Give You What You Like
Part 2: Just A Mess
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Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader
Rating: E/ 18+ MDNI
WC: 4.6k
Summary: You were never supposed to see Joel Miller again. You'd traded your body for pills years ago, and it had ruined you. Even after you'd found your way to Jackson from Boston, he'd still managed to end up back in your life.
Tags: afab reader, sexual themes, oral sex (m receiving), dry humping, penetrative sex, degradation, mean!joel, drugs for sex, alcohol use/abuse, drug use/abuse, age gap (joel is 50s/60s, reader is 20/30), joel's pov
A/N: I really wasn't going to post the second part until Monday, but f*ck it, I love these two too much to keep them to myself. Please don't forget to comment, it feeds authors! I made a playlist to listen to while you read that fits the vibe well. You can listen to it here. Each chapter is titled after a song.
AO3 Link Masterlist
You weren’t exactly prepared to face this today. Not this far into your “recovery”. Recovery from loving him, recovery from the alcohol, recovery from…life.
You stared at Tommy like he’d told you he’d shot your puppy.
“Are you sure?” You ask, even though you knew this wasn’t something he’d joke about.
He gives you a nod, his expression a mix of concern and caution.
“He’s okay?” You ask, your voice wavering a little.
“A little worse for wear, but yeah, he’s fine.” Tommy sighs, his lips a fine line as he looks over you. “Maria told me, about all of it.”
Your heart fractures just that much more. She promised not to tell. But Tommy is her husband. You’d never keep anything from your own. “I’m sure you think less of me now.” You say dejectedly, avoiding his eyes.
“‘S not my place to judge you. My brother on the other hand…” He trails off, frowning at you. “I’m sorry he did that to you.”
You cringe outwardly, your lips turning to a grimace. “He didn’t do anythin’ I didn’t ask for.” It comes out harsher than you mean.
“You still love him.” He says it as a statement, not a question.
You deflate further, a sigh ripping its way from your chest. “Yeah, well I really don’t want to, but here we are.” You snap, irritation rising as he reads you too well.
He raises his hands, his expression placating. “He’s different now. You should talk to him.”
“Is this why you came here? To try and fix my poor broken heart? I’m not interested right now, Tommy. I need time.” The thought of even seeing him now made you stomach turn,
Tommy shuffles in place, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Come by for dinner this week.”
“Will he be there?” It’s accusatory, sarcastic and bitter. He’d heard what you said; ignored it.
Tommy shakes his head, sighing heavily. “You can’t avoid him forever. I just want what’s best for you. Both of you.”
“Yeah, well I will as long as I can.” Your hand is on the door, ready to shut it. “He was never supposed to be back in my life, Tommy. I need to move the fuck on.”
“It was ten years ago.” His voice bites back, fueling your anger even further. He was tired of seeing the sadness in your eyes, especially now knowing his own blood had caused it.
You want to scream at him, terrible words you’d never be able to take back. You settle for something less. “I was a kid, Tommy. But this is on me, too. Let me deal with my own shit and keep the fuck out of my business.” You close the door without another word. You hear him sigh on the other side of the door before his footsteps sound down the porch.
Alone.
Again.
He knew he’d fucked up the moment you walked out his door the first time. But those big beautiful eyes pleading with him for an escape had made him a weak man. Those beautiful eyes with a bruise forming under one of them, a split in your lip where the blood was still drying.
He tried to be mean, tried to get you to see this wasn’t the path you wanted to go down. Tried to give you cold looks, make himself bigger to intimidate you. But of course, it hadn’t worked. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
And then you’d kept coming back. Offering more than someone so young should be offering him. And he’d gotten weaker.
He’d given you enough pills that he was starting to come up short on ration cards and cigarettes and booze. You’d offered him everything you’d had.
Then you’d offered your mouth. How was he supposed to say no when you looked so desperate. He cursed himself internally as you begged.
“Please, I want to.” You said, your eyes so wanting it made him weak. Yet his cock still stiffened in his jeans, his throat still dried at the thought of those pretty eyes looking up at him while you took him into your mouth.
And he tries to talk you out of it; he wants to talk you out of it. He doesn’t want to hurt you, he doesn’t want to taint something so innocent. But then you step closer and palm his cock and it was all over for him.
He’d hoped his mean words would be enough to drive you off, but he watches as you shift, your pupils dilating when he calls you a slut. Like you liked it.
He paced his apartment after you left, anger and guilt bubbling in his chest as he replays the way he’d come down your throat, the vision of your watery eyes sending another wave of lust through him.
He didn’t want to get attached, he knew you were too young. Yet he’d still handed you those pills with the harsh reminder to have a proper payment next time.
Next time.
He didn’t want there to be a next time, but he did. He’d felt powerful and wanted. Not that Tess didn’t want him, but not the way you did. Tess knew too much about him and yet not enough. And he loved her in some sort of his own way, though he’d never admit it and neither would she. He craved something sharper, something with a blade instead of comfort. Something that made his gut churn and his cock harden.
Maybe he was sick. Maybe the fungus had somehow wormed its way in without actually taking over. Making him want to be mean, be horrible. Making him want to tear you limb from limb and watch you come undone under him. But of course it hadn’t, not the way he wished it had. He wanted his lust, his need, to be out of his control. Not proof of how lost he was in the harshness of this new world.
You fall back into the bottle like an old lover, drowning in it until you can't think.
But you still think about him with bile rising in the back of your throat at the mere thought of him being so close.
You were never supposed to see him again. You keep repeating that fact in your head as you tip the bottle to your lips over and over.
You’re brooding now, your lips set in a fine line as you mull over the options in your head. You could leave, but giving up the safety of Jackson was not an option. You could stay and ignore him, but knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid him forever. The only option that made sense would be to stay and confront him. Tell him you’ve moved on and want nothing to do with him.
You stop with the lip of the bottle pressed to your lower lip, ready to take another drink.
The sick thought of a life with Joel slams into the forefront of your mind against your own will. Being tangled in the sheets with him again, much older and wiser now.
Early mornings, the sun barely shining through the kitchen window. You’d be at the stove making breakfast while he tends to the baby. A life filled with so much warmth it greys your memories.
You’re up and running to the bathroom before you can process it, violently rejecting half the alcohol you’d drank. You rest your head against the cold porcelain, panting heavily as your head spins.
You don’t realize you’re crying until you have to catch your breath, sucking in a lungful of air as you sob. Every fiber of your being feels sharp, your body overestimated and hot.
You’d never broken down like this, you’d never allowed yourself to fall into the dark hole that is your future. Especially scenarios that involved Joel.
You try to collect yourself, taking a few deep breaths, but the tears won't stop.
You curse out loud, a broken and angry cry.
You don’t want to feel this way. That weak, pathetic girl who gave into heartbreak so easily. That wasn’t you anymore.
You push yourself up off the tiled floor, finding your balance, making quick work of brushing your teeth clean. You make your way back into your living room, a determination you’d never felt before swelling up in your chest.
Youpre going to talk to him.
Today.
Right now.
You grabbed your coat off the rack, almost angrily shoving it on as you build your courage.
One arm in.
You’re going to tell him what, exactly?
The thought causes you to pause halfway putting your arm through the other sleeve.
What were you going to tell him, exactly?
Going into this blind wasn’t a good idea. You shove your arm the rest of the way though, slowly zipping it up as the options rattle though your head.
The sickness inside him grew the longer he used you. A darkness that consumed in him the inside out.
He craved you. Well, not you, exactly. The release, the power, the need. He was addicted to the way you started to relax further around him.
It made his head spin. Alarm bells in his head anytime you were around.
Then he’d seen that look in your eyes.
A dangerous, all consuming heat.
The first three months were easy. Two to three days a week with his cock down your throat. On your knees with such a pathetic look in your eyes it made him sick with need.
So sick he needed to see you undone to ease the pain.
You fell back onto your heels, wiping the cum from the corner of your mouth as he stared down at you, his heart twisting in his chest.
“Up here, girl.” He pats his thigh after he tucks his cock away, watching the bewildered look in your eyes as you stand on shaky legs and straddle his thigh. His hands grip your waist like a lifeline as he pushes you down on his thigh harder, pushing the muscle up into you.
You double over, your head falling against his shoulder. The whimper you let out almost breaks him. “Needy little thing. Bet that little pussy is just drippin’ for me, ain’t she?” He mutters as you begin to grind yourself against him, your breath fanning over the thin material of his tee.
“Gonna come just from humpin’ my leg like the dog you are?” The words tasted bitter on his tongue, but he refused to be kind. Knows a delicate thing like you couldn’t take the kindness from him without running with it. Because despite what you were doing, he still wanted to keep some semblance of innocence.
He rocks you back and forth, his grip tightening as you gasp and moan into his ear, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. It unfortunately brought him peace knowing you were just as affected as he was.
His name slips past your lips and you’re coming, your forehead digging into his shoulder blade as you cry out.
No words exchanged after, just the baggie of pills, one less than he’d usually give you.
If you noticed, you didn’t say anything.
Your feet carry you down the streets as you get lost in your thoughts. You aren’t exactly heading for Joel’s, you’re just walking. Thinking.
You’re lost in your own memories of the times you spent with him. You’re playing them over and over again, playing the look in his eyes over and over. He’d never looked at you with softness, never with care.
Not until the day he’d fucked you properly the first time. You’d seen the flash of something in his eyes as he’d come, staring down at you.
A flash of adoration, of care. A softness that jarred you so deep you had to choke back your tears.
You swallow as you shake yourself out of the memory, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. Anxiety pulling at your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs.
You realize where you are a moment later. Three houses away from his.
You steel yourself as you straighten your jacket, the cool summer night chilling you enough it sends a shiver up your spine.
You march ahead, the alcohol you’d consumed early slowly leaving your system. You had a clear head now.
You knew what you wanted to say.
You’re knocking on his door before you can think, stepping away as you hesitate. You can only hope he isn’t home.
The door swings open, and suddenly you can’t breathe. You feel your throat tighten, your eyes widen, your stomach drop.
He stares back at you with as much shock, his lips parting as he takes you in. Your name leaves his lips on a breath, a question that’s gone unasked.
“Hi.” You say, your eyes flicking up to his after studying his face for a moment, your voice soft and unsure.
“I thought you were dead.” He says, his voice sounding more angry than he means it. It almost sounds like an explanation. But all the regret and guilt bubbling in his chest made him choke on his words.
It almost physically jostles you, your eyes flashing with a multitude of emotions. Anger, hurt, fear. A looping cycle until you can speak. “Well, huge disappointment, ain’t it.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He sighs in exasperation, running a hand down his face. “Tommy told me you were here.”
“I don’t even know why I’m here.” You admit, scuffing your shoe across the coir mat in front of his door.
He stares at you for a moment more, his mind processing finally seeing you after so many years. Of course he’d had a few days to prepare, but never did he think you’d show up at his door.
Not after everything that happened.
“Do you want to come in?” He finally asks, breaking the silent tension.
You visibly relax, looking up at his face again. “If it isn’t too much trouble, I’d like to talk.”
“S’what you deserve.” He adds quietly as he steps aside.
Walking into his bare home felt too much like walking into that apartment all those years ago, anxiety rising in your throat. It wasn’t exciting anymore, not like it had been toward the end.
You pause in the foyer, turning back to him as you swallow the lump in your throat. “I’m sorry.”
The words stop him in his tracks, back turned to you, his hand still on the doorknob. When he finally turns around, his eyes don’t leave yours. “It’s not you who should be apologizing.”
You shake your head at him, wrapping your arms around your waist. You want to scream at him, want to cry. “I know I shouldn’t, but I’m still gonna.”
He takes a step forward, and it takes everything in you to not do the same, your body still somehow drawn to his after all these years. “I was- I’m still an awful man, darlin’. I don’t deserve your apologies. I should be the one grovelin.”
He sounds…broken. It tears you apart against your own will, there’s something in his voice that speaks of even greater loss than the last time you’d seen him. Expected in this world, but never an invited experience.
“Guess we both got things we regret.” You say, a slight bite to your voice you don’t mean.
It’s like you physically watch him build his walls, his body stiffening as the silence stretches.
“That’s not what I meant, Joel.” You say, the few seconds of silence becoming too much. “Fuck, that’s not what I meant.” You can feel the panic rising, knowing that if this was it, this was it.
“But I do.”
“You’re destroying that girl.”
He sets his coffee cup down harder than he means to, his eyes flashing up to Tess. “I ain’t doin’ anythin’ she ain’t askin’ for.” It’s been close to six months of this mess now. And he’d had his cock buried your cunt more times than he could count. He’d claimed it had been for him the first time. And it had, but the thought of having you come wrapped around him had pushed that sickness to the forefront of his mind. He needed it now.
Tess just shakes her head at him, her arms crossed under her breasts. “You know that’s not my point.”
“Then what is?” He bristles, clenching his jaw.
She knows this isn’t a fight she’ll win, but she still needs to make the point. “She needs to start paying.”
“She is.” He snaps, his eyes down on his cup, his chest tightening.
“No, Joel, you are.” She practically snarls, discontent rising in her throat. “You’re gonna hurt her, Joel. Shit, you already are.” She’s watching her best friend, her practical other half, slip to a place she knows she can’t pull him from.
His anger rises further. She’s right. He knows she’s right. But he can’t bring himself to let you go. “She’ll start paying.” He says with finality, meeting Tess’s eyes.
But they both know you won’t.
“I’m going to end it.” The words come out before he can stop them. “Gotta job.” He adds gruffly. “We’ll be gone at least a month. We leave next week.”
Tess stares at him for a moment, her brows furrowing further. “You need me for this one?”
He’s taken aback by the vulnerability in her voice. His eyes flick back up to hers, seeing that sad look in her eyes. A look of forgiving admiration. “I’ll always need you, Tess.”
Those two little words send you spiraling in an instant, your world suddenly shifting. Your eyes flick back up to his, the same pain reflecting in them. “You don’t mean that.” Your voice is weak with tears you refuse to let fall. “Please tell me you don’t mean that.”
“Don’t you?” He asks, his voice lowering just enough it’s almost a growl. He doesn’t know where the anger is coming from. Guilt piles on his chest like a thousand bricks after he sees your face drop.
“I don’t.” Your eyes don’t stop searching his. “I did, at one point. Only thing I regret was not doin it right.”
“There was no right way.” He says; cracks in his walls. He steps toward you again, continuing past you to the kitchen. He’s pulling a beer from the fridge when your brain catches up and you follow him.
“So you regret it all?” You ask, your voice steeled as you try to swallow your emotions, the conversation going a way you’d not thought it could.
His beer bottle hits the counter hard when he sets it down, his eyes landing on yours in return. “I regret the goddamn exchange. I don’t regret fuckin’ you.” He’s frustrated, you see it in the tension in his shoulders. “Christ.” A rough hand musses his curls as he threads his fingers through them. “I regret lettin’ it get so far that you got hurt.”
His admission almost startles you, watching his forehead crease as he realizes what he’s said. “That was inevitable.” You both know it’s true, but it’s the first time you’ve heard it said aloud.
His sigh is laden with guilt, self deprecation. “I was awful to you. I don’t get it, why’d you keep coming back?”
It’s progress; the question. It’s talking. It’s admitting it wasn’t all about the pills.
“It was an escape. You knew that from the beginning.” You admit, shuffling a little, putting space between you again before he’s tilting his head toward the fridge, lifting his beer, your small nod enough of an answer.
He’s pulling out what looks to be a bottle of mead, the silence stretching as he contemplates your answer. You happily accept the glass he pours.
“I wasn’t expecting it to end the way it did. I don’t think either of us did.” You break the silence as he leans back against the counter, still caught up in observing each other.
His shoulders rise and fall in a slight shrug of agreement and acknowledgment. It’s all you get.
“What are we doing here, Joel?” Your words are defeated, fingers clutching your glass like a lifeline. “I just want to know where we stand.”
“You came to me, darlin’.” He points out rightfully. You had, but you were at least expecting something from him too.
So you tell him that.
“I don’t know what I want.” He says gruffly, his eyes flashing with an emotion you can’t identify. Something you’d never seen in him before.
“Friendship?” You offer, but then grimace. “Sounds like we’re breaking up.”
His answer is too quick for you, your throat constring.
“We weren’t ever anythin’ to break up.”
You swallow thickly, your courage swelling. “Why do you deny it? Even all these years later. We know it wasn’t just about the pills anymore.” You watch him stiffen, shuffling on his feet.
“I’m not the type of man for that. I don’t do love, I don’t do relationships.” He’s harsh, the words biting at you and tearing you apart.
“You did Tess.” You want to get a rise out of him, get him mad. You want him to yell, you want to yell.
His eyes flash with something that nearly knocks you off your feet. A deep regret mixed with longing. You’ve seen that look in so many others. It instantly deflates you, your face falling in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Joel.” You mutter, sincerely. “Look, I don’t want to fight, I just want to figure this out so we can move on. I need closure. I never thought I’d get it, but I’m getting a second chance and I need you to just talk to me.” Your voice edges on desperation as he empties his glass, his eyes fixed on the floor.
“What do you want from me?”
You heave a sad sigh, sitting down at his kitchen table, he does the same after a few moments. “I don’t know, Joel. An apology? An explanation? I know I said something I shouldn’t have said, but why’d you leave?”
“I had a job. Took me out for nearly three months. Wasn’t supposed to be that long.” He grumbles, his eyes watching his glass as he swirls the alcohol around in it, not taking another drink. “I looked for you.” There’s a thread of vulnerability in his voice.
Your eyes snap up to his, shock registering on your face. You’d given up after two months, sneaking out with a group to try to find a better life. It had somehow worked, it had eventually led you here to Jackson.
“Why?”
The question leaves him quiet for a few long moments before he finally looks up at you. “I don’t know. I still don’t. I’m bad for you, darlin’. Nothin’ good can come of stayin’ ‘round me.” A heavy sigh before he continues. “I fail everyone. People get hurt around me all the time. I can’t do it to you. Again.”
Your stomach flips at the sadness in his voice, the way his eyes won’t meet yours. You want to reach for his hand, you want to comfort him. But you’ve never been that for him. Comfort.
You’re a mess, grinding your hips down onto his as he slaps your ass again.
He’s got you bare from the waist down, grinding against his erection in his jeans.
He wanted you like this, dripping and needy, begging for him to fuck you.
And you love every second of it. The imbalance. Him still fully clothed while you’ve only got your ratty t-shirt on.
“There ya go, good girl.” Joel growls into your ear, lips barely brushing your skin. “Know how much you like ridin’ me. Make yourself come and you can have my cock.”
Another whimper, a pathetic little sound as your clit catches on the seam of his jeans just right, each roll of your hips skyrocketing you toward your orgasm.
“I’m so close.” It’s mumbled against the fabric at his shoulder, your nose digging into his collarbone.
Another slap to your ass sends you careening over the edge, practically soaking the front of his jeans.
“There ya go, baby.” He mutters, his hands on your hips dragging you through your mess.
You preen at his soft tone, your body shuddering as you ride your high.
He’d gotten kinder in the five months you’d been doing this. He still held harsh words over you, but there would be flashes of moments where you saw flashes of something softer.
There’d be days like today.
Harsh movements and words melting into softness. He’d even started taking you to his bed.
You curl yourself around him when he stands, nuzzling your nose into his neck as he carries you to his bedroom.
Thankful today was one of those days.
You bounce on the mattress when you let go, trying to hide how much it was affecting you. How it made something warm swell in your chest, slowly growing with each passing day.
You’ve got your shirt off in record time, watching him remove his clothes. He was meticulous with it, making you wait as he neatly undoes every button.
You know he likes watching you squirm. Likes having that much power over you.
He tuts at you when he goes to pull off his belt. “Made a goddamn mess on me.”
You can’t help but smirk, letting your legs fall to expose yourself more to him. “Don’t act like you don’t like it.”
A snort leaves him before he can stop it, a cocky smirk on his face. “Quite the mouth on you today, darlin’. Need me to stuff it full?”
A shake of your head as you scoot up the bed while he kicks off his boxers and jeans is enough of an answer for him. He kneels on the bed, tapping your ankle. “Uh uh, pretty girl. You’re riding it tonight.”
You waste no time clambering to your knees, too eager for your own good.
He clicks his tongue at you again, his eyes filled with mirth. “Little slut likes ridin’, don’t she?”
You gnash your teeth playfully, straddling his hips when he finally lays back. You sink down with no preamble, taking him to the hilt.
It always hurts, but you crave it now. A cruel reminder of how this man was carving his way to your heart.
He lets you move the way he knows you need, his hands finding their home against your hips. With only the sound of skin on skin filling the room.
You’re the first to break the silence when pushes his hips on one of your downthrusts, a gasping cry of his name.
He grits his teeth as your pussy flutters around him, thrusting up harder into you. “That’s my good girl.” He pants, his teeth against your neck.
You’re coming before you realize you’re about to, your head falling back as you cry out his name over and over. The single word repeating in your head through your bliss.
His.
His good girl.
He’s shoving you off of him before you can register, your back hitting the bed. He kneels between your legs, his cum painting your pussy and lower stomach with just a few pumps of his fist.
He cleans you up with his mouth, bringing you to orgasm three more times.
You both know it’s for selfish reasons you’re doing this now.
But you don’t talk about it. He’s given you the same amount of pills for almost two months. Since the first time he’d fucked you properly.
It’s the first time you fall asleep in his bed, curled up.
Alone.
Again.
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