hot to go
pairing. pathetic!joelmiller x waitress!reader
description. you're tired after a long day of serving, ready to close when a sad old man walks in. maybe he’ll make it worth your while.
tags. smut, pathetic sad old man, he knows its wrong and wants you anyway, small talk, much!joel!, abrupt/open ending, needy!joel, limited dialogue. not dark joel, but he waits for like an hour late at night for you to leave your job.
word count. 3.7k+
an. this was ever so slightly rushed as my hyperfixations have changed from joel to bucky and I want to start writing a series I have for him, but trust it will be beautiful. also diverted from the original request but hopefully its still enjoyable! gif cred
You sighed gently as you heard the chime of the doorbell, the sound ringing a second time as it closed behind the patron who had decided to enter the diner half an hour before your shift was meant to end. It wasn't like there was an all-night diner filled with rotating staff down the road.
They had to enter your diner, which you had grudgingly agreed to cover on your one day off, of course. To make matters worse, two coworkers chose not to show up, so you were left to work the closing shift by yourself after the kitchen staff left.
Your feet throbbed with each step, and the uniform, which was uncomfortable but reliable for fat tips, dug into your waist where the apron was knotted tightly. A dull ache pulled at the base of your ponytail, and the steam from sizzling eggs and endless cups of coffee left your once-perfect makeup looking damp and shiny.
You turned with a wide smile that never quite touched your eyes. Tilting your head, you delivered the well-rehearsed greeting you gave every customer, voice dripping in practiced sweetness. After twelve hours of speed-walking and customer service voice, your brain was operating on autopilot, and it took a moment for the figure in front of you to fully register.
He appeared to be at least fifty years old, unless he had aged prematurely due to a difficult lifestyle, which you doubted. He was the type of man who had been attractive in his twenties and had matured into his handsomeness by the age of forty; his features were masculine but softened by gentleness. Silver slithered steadily across his temples and through his still-brown hair. His face had character due to its prominent nose, which lifted slightly when he gave you a half-smile. In contrast to you, it made it to his eyes, winking at you from the faint crow's feet at their corners.
After swallowing and letting your eyes widen for a heartbeat, you put the mask back on, smiling a little more genuinely this time.
“Good evening! Pick any table you like; I’ll be right with you.” From your position behind the counter, your voice drifted across the diner, singing an octave higher than your typical speech.
He nodded firmly, then slipped into a booth near you, his fingers neatly laced on the shiny vinyl tabletop. Breathing slowly, he looked around the vintage décor, not so much admiring as analyzing.
You washed your hands before approaching his table, carrying yourself with a sway that disguised your exhaustion.
“What can I get for you tonight, sir?”
The notepad stayed tucked away; instead, you clasped your hands lightly in front of you, voice honeyed as you addressed him. You felt a sudden flutter in your stomach as his eyes raised to meet yours and his brows arched subtly.
“Just a coffee’s good for me, sweetness,” he said, his voice gravelly, worn with age and possibly a bad smoking habit.
“Any cream or sugar?” Ignoring your accelerating heartbeat, you continued speaking.
“No, thank you. Bitter as this old man suits me just fine.” When your giggle slipped, a smirk pulled at his mouth, and his self-deprecating remark turned into a smile.
With a playful gleam in your eyes and a slight tilt to your posture, you teased, "I don't know." “You seem plenty sweet to me. Would you like a pastry with that? The kitchen’s closed, but I can still pull something from the warmer.”
He seemed to ponder, gaze flicking briefly to the menu propped at the edge of the table before he clicked his tongue.
“Not sure. I can be a bit picky with my sweets.”
You tapped your chin and leaned an elbow against the booth's divider, creating a playful tilt in your posture.
“Well, our special today," yesterday technically, you thought, "is classic American cherry pie.”
His eyes sparked at the mention; the lines at the corners deepened, though the thought tugged at something nostalgic. "Oh… please don’t tempt me.”
You laughed softly, straightening as you moved your hands to rest on your lower back, the sway of your hips betraying your amusement.
“Temptation’s half my job description,” you teased, lowering your voice just enough to let the words linger.
His shoulders relaxed as his fingers drummed absently on the tabletop while he leaned back against the vinyl seat. “That so? Then I suppose the real question is whether your pie is as sweet as your smile.”
The quip caught you off guard, and heat rose in your ears and cheeks. You tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, hiding the flutter behind another polished grin.
"So," you said, tilting your head, "why don't we let you be the judge?"
He responded with a nod, "I suppose it's only fitting that I have a sweet treat when I get a sweet server."
To hide the curve of your smile, you cocked your head away from his stare and then looked back over your shoulder. “Coming right up.”
As you walked carefully and methodically across the diner, the weight of his eyes followed. Behind the counter, you placed a slice of cherry pie—probably a little past its prime—in the warmer. The scent of coffee lingered on your hands as you lifted the pot and returned to his booth to pour a tall, steaming mug. Before stepping back for the pie, you gave him a gentle smile and acknowledged him as the earthy scent rose in a swirl of vapor.
The heat from the pie permeated the plate as you carried it back. He took a deep breath through his nose when you placed it in front of him. His posture softened as a quiet sigh escaped, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to release with the exhale.
With a half-smile, he looked up at you after picking up the fork and turning it once between his fingers.
“You always serve dessert with this much attention, or am I just lucky tonight?”
With your arms folded loosely in front of you, you shifted your weight onto one hip and grinned.
“Depends. Most folks don’t notice appreciate slow and steady.”
“Mm.” He cut into the pie, the fork sinking into the soft cherries with a satisfying scrape against the plate. "They're idiots then."
You laughed lightly, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. “Careful, sir; keep that up and I’ll start thinking you’re trying to sweet-talk me.”
He raised his mug in a small toast before taking a sip, his eyes never leaving yours. “And what if I am?”
Your laugh slipped out, colored by a faint scoff. Flirting with men older than your grandfather was hardly new territory. Half survival, half performance, it was part of the job. Watching a man who is well past his prime brighten from a little feminine attention can be endearing, but you've never experienced it quite like this.
He seemed to be seeing more of you than you were letting on, and there was something about that that made the routine act feel different. More like choice than routine.
He caught your laugh and smiled, his fork hovering above the pie. “Joel.”
You tilted your head. “Hm?”
“My name—S’Joel. As much as I like you calling me ‘sir,’ I reckon I’d like to hear you say my name more.” His southern drawl tugged on something in your chest.
“Joel…” You test the name's weight by letting it roll over your tongue. “Can’t say I know any Joels around here. You here for business or pleasure?” You reasoned that if you had to work overtime, you might as well engage in some conversation with a handsome older man.
He finally lowered the fork, slicing into the pie with slow precision before answering. “Bit of both, I s’pose,” he said, the twang in his voice rolling smooth as whiskey. He lifted the bite but didn't eat it right away, his gaze fixed on you as if deciding whether to give more. “World’s got a way of mixin’ business and pleasure, don’t it?”
Your arms were folded loosely across your apron as you leaned a hip against the edge of the booth. “Depends on the kind of business,” you teased, but beneath the lilt of your words was a real curiosity.
Joel smirked around the fork as he finally tasted the pie, chewing thoughtfully before nodding once. “Sweet. Just like you promised.” His gaze moved briefly to your hands before returning to your face. “Don’t often get both in the same place.”
“I suppose not.” You let your eyes wander to the diner's glass, street lamps illuminating an old pickup parked in the lot by itself, except for your vintage beauty, a present from your grandfather on your sixteenth birthday. There was something charming about it, even though the gears were old and the engine shuddered. Not so different, you realized, from Joel.
You didn't hesitate when he motioned to the seat across from him and asked you to humor an old man. The next hour was spent sitting there, chatting aimlessly as the aromas of black coffee and warm cherry blended together. He grimaced as though you had cursed him when you mentioned that you preferred iced coffee, mocking you by saying that coffee was supposed to be hot. A warm flush rose up your neck as you struggled to defend your decision, laughing nervously.
Time passed you by unnoticed until you looked at the clock and saw it was 12:47 AM. The reminder brought the exhaustion back, and the mental fog that had lifted during your effortless conversation returned. Joel seemed to notice and began wrapping up quickly. You cleaned and put away his dishes as he left, leaving only a faint trace of his presence.
Closing the diner didn't take long—just wiping down his table, double-checking the ovens, and turning off the lights. It was nearly 2:00 AM when you stepped outside. Your keys jingled, each step you took crunching against the gravel, but the sharp scent of smoke made you look up. A familiar figure leaned against his pickup, the vehicle still untouched. Smoke drifted lazily from the small ember in his hand, curling into the cool night air.
You came to a stop a few feet away, your stomach twisting. You'd enjoyed his company inside, but seeing him waiting for you outside made the hairs on your arms stand up.
"Joel?" you squeaked, trying to keep the fear out of your voice.
“Hey… I know how this looks. I just… God, uh, this is gonna sound pathetic…” He muttered, scratching the back of his head and shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
You tilted your head while listening. Maybe it was foolish to hope he wasn't a creep, but something in his voice seemed genuine. You trusted your instincts and decided to listen to him.
“I really enjoyed talking to you,” he said, dragging the words slowly. “Haven’t had that… in a real long time. Hell, probably haven’t had that since… 'fore you were born.” His calloused hand rubbed across his face, brushing against the stubble on his jaw before dropping to tap the cigarette with his other hand. He took a drag, inhaling deeply and allowing the smoke to curl into the cold air. “I was just… I don’t know, being honest. Figured I’ve got nothing to lose. Was hoping you might want to… humor an old man?” He let out a nervous laugh at the end, nodding toward his car as if to soften the request.
Your lips tightened into a playful line, trying to hide the smile tugging at your cheeks. “Humor an old man?” You teased with a low, sultry voice.
He gave a rough laugh, the sound catching in his throat, before lowering his head slightly and returning your gaze. “Yeah… if you’re willin’.”
You swayed on your feet for a heartbeat, feigning hesitation as you considered your "decision," then took a slow step closer, and another. You felt his gaze as his breath hitched, just enough to make your pulse skip. You had to bite down lightly on your lower lip to keep a giggle from escaping.
Your fingers reached for the cigarette that still dangled between his fingers. With a grin, you flicked it away and stomped it out, then lifted your gaze through your lashes to meet his.
"So?" you murmured, allowing the single question to hang in the cool night air while waiting.
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, the tension coiled in his shoulders, the slight shift of his stance telling you he was waiting—wanting. His hand hovered near yours for a moment, the warmth radiating from his skin brushing against yours.
Then, as if you had reached a silent agreement, he leaned forward, allowing his lips to brush yours in a gentle, testing kiss. It was soft and light at first, but it was enough to make your knees weak and your breath catch as you felt his beard tickle your face. You returned it by tilting your head and allowing your tongue to slip across his lips.
A strong pulse rushed from your stomach to your clit, and you felt your anatomy begin to pulse in anticipation. You let a foot lift ever so slightly to press your thighs together, but you underestimated Joel's expertise, it seems, because he immediately took note. And you knew when he began to grin into your kiss, his tongue more confidently brushing yours while grunting low and heavy into your mouth.
His hands reached out to pull your face closer to him, curling your upper lip between them before releasing it to do the same with your lower lip. His breath warmed against yours in the few moments between kisses, his teeth taking the place of his mouth and gently tugging on your lower lip. With a fleeting kiss, he leaned back, one hand leaving your cheek to reach for the passenger-side door, the other cradling your face and pulling you along.
It clicked open as he dragged you along, kissing you once before allowing you to enter the tall vehicle; his gaze followed your figure as he held your hand to keep you steady. He stepped in and immediately leaned over and reached to the side of the seat; his hand leaning on the head caused it to fall back, dragging you down with it. Joel crawled over you before carelessly slamming the door. His eyes softened when he saw you jump at the unexpected sound, and he apologized softly as he laid his body over yours.
He lowers his forehead to yours before catching your mouth again, your hand mirroring his as it cups his cheek. You can taste bitter coffee and cigarette, but there's still a hint of sweet cherry on your tongue when his lips brush against yours again. His other hand moves from your cheek to your neck, then down your chest. It stops below your breasts before it rises again, pushing one up as his thumb presses in between the space separating them.
His cheek scratches yours as he moves to your neck, leaving wet, open-mouth kisses on your skin. You tilt your head to the side to give him more access, shivering with a gasp as his thumb passes over your clothed nipple. You can feel his fingers under and alongside your breast press as he hears you.
You let your hand fall down his chest, to his belt, and eventually to the bulge growing in his worn jeans. It hovers at first before you press your palm into it—you gasp as he groans into your neck; you can feel the heat from his cock through his jeans—it feels thick and heavy in your hand.
The hand on your chest jumped to your waist as he tightly squeezed you in his palm; his eyes were closed tightly, his mouth hanging open, and a few soft groans floated out of his throat as you palmed him. His face nuzzled your neck absentmindedly while he tried and failed to keep his hips from gently rolling into your hand.
"Fuck... stop, baby." His hand wrapped around yours and gently pinned it to the head of the seat. "Gonna end this 'fore it starts." He grins playfully against your cheek.
He pushes himself up to face you, scanning your features before lowering himself. His knees crack as they slide from the seat to the floor, and his rough hands gently pull your hips closer to his face. You used to enjoy the convenience of having undershorts built into your skirts for work, but now you did anything but that. Your hips twitched against Joel's face, his nose pressed into the fabric as he inhaled, and his lips kissed your clothed pussy. He licked a slow stripe from your hole to your clit, and as you looked down, you saw his eyes rise and his lips curl into a grin at your response. Your head fell back with what was nothing short of a whimper, your hands meeting his hair. Grey twisted with a faded brown, it was soft and thick in your hands. He kissed your covered clit again before sliding his hand into your undershorts' crotch from the side. His knuckles brushed against your damp panties as he grabbed and roughly pulled on the shorts. You let out a yelp as the seams tore, briefly digging into your hips before the cloth gave way. You had little time to react before your panties were pulled to the side and his tongue was inserted into you.
His nose brushed your clit as his delicate muscle explored your walls, the mix of your wetness and his saliva making squelches much louder than you thought possible. He shook his head a little and growled, sending a tremor through you. He did nothing to stop you from rolling your hips greedily for more.
You cried, "Joel..." as you clenched your fists and tugged at his hair roots.
He pulled away to exhale deeply across your heat, kissing it repeatedly as if it were his long-lost love. Every other time he kissed, his tongue touched your clit before his lips found your inner thigh, and his fingers moved to take its place. He spread your lips and watched your hole tighten around nothing.
"Look how fucking needy she is, baby... leaking like a damn faucet." His middle finger poked at your entrance while his pointer and ring fingers kept you spread. "S'okay, I can fix that." He muttered before wrapping his mouth around your clit, his middle and ring fingers sinking into you. You groaned as your back arched off the seat, the old leather sticking to your sweat-soaked body. As his arm began to piston his fingers, he quickly added a third, flattening his tongue against you. There was no resistance, only a grunt against your clit with each twist of your hips. As his saliva trickled from your pussy, his name slipped from your mouth. He drew away from you briefly, panting just a hair's breadth from your skin. He heaved, his chin gleaming in the dim streetlights. "Tastes so good, baby..." inside of He kissed your pussy tenderly, as he had done with your lips. He kissed you as a lover would. Each time he moved his mouth, your hips were pushed closer and higher. He allowed it, even appreciated it, and smiled every time. He withdrew again, causing you to whine. He watched you intently as your gaze fixed on his. "You wanna cum?" He teases.
You stumbled, nearly every thought in your head hazy, "Fuck—Please."
"Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll make you cum." He scraped your inner thigh with his teeth. "Gonna make this pretty pussy push all that sweetness out for me." He took his time returning his mouth to your center, dragging a slow groan as his tongue dove back in. His hands were on top of your thighs, thumbs stroking the sides, but he did nothing to keep you down as your thighs cinched around his head. He sucked down your arousal with every groan you were struggling to cover up. You could feel every hushed moan he made but couldn't hear. His facial hair needled your inner thighs, but even with your head tilted back and your eyes sewn shut, you could feel the heat of his stare. Your mouth hung open as he continued to pull every sound out of you. He seemed as loud as you were, and as he lapped at you like a thirsty dog, the heat coiling inside you grew. With each drag, your muscle would clench around his. He could feel them growing in quick succession, his hands gripping your thighs tighter as he breathed you in. You were unable to think; all you could feel was the touch of his tongue, the prick of his beard, and the vibration of his throat as it circled your clit. Your chest heaved as your groans grew louder and your hands tightened around his hair. "That's it, baby... cum for me," he exclaimed almost whiningly. "C'mon, let me feel it." What broke you was his pleading, your voice breaking, and your body trembling. Without any desire of your own, your hips attempted to flee as your groans blended with his. You stopped writhing and shaking, but he continued to move. The man's boyish groans cut through the flood of your pleasure, and his mouth continued to devour everything your body offered him of your pleasure.
As he ate your pussy, you gasped and panted, defenseless against his unrelenting mouth. Your moans turned to whimpers, and your hands pushed weakly at his head. Reluctantly, he turned his mouth to your thigh and pulled back.
"Feel good, baby?"His voice tipped into a higher pitch as he asked.
You nodded dumbly with a soft "Uh-huh.You felt him smile against your thigh before he moved away, followed by the sound of the door opening and closing. With a furrowed brow, you turned your head to see what he was doing. Your gaze was drawn to the driver's side door as he stepped inside with a groan. He turned and gave you a strangely tender look.
"You comin' home with me?" He asked.
You hesitated for a moment, the weight of his question settling in your chest. The warmth of his gaze made your heart race, and you found yourself nodding, excitement bubbling up inside you at the thought of the evening ahead. His mouth twisted into a smile as he exhaled deeply and started the car with unsteady hands.
