you.
“Hey, Joel. You can pick me up now. Dad said to give you a call when I’m ready.”
Joel didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His chest was tight, throat locked. You hung up before he managed a word, smirking like you knew you’d just pulled the pin from a grenade.
Then—just to twist the knife—you kissed that boy’s cheek when he helped you out of the booth, soft and quick. Joel’s grip on the phone turned bone-white.
Joel sat there in silence, engine dead, watching the kid’s car pull away from the curb. Only when the taillights disappeared did he finally turn the key, the familiar rumble filling the cab like thunder under his skin.
You were already waiting when he pulled up, casual as ever, sliding into the passenger side of his bench seat like you belonged there.
Joel didn’t say a word. Neither did you. The silence was heavy, charged, broken only by the hum of the road as he drove you back to your little apartment.
When the truck finally rolled to a stop in front of your door, you turned to him, head tilted, eyes too sharp.
“Why were you watching, Joel?”
That did it. Something snapped.
Joel turned so fast the seat creaked under his weight, one hand catching the back of your neck, the other fisting into your hair. He yanked you across the bench, lips crushing against yours with a desperation that stole your breath.
You gasped into him, your hands clutching at his shirt as his mouth moved everywhere—your lips, your cheek, your jaw, back to your mouth again like he couldn’t get enough. His teeth caught your skin, a little nip, a little claim. His thumb pushed past your lips, dragging at your mouth before smearing over your flushed face.
“Goddammit, baby,” Joel rasped against your skin, voice wrecked. “Don’t you ever do that to me again.”
“I’m sorry,” you mumbled around his kiss, head spinning. “I won’t—Joel, I won’t.”
“You’re fuckin’ mine,” he growled, pulling your head back just enough to make you look him in the eye, both his hands still tangled in your hair. “Don’t care if I haven’t said it out loud. I’m makin’ it clear now. You’re mine. No little boy’s gonna treat you the way I will. You hear me?”
“Yes,” you breathed, shivering under the weight of it. “Yes, Joel.”
He kissed you again, harder, like he had to seal the words into your skin. Joel didn’t let you breathe after that confession. His hand slid from your hair down to your thigh, rough and commanding, and then he was shoving your knees apart against the cracked leather of his truck bench.
“Spread,” he muttered, low and sharp, his voice full of gravel. “Now.”
You gasped when his calloused fingers found the hem of your dress, yanking it up, higher, until cool air kissed your thighs. “You wore this for him?” His eyes flicked up to yours, dangerous and dark as his fingers felt the soft material of your dress between them.
Joel’s breath hitched when his hand brushed lace. “Oh no, baby,” he rasped, thumb pressing against the delicate fabric. “Don’t tell me you wore these for him too.”
You shook your head, words stuck in your throat, but Joel wasn’t having it. He hooked a finger under the band, tugging it cruelly to the side until the lace bit into your skin. His middle and ring finger sliding through your slick folds, rough and unrelenting. His touch was possessive, a filthy claim, pressing just hard enough to make you squirm.
Your whimper spilled out, back arching against the seat. Joel’s fingers moved again, slower this time, sliding up through your wetness until he pressed against your clit.
“This,” he said through gritted teeth, circling cruelly. “This ain’t for him. This is for me, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” you gasped, hands flying to clutch his arm, nails digging into muscle. “All of it. All for you, Joel.”
That was all it took. His fingers pushed inside you, hard and deep, knuckles stretching you until you cried out. He swallowed the sound with his mouth, kissing you hard, sloppy, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to devour your lips or your moans more.
“You’re drippin’ all over my fuckin’ hand,” he groaned against your mouth, pumping his fingers into you fast, thumb grinding tight circles at your clit. “Gonna fuckin’ lose it watchin’ you like this.”
Your head dropped back against the glass of the passenger door, body trembling under his hand. Joel leaned in closer, voice hot against your ear.
“You’re mine, baby girl. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” you sobbed, hips rocking helplessly against his hand. “Joel, I’m yours.”
“Atta girl,” he snarled, curling his fingers just right, hitting that spot that made your whole body jerk.
The truck rocked under you, Joel’s hand buried deep between your thighs, fingers driving into you with rough, possessive thrusts. Every pump was sharp, unrelenting, his palm grinding hard against your clit until your body was arching off the seat.
“C’mon,” he muttered through gritted teeth, eyes locked on your face. “Look at me while I do this. Look at me, baby girl.”
Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his dark and hungry gaze, and that was it—your body seized, legs shaking as the heat snapped inside you. You came hard around his fingers, soaking his hand, sobbing his name as the truck’s windows fogged from your breath.
“That’s it,” Joel rasped, his forehead pressed to yours, still fucking you through it, his jaw tight with restraint. “That’s my girl. That’s it, baby girl. I got you.”
Your thighs trembled against his wrist, your hands clawing at his shoulders. Joel finally slowed, easing the pace, fingers slipping free only to slide against your slick folds one last time before he pulled back.
You collapsed into him, panting, cheek against his chest. Joel caught you, strong arm winding around your waist, the other hand cupping the back of your head. He pressed his lips to your temple, then your cheek, then finally your mouth, each kiss softer than the last, chasing away the harshness with something gentler, something he could never put into words.
“I got you, baby,” he whispered against your skin, voice ragged but steady. “Always.”
Your body was still trembling, thighs twitching against his wrist, but Joel didn’t let up. His fingers stayed buried inside you, slow thrusts dragging against your swollen walls, keeping you stuffed even after the last pulse of your orgasm faded.
“Jo–Joel…” you babbled, words breaking, lips swollen from his kisses. “C-can’t—”
“Shh,” he hushed you, leaning in close, his forehead pressing to yours, his eyes burning into you. “Look at me, baby.”
You did—barely, lids heavy, eyes glassy—but you looked. And Joel nearly lost it right then. You were so fucked out, so sweet and dirty all at once, breath stuttering, hair messy from his fists. Beautiful. His.
When he finally slipped his fingers free, you whimpered at the loss, clenching around nothing. Joel’s mouth twisted, a sound low in his chest as he cupped your cheek with his clean hand.
“I know, baby,” he murmured, eyes soft but dark. “I know.”
Then—deliberate, unhurried—he brought his soaked fingers to your lips.
“Open.”
You obeyed. He pressed them past your mouth, dragging them slow over your tongue. “Sweet, huh?” he rasped, watching as you moaned around his skin, cheeks hollowing.
“Goddamn,” Joel growled, pulling them back with a wet pop. And then—like he needed to ruin himself further—he shoved his hand down again, collecting more of your slick before dragging those same fingers into his own mouth.
He moaned at the taste, deep and guttural, head tilting back as if he could savor you down to his bones.
“Mine,” he said when his eyes snapped back to you, voice wrecked and certain. “That’s all mine, baby. Don’t you forget.”
The truck cab thick with fogged windows, your breath still uneven, his hand still warm from being inside you. Both of you trembling, both of you knowing there’s no going back. Later? The details can be worked out but for now, you’re his. And he wasn’t done with you just yet.
Clint Hate is pretty funny to me cause, you guys don't like the way he is now (which is valid), but you also don't want him to change for the better. You'd think people would be happy that his writing problems are going to be fixed, but no, you want him to be the guy who is weird about Emily forever.
