summary: A summer in the heart of Tuscany rekindles an unexpected connection between y/n, a spirited traveler with Italian roots, and Joel, an enigmatic older man from her past, as love blooms amidst sunlit vineyards, secret ambitions, and the allure of second chances.
a/n: I miss summer, reader speaks Italian, Joel’s business man, this is all fluff, kissing
joel miller masterlist
There was something about summers in Italy that made me feel like I was living in a dream. Maybe it was the slow mornings spent sipping cappuccinos in the sun or the way the golden light bathed everything in warmth. Or maybe it was just the way life felt simpler here, quieter, like I could finally breathe.
Nonna always said I belonged here more than anywhere else. “Sei come me, y/n. Il tuo cuore è italiano.” You’re like me, y/n. Your heart is Italian.
Maybe she was right.
It was another warm evening when I saw him.
I had just left the market, a bag of peaches cradled in my arms, when I caught sight of someone who looked so entirely out of place that I almost didn’t believe it.
Joel Miller.
For a second, I thought I was imagining things.
He didn’t belong here. Not in the way the locals did, with their easy smiles and the familiarity in their movements. He stood apart—too refined, too polished. His clothes were simple—dark slacks, a crisp button-down with the sleeves rolled up—but they fit him too well, like they had been made just for him. And then there was the watch. Sleek. Understated. Expensive.
But it wasn’t just the way he looked. It was the way he carried himself. Relaxed, but deliberate. Like a man used to being in control.
I should have kept walking.
But then he looked up, and our eyes met.
Something in my chest tightened.
His brow creased slightly, and he glanced at his phone before looking back at the buildings around him.
I slowed. “Ti sei perso?”
Joel’s head snapped toward me, his gaze sharp before recognition flickered across his face. Then came the smirk—slow and knowing.
“Well, hell,” he muttered.
I raised an eyebrow. “Are you lost?”
He exhaled a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Somethin’ like that.”
I shifted the bag in my arms, studying him. “What are you doing in Tuscany?”
His smirk didn’t fade, but something about his expression changed, like he was waiting to see how I’d react to whatever he said next.
“Work.”
Interesting. Joel looked like a man who worked with his hands, but he didn’t carry himself like a businessman either. Not the kind who sat behind a desk all day, at least.
“What kind of work?” I pressed.
A pause. “Business.”
Vague. Purposefully so.
I hummed, but let it go—for now.
Joel chuckled, shaking his head. “Didn’t expect an interrogation when I stopped to ask for directions.”
I smiled. “Fine. Where are you trying to go?”
He glanced at his phone, then back at me. “Some restaurant—uh, Trattoria del Sole?” His pronunciation was terrible.
I laughed. “You mean this Trattoria del Sole?” I turned and pointed to the restaurant just across the piazza.
Joel followed my gaze, then exhaled another quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Well, hell.”
I bit my lip to hide my smile. “Guess you were lost.”
Joel looked at me for a long moment, like he was still trying to piece together how, out of all places, I was standing in front of him.
“You always spend your summers here?” he asked.
“Yes and no,” I said, adjusting the bag in my arms. “My grandmother lives here. I grew up coming to visit.”
He nodded, considering.
Then, after a beat, “Join me for dinner.”
It wasn’t a question.
I studied him, weighing the offer.
Joel had always been like this—straightforward, sure of himself. It wasn’t arrogance, exactly, but he wasn’t the kind of man who expected to be told no.
I liked that. But I liked keeping him on his toes more.
I raised an eyebrow. “You always invite old acquaintances to dinner?”
Joel smirked, slow and lazy. “Only the ones who used to babysit my kid.”
A laugh bubbled up in my throat. “That was a long time ago.”
His eyes glinted with something unreadable. “Still happened.”
I exhaled, shifting the bag of peaches in my arms. “Alright,” I said finally. “But only because I’m curious.”
“About what?”
I stepped past him, toward the restaurant, glancing back just enough to catch the glint of amusement in his eyes.
“About you.”
And just like that, dinner became the start of something I wasn’t sure I was ready for.
The restaurant was warm and intimate, the kind of place where locals lingered over wine and spoke in hushed, easy tones. Golden candlelight flickered against the stone walls, and the scent of garlic and fresh basil filled the air.
Joel sat across from me, one arm draped over the back of his chair, fingers lightly tapping against the wood. He looked at ease, but I could tell he was studying me, the way I moved, the way I spoke. Like he was trying to figure me out.
I let him wonder.
The waiter approached, speaking to me in rapid Italian. “Acqua naturale o frizzante?”
I glanced at Joel. He looked completely lost.
Biting back a smile, I turned back to the waiter. “Naturale, grazie.” Then, I glanced at Joel again. “Still need a translator?”
He smirked. “Workin’ on it.”
I hummed. “You should work faster.”
Joel let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Somethin’ tells me you like havin’ the upper hand.”
I tilted my head. “Maybe.”
The waiter returned with the water, and we placed our orders—well, I did. Joel simply glanced at me and said, “Order for me.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You trust me with that?”
His lips twitched. “Reckon I do.”
Interesting.
I ordered us both pasta—something simple, fresh, the kind of meal that let the ingredients speak for themselves. When the waiter left, I leaned forward, resting my chin on my hand.
“So, Joel,” I said, tasting his name on my tongue, watching the way his expression flickered when I said it. “What kind of business brings you to Italy?”
His gaze held mine for a beat, unreadable. Then, he exhaled, leaning back. “Investments.”
I considered him. “Not exactly a vacation, then.”
“Not exactly.”
I twirled the stem of my wine glass between my fingers. “You don’t stay in one place long, do you?”
Joel’s jaw ticked slightly. “Depends on the place.”
Something in his tone made my stomach flip.
Outside, the night had deepened, the piazza quieter now, bathed in the soft glow of the streetlamps.
Joel walked beside me as I led him through the winding streets. His pace was slow, deliberate, like he was in no rush to leave.
I stopped at a small bridge overlooking the canal, leaning against the stone railing. He stood beside me, close but not touching.
“You enjoyed yourself,” I said, watching the water ripple below.
He smirked. “That obvious?”
I turned to face him. “You don’t strike me as the kind of man who does things he doesn’t enjoy.”
Joel exhaled, his gaze drifting over my face, pausing just briefly at my lips before meeting my eyes again.
“You’d be right,” he murmured.
I should go.
But then his fingers grazed my wrist, settling lightly against my skin. Not pulling, not demanding. Just… there.
I could have stepped away.
But I didn’t.
I should have walked away sooner.
That was the smart thing to do—leave before I got too comfortable, before the pull between us became something I couldn’t ignore.
But when Joel’s fingers grazed my wrist, lingering just enough to make my breath hitch, I knew I was already in trouble.
Still, I smiled softly and pulled away. “Goodnight, Joel.”
He didn’t stop me. Didn’t try to convince me to stay.
But as I walked away, I could feel his eyes on me, the weight of his presence still thick in the warm summer air.
And for the first time in a long time, I left someone behind and actually wished I hadn’t.
—
I didn’t expect to see him again.
Tuscany was big enough for two people to never cross paths twice, but small enough that fate sometimes had other plans.
It was three days later when I spotted him again, standing near a vineyard just outside of town, speaking with a man I recognized as one of the local winemakers. His sleeves were rolled up again, exposing strong forearms, and his brows were furrowed as he listened, nodding at whatever was being said.
I should have kept walking.
But something made me stop.
Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was something else.
I stepped closer, tilting my head with a smirk. “You still lost?”
Joel turned, his expression shifting from mild surprise to something softer, something unreadable.
“Well, if I was, reckon you’d enjoy that too much,” he said, that slow drawl making me bite back a smile.
“Maybe,” I admitted. “You’re fun to mess with.”
He exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.
The winemaker excused himself, leaving us alone.
Joel watched me, that same way he had the night we met—like he was still trying to figure me out.
“You stickin’ around long?” I asked, arms folding over my chest.
“For a little while,” he said.
A beat of silence stretched between us. The midday sun was high, casting long shadows over the vineyard.
Then, I made a decision.
“You’ve only seen the surface of Tuscany,” I said. “The tourist spots. The places people write about in guidebooks.”
Joel raised an eyebrow. “And you know better?”
I smirked. “I know the good places.”
His lips twitched. “That so?”
I took a step back, tilting my head toward the narrow road leading away from the vineyard. “Come on, Mister Miller. Let me show you the real Tuscany.”
Joel exhaled, shaking his head slightly—like he couldn’t believe he was agreeing to this—but he followed.
And just like that, our summer began.
—
I didn’t give him the tourist tour.
I took him through the narrow alleys tourists never found, past crumbling walls where wildflowers spilled from cracks in the stone. We ducked into the tiny bakery run by Signora Valli, where Joel nodded politely as she scolded me for staying away too long.
“She likes you,” Joel said when we stepped back into the sun.
“That was her being nice,” I said, breaking off a piece of warm cornetto and handing it to him.
He chewed thoughtfully. “So, what’s she say when she’s mean?”
I grinned. “You don’t want to know.”
We wandered down to the olive groves, where the cicadas hummed and the sun turned the leaves silver-green. I showed him where the best figs grew, and when I pointed to the twisted old tree near the stone wall, Joel surprised me by stepping forward and tugging a ripe fig from a low branch.
“Didn’t think you’d climb a tree,” I said as he handed it to me.
He shrugged. “Didn’t have to. Got you to do all the hard work.”
I shot him a glare and bit into the fig, sweet juice dripping down my wrist. His eyes followed the movement, dark and intent. I didn’t wipe it away.
By late afternoon, we ended up at the old stone bridge overlooking the vineyards. I leaned against the warm stone, watching the distant figures move between the vines. Joel stood beside me, arms crossed, gaze on the horizon.
“You really spend every summer here?” he asked after a while.
“Every one I can.” I smiled faintly. “Nonna likes having me around. Says I keep her young.”
Joel huffed a laugh. “Don’t reckon she needs help with that. She looks like she runs the place.”
“She does,” I said, grinning. “The whole village’s scared of her.”
He smirked but didn’t respond. The breeze tugged at the hair curling against his temple, and I caught myself staring.
I glanced away. “What about you? You’re supposed to be working, aren’t you?”
His jaw shifted. “Yeah.”
“That convincing?”
He shot me a sidelong glance. “No.”
I waited, but he didn’t offer more. I should’ve been annoyed, but it was hard to be when he stood there like that—solid and unyielding, like the bridge itself.
The wind shifted, carrying the scent of rosemary and cypress. I rubbed my thumb along the stone. “So, is Tuscany what you expected?”
Joel’s eyes flicked to mine. “Didn’t expect Tuscany.”
The air thickened between us. His gaze didn’t waver.
I felt it again—that pull, familiar now but no less disorienting. Like standing at the edge of a step you didn’t know was there.
I opened my mouth to deflect with a joke, but Joel shifted closer, his arm brushing mine. The warmth of it sank through the fabric of my dress, solid and steady.
The sun dipped lower over the vineyards, painting the sky in soft strokes of orange and pink. We sat on the low stone wall at the edge of the hill, our legs dangling over the side. The breeze carried the scent of wild thyme and warm earth, and somewhere in the distance, a church bell rang.
Joel stretched his legs out in front of him, his boots scuffed against the old stones. His hand rested beside mine on the wall—close but not touching this time. The warmth of it still lingered from when he’d held it earlier. I couldn’t quite decide if I missed it or if I was relieved he’d let go.
“So,” I said, breaking the silence, “did you ever think you’d run into me here?”
Joel huffed a laugh. “Didn’t think I’d run into anyone I knew. Tuscany ain’t exactly down the road from Austin.”
I smiled faintly. “Yeah, well. You never know where Texas will follow you.”
He grinned, and the sight of it hit me harder than I expected. I wasn’t used to seeing him like this—relaxed, amused. It made him look younger. Less weighed down.
“you ever miss it in summer?” he asked after a beat.
“Texas?” I considered, tilting my face toward the sun. “Sometimes.”
“Like what?”
I tapped my fingers against the stone. “Summer storms,” I said after a moment. “The ones that roll in out of nowhere. The smell of rain on hot pavement. And barbecue. God, I miss barbecue.” I sighed dramatically, and Joel chuckled. “What about you?”
His eyes softened. “Yeah. Miss the little stuff. Mornin’s on the porch with a cup of coffee. That first cold snap in October when the air actually feels different. And the stars.” He exhaled. “Stars here are nice, but…ain’t the same.”
“Yeah,” I agreed softly. “Not like home.”
The word slipped out before I thought about it. My cheeks warmed, but Joel didn’t say anything. He just nodded, like he knew exactly what I meant.
The cicadas buzzed louder in the trees.
He didn’t press me for more. Joel was good at that—giving me space to say what I needed without pushing.
Instead, he reached down and picked up a stray pebble, rolling it between his fingers. “Sarah still talks about you, y’know.”
That surprised me. My chest tightened. “She does?”
Joel smiled faintly. “Yeah. Told me the other day she still remembers when you made her those chocolate chip pancakes with the smiley faces.”
I laughed, the memory sharp and clear. “I did that every time I babysat her. She used to insist on extra chocolate chips for the eyes.”
“She still does.” His voice was soft. “You were good to her.”
“She was easy to be good to.”
Joel didn’t respond right away. His thumb traced the edge of the pebble, eyes distant. I wondered if he was thinking about Sarah, or maybe her mom, or maybe something else entirely.
“I remember when you first showed up to babysit,” he said eventually. “You were what—twenty?”
“Barely.” I smiled wryly. “And nervous as hell. Your daughter had more confidence than I did.”
“She liked you right away.” His mouth curved slightly. “Kept askin’ when you were comin’ back.”
My chest warmed. “She was always the sweetest.”
Joel nodded, but his expression turned more thoughtful. “Didn’t expect to see you here, though. In Italy, I mean.”
I arched a brow. “Why not?”
He shrugged. “I dunno. Back then, you were always talkin’ about Texas like you never wanted to leave.”
I laughed softly. “Yeah, well. Life has a way of surprising you.”
Joel’s eyes flicked to mine. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It does.”
The weight of his gaze settled over me, heavy and warm. My pulse stuttered. I wanted to look away, but something held me there, locked in place.
The sun dipped lower. The cicadas hummed. And Joel Miller, the man I never expected to see outside of Texas, sat beside me like he’d always belonged here.
I cleared my throat, breaking the moment. “Anyway,” I said, forcing a teasing lilt into my voice. “How does it feel to have a Texan showing you around Italy?”
Joel chuckled, the tension easing just slightly. “Humblin’,” he said, straight-faced.
I snorted. “Yeah, right.”
He turned his head to look at me again. “Nah. I mean it.”
My smile faltered. “Why?”
Joel shifted slightly on the stone wall, his shoulder brushing mine. “’Cause I know how much you love this place,” he said after a beat. “And you don’t share it with just anyone.”
I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. He wasn’t wrong.
But the realization that he knew that—that he saw me like that—hit harder than I was ready for.
I didn’t know what to say, so I just smiled faintly and bumped my shoulder against his. “Don’t get a big head, Miller. I’m just making sure you don’t embarrass Texas while you’re here.”
His eyes twinkled. “Too late.”
I laughed, and the tension shifted. But later, when we walked back down the hill toward the village, Joel let his hand brush mine again.
This time, I didn’t pull away.
—
The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the villa and everything it touched. The heat of the day was starting to settle in, the warm air wrapping around us as I walked barefoot toward the pool. The sound of the water was calming, a gentle lapping as it caught the sun’s reflection, sparkling with every movement.
Joel was already in the pool, his figure cutting through the water with ease. He had his arms resting on the side, looking up at me as I approached. His eyes twinkled with that easy smile he wore so often, but there was something different about his expression today—something a little more intent.
I didn’t hesitate, peeling off my sundress and stepping into the water, the coolness of it a perfect relief from the heat. The water lapped against my skin, and I felt weightless, free. I swam toward Joel, the soft splash of my movements the only sound between us.
He reached out, taking my hand as I neared, his grip warm and firm, guiding me closer. “You look like you’re enjoying the summer,” he said, his voice low and steady, a slight teasing note beneath it.
I grinned, the warmth of the sun on my skin mixing with the coolness of the water. “I am,” I replied, letting my fingers brush against his. “It’s hard not to when you’re surrounded by this.”
He studied me for a moment, his eyes dark and intense as they locked onto mine. There was a quiet moment, a small shift in the air between us. I could feel the pull, the way everything seemed to slow down when we were near each other, the way the world felt a little bit more alive in his presence.
I swam a little closer, not breaking eye contact, until I was standing just in front of him, the water lapping gently at our waists. My heart was beating faster now, not from the swim, but from the closeness between us. The tension that had been building in little moments over the past few weeks was palpable now, the air thick with it.
Joel’s hand gently cupped my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek as if memorizing the feel of my skin. His touch sent a shiver down my spine, the connection between us undeniable. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in, and before I could even think about it, his lips brushed softly against mine.
The kiss was slow, a gentle exploration of what had been building between us for days, weeks even. The water seemed to heighten everything—the way his lips moved against mine, the way his hand slid down to the back of my neck, pulling me closer as the world seemed to fade away.
My hands found their way to his shoulders, and as I leaned in deeper, the kiss became more intense, more desperate. His breath mingled with mine, and I could feel his heart beating just as fast as mine. Every moment felt electric, like the entire summer was being condensed into this one perfect second.
Joel pulled away slightly, his forehead resting against mine, his breath coming in short bursts. “You drive me crazy,” he murmured, his voice rough.
I smiled, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw, savoring the feel of him, the warmth of his body against mine. “I think you do the same to me,” I whispered back.
There was something in his eyes, something vulnerable and open, as he looked at me. It was as if we both knew this moment was more than just a kiss, more than just a summer fling. The intensity was undeniable. But for now, there was no need to rush—everything felt right in this suspended moment.
We lingered there, our faces close, letting the soft splashes of the water and the warmth of the sun settle around us. He kissed me again, this time deeper, a kiss that spoke of longing, of something unspoken but understood between us.
I closed my eyes, leaning into him, feeling the pulse of the water around us as I pressed my body closer to his. The coolness of the pool mixed with the heat of our skin, creating a contrast that only made the moment more intoxicating.
For a moment, nothing else existed but the two of us, lost in the water, in the sun, in the quiet intimacy of the summer. It was a perfect kind of peace, the kind that wrapped itself around you and made you feel like you were exactly where you were meant to be.
And as we pulled away once more, his hands resting on my waist, I knew—whatever happened when the summer ended, this moment, this connection, was something that would stay with me. Something that I would carry long after the warmth of the sun had faded.
—
The night was calm and peaceful, the kind of evening that made you feel like you could stay outside forever. My grandmother’s villa was perched on a small hill in Tuscany, and the view from the terrace was breathtaking—endless fields of green, the soft glow of street lamps below, and the distant hum of a town that was slowly quieting down for the night.
Joel and I sat across from each other at the dinner table, my grandmother beside us. The meal was simple but delicious—fresh pasta, roasted vegetables, and a glass of red wine that had already started to loosen our tongues.
Joel looked more relaxed tonight, his smile easy and natural. Every so often, his eyes would linger on me, but he didn’t say anything outright. We had danced around it—the unspoken pull between us—but neither of us was ready to admit what was happening. It was as if we were both waiting for something to tip the balance.
My grandmother, who was always a bit of an enigma, sat across from us, watching with an air of amusement. She didn’t press us with questions, but I knew she could tell something was different. She always knew.
“So,” she said casually, cutting a piece of chicken, her eyes flicking between the two of us. “Joel, I hear you’re enjoying your time here in Tuscany.”
Joel smiled, taking a sip of his wine. “I am. It’s… beautiful here.”
My grandmother nodded. “Ah, Tuscany. It’s magical. But the most magical part is the company.” She paused for a beat, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. “Especially when you find someone who makes you feel like you’re living in a dream.”
I nearly choked on my wine, coughing lightly as I caught her meaning. She had said it with such ease, but the double entendre was clear. I shot her a look, but she only winked at me, a glint of mischief in her eyes.
Joel raised an eyebrow, sensing something in the air, but didn’t press it. Instead, he turned to me with a grin. “I think she’s got a point, y/n. It is magical here. The whole experience.”
I smiled, trying to hide the blush creeping up my neck. “Yes, it’s beautiful. But I think Nonna just likes to talk about love, even if it’s not quite the right time for that conversation,” I said with a teasing tone.
My grandmother gave a short, knowing laugh, then shifted in her seat. “Sì, y/n, parli troppo poco di amore,” she said in half Italian, half English. (Yes, y/n, you talk too little about love).
I rolled my eyes, knowing exactly what she meant, and shot Joel an apologetic look. “Ignore her,” I said, but there was no mistaking the glint of mischief in my grandmother’s gaze.
“Ah, love,” she continued, tapping her fingers on the edge of her wine glass. “It has a way of finding you when you least expect it, no?” She raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying herself. “A volte più tardi, a volte più presto—sometimes later, sometimes earlier.”
Joel chuckled, taking it all in stride. “Sounds like good advice.”
“Wise words from a very wise woman,” he said, glancing at me with a playful smile.
My grandmother smirked but didn’t say anything more, letting the conversation flow naturally. It wasn’t that she didn’t notice the tension between us; she just wasn’t pushing it. She knew how to let things unfold at their own pace, and that’s what I admired about her.
The night passed by quietly, the air cooling as we continued our meal. My grandmother, despite her subtle jokes, was content to let us be. She didn’t need to say much to let us know that she saw what was happening between Joel and me. It was written all over us. But tonight, there was no pressure, no rushing—just the gentle, unspoken bond that had begun to form.
When we finished eating, my grandmother stood up, her hands smoothing down her dress. “Well, I think it’s time for me to get some rest. You two—” she glanced at us with a playful smile, “—don’t stay out too late. Va bene?” (Alright?)
I nodded, a soft laugh escaping me. “Va bene, Nonna.”
Joel stood as well, offering her a polite smile. “Thank you for the wonderful meal. It was delicious.”
“You are welcome, Joel,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “Good night.”
As she disappeared into the house, I turned to Joel, my fingers instinctively brushing against his under the table. There was a comfortable silence now, a quiet tension that hummed between us but didn’t feel overwhelming.
“So,” I said, my voice a little quieter, “what did you think of her?”
Joel smiled, his gaze never leaving mine. “I like her. She’s… sharp. But she knows how to make you think.”
I chuckled softly. “That’s one way to put it.”
His smile softened, and he reached for my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “She’s right, though, you know. About love, I mean.”
I raised an eyebrow, meeting his eyes. “How so?”
Joel leaned in just a little, the soft glow of the moonlight casting shadows on his face. “Sometimes later, sometimes earlier… maybe we don’t always get to decide when we find something worth holding on to.”
I swallowed, his words hanging in the air between us. It felt like the weight of everything unsaid, everything still untold, was starting to settle into something real.
“I think we’re both figuring that out,” I whispered, my hand still in his.
And for the rest of the evening, we didn’t need to say anything more. The quiet between us said everything that needed to be said.
—
The mornings after we got together were my favorite.
Italy had always been beautiful, always been magic—but now it was different. Warmer. Softer. Like the sun rose just for us, spilling gold across the hills and sneaking through the cracks in the wooden shutters of our small apartment. The air smelled like coffee and jasmine, and the sheets were tangled around us, skin against skin, heart against heart.
Joel wasn’t much of a morning person, but he never complained when I woke up first and ran my fingers along his jawline, tracing the scratch of his stubble. He’d just hum low in his throat, eyes still closed, and tighten his arm around my waist to pull me closer.
“You’re starin’,” he mumbled one morning, voice rough with sleep.
“You’re pretty when you sleep.”
His lips twitched. “Don’t lie to me this early.”
I laughed, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Okay. Handsome. Ruggedly handsome.”
His eyes cracked open then, dark and lazy, and he shifted just enough to roll me beneath him. The mattress dipped under his weight, and I grinned up at him as he braced himself with one arm beside my head.
“Better,” he said.
The mornings blurred into days spent wandering cobblestone streets and driving through the countryside with the windows down. The radio crackled with Italian ballads, and Joel tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as I translated the lyrics with a grin.
“She’s singing about her lover who promised her the moon and left her with nothing,” I said once, over-exaggerating the drama of it with a hand over my heart. “Ti ho amato fino alla fine! I loved you until the end!”
Joel smirked. “That so?”
“It’s very tragic.”
“Guess I better not leave you, then.”
My breath caught, and I turned toward the window, biting back a smile.
At sunset, we took our glasses of wine to the balcony and watched the sky bleed pink and orange over the rooftops. Joel leaned against the railing beside me, his arm brushing mine.
“Nonna used to sit out here every night,” I said softly. “Said the sky looked like a painting God left just for her.”
Joel’s gaze didn’t leave the horizon. “Smart woman.”
The silence stretched, comfortable and familiar, before he shifted closer. His hand found mine, warm and solid. I squeezed it and exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that settled in your chest like peace.
“Never thought I’d be here,” he said after a while.
“In Italy?”
Joel shook his head. “Here. With you.” His thumb brushed over my knuckles. “Never thought it’d feel like this.”
“Like what?” I asked, voice quieter than I meant it to be.
His jaw flexed, eyes softening when he met my gaze. “Like I can breathe again.”
My throat tightened, and I stepped into his arms without a word. He held me there, against his chest, the world fading into nothing but the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear.
Later that night, after the city quieted and the moon rose, we danced barefoot in the kitchen while pasta boiled on the stove. The record player crackled in the corner with an old Italian love song, and Joel’s hand pressed against the small of my back, guiding me in slow circles across the tile.
I sang along under my breath, the lyrics instinctive and familiar. Joel didn’t know the words, but he didn’t need to. His eyes never left mine.
“Sei il mio destino,” I whispered as the music slowed.
“You’re my destiny,” he repeated softly.
I smiled and kissed him, tasting wine and forever.
—
The beach was quiet, secluded, the kind of place only locals knew about. I had taken Joel there a few times now, and even though he pretended to be indifferent, I knew he loved it just as much as I did.
Today, he had stretched out on a towel beneath the shade of an olive tree, a book in his hands, looking as unbothered as ever.
I, however, had other plans.
Grinning to myself, I sauntered over, still damp from my last swim, droplets of water trailing down my skin. Joel didn’t even glance up as I hovered over him, too engrossed in whatever he was reading.
I huffed. “You’re really going to spend the afternoon reading instead of enjoying the water?”
He turned a page, the hint of a smirk playing at his lips. “Ain’t stoppin’ you from enjoyin’ it.”
I narrowed my eyes before dropping down on top of him, effectively pinning him to the towel.
That got his attention.
His book tipped slightly as he peered down at me, an amused exhale escaping his lips. “You tryin’ to suffocate me?”
I smirked, resting my chin on my hands as I lay against his chest. “If that’s what it takes to get you in the water, then maybe.”
Joel sighed, but there was no real protest in it. His free hand found the small of my back, resting there like it belonged, his thumb grazing my skin absentmindedly.
“You’re trouble, you know that?”
I grinned. “You love it.”
He exhaled, shaking his head before looking back at his book. I watched as his eyes skimmed the words, waiting, waiting—then I reached up and snatched it right out of his hands.
“Y/n,” he warned, reaching for it, but I was faster.
I sat up, holding the book above my head. “The book or the water, Miller. Pick one.”
He squinted up at me, like he was actually considering his options.
I laughed. “Unbelievable.” Then, before he could argue, I bolted.
Joel let out a gruff damn it before chasing after me. I ran straight into the waves, squealing as the water hit my skin, my victory short-lived because in a matter of seconds, his hands were on me, lifting me right off my feet.
I yelped. “Joel, don’t you—”
Too late.
I was tossed into the sea with a splash, the cool water swallowing me whole.
When I resurfaced, gasping, hair plastered to my face, Joel was standing there, arms crossed, watching me with a smug expression.
“Happy now?” he drawled.
I lunged, grabbing his arm and yanking him toward me.
He stumbled, cursing as he splashed into the water, the smugness wiped clean from his face.
I burst into laughter.
Joel pushed his wet hair back, shaking his head. “You’re somethin’ else.”
I grinned, swimming closer. “You love it.”
This time, he didn’t argue.
Instead, he pulled me flush against him, the warmth of his body stark against the cool waves.
And when he leaned in, pressing his lips to mine, I decided that maybe, just maybe, I had won this round after all.
—
The night was thick with summer heat, the air scented with lavender and salt from the distant sea. We had spent the evening wandering through the hills, ending up at my favorite hidden spot—a quiet overlook where the world stretched endlessly before us, rolling green and gold beneath the moonlight.
Joel stood beside me, hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He had been quieter than usual tonight, but not in a way that made me uneasy. More like he was thinking about something, rolling it around in his mind, trying to decide whether or not to say it out loud.
I turned to him, smirking. “You’re thinking too hard.”
His lips quirked, but his eyes stayed on the view.
“That obvious?”
I nodded. “I can practically hear the gears turning.”
He exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. But he still didn’t look at me.
That wouldn’t do.
So I stepped closer. Just enough that my shoulder brushed against his, just enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his skin.
“Joel.” My voice was softer now. “What is it?”
He hesitated. Then, finally, he turned to me.
And for the first time since I met him, he looked uncertain.
Something shifted between us then—something unspoken, something inevitable.
I swallowed, my pulse quickening.
I had never been nervous around him before.
But now, standing this close, his gaze fixed on mine, the weight of the moment settling between us like something fragile and delicate—I suddenly felt everything.
My breath hitched as he reached up, brushing his fingers against my jaw. It was the lightest touch, barely there, but it sent a shiver down my spine.
“You make it real hard not to fall for you,” he murmured.
My heart stopped.
Then, before I could overthink it, before I could talk myself out of it—I closed the distance.
Our lips met, soft and slow, hesitant for only a second before the hesitation disappeared entirely.
Joel exhaled against my mouth, his hands finding my waist, pulling me closer. I melted into him, my fingers tangling in his shirt, the warmth of him overwhelming, grounding.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate.
It was something deeper. Something dangerous.
Something that made me wonder if maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t going to be just a summer after all.
—
The soft evening light spilled across the stone steps as we sat there, our glasses of wine nearly forgotten between us. The air was warm, with a cool breeze now and then that made the leaves rustle above our heads. The soft hum of life from the villa seemed distant, almost nonexistent in this quiet moment we were sharing.
Joel had been unusually quiet, his gaze often drifting to the horizon, his fingers lightly tapping against the glass. I knew what was on his mind. The conversation about the end of the summer hadn’t been the easiest one, and it lingered in the air between us like a weight neither of us wanted to acknowledge.
“I guess I’ve been thinking a lot about what happens after,” Joel said, his voice breaking the comfortable silence. His eyes were still distant, but his hand shifted toward mine, his fingers brushing over my skin, making my heart skip a beat.
I met his gaze, my throat tight. “Me too,” I said, swallowing the lump that had formed there. “It’s hard to imagine going back to my life without… this. Without you.”
He glanced down at our hands, which had somehow ended up intertwined, his thumb brushing across my knuckles in a comforting, almost absent way. “It’s the same for me,” he murmured. “But… it’s not like this is the first time I’ve had to leave someone behind.”
I frowned, not fully understanding. “What do you mean?”
Joel sighed, shifting slightly on the steps to face me more directly. “I travel a lot for work,” he said, his voice low. “I’m never in one place for too long. Even when I’m home, it’s for a short time before I have to leave again.”
I blinked, surprised by the revelation. “I didn’t know that,” I admitted. “You never really talked about your job.”
“I know,” he said, and there was a slight hesitation in his voice. “I don’t talk much about it. It’s… complicated.” He gave a small shrug, almost like he didn’t want to elaborate further. “But… that’s why I try not to get attached to anyone. It’s easier this way. No long-term ties, no complications.”
I nodded slowly, absorbing what he was saying. “I get it,” I replied quietly. “You have your life, your responsibilities. But it still doesn’t make this easy.”
Joel met my eyes, his gaze softening. “No, it doesn’t. But it’s not like I’m going to forget about you, y/n. This summer—” He trailed off, his hand still resting on mine, his fingers gently tracing the lines of my palm in an almost hypnotic pattern. “What we have… it’s real. Even if it’s only for now.”
I shivered slightly from the way his fingers moved, the light touch making me feel like his hands were drawing on more than just my skin. He was tracing me, memorizing me. His fingers sketched over the curve of my wrist, down to the delicate curve of my elbow, as if he was drawing something in the air only he could see.
“I’m not good at this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not good at… saying how I feel, at letting people in.”
I nodded, understanding that more than I wanted to. I wasn’t exactly good at it either. But something about the way he spoke, the way he touched me so gently, made it feel like he was letting me in, bit by bit.
“Maybe we don’t need to figure it all out right now,” I said softly, my free hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Maybe we can just… be here. Together.”
Joel looked at me with a tenderness that almost broke me. Then, his fingers moved to trace the line of my jaw, then down the side of my neck, his touch light, deliberate. His hand was warm against my skin, and his eyes followed the path of his fingertips, as though he were painting a picture of me in his mind.
“I like that,” he said, voice thick with something deeper. “I like just being with you.”
His hand lingered on my neck, his thumb grazing the soft skin there before moving back to trace the curve of my collarbone. The intimacy of the gesture, the way he was touching me as if I was something precious, made my heart race.
“Does it ever scare you?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “The idea that you won’t be here after the summer?”
Joel’s hand paused, his fingers resting lightly on my skin, and he met my gaze with a mixture of sadness and understanding. “It does,” he admitted quietly. “But I don’t think we should let fear stop us from living the moments we have now.”
I swallowed, feeling that familiar ache deep in my chest. “I don’t want to say goodbye,” I whispered.
Joel’s gaze softened, and he leaned closer, his lips brushing the side of my cheek in a tender kiss. “We don’t have to say goodbye yet,” he murmured, his voice warm against my skin. “We still have time.”
I nodded, closing my eyes as his hand moved to cup my face, his thumb gently brushing over my lips. “I want to make the most of it,” I whispered, my breath shaky.
And there, under the fading light of the evening, we stayed close, letting the silence speak for us. Joel’s hand rested on my neck, his fingers slowly moving down again, tracing the lines of my body with an intimacy that felt so natural, so right, despite the uncertainty of what was to come. It was a language we spoke without words—one touch, one breath, one shared moment at a time.
summary: Lonely, widowed, Joel seeks company where he knows he shouldn't.
warnings: age gap (20s/50s), smut [m!receiving oral], reader is a sex worker, poverty and issues and dangers that come along with that, smoking (r and joel), loneliness, joel struggles a loooooot with guilt, mentions of grief and past romantic relationships, smoking, r is referred to as cherry due to not giving her actual name out (only used once, will be used sparingly), first part in a series though this part can be read as a standalone, new parts every tuesday
a/n: yeah, yeah, yeah, we've all read it before, age gap, etc. but this is my version of this kind of trope. this is the first part in a series that is mostly completely written and that I've dropped and come back many, many times, edited to hell, and then rewrote. It's like, my baby and exactly what I want from this type of relationship. write the fic you want to read and all that. let me know what you think if you read!
Curiosity ruins your life.
It sets a wheel in motion that you are powerless to stop, unable or just unwilling you might never know, like a cat that sees a sparrow beyond it’s window and decides prowling along a too high, too narrow branch, is worth it.
Your sparrow looks like a man, handsome and sad and weathered and just a little like a cowboy if you use your imagination. If this were a saloon and not a club, if there were some jaunty tune being played on a twangy piano, double swinging saloon doors at his back, not the pulse of too deep bass and the flash of girls’ teeth in the dark. Pulsingly red, dim lighting, the shadows of dancers on the walls, sticky floors and reaching hands, neon lights.
He doesn’t belong.
You watch one girl lean against the bar, proposition him, leave a few minutes later, pouting just a little.
Chastity flounces away from him, cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink, like she’s a girl again, like there’s something real in her name. You push away from the wall where you watch from the shadows, wasting time, decidedly not making any money though you can’t seem to help it.
You’re entranced; you need to know.
You catch her elbow as she passes by.
“What happened?”
“Just not interested, I guess.” There’s a glow in her eyes, lingering on the surface of her skin. “He’s kind, really. Not like they usually are, thinkin’ they’re doing you a favor.”
“Why does he keep coming here, then?”
This is the third week in a row he’s sat there, pretty and unavailable. You’d considered it a waste of time and put him out of your mind the first two times.
She shrugs, giving a flirty wave to someone over your shoulder. “One of my regulars is here,” she says. “I don’t know, I get the sense he’s real lonely. Maybe he just wants to sit and have a drink.”
Weren’t there better places to just have a drink, to feel less lonely?
He’s good looking and seems sad, and, well, there’s something about him, repeatedly u internationally reeling in women he apparently doesn’t want.
It’s a waste of time.
It’s impossible for you not to walk over, sidle into his space at the bar, close but not too close.
“You look lonely,” you greet, leaning against the counter next to him. Close enough to lean in and smell his cologne, close enough that he won’t have to work to see down your shirt.
“Howdy,” he answers, eyes flicking up to yours briefly before fastening to the bartop again. He’s nursing a drink that’s long gone warm and watery.
You eye him for a moment, the sharp line of his jaw, the lines by his eyes, the way his t-shirt stretches over his shoulders. He looks tired up close, drawn in a way that points your compass toward grief. “You look like you could use another drink.”
His eyes slide up again from the cherry red wood of the bar to meet your gaze. He blinks and settles back on the stool. There’s surprise in the pretty depth of his eyes. A brown color, cast darker, maybe, because of the low lighting. “I don’t mean to offend you, but I already said no to your friend. Chastity.”
He says her name so gently, it makes you smile.
“You remember her name.”
“Well I just talked to her.”
You shrug and hop up on the barstool next to him, adjusting your skirt as you go. He might be surprised at how little a girl’s name, fake or otherwise, mattered to so many men. “Oh, sweetheart, trust me I know. I’ve been watching you all night. I won’t bother you for long, I promise.” You can’t waste your whole night with someone who won’t pay you anyway, no matter how enticing the flutter of their wing.
“Huh,” his eyes flick over you again. “Seems like there’s plenty of willin’, uh, customers, to go around.”
The way he says it makes you want to giggle, and one slips out before you reign it in. He’s oddly polite, and strangely shy. Maybe even awkward, but in a charming, warm way.
“There are,” you say and wave down the bartender, gesturing at his poor excuse for a drink with one hand. “But you’re different.”
“How d’ya figure that?”
You don’t answer for a moment, smiling at the bartender when he sits the drink down in front of you.
You push the whiskey in front of him and then slide the much held onto glass from between his loose fingers. His hands immediately circle the new glass, like it’s some kind of fucked up security blanket. It’s hard not to notice how nice his hands are, thick fingers and broad palms lined and scarred from work. He wears a watch on his left wrist, the green band worn and stained in places. His hands tell a story, that he works with them everyday, blue collared and tired, tanned from the sun, a tiny sliver of paler skin peeking out from behind the watch face.
When you look up, you find him already looking at you. At your face, surprisingly. When you push out your chest, elbows narrowing subtly in towards your waist, his eyes don’t move. You tilt your head at him and he raises a brow.
“Every girl on this floor thinks you’re a widower,” you explain with a shrug. “They have since you first came in three weeks ago. And, usually widowers out looking for a girl treat them a certain way.” Your mouth twitches up into another smile, “So you’re special.”
You glance up and meet his eyes. “And I won’t ask, but I kind of agree with them. You have that look.”
He breathes out sharply. “How’s that?”
You tip your chin against your palm. “Sad. Like you’re ashamed to be here, and really lonely, but not in a desperate way.”
“Jesus,” he mutters and takes a sip from the glass. He makes a face and pushes it away. “All that just from me sittin’ here?”
You blink and tilt your head at him. “Well, you’ve been coming back. Was I right?”
There’s a long pause, like he’s considering not responding or agreeing. But then he says, almost defeatedly, “Yeah. Most of it, anyway.” He releases the lowball glass to slide one hand down his face, fingers scraping roughly over his beard before cupping his chin.
“Sorry to hear that.”
He just nods.
“All right, well, I was being honest about not bothering you and I’ve satisfied my own curiosity. I’ll leave you be, and I’ll tell the other girls to leave you, too, if you really don’t want to be approached. I could suggest somewhere better though, where you won’t be bothered, if you only want a drink,” you lean in, brush your hand against his arm. “And, if you take my word on nothing else, take it on this: the drinks here are shit.”
His skin is warm beneath yours; there’s a scar along the top of his forearm, a scrape and pull of hair against your nails when you let your hand slide off and turn away.
Before you can vacate your seat, his hand covers yours, and you pause.
The touch is brief but warm, and enough to make you stay. You can suddenly feel the eyes of all the other girls working that night on your back, hot with jealousy, holding their breath, curious as the cat finally stepping off the window ledge, that much closer to the sparrow.
You cross your legs and prop your chin on your fist again, watching him spin the glass on the bartop and not drink it, not say anything. “You don’t really look like you belong here,” you murmur, reaching out to trace your nails along his forearm absently. “You don’t really fit in here.”
In fact, no one has ever looked more uncomfortable. Nervous, you see that all the time. But not this.
He clearly wants something that he doesn’t know how to ask for. Or, maybe it’s the shame and the loneliness again, tangled up and impossible to unravel.
“We could just talk, you know,” you say gently. “Or. . .sit together. You don’t seem like much of a talker. And sometimes it's enough to have another warm body in the room.” You don’t say it, but you could pet him like this too, nails against his wrist, catching at the dark hair on his forearm.
He fidgets with the watch on his wrist, looking down at it like it holds the answer to a question he doesn’t know how to ask. After a long moment, he scoffs. “Startin’ to see why I’m special.”
You nearly backpedal, but the gruffness is directed inward, not at you. The last thing you need is to offend him, not see the swing of a fist and flinch fast enough.
You nod, knot between your shoulders smoothing away again. “Yeah. It’s usually about the. . .companionship more than anything else. You’re missing someone and that’s okay. I can fix that. Or, ease it, at least.”
He turns to look at you fully then, eyes flicking over your form, and you can tell exactly what he’s thinking. This isn’t a place you really fit in. Like him. There’s something different about you, that’s not like the others that have approached him.
You just smile at him again, run your nails along his arm again.
“Do you have somewhere quiet we can go?”
His gaze casts away, and he clears his throat. “Yeah.”
“All right, sweetheart. Ready to go now?”
A tendon in his jaw jumps when he clenches it hard, the muscle pulsing beneath his skin. You’re afraid for a moment that you read it wrong, his tone and the shape of his shoulder, and he is about to hit you, but the turmoil seems to be turned inward once more.
Instead of answering, he tosses back the rest of his drink and stands, offering you a hand as he goes. “You’re right about the drinks.”
“Gentlemanly of you,” you say and take his proffered hand, balancing heavily on him as you stand. “And I usually am.”
His fingers are light against your spine as he guides you out of the dim interior of the club, the pulse of light coating him in harsh reds and blues before you push through the doors out into the parking lot. “Not a compliment I usually get.”
“Well, that’s a damn shame,” you coo as he directs you across the pavement. “You are exceedingly polite.”
This is usually the scariest part, getting into a car with a man you don’t know. By the time you get to their room you’re settled, but this is where you’re always reminded of the risk you’re taking, the very real danger you could land yourself in. That anything could happen to you, and that probably no one would know or care if something did happen, that no one would look for you.
He stops beside an older pickup truck and opens the door for you with a squeak, hand offered for you to brace yourself on again. “Well I’d like to know who isn’t calling you a gentleman,” you say with a smile as he releases your hand.
It earns you another amused huff, before he closes the door and rounds the hood.
The interior of the cab is worn but clean. In the dark, you can only make out a few details. A tree shaped air freshener hangs from the review mirror that no longer puts off any smell. There’s a woven mat spread over the leather bench seat, a friendship bracelet knotted around the gearshift, a tangle of straw wrappers in the side of the door and an empty pack of cigarettes on the dash.
The dome light flickers back on briefly when he opens his door.
You’re plunged into shadows again just as quickly, but the flash of light is enough for you to see the box of cassette tapes by your toes that you’d missed.
The truck rumbles to life beneath you, a calming purr against the bare backs of your thighs. It reminds you, just briefly, of evenings spent in a different truck. More rundown than this one, more likely to break down on the side of the road than get you to your destination, the smell of cigarettes and your mother’s perfume thick on the air, billowing up from the stained fabric seat.
Pushing the memory away, you point to the box. “Mind?”
He inclines his head slightly. “Go ahead.” Then, “Seatbelt.”
“Who bothers with seatbelts?” You ask, crossing your ankles delicately, plucking up the box to deposit on your knees.
“Me,” he grunts.
Well, so do you, but the men you find yourself with usually don’t. They want to put their hand high on your thigh and talk about their car as they drive. They want you to lean over and suck their cock.
This man puts one hand on the steering wheel, the other along the back of the seat, as he reverses out of the parking spot.
Jesus, he’s good looking. The relief of his face is sharp, plunged into shadow and light as you pass beneath streetlights.
When he pulls out onto the highway, lined with scrubbrush and cacti and hot red dust, both his hands anchor on the wheel. He doesn’t even glance over at you, and remains quiet. It unsettles your nerves further, just a little. Either he’s nervous and worried about what his dead wife would think of him, or driving you to the middle of some open plot of desert next to an emptier stretch of highway to kill you.
You pick through his cassette collection as he drives to calm your nerves and try to glean something about him from it. He asks you twice if you’re cold, despite how hot the night is. “I’m fine,” you say. “Really. It’s actually a little warm.” He rolls down the windows so the sweltering summer air filters in.
You’re grateful for the warm air, for the soft caress of the late breeze against your face.
It feels good on your skin, chilled from the air conditioning at the club. He must have noticed your cold hands when you touched him.
At a red light, you hold up one of the tape cases. “You have good taste.”
Johnny Cash, Garth Brooks, Pearl Jam, Metallica, Halican Drops are only a few you skim over.
“Well, ain’t all of it mine.”
“Whose are they?”
He hesitates for a long moment. “My daughter,” he answers eventually. “She left ‘em in here.”
You nod. “She has good taste then.”
The light flickers green and the truck rolls forward again. His pretty face is still, unmoving, revealing nothing. You admire it anyway, the curve of short graying hair behind his ears, the scar along the bridge of his nose, the way he blinks hard, thinking something over, fingers tapping against the steering wheel. “That don’t bother you?”
“What?”
“That I have a kid?”
“Does it bother you?”
He doesn’t answer, but the muscle in his jaw tightens again as he runs a hand over his chin.
Thinking again, you suppose, as you cross from one side of town to another. It’s a wealthier area, usually you only see the inside of the motel down the road from the club.
Eventually, he pulls into the parking lot of a hotel, imitating Spanish style vistas in a way that feels real, the front entrance manicured and clean.
It’s a nice hotel, one of the locally owned ones with charm, not a soulless chain. He kills the engine and looks at you through the dark, through the yellow light of the buzzing streetlamp on the corner.
“Yeah.” It takes you a moment to realize he’s answering your question, if it bothered him that he has a kid. You open your mouth to respond, but he’s already out of the cab, door slamming behind him.
He’s at your side of the vehicle before you have a chance to reach for the handle, holding your door open and offering you another hand. It’s strange; you try not to think about it. “Why?”
“I figure you two must be about the same age.”
Ah. Still, surprising for a man to care.
“You must have had her pretty young.”
He doesn’t answer you again, hand pressed lightly to your back, like this is a date and you’re a lady he’s taking home, guiding you toward the brightly lit, glittering facade of the hotel.
It’s very odd and sweet and totally unexpected. This isn’t how this usually goes, how any of this usually goes, and it almost makes you resent him.
As much as you can resent someone you just met and who you’re about to fuck and forget and be paid for the privilege. Still, it stings, persistently itches at the inside of your skin, in a way that makes you wish he’d just be rough with you instead.
“You’re never going to see me again after tonight. I’m just an ear, sweetheart. You can tell me and I’ll keep all your secrets.” You say it low, leaning into his side; intimate and just a tad sweet, a secret between lovers.
“Sweetheart,” he repeats.
Oops. Maybe the familiarity was a mistake.
“What’s your name?” You course correct as he pulls open the heavy front door for you. “Doesn’t have to be your real name. Just need something to call you if you don’t want me calling you sweetheart.”
The hotel is different, too.
You’ve become accustomed to flickering neon motel signs seen though tattered window shades, rough, threadbare carpet beneath your knees, rust stained shower drains, furniture a decade or so behind the times, a persistent smell of mothballs and grease that permeated the lobby, if you even got to pass through it. Most times there was no need, a parking space right in front of a too flimsy door, a chain lock that hasn’t been attached to the wall in at least a year. The belch of refrigerant that only ever served to make you sneeze and cool down the room not at all.
“Never said that,” he grunts.
“Okay.”
The lobby is cast in a strange white, gold light. A quiet kind of elegance seeps in around the edges of your vision, deep green walls and softer cream accents, dark woods and crystal that you fear might be something more expensive.
Plants thrive in the front window, lending an air of carefully curated locality to the space. The employee at the front desk greets you as you go by, not a hint of judgement in her carefully schooled features. “Good evening, sir,” she inclines her head at the pair of you.
“Ma’am,” he answers, just as polite. You like how he sounds, how his voice touches the farthest reaches of your lungs when it reverberates against you. You feel bad for it, but you can’t help but notice how at odds he is with the place, and wonder briefly what he does for work.
The rest of the lobby is deserted.
There’s a bar, you notice, and a restaurant, empty at this hour.
The warm ghost of his fingers against your spine again urges you slowly along through a dark wooded archway and then up the stairs.
He seems mindful of your heels and how short your dress is as you ascend. You wouldn’t mind if he tried to look up your skirt or touched the back of your thighs, but he doesn’t.
“Joel,” he says when he unlocks the door to room 202 with a keycard.
“Hm.” The room is intimate but not small, dominated by a large bed, sheets a crisp, clean white. The furniture here, too, is dark and quietly luxurious. It smells nice, not like cheap disinfectant and dollar store room spray. “Joel,” you repeat, and perch on the edge of the bed, cool against the backs of your legs. “That’s a nice name. I don’t even mind if it’s not your real one.”
Joel fidgets with the lock, then slowly sits down next to you. He seems tired. “You got somethin’ I can call you, darlin’?”
“Darlin’,” you say, imitating his drawl. The sound of his voice is comforting. It reminds you of the people you had grown up around, of your mother; your own accent shaken like a bad habit when you finally got away from them. “I like the sound of that.”
“So you don’t got a name?”
“Not really, no.”
He leans close to you, there’s a hint of laughter in his voice for the first time. “That’s a damn lie.”
You smile, flutter your lashes down, just a tad of innocence. “They call me Cherry.”
“Cherry,” he repeats, trying it on for size. “Why?”
“Why not? They have to call me something.”
You aren’t fond of it, in truth, but you were loath to pick something like Chastity or Divinity or something worse. At least Cherry had a meaning, connected to something more.
“Hm.” He looks like he’s thinking it over, eyes on the far wall and then back on you, watching you curl your legs up on the bed, palms braced on the mattress behind you. “I think darlin’ might work better.”
“You’re giving me a name?”
The beginning of a smile tugs at his mouth. “I reckon so. There a reason they call you that?”
You lie back on the bed. “Doesn’t matter. You can call me whatever you want, Joel. I don’t mind.”
He looks at you, eyes flitting over you again with a sudden clarity. The crease between his eyes deepens and then something firm settles in his gaze. “You mind me askin’ how old you are?”
You blink hard, surprised, like cold water was thrown over you. “How old do you want me to be?”
Something pained passes behind his eyes. That’s a first for you. That coy little response usually gets you a laugh and a worryingly low number as a reply. “That ain’t—I really want to know.”
“My real age?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
When he doesn’t answer you slide your hand across the bed, rest your finger tips at the base of his spine and work into the tense flesh. If anything, he goes more rigid, so you let your hand drop. “My, my you are riddled with guilt.”
He scoffs. “Yeah, well, if my wife knew I was with a woman half my age she’d crawl out of her grave to take me into it with her.”
You shrug. “But she doesn’t know. And we aren’t really doing anything uncouth.”
“Uncouth,” he murmurs, a huff of reluctant, almost laughter on his tongue. “You are somethin’ else.”
You aren’t sure where to place that assessment. Supposing it’s a compliment, you pay him one back. “Well, I don’t think I’m half your age.”
“You gonna tell me how old you are?” The question is barbed on his tongue, a sharp rebuke to your teasing. This is serious to him, and means the difference between spending the night with him, or wasting time getting back to the club, finding another john. You need the cash, you need him to decide.
You have only a brief moment to consider if you should lie or not. But really it’s an easy choice, older is clearly going to soothe him. You tweak it and add a couple of years. If it soothes his conscience, let him relax, the lie is worth it.
Besides, it doesn’t really matter. You’ll never see him again, after tonight.
“I’m twenty-seven.” You press one hand over your heart, “Scout’s honor.”
He squints at you. “Serious?”
“If you were a different kind of man I’d guess I’d tell you I’m freshly eighteen and you would believe it.”
“Jesus,” he mutters, not laughing.
“I look. . .younger, I guess,” you say, earnestly as you can. That is true, at least. “Which is important in this line of work. I also don’t think men can really tell how old women are, most of the time anyway. I’d show you my ID but I think that’s bad business practice.”
“No, I believe you.”
“Why? How old did you think I was?”
He thinks for a moment, and then finally sinks down beside you. He stares up at the ceiling, fingers threaded together over his stomach. “At least twenty-two is what I was tellin’ myself.”
“So if that’s half, you must be. . .forty-four?”
“Try fifty-two,” he grunts.
You think for a moment. “So not half your age, exactly,” you murmur, tentatively reaching out to touch him, waiting to see if he tenses up again when you stroke your fingers over his beard.
He really is unfairly handsome.
It’s no wonder all the girls had tried with him. A pretty, sad, lonely widower that just needed someone to talk to.
Still, you wouldn’t mind if he did want to fuck you.
“Close enough,” he says.
“Is that why you said no? To Chastity?”
Chastity, as far as you know, really is freshly eighteen.
Those dark eyes meet yours. You can see streaks of gold in them, even in the dim lighting. He doesn’t stop you when you move your hand from his face to his chest, slowly rubbing back and forth. “You’re real good at this.”
“At what?”
“Gettin’ me to say more than I should.”
“It comes with the territory. Besides, isn’t that the point? You can say it to me, and it won’t matter in a couple of hours. Like speaking into a void. Wishing it away.”
He swallows and looks back at the ceiling, covering your hand with one of his own to pause its path. You can feel the echoing beat of his heart against your hand. It’s an oddly intimate move and for a moment you’re taken aback and unsure what to do. “One of my daughters is older n’ you. Than all of them girls that—” He glances at you. “Hard not to feel like a dirty old man.”
“You’re a dirty middle aged man at worst.”
A grunt of surprised laughter leaves him. “You’re funny.”
“I know. It’s part of my charm.” You move your hand again and he releases your fingers to let you, eyes closing. The tension pulling at his neck and shoulders loosens as he finally relaxes. “It’s a good age though, really.” You notice the sheaf of little gray hairs starting to creep into the hair at his temples, a few in the bristles of his beard. It’s more honest that you usually dare to be, that you usually can be.
You like older men; like the lines by Joel’s eyes and at the curve of his cheek when he smiles, the worn, steady quality of his palms, the gray hair, the not yet faded strength in his shoulders. “A handsome age. Girls like an older guy, you know.”
“Uh-huh. Now you’re just sayin’ shit.”
You mean it though. He’s a dream, in more ways than one. You wonder what he’d think of you if you told him this isn’t your day job, that this is simply a means to an end, that you are more than this, a girl literally and figuratively on her knees.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to at least take my clothes off?” You offer. “I promise I’m pretty.”
He laughs again, still that slightly surprised huff, and the lines by his eyes crinkle up. “You’re plenty pretty right now, darlin’.”
“See? A goddamned gentleman if I’ve ever met one.”
He chuckles, there’s a looseness in his limbs now. You’ve satisfied something at least, enough to have him relax.
You don’t ask, but he tells you a little of his wife, then. It wasn’t a love marriage, it seems, but convenience. She had a child from another man, him, a daughter from another woman, and it made sense for them to be together. Logistically and realistically and for tax reasons and trust reasons. But they lived together and shared everything, adopted a third kid together. His kids moved out years before, and now he’s alone so much of the time, now. They were companions and partners and he loved her in his own way, even if it hadn’t been strictly romantic.
It had been complicated, tangled. He seems like he still isn’t sure what they really were together. But he misses her, loves her still.
“So you’ve never been in love?”
He blinks. “No. I guess not. Not like that.”
“That makes two of us.”
“You? Really?”
“It just doesn’t seem to find me.”
Joel doesn’t ask what you mean by that.
You listen and touch him, tracing the thick veins in his arms, the minute wrinkles by his eyes and the lines in his forehead. His is a face you’ll never forget for how long you’ve been gazing at him. It’s a face you won’t want to scrub from your memory the moment you leave the room.
It’s nice to know you were right, that he is just lonely, just unused to being alone.
Joel is a stranger, but it doesn’t really feel like you met him just hours before. You move his shirt and feel the outline of a scar on his side, the coarse hair on his belly, and he doesn’t stop you.
He acquiesces when you tug it further up and then over his head. Some of them don’t like to be kissed on the mouth, so you don’t, pressing your lips along his neck and chest and belly. You listen to the hitch of his breathing, the sigh of his lungs. He closes his eyes. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he sounds nervous.
It’s impossible for you not to notice when he gets hard. Your skimming fingers and the close heat of the room seem to have been enough. “It’s all right to want this,” you murmur. You cup the bulge of him and squeeze gently. Air hisses through his gritted teeth. “Relax,” you coo and look into his face for a moment, his closed eyes, rubbing him gently through the thick denim of his jeans, relishing in the harsh breath that leaves him.
Joel opens his eyes and meets your gaze. His stare is heavy and watchful, but he nods.
With deft fingers, you unbuckle his belt. You have to look away to get the button undone and slide his zipper down. His breathing hitches when your fingertips brush his lower stomach, the dark thatch of hair that draws your hand lower.
He groans lowly and threads one arm behind your back, tugging you into his side when you circle your fingers around the base. He’s bigger than you expected, thick. A whine spills out of his throat when you move your hand down him slowly and then back up, thumb sweeping over the already leaking head.
“You like that, huh?”
“Damn,” he mutters against your hair; the brush of his facial hair against your temple is a delicious little scratch.
You turn your head to suck a harsh kiss against the side of his throat. He tastes like the salt of sweat there. Familiar and somehow new. “Been awhile, sweetheart? Is this all it takes?” You squeeze a little tighter as you twist your hand up.
He takes the teasing in stride, but shutters in your grip all the same, arches into your hand. It’s desperate, and he’s trying to keep it in.
You like them like this, shivery and needy, and had not expected this man to be that way. You move your fist along his length, warm and heavy in your palm, pulsing with need in your grip. It makes you feel powerful in a way this moment usually makes you feel dirty.
You curl your fingers softly through his hair, watching him closely. There are spots of color high in his cheeks, eyes clenched closed. “Let go,” you murmur. “It’s just me and you here,” you assure. “Don’t keep it in.”
He grunts softly, a breathy fuck whispering past his lips when he suddenly covers your hand with his. For just a second, he guides your fist, then stops. “Hold on. You sure?” It’s a panted question.
“Sure?” You tilt your head, confused.
“It ain’t what we agreed on, necessarily.”
You laugh and sit up, stroking him from root to tip slowly, twisting your wrist. “Do you want me to stop? Kind of already in the middle of something here.”
“Christ, no,” he grunts.
His palm moves to press flat against your spine when you sat up. You expect it to wander, but it stays in place, warm against the naked expanse of your spine exposed by your top, like he’s supporting you.
“Mhm.”
He arches into your hand again when you move your hand faster, eyes fluttering shut. It really must have been awhile for him, or he’s incredibly sensitive, and you aren’t sure which is better. Warmth pools heavy between your legs, a formless ache that twists in a curl up into your gut.
You want to touch yourself, and wish Joel would be a little more handsy, that he’d slide his fingers beneath your skirt and push your panties aside. His hand arcs from your hip to your spine and back again.
Instead, you lean over and take him into your mouth. “Fuck,” he whispers, one hand against the back on your head now. “Warnin’ woulda been nice.”
You pull back and spit lightly against him, rubbing the tip against your lips, and keep stroking him, fast and firm. You glance at him and then shift to move to the floor between his legs, not stopping the movement of your fist. “I’m about to suck your dick,” you say. “Unless you don’t want that. Is there something else you want from me?”
You slot yourself between his legs, curl one hand on his stomach and squeeze the other around the base of his cock. “Please?” A whine slips into your voice that you don’t work to put there. “You taste good.”
There’s an oddly conflicted look on his face, lust tangled up with that earlier guilt, the shame of what he’s doing.
You slow your hand and rub his thigh. “Don’t feel bad about it. I promise I don’t.”
Sometimes, you have to lie. You do feel gross and disgusting and used.
You aren’t lying to Joel now; there’s no need to.
He covers your hand, big palm running up your arm to cup your elbow as he sits up. It’s surprisingly, so strangely, tender.
He surprises you again by reaching back with his other hand for a pillow. “Here,” he says and drops it on the floor. You want to tell him this is nothing, you’re used to kneeling on much rougher surfaces, fiberglass laden carpets that haven’t been vacuumed in years, scratching and leaving a rash that persisted until the day before you found yourself back there again.
Instead, you wriggle forward onto it, the cool relief on your knees immediate, twisting your hand up his shaft as you go.
Joel cups your cheek and presses a thumb over your mouth, spreading the shine of spit and precome left there against the seam of your mouth. You part your lips, and he touches your tongue, depresses the pad of it there until you close your mouth and suck gently, curling your tongue around him and let your eyes flutter closed for a moment.
“Hell,” he mutters, caressing your cheek again when you release his thumb, waiting patiently for you to open your eyes. “Look at you.”
A shiver tightens at the base of your spine. The light praise punches you squarely in the chest. You want him to keep looking at you like that, a songbird in a cage, a docile thing to do what he asks, for him to say that again.
You let him lower your head to slide your tongue against his balls before flattening your tongue against the base of him, licking slowly up to the tip. You suck lightly, not looking away from him, running your tongue along the slit. He tastes like salt, a clean muskiness.
“Can you take all of it, darlin’?”
You pull back with a little gasp and cough, feel the cup of his palm slide to your chest. “Yes,” you murmur, rubbing your thumb against the sensitive tip until he hisses through his teeth. “I can try.”
You take his cock down your throat slowly, relaxing your esophagus, stroking what you can’t take yet. His palm is against the back of your head, guiding you down and then back up. “Good girl,” he mutters, the glow of that praise taking up residence in your chest again. “Takin’ me so well.”
A fiery need pulses through your pussy, an ache that sits hollow between your legs, as you bob your hand, taking a little more of him each time, drool pooling at the corner of your mouth. “C’mon, baby, you’re almost there. Know you can take it all.”
The praise settles itself deep in your chest, thick and welcome. He guides you back and you take a gasping breath, coughing and looking up at him through tear webbed lashes. For one horrible moment, you think he might kiss you, but he just rubs his thumb against your lips again.
You jerk his cock, not looking away from his eyes, the sound of your spit and his precome squelching in your first.
His head tilts back, lips parting. You’re treated to the sight of his throat working, thick muscle contracting, veins standing out in a prominent green against the sheen of damp, golden skin. Joel’s hand slides to the back of your neck, then the top of your shoulders, palm flat against your spine.
You lean down to suckle at the head again, and take a breath before sliding his thick cock down your throat, until your nose nestles against the thick thatch of hair at the base. The burn makes you choke around him, but you hold yourself there, tongue sweeping out against his balls.
“Good girl,” you hear him mutter, the sound distant, throat contracting when you swallow around him. “Good job, darlin’.”
You draw slowly up, and then look at him, releasing his dick with a pop. “I want you to come in my mouth.”
Fingers curl against your jaw and draw you down. He hisses when you circle your tongue around him, coaxing him closer and closer to the edge of his orgasm. His body strains against you, hips bucking up to follow your mouth when you pull back. “Please,” you whine and lick the pulsing vein. “Please, Joel.”
He grunts and then moans when you seal your mouth around him again. He pulses in your mouth, bitter and warm but not altogether unpleasant. You swallow it all, sucking until he makes a pained noise and pulls you up.
You lick your lips and watch him flop back against the bed, hands beneath his head. “Jesus Christ.”
“Just me.”
His laugh is exhausted and weak.
You crawl up beside him, taking the pillow with you from the floor, ignoring the agony between your legs, how soft the bed feels beneath you. Just the slightest brush of his fingers against you would probably make you come. The need is so intense your thighs ache, muscle spasming in little jumps.
Still, you lie next to him and watch him breathe, chest rising and falling evenly. You brush a hand against his chest, the wiry curl of hair like lightning over your skin. He’s falling asleep and trying not to. “I can go.”
He blinks and looks at you and the expression on his face tells you he forgot for a moment. He forgot that you’re whore, forgot even, maybe, that you aren’t his wife.
“Do you smoke?” You say, to soften the blow of it.
“Not usually.”
“Do you smoke right now?”
“Sure.”
You turn and scrabble for your purse, fishing in the depths for the carton of cigarettes. His fingers brush gently against your curled legs, against your ankle and calf and then jerk away, remembering himself with sudden alacrity. “Here,” you murmur, flopping on your back next to him. You flip the package open and pull out a cigarette and the lighter you stuffed inside earlier.
You light it, blowing smoke toward the ceiling and hand it off.
For a while, you pass the cigarette back and forth, fingers brushing, shoulders pressed together, before you curl over his stomach and put his soft dick back in your mouth. This time it only takes him a few minutes to come, sensitive and too spent to hold off longer, panting quietly into the warm air of the room.
You sit up, after, and peer in the mirror across the room to make sure you don’t look too much of a mess.
Joel smokes again and then stubs the cigarette out in the tray on the bedside table, shifting to search for his wallet.
He has the gall to still look a little embarrassed.
You take the cash out of his hand, doing a quick count, smiling, before you throw a leg over his hips and push him down, bracing your palms against the mattress by his head. You take a long look at him, knowing you’ll never see him again. Too guilt ridden, loneliness soothed for the moment. Shame will keep him from ever returning. You memorize his face, his shoulders and arms, the feeling of his wet cock between your legs, pressing against your underwear where your skirt had ridden up.
“Don’t think about this too hard, okay?”
“Think about what?”
“About needing something.”
He blinks and you shake your head. “It was okay. To need this. You’re welcome to come find me again anytime. Goodbye, Joel.”
With that, you roll away, adjust your skirt, and slink toward the door.
You hear him shift on the bed as the door snaps closed behind you, and sense there was something he wanted to say. But you don’t turn back.
You ask the woman at the front desk to call you a cab back to the club, to your car. Joel tipped so well, or maybe just overpaid so much, that you don’t need to go back inside.
When you get back to your tiny, shitty apartment that you can barely afford, there’s no other face that you can conjure but his when you finally touch yourself in the darkness of your too hot bedroom, fingers working quickly, not bothering to hold back the moan in your throat. The sound of his voice, his praise, won’t soon fade. It loops on repeat in your mind, imagination trailing to what his beard would feel like on the inside of your thighs, if his cock might feel good inside you.
Sweat beads at the backs of your knees and under your breasts, hips lifting toward an invisible mouth.
When you come, you feel like you should mourn it being over.
You decide you will not think about him, about why he affected you this way when none of the others ever had.
Summary: In an in-between place called his life, Joel Miller is alone. In search of a cure. In need of a miracle. In want of God.
Can I interest you in a cure for loneliness? She'd asked him in a language without words. Taking it is the easy part. Letting her go is impossible.
-OR-
an a/b/o soulmates AU
Rating: Explicit 18+
Content Warnings: No Outbreak AU, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Soulmates AU, Infidelity, Cheating, HEA!!!!!, Angst, Fluff & Smut, Mating Bites, Knotting, Heat Sex, Breeding Kink, Group Therapy, Social Experiments, Basically puppy training for unsocialized Alphas, And by God that man will be house trained by the time she’s done with him!, Complicated family dynamics, Discussions of self harm, Depression, Existential Angst, Author returns not with a whimper but with a KNOT, I wrote this in a very unserious state of mind beware
A/N: Gray November, I've been down since July - but we're so back, baby. I’ve missed this so bad. I’ve missed you all, I won’t drone on and on. I hope you enjoy, and please talk to me in the comments. Update me on what I’ve missed, let me know how you’ve been and what’s happening in your life.
A great heartfelt thank you to all of my wonderful friends who so supportively cheered me on while I struggled to write this. Sincerely the best people I know.
Love you all madly.
Word Count: 6.5K
Read on AO3
Part 1;
The old linoleum tiles are the most peculiar shade of puce, and Joel has realized that there is someone sitting at the back of the room who smells… strange.
More brown than purple—an ugly color. There’s something about it that fascinates him.
The woman that is currently speaking tells of her husband; it’s the only tale she has to tell. She’s been doing it for weeks, and they all know it well by now. Older, omega, the woman, and at the latter and less comely stage of life. Most of them here can say the same. They usually give their names, those that get up to share—although it’s never a requirement when you attend, it is highly encouraged—the sharing, he means—but he never pays much mind to them—the names, that is. That’s not what he’s here for after all—to make friends. Although, he does see how that’d be the initial assumption.
Joel Miller is here for something more specific.
Six weeks he’s been showing up to these things now, and he’s yet to take a turn. He tells himself he’s working up to it.
What that specific thing is…he hasn’t quite figured out. He’s listening for it, though, and intently, even if he does skip over the names. It’s the details of what they’re telling that matter to him. The hows and intricate whys of what it is that brought them here today.
Her youth had been spent on a drunk, the woman is saying—her husband—and he’d been cruel to her in those days when there was still currency to spend in the form of her vitality. Joel nods at the puce—yes, he thinks, that’s usually the way of it. But later, there’s more to the story she reminds her audience, he drank himself into a fit, and had never been right since. The cruelty had been taken away from the marriage after that, and she’d been put in charge.
“But I wonder,” she says, “If sometimes I don’t miss it, the way he’d been,” —if the reason she was here now, with all of the rest of them that were just like her in their own unique ways, was that she’d been left lonely after her cruel husband had been exchanged for a sick one.
Joel nods again and wonders what sort of face the woman wears as she confesses but doesn’t bother to check. No matter, he knows they’re the same. If not in designation, then in heart.
It’s easy, that thing, he does it too, to wish for the bad. To want to hold on to it, the thing that hurts. Addictive, even, in some cases. Missing it is easy.
It’s why he’s here.
And it’s what they promise you. In their flyers and pamphlets, when they stand on the corners of streets talking people up wearing that look in their eye and that slouch in their step, when they smell it on you—or in the lack there of—a mate or a purpose.
Welcome to our meeting. We’re here to find the cure for loneliness.
That’s what they promise you when you come here.
It’d been that word: loneliness, actually, that had caught him. L-O-N-E-liness. There was something attractive about it to him. Not a label but a state.
You see, it was like this: Joel had seen a therapist once, several years ago, against his will and at the behest of another, who’d said all the wrong things in all the wrong ways.
“You sound depressed, Joel,” the therapist had told him.
He’d worn horn rimmed glasses and had a shiny bald head he could see the reflection of the overhead lights in. And worse—the non-scent of a beta which told him they’d never understand each other in the ways Joel longed to be understood. He’d—not hated him, necessarily—but felt an immense apathy for the man; more so than the regular apathy he felt for most things in his life.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Very, very sad,” was the official diagnosis.
Joel hadn’t liked the sound of the word. The label. He did not like that a word so succinct could be ascribed to him and all that had happened to him in his life. There was no word for it. It just was.
But there was something different about a state of aloneness, which if attributed to himself, he could accept. He had been left alone, in ways. It was a tangible thing he could look around a room inside of himself and recognize.
They’re meetings, is what this place is—encounter groups this coalition offers where lonely demi humans can come to congregate, discuss their aloneness, what had led them to such a state; their lack of attachments, connections, mates—alpha, omega. Held in the basement of the Emmanuel Episcopal Church on Newbury street, right between his shop and house, although they never talk about religion which he likes because he doesn’t believe in religion.
God is still under review.
He wonders if the Catholics wouldn’t have them.
Sitting forward in his seat, the metal folding chair that always leaves his back aching something fierce, he presses his elbows into his knees to distract with alternative pressure. Focusing on his fingers woven together between his spread legs, he tries to pay attention to the man who’s stood up to speak now. Older than himself, late sixties, no children, no family, no nothin’; he’d run them all off.
But Joel is distracted.
The smell is stronger now. Stranger too. Something full bodied, but metallic like rust, astringent bleach, built in a way that forces saliva to pool heavy between his suddenly aching gums. A mask that sits atop something of a much different chemical architecture—that’s the strange part.
Or—no. The back of his neck itches, and Joel lifts a palm to cup his nape, quell the sting, feel the tender mark. No. The strange part is not the illusion of the smell. What it is, actually, is that he’s fairly certain what he’s smelling is someone else's blockers. Something which he’s positive he’s never consciously noticed on another person in the thirty plus years since he’d presented as an alpha.
He has, suddenly, the quite intense urge to peek over his shoulder, certain that he’ll be caught smelling things he has no business smelling. That there will be someone just there, breathing down the nape of his neck with accusation on their tongue—boo!
Silly. But he’d known today would not be a good day.
It’d started off wrong. The milk had gone sour overnight, the check engine light had come on in his truck, all his socks were suddenly mismatched with not a single pair to be found, and his usual route to work had been waylaid by some freak accident. A tree split in half, one side into a house, the other into the road. Not a sign of lightning in the sky all night long.
Perhaps he might be compelled to believe in God after all.
Joel does not like it when things are out of order or out of the ordinary. His life was organized in a way that never caused him strife or excess. And it was not that he was stuck in his ways, only that he enjoyed his routine and disliked when things were not as they should be. And this—whatever it is he’s smelling, whoever—is not as it should be.
The older gentleman, an Alpha too, is still speaking. He had a daughter, has, who no longer speaks to him. Won’t even take his money. He’d had a long career in government that’d filled him with greed and paranoia and a radical view of life that refused to align with the way young people saw the world now. Perhaps he’d tried to change at certain times, but he was old and set in his ways. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to change as badly as he should have when he still had the chance to. Happily stuck in the past. His wife had died, and his daughter had gone away from him. Too tired of his mediocrity as a father to give him another chance.
The man sounds like he feels sorry for himself. Like he thinks himself the victim, and this one, Joel does look up at. He looks old and worn down, heavy beer pouch and thinning hair and sagging jowls. A sad and lonely man. Joel wonders if that’s how he looks to the other people in this room, as well.
“No man knows how bad he is until he has tried very hard to be good.” Joel blinks, looks at him more closely, tries very hard to find similarities between themselves. But no—not quite right, not the thing he’s looking for. Their plight is different. This man is not alone, he’s got his weakness to keep him company.
The one thing Joel had fought like hell to keep out of his repertoire of issues. He’d run from even the possibility of it as soon as she was dead, left Texas straight for the Northeast and from thereafter, everything he’d done, he’d done with a staunchness of character. If at the end of it, that staunchness was made up of apathy or numbness or dissociative fury, well, then at least he wasn’t still that man who’d been too weak to save his daughter.
That counted very much in Joel’s book.
An overabundance of cold numbness, little anger, everything a static haze—an abstinent winter. That was his whole life. But then, look at him now, he was here, wasn’t he? He’d taken that brochure handed to him on that last warm Tuesday weeks ago as he’d headed back to the shop from lunch.
Hello, sir. Could I interest you in a cure for loneliness? The young omega had said.
It’d started like anything—an experiment or a desperate ploy. The monotony had been steady going the past few years, getting older, colder. He’d grown hard and solitary around his wound, loneliness spread like a fungus, and he’d longed for any sort of change.
“A cure…how?” The terrible shrink had come to mind.
“Oh, nothing to fret over.” The young man had a nice smile, Joel remembers. Kind and straight toothed. Honest in the way that a stranger knocking on your door to sell you a Bible seems honest. “We call it an encounter group. People come, share, tell the tales of their designation and their lives. In the end, the result is different for different people. Some move on to a second step if they need more. Others find what they’re looking for just through the connection of sharing. But no matter the result, you’ll see, you’ll be cured. Promise.” He’d winked, smile deepening, giving him an appreciative once over at the end of his spiel. Joel had blinked back, surprised, confused, but curiosity peaked enough he’d obsessed over it for three short days before he’d found himself stepping into the molted incense smell of the belly of a church so dimly lit he was sure not even God peaked in this sad space any longer.
“It’s that easy?” Joel had asked, childlike in his throat-strangled hope.
“That easy.”
It seemed the smile had been honest enough to sell him the Bible.
The scent insists upon itself as the older gentleman finishes up, and Joel’s nose tickles with whatever it is it’s whispering at him. He wants to get up and walk out, run away, but suddenly his gut is tight and hot, and he isn’t sure he can actually stand up without disgracing himself in front of all these people. A wash of agonized heat moves through him, confused at what’s suddenly happening to his body.
“We have a newcomer today sharing for the first time,” Maria, the woman who leads the group, says at the front of the room. “Everyone give her a warm welcome, it’s her first day and already she’s brave enough to jump on up here.”
There’s the shuffling of bodies in their seats, a cleared throat, the man sitting behind Joel breathes so loudly he thinks he’s gotta have some sort of medical condition, the puce turns more hideous by the second, and his own heart is beating so hard in his ears the rush of blood is dizzying. He feels each thump of the thing against his breast bone in some sick imitation of a fist begging to be let out.
The new voice begins as nothing but a murmur.
An introduction—he misses the name. His breathing goes shallow, he’d tip over in his seat if he didn’t have both boots planted firmly against the puce. The voice gains strength and with it, Joel wishes he’d been paying attention from the start. He didn’t get to hear her name.
It’s a girl.
She’d run away from home in the spring of her sixteenth year to join the opera, she tells them. Had come upon the city in roaring spring and thought the rest of her life would be exactly like that, pure novelty in bloom, nothing like what she’d left behind. And was deeply disappointed when the reality was nothing such.
And Joel hears it, that disappointment in her voice at what she’d not been able to find after searching for it so religiously. This is what makes him look up at her. This, unlike all the others, he thinks he can relate to—just by the sound of her voice. The search for a thing lost which can never again be found. The fruitlessness of it all.
At that first vulnerable, terrified glance, she’s already staring at him, eyes catching like hooks.
He blinks once, twice—color—is sure he can hear the movement of his eyelashes passing through the air, the stick of his lids meeting—color—bright. This is it.
That wash of heat turns into a blaze, every single bead of sweat blooming on his brow is a tell evaporating into the ether. This is what he’d sensed from the start of the evening. Maybe even from the moment he’d seen that split maple.
“My mother always said I needed to be stronger, bolder, not so sensitive.” She looks away from him now. “I grew up in an angry house where you had to fight tooth and nail not to be overrun. Because of this, I left it at a very young age, and it was the greatest fight I could muster, abandoning that house of anger. I found myself something to bring me what I thought would be joy, a job and a city, and for a time, it was enough. But starting your lonely life so young…it’s hard.” After a pause of breath, “It’s been hard.”
“And it’s made me never want to have to—exert myself,” she says, searching for the right words, smiling when she finds them, and Joel has the urgency to smile back. “Now, I never want to have to be strong. I never want to have to try. I want to only be the way that I am. If that’s weak or sensitive or whatever it might be at any given moment, I don’t care. I don’t want to have to fight. I never want to be in an angry house again. I want someone who’ll see this in me and understand and never make me work for it, that they would give it to me willingly, easily, without me having to ask. Do you understand?” She looks about the room, and he hopes her eyes will land on him again, and even though they don’t, he feels she’s speaking directly to him. He nods, the hook of her temptation cast beneath his chin. “This is a fantasy. And it makes for a lonely existence. This idea of how I need it to be for it to be right—love.” She looks down at her hands folded atop the podium where they go to stand at the front of the group and share, and he wills her gaze to find him amidst the crowd again. “It’s so difficult. And this might seem very bad to you, weak willed, but it’s not. It’s only very honest. Which can never be a bad way to be.” That’s why she’s here, she tells them.
Finally, she looks back at him, and it’s that loneliness of two people amidst a crowd, facing one another, knowing themselves mirrored against the other and yet still disparate. There’s something indecent about the way she looks at him in front of all these people, the way he, in turn, looks back. A little bit like finding your own face on a stranger's body in a crowded room. Color rises to his face, and she gives him that same elusive smile from before.
He’s the one to look away this time.
As the crowd disperses for coffee and pastries after the last of the speakers, he searches for her. He needs to ask her name, feels as if he’s some blighted creature without it, swears he’ll never forgo attention during a meeting again if he can fish it out of her.
He finds her at the dessert table, Maria at her side and a hand at her shoulder. Something of a thank you is being imparted between the two women. The girl is saying she’s grateful for the welcome, grateful that they’d found each other.
Joel has things to be grateful to Maria for, too. His brother, mainly. It’d been pure chance that Joel had met her here, that she knew Tommy also. She’d met his brother on a summer trek to Wyoming where they’d become friends and had kept in touch afterwards. The woman has a thing about her that ingratiates people by sheer force of will. Perhaps it’s that she’s an alpha, too. Perhaps it’s just the charisma and wide smile. The fact that she has a countenance that takes no shit from anyone, that makes demands of a person whether they’ve got any give or not. But whatever the case, they’d realize their connection through Tommy, and she kept Joel updated on his brother whom he’d not spoken with in many years.
Watching the two women stand together and share that easy thanks that Joel so urgently owes, and yet which he cannot voice, he feels, suddenly, so angry. So awkward. So humiliatingly inexperienced. So unable to grapple with the pain of human contact, the fascination of it, the humiliating necessity.
That decade old anchor weighing him in place and the guilt of even thinking of it as such.
I feel decrepitly alone and odd, he thinks. And how strange, no? He was a normal man. He has a normal job. He lives in a normal house. Unexceptional in every sense. Everything in his life had been ordinary up until that one great tragedy. And then, as if none of the before had ever existed, it was as if everything afterwards was one great landslide of wrongness. The filth of it slinging mud all over his life so that nothing had ever been right after her.
So that now he cannot even approach this girl whose name he needs to know, and Maria, to whom he owes the last surviving connection to his brother.
As Maria turns to go, she gives him an encouraging nod, sending him into an agony of shyness. She’d sensed him hovering.
The girl remains at the dessert table, perusing the pastries. He can see her fingertips dancing over the golden, sugared confections, before she settles on a plain, glazed donut. He watches the bend of her elbow, bringing it to her mouth and thirty seconds later, the empty hand reaching for a napkin. He can’t help the huff of laughter it draws from him.
Watching the unknown creature with her back turned, he peers down the length of himself. Wood stain marred t-shirt, old work jeans and scuffed boots, he’d come straight from the shop. Looking back at her, she seems perfectly packaged and pristine. The two of them, different as chalk and cheese. He tells himself he shouldn’t do it, turn around and go, leave her alone, as he steps up beside her at the table.
Immediately, there’s the heat of her skin, the smell of her shampoo, and he realizes, and it’s silly because it should’ve been obvious from the get go, she’s an omega. The epiphany, not that she is one, but that he’d been too stupid and oblivious to notice, leaves him feeling vulnerable and angry.
Any sort of hello that’d been coming alive on his tongue immediately dies. And he’s about to make a run for it once again when she speaks up from beside him, “Would you like a donut?” Her small fingers are dancing over the pastries, searching once again. “I haven’t had one yet,” she lies, “I can’t decide which looks best.”
The dancing hand pauses over a golden brown puff pastry, seemingly coming to a decision, when she turns to look up at him. The scent of her isn’t just shampoo, not just the blockers he’d shockingly picked up on before, sharp, burning his nose. It’s her skin now, too. The dry sweat from hustling under her coat to make it to her first meeting on time salted along her limbs. Hot, sweet almonds. The shocking vermillion of the morning’s split maple comes to mind. He can smell her.
“A puff pastry?” She presses, quizzical crook to her brow at his silence and glower. “I think you really need something sweet. It’ll make you feel better.”
He wants to agree, to say he also thinks he needs something sweet. All he can manage is a short grunt because she smells…indescribable. Honeyed musk, something heady, like she herself had just got done baking, straight out of the oven and full of sugar into his waiting mouth.
That earlier anger, it kicks up a notch. Why isn’t he fucking saying anything?
She shrugs, as she lifts the puff pastry to her mouth he finally manages sound.
“You stink.”
He doesn’t know when he became such a liar.
A pause, mouth open, straight, white teeth ready to bite into the fluffy sweet bread. He can see her small, pink tongue, and it makes him go a little woozy.
He might be losing his mind.
She’s got elegant eyebrows that shoot straight up her smooth forehead. The look of her skin is glorious. “Excuse me?”
Now, there seem to be too many words spilling out of his mouth. “You need better meds or somethin’. Need to sort your shit out. Can’t go gallivanting about the world smellin’ like that.” Oh god, shut up.
“Excuse me!” She takes a huge bite of the pastry. “I do not gallivant,” she shoots back, mouth full of sugar and Joel goes hot everywhere. “What is wrong with you?” she demands, the pursing of a prim little mouth as she chews, eyeing him maliciously.
He hasn’t the damndest clue.
She is not wary of him in the slightest, which in turn tells him he needs to be wary of her.
Another large bite, inexplicably she extends her free hand towards him—potentially going into shock and entirely out of his depth when he takes it, the vulnerability of tendon and muscle soft beneath his strength—offering him a firm shake. She gives him her name.
In that moment, she has a look about her that tells him she’ll bite back if he isn’t careful, even if she hurts herself in the process.
And now he knows you.
-
“We might as well acquaint ourselves if you’re going to insult me. Don’t you think?” Peering up at him, he’s tall, well over six feet, and broad shouldered. Older, distinguished, but in a rough way, hewn oak, gray. “Are you typically this rude? Or is this a special occasion?”
Incredibly handsome.
“I’m being serious.”
“I do not stink. No one has ever said that to me, and my blockers are quality. It must be a you problem.” The puff pastry really is very good. And this man really is very handsome. Coming here today was a good idea.
One of the girls from the theater had suggested it, handing you a pamphlet with Looking for the Cure for Loneliness? emblazoned across the top, and even though she’d done it kindly, any other person would’ve taken the implication as an insult. Hey girl! No offense, but we all in the company think you’re super weird and have you heard about this support group for losers? Kind of like Omegas Anonymous!
Those hadn’t been her exact words, and you hadn’t taken offense. After the initial agony of embarrassment, you’d warmed to the idea. You’d heard of groups like these before. Congregations of demi humans where one could come to find community or connection. Be it socializing or support for people struggling with their designations and all that they implied, they served their purpose. And anyways, you weren’t in a position to be nitpicky.
It’s true, you’re alone.
So alone, in fact, that even the people around you could tell. Strangers, coworkers, your roommate and her girlfriend. Like some noxious cloud of loneliness following you around virtue signaling the desperate need for love and companionship and understanding you’re so in need of.
You increasingly saw yourself as a dancer on her toes, trembling delicately all over, vying desperately to survive to the end of the song. A monster with too many heads. A Cerberus of the richest caliber.
Two or three would’ve been acceptable—heads—but you'd long surpassed that and moved on to something unrecognizable and unpleasant. Desperately in need of a solution.
“Maybe you’re the one that stinks. Maybe it’s your upper lip.” And voila, the monster makes her debut.
“My—” The rude alpha, obvious, that one, lets out a choked sound, a deeper wash of color immediately flooding his cheeks. You dip your head sideways, appraising him as you polish off your second pastry. He has pretty bone structure, masculine, and after he’s done choking and spluttering, he can’t help but laugh a little bit. You see it.
Beneath a mouth that looks forbidding, perhaps even a little cruel, you can sense that he is not an unkind man.
Yet you’re not so green that you can’t recognize the gnawing hunger of loneliness in others. There’s always a reason people find themselves in places like these. His face, edged with the weariness of age, makes this obvious. He has good reason for subjecting himself to this.
Reaching for the lovely eclair you’d been deciding between earlier, you take a large bite of it. Almond cream and a thick layer of icing on top, humming happily as you chew while he stares at you like the three headed dog.
You hold the dessert out towards him, offering. Palm up, he shakes his head no, slightly disgusted look on his face.
“So. You come here often?”
He blinks. “Really?” Patronizing look on his face now.
“Why not? I am actually interested to know if this is worth my time.”
He rolls his eyes. Oh, he’s fun. “Yes, I come here often. Every Friday, for the past two months just about.”
“And you like it?”
“Is this the sort of place one likes?”
“Oh, come on. You never know what you might find.” He watches your mouth as you finish the eclair, swallowing hard. “Anyways, I think the world is kind of over out there. Don’t you? Might as well make the best of it in here.”
Thumb pressed against the edge of the table, he looks down, suddenly awash with shyness once again. A shy alpha, who’d of thought.
“What did you used to do?” He asks, motioning at the crowded room full of chatting alphas and omegas. You wonder how many of them will go home together for a fuck after this.
“When?” You ask, sure he means in lieu of this group, if you’d ever had another form of demi human community.
“Before this.”
“Before this? Nothing.” Smiling at him, certain he isn’t picking up on your teasing.
“Nothing?”
“Nope. I’ve always been here.”
“But— Don’t you…I thought...” He’s cute, shaking his head like you’re just too confusing to sustain. “You sing, right?” He pivots.
“Sing? Me? Whatever made you think such a thing?” The sly look on your face goes completely over his head and slides to the rest of the sweets. If he wasn’t watching, you’d have another.
“You said. You said you’re in the opera,” he gruffs back, looking visibly aggravated now.
Such fun.
“I’m a supernumerary,” you concede as you turn, making your way to an old relic of a pew along the far wall, tragically abandoning the desserts.
He follows as you go, sitting a respectful distance beside you.
“I don’t know what that is.”
“We’re the actors that fill the stage at the opera.”
“No singing?”
You shake your head, flirting with him. “I’m a wench, I’m a courtesan,” You bat your lashes, fingertips pressed coquettishly beneath your chin, “Part of a harem. I’m every woman you’ve never known. It depends on the opera.”
“I’ve never heard of that before.”
“I started as a stagehand when I first got to Boston. Worked my way up.”
“How’s it work? Lines or somethin’?”
“No lines. No anything. I’m a background actor—an extra, basically. If anything, I’m given some simple choreography direction, laugh, sigh, show fear, horror, shock. Whatever. I’m playing pretend without actually having to do anything.”
“No working for it.”
Your smile melts to blandness. So he’d been listening, then.
“Did you want to sing?”
“No. I wanted to be a supernumerary.”
“Strange. I’ve never heard of that,” he repeats.
“You did say, yes.” Now, the smile turns auspicious. Everyone’s here for something. “What do you do?” Perhaps this is it for him.
You eye the rest of the congregation, at the far exit, there’s a large alpha helping an omega into his coat.
“Got a shop, furniture, woodworking and such.”
“You make things?” He nods. “Ah, a man of creation.”
Sitting back to take him in, he’s got the beginning insinuations of silver speckling the dark hair at his temples, a well groomed beard, and large, intimidating hands.
His small huff of laughter is bashful, tinged with something disappointed. “No, nothin’ that grand.” And he’s got an accent heavy at the ends of his words, not Bostonian. Southern.
“But you know, I wanted to say…”
“Yes?” You press when he loses his courage, leaning towards him, inhaling deeply.
“Well, that I know what you meant earlier. Sometimes I can be the angry house.”
You blink once. Sit back. “I see.”
“It’s hard work. I have to try every day at it.”
Hard work being the house, or not? Two opposite sides of the same coin.
“How do you stop yourself?” You cast a line, fishing for his character.
“Don’t know. Keep myself cold, I think.”
“That’s no way to be.”
“No. It’s not.” He sounds amused. You want to bite him.
Everyone’s here for a reason.
“Ah, well. Perhaps that’s what’s brought you here then,” you say, twisting the toe of your sneaker against a scuff on the old hardwood, leaning forward on your palms wrapped around the edge of the pew.
“Maybe,” he says, but a sort of pained, exasperated sound follows it. Your hung head turns to peer at the handsome face, and he’s already looking at you.
There’s something animal afoot. Perhaps in terms of designation, sure, of course, like the rest of the alphas and omegas here. Your designations weigh heavily in the air. But also intrinsic to your two personalities. You feel you know him. That the two of you might have the same sorts of problems, desires. And as you stare at him, you think you may be equally measuring each other’s character, finding that similarity in one another.
His eyes move quickly between yours, over your face, and you can tell that prolonged eye contact isn’t his norm.
He has the most surprising set of bright hazel eyes like river stones.
Suddenly, you feel desperate to pull out a flicker of sexuality in the man, hear it in his voice. Sure, that with him, the experience would be entirely different, exhilarating. Perhaps a challenge. He seems to be more quiet and more patient than any other man you’d ever come across, but also more stern—taking in that soft mouth held so firmly. Far more remote too, by the far away look in his gaze. You want to see how he could be moved and what the sight of it would look like.
“Maybe not,” he finally continues. “I’m looking for something, I think.”
“Something like what?”
“Someone like me.”
“An alpha?”
“No,” he looks away, cringing. The word out loud seems a shock to him. “Did you listen to the woman at the start—missing the bad thing? I struggle…with that. Holding on, not letting go even when I know I should.”
You’re at an age now which sometimes makes it hard to realize or accept that what you’re living is your life. That it’s been time to grow up. That you have to remember to move forward when it’s your turn in line.
Which is to say, that you understand him—the difficulties of knowing when to hold on and when to give up.
“Sometimes you hurt yourself because you don’t have anything else to do. Sometimes, because the alternative is much worse.”
“Holding on ‘cause there’s nothing else to do?”
“Sure. Or you’re used to it.” You’ll be gentle with him, you decide. He’s in need of gentle handling despite the stern face; not a puzzle so arbitrarily solved. And those eyes are still so bright, he doesn’t seem like he needs any more hardship.
“Don’t know why I’m tellin’ you this,” he says, accent heavy.
“Well you did come here for a reason. Didn’t you?” Discreetly, you slide closer to his side, but he doesn’t notice. Apparently lost in the realization that perhaps this was what he’d come here for, to talk to someone, to have someone listen and relate. You’re almost positive he’s never gotten up to share with the group before in all his time coming to the meetings; doesn’t look like the type.
“I came here because I’m going to take better care of myself,” you tell him. “I’m going to try harder.”
“Harder at what?” He blinks as if attempting to come out of a dream.
“Everything. I don’t want to end up like my parents; drunk, angry, alone. I’m scared of it. I’ve avoided at least two of them.”
“I’m afraid of getting older,” the dream moves in his eyes. “That I’ll forget,” he says, but you don’t ask what.
All of a sudden, he seems very real. The swells of grief and loneliness moving through him so similarly, so close to the surface.
Springing up, you turn to face him and he follows to stand too. You can hear the crack of his knees unfolding, and when he lifts his left palm to stifle a gruff cough, the band of gold around his finger is paralyzing.
All of a sudden, he’d seemed like what you’d been looking for here too. There’s laughter coming from the church rafters.
“You’re a widower?” He wants to forget, he’d said he wants to let go.
Hadn’t he?
But instead, “What? No.” You stare pointedly at the ring, and he looks down at it also. “No,” he repeats.
“So’re you looking for a fuck, or what?” You try and hold back the bite it comes with, but you can’t.
“No. No. That’s not what I’m looking for.”
You don’t understand, impaired by your youth, you forget you’d chosen to be gentle with him. “Maybe it’s what you need,” you tell him, turning towards the exit before you can watch him cringe.
He follows at your heels, grabbing his coat from the hook by the doors before he’s stepping out after you into the fall blister. It’s cold and wet and glorious out.
“Don’t you have a coat?” He demands.
“Nope.” You start walking towards Arlington Street and the park.
“Did you walk here? It’s freezing out.”
“I did,” you turn back towards him, still moving, and he starts to follow.
“From where?”
“Downtown.”
“Where?” He scowls at your uncooperation, the married man. Alpha. The truth was that he’d smelt strange to you too. Like no one ever had before. As glorious and shocking as the cold. Like if snow had a scent. Disappointment churns in your gut alongside the excitement at the sight of him stalking after you.
“I don’t think you know it.” Your backward walk is interrupted as a hurrying stranger bumps into you, sending you staggering. Watch it, the Boston snark spits. The alpha turns to scowl, heavy boot forward like he’s half a mind to follow after the person you’ve just inadvertently assaulted.
And it occurs to you, “You didn’t tell me your name.” How silly of you. You’d been so distracted you’d forgotten to ask, and what if you never see him again after this? What if you can’t muster the courage to come back again next week? What if he can’t?
“It’s Joel.”
You think it sounds right.
“I might—know it.” Where you’re headed to. You smile at the dog with a bone. The disappointment pulses. “Is it far?” He presses. You shrug, looking over your shoulder. You’re going to lose yourself in the garden for a few hours, forget about him. “Why don’t you drive?”
“I like to walk,” you tell him, turning back.
He looks at you like he doesn’t like the things you say much less the way you say them much less the way you’re grinning at him. Perhaps he can see the disappointment and is disturbed by the sight of it, but the possibility seems too altruistic.
“You should try it sometime, Joel. You might like it too.”
His huge body seems to be shivering in the cold.
“I think…” The look on his face has turned suspicious now. He takes a step towards you. “You’re very strange. And you’re very young. I don’t think we should be friends.”
Your heart gives a demanding thump. “We’re not going to be friends.” When you’d first spotted him in the crowd, the strangest feeling had come over you. A tug behind your belly button, a scalding heat at the back of your neck, at your wrists. Perhaps it’s merely imagination, the look of disappointment you think you see on his face right before you turn away from him to continue on walking. “And I’m not that young anymore.”
You’d known today was going to be a good day. Extra cinnamon in your latte, a late start to your morning, warm in bed, no rain in the sky despite the cloud cover. And your director, late for rehearsals after some freak accident had befallen the roof of his house.
Summary: After years of isolation, Joel Miller's life revolves around control and keeping danger at bay, his past as a soldier leaving him constantly on edge. But when a sweet, soft-spoken young woman starts working at the supply store, her innocence stirs something inside him. Despite his efforts to remain detached, Joel becomes obsessed with keeping her safe from the dangers he’s certain are lurking everywhere.
As his protective instincts morph into darker desires, the lines between safeguarding her and possessing her begin to blur.
Warnings will vary by chapter depending on the content.
Warnings: Dark!Joel, 18+ MDNI, Obsession themes, Stalking, Joel has major Trauma/PTSD, Mentions of military past, Manipulation, Power dynamics, Joel needs a hug and therapy. As per usual.
4k
Enjoy!
Part II Part III
· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··
Joel Miller wasn’t the type of man who sought peace or ease.
He’d spent too many years living a different kind of life-one built around routines of survival, discipline, and a level of alertness that never quite faded.
Now, back in Texas, he carried that constant vigilance like a second skin.
He’d settled in a small, secluded home just outside of Austin.
The area was quiet, isolated, the kind of place where nobody asked too many questions.
The locals respected boundaries, and Joel had made his clear. He kept to himself, lived a simple life, and preferred things that way.
People complicated things—something he wasn’t interested in anymore.
Most of his days followed a routine that he clung to with the same intensity he had in the service.
Early mornings were spent with coffee and silence, the smell of pine trees drifting through the windows of his old, weathered cabin.
Afterward, he'd take to the woods, either hunting or just walking trails he knew as well as the lines in his hands.
Out there, he could let his mind focus on something tangible—the tracks of a deer, the feel of the rifle in his hand.
There, his senses sharpened again, always on alert.
Joel’s awareness never dulled, not even after all these years.
Every noise, every shift in the wind or crunch of leaves beneath his boots, kept him on edge.
He was always scanning his surroundings, ready to react.
He knew it wasn’t just about the hunt.
It was the way his brain had been wired, after all the years of needing to be ready—whether it was for survival or something worse.
It wasn’t paranoia, just the reality of a mind that had been trained for danger. He told himself.
He didn't see many people. He didn’t want to.
But the thing about always being on edge was that it left little room for rest.
At night, the memories clawed their way in—images he’d rather forget but couldn’t.
Sleep was shallow and rare.
Even when he managed to drift off, he was often jolted awake by some phantom noise or sensation.
And once he was up, it was hard to shake the feeling that something or someone was out there.
He’d get up, check the locks, sometimes even patrol the perimeter of his land just to make sure.
In the quiet of his cabin, with only the crackling of a fire or the hum of the wind for company,
Joel would pour himself a drink.
Whiskey, usually. Something to dull the noise in his head, to take the edge off the constant tension that never quite left him.
But he never drank too much. He couldn’t afford to. He needed to stay sharp, always ready—just in case.
His life wasn’t complicated, and he liked it that way. He didn’t need company or connection, not anymore.
He kept things simple: survival, routine, and the solitude of the Texas wilderness.
It asked nothing of him, and in return, he didn’t have to share the parts of himself he’d buried long ago.
· · ─────
Waking up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat had become part of his routine, and after tossing and turning for hours, Joel would get up, make coffee, and try to focus on the small tasks that anchored him.
The sun was just beginning to rise as Joel Miller pushed the key into the ignition of his truck, the familiar rumble beneath him a small comfort in an otherwise uneasy world.
He had always been an early riser, but lately, the habit had turned into more of a necessity.
Driving out into the quiet Texas morning was one of those tasks.
The roads were mostly empty, and Joel preferred it that way—less to watch for, less noise, fewer things to trust.
He liked things simple.
Routine. Predictable.
After everything, it was easier to stick to what he knew, to keep the world at arm's length.
It was safer.
His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white as his eyes flicked from side to side, scanning the road ahead and the landscape around him.
There was no telling who or what could be out there, even in a sleepy Texas town.
He wasn’t stupid enough to let his guard down, not after everything he'd seen.
Trust was a currency he couldn’t afford to spend, not anymore.
He kept the radio off, preferring the silence. It gave him space to think, to process.
Most of the time, though, it just made him more aware of the quietness around him.
Every little creak or snap of a twig was magnified, every shadow cast by the rising sun something to take note of.
He didn't trust the peaceful exterior of the world anymore.
Too much could change in an instant.
It was exhausting, always being on edge like that, but Joel had learned to live with it.
He couldn’t imagine doing things any other way.
As he drove further down the road toward the camping&outdoor supply store, he caught a glimpse of something moving in the distance—a flicker of motion between the trees.
His heart quickened, and his foot instinctively lifted off the gas pedal.
He slowed down just enough to check the rearview mirror, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the tree line.
Nothing. It could’ve been an animal, but Joel’s mind didn’t let him settle on that.
Even when he convinced himself it was probably just wildlife, he remained alert, tension rippling through his muscles.
"Could be anything," he muttered under his breath, gripping the wheel tighter. "Ain't takin' chances."
The camping store was a bit of a drive, but Joel didn’t mind.
The solitude of the open road helped him clear his head, as much as his thoughts would let him, anyway.
Hunting was something he could still rely on.
He didn't need anyone else for it, and it gave him an excuse to get away from people.
He wasn’t much for conversation these days, always keeping interactions short and transactional.
He liked the supply store too; the guy who ran it knew not to ask too many questions, just handled the sale and let Joel be.
It suited him fine.
As the store came into view, Joel exhaled, his mind already running through what he needed to pick up.
The truck tires crunched against the gravel as he pulled into the lot, parking in a spot that allowed him a clear view of the entrance and the surrounding area.
Old habits.
Joel turned off the ignition and leaned back in the seat, taking a moment to observe the store.
His hand absentmindedly reached toward the glove compartment, where his gun was stashed, just in case. He didn’t need it often, but knowing it was there kept him grounded.
After a few seconds of scanning the area and feeling satisfied that nothing was amiss, he stepped out of the truck.
The supply store wasn’t busy, just a couple of people browsing inside.
As Joel stepped into the store, the familiar scent of leather and canvas greeted him. Country music hummed low in the background, and the quiet atmosphere brought him a sense of calm.
The simplicity of the place was something he appreciated—straightforward, nothing complicated.
Just the way he liked it.
His boots thudded softly on the wooden floor as he made his way toward the back, scanning the shelves for the hunting gear he needed. It was his routine, one he kept to himself.
The sudden crash jolted him like a gunshot.
Joel’s instincts took over, his body reacting before his mind caught up.
His hand flew to his side, fingers brushing the handle of the knife he always kept on him. His eyes darted around the store, scanning for threats, muscles coiled tight and ready.
He felt that old familiar rush of adrenaline—the kind that came from years of having to be on guard every second.
His heart pounded, the edges of his vision sharpening as he prepared for the worst.
But then, he saw her.
Just a girl. Bending over, trying to gather the gear she’d knocked to the floor. No threat. No danger. Just her.
Joel exhaled slowly, the tension easing out of his shoulders as the world settled back into place.
He let go of the knife, though his pulse still hammered in his ears. He hadn’t been expecting someone like her to trigger that reaction. Not here. Not now.
But for some reason, he couldn’t look away.
She was clumsy, but calm—no panic, no rush to fix what she’d done.
It was as if she was used to things slipping from her hands, not bothered in the slightest. That softness, that ease, it drew him in like nothing else had in a long time.
And even though the tension from the noise had faded, he found himself still rooted to the spot, watching her.
His eyes trailed over her, catching the way her long, soft looking, hair tumbled down her back, how her tender fingers fumbled with the items before her.
She was a mess of soft edges, and he hadn’t seen anything that soft in years.
He’s not used to that.
His world had become hard, sharp, filled with things that made sense, with people who didn’t get too close.
People like him, always on edge, always prepared.
She stood up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and for the first time, Joel saw her face.
Young. Too young. Early twenties, maybe.
Her cheeks were flushed a soft pink, her lips parted in what looked like mild embarrassment as she glanced around at the mess she had made.
But it was her eyes that hit him the hardest.
Doe eyed, wide, bright, completely unguarded.
So easy to read.
She looked right at him, her gaze catching his, and Joel’s breath hitched in his chest.
What was this girl doing? Looking at him like that?
She wasn’t supposed to look at him that way—not with that kind of openness, that kind of… trust.
Her blush deepened as her gaze flickered to the ground, but not before Joel saw it creep up her neck, warming her face.
She was blushing because of him.
When was the last time that happened?
“Oh! Sorry,” she said, her voice light, soft, but not the irritating kind of soft.
It was smooth in a way that made something settle in Joel’s chest. Normally, he hated small talk.
People’s voices grated on him. But hers didn’t.
Her voice wrapped around him, warm and gentle, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, Joel didn’t hate it.
“I didn’t see you there,” she continued, letting out a nervous laugh, her hands brushing against the fallen gear.
“I swear, I’m always knocking things over.” She smiled shyly, that blush still clinging to her cheeks, and Joel’s chest tightened again.
She was yapping—just rambling on in a way that would’ve made him turn his back on anyone else. But he couldn’t move.
He was locked in place, listening to her soft, musical voice as if it was something he hadn’t heard in years.
Maybe because it was. Maybe because no one ever talked to him like this anymore.
Most people avoided him.
They saw the hard set of his jaw, the cold glint in his eyes, and they stayed far, far away.
And that was just how he liked it. Less mess, less trouble.
But not her. She was still standing there, babbling about how clumsy she was, her voice a soft hum in his ears.
Joel felt something shift inside him, something he wasn’t sure he liked. He didn’t know her.
Shouldn’t care about her babbling, or the way her scent—something fresh and sweet—drifted toward him, making his head swim.
But here he was, standing there, drinking in her voice, her scent, like he hadn’t been around anyone like her in years.
Which, to be fair, he hadn’t.
Joel cleared his throat, forcing himself to speak, though his voice came out rougher than he’d intended. “Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he muttered, his words gruff, but his feet still rooted to the spot.
Her smile widened, and her eyes lit up.
The warmth in them caught him off guard. He wasn’t prepared for that.
“Thanks for not laughing at me,” she said with a small, bashful laugh, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her jacket. “Most people would’ve.”
Joel’s brow furrowed. “Why would I laugh?”
She shrugged, glancing at the gear still scattered on the floor. “I’m kind of a mess.”
Her words didn’t sit right with him. How could someone like her—someone so soft, so full of light—call herself a mess? He is a mess.
But before he could respond, she smiled again, her lips curving up in that sweet way that made his chest tighten all over again.
And that scent… God, he couldn’t place it, but it clung to her, swirling around him like a warm blanket.
His mind raced, cataloging every little detail about her.
Her soft pretty eyes. The way her smile made the corners of her eyes crinkle just a little. The way she smelled, like fresh air and something sweet. Vanilla?
He was reading her, studying her like he used to study his surroundings, picking up on every detail.
But none of it made sense. She didn’t make sense.
Normally, he’d be long gone by now. His thoughts already moving on.
But she was still talking, still smiling up at him, and instead of walking away, he just… stared.
She cleared her throat again, glancing down at her hands before looking back up at him.
“Do you work around here?” she asked, her voice a little softer now, a little shyer.
Joel blinked, realizing he hadn’t said a damn thing in what felt like minutes.
He shook his head. “Nah, just pickin’ up some things.” His voice sounded foreign to him—rough, cold, not at all the kind of tone that matched the warmth she was giving him.
But she didn’t seem bothered by it. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, her lips curving up in that smile again.
“Oh, cool. What are you picking up?”
Joel stared at her, unsure of why she was still talking to him, still smiling at him.
But he found himself answering her anyway. “Just some gear. Hunting stuff.”
Her eyes brightened, her smile widening even more. “Oh, hunting! That’s cool. I’ve never been, but I always thought it seemed kind of… peaceful, you know? Just you and nature.”
Peaceful? Joel had never thought of hunting as peaceful. Necessary, sure. But peaceful? Not in the way she was describing.
He grunted, not sure how to respond, but she just kept smiling, her voice still light, still soft.
“Oh, gosh,” she said, standing up with a bundle of fallen gear in her hands, a sheepish smile on her face. “I could never hurt an animal, though. I don’t know how people do it. Like, I get hunting and all, but... me? No way. I’d be useless out there.”
Joel’s brow furrowed, still caught between the sharp edge of his earlier reaction and the softness of her voice.
“Right,” he muttered, nodding slightly, feeling more awkward than he had in years.
“Well,” Joel grunted, his voice a little rougher than intended, “it ain’t about enjoyin’ it. It’s necessary. You do what you gotta do.”
And for the life of him, Joel couldn’t understand why he didn’t just walk away.
He should’ve. He should’ve grabbed what he needed and left.
But something about her—her scent, her smile, her softness—kept him rooted in place.
He wasn’t good at this. Talking. Interacting. Especially not with someone like her—someone who looked at him like he wasn’t something to be avoided.
But she was smiling at him, her eyes wide and innocent, like she wasn’t aware of how the world really worked.
Before he could say anything else, he saw her blush deepen, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her jacket.
She was nervous, but not in the way people usually got around him.
She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t backing away.
She was blushing because of him.
Hm?
As the awkward silence stretched between them, Joel cleared his throat, the sound rough and abrupt.
He hadn’t realized how long he’d been standing there, just staring at her while she kept talking, her soft voice filling the space between them.
He needed to go.
This whole interaction had lasted far too long, longer than he was comfortable with.
His chest tightened with a mix of confusion and frustration, and he could feel the tension creeping into his limbs, urging him to move, to walk away.
She was still smiling at him, her eyes bright, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside him.
“Right,” Joel muttered, his voice gruffer than he intended.
“I should… get goin’.” He nodded awkwardly toward the hunting gear in his hand, using it as an excuse to leave.
Her smile faltered for just a second, her eyes flickering with a hint of confusion.
“Oh, sure! No problem,” she said quickly, her voice still sweet, but there was something softer in it now, like she wasn’t quite sure what she’d done wrong.
Joel could feel her eyes on him as he turned away, the tension in his shoulders growing with every step he took.
He forced himself to keep walking, not allowing himself to glance back, not letting himself think about the way her scent still lingered in the air around him.
As he pushed open the door of the shop, the cool air hit his face, a stark contrast to the warmth that had been building inside him.
He needed to get out of there. Now.
“Have a good day!” she called after him, her voice still light, still warm.
Joel didn’t respond.
He just kept walking, his boots heavy against the gravel as he made his way to his truck, his mind already trying to shove the whole interaction into the back of his mind.
It shouldn’t have affected him like that.
Joel climbed into his truck, the door creaking as it shut with a heavy thud.
The sun was setting, casting a golden light over the horizon, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.
His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white as he sat there, staring straight ahead.
He let out a slow breath, trying to shake off the strange feeling that had settled deep in his chest.
That girl—he couldn’t get her out of his head. It didn’t make sense.
Her smile. The way her cheeks flushed when she looked at him.
The softness in her voice, the way she smelled—fresh, sweet, and somehow... so pure.
His brow furrowed as the memory tugged at him, gnawing at the edges of his mind like an itch he couldn’t scratch.
He hadn’t felt like this in years—hadn’t felt much of anything, to be honest.
And yet, there it was. Something stirring inside him, something he couldn’t ignore.
With a grunt, he turned the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life.
He needed to get his mind straight, back to reality, back to the things that actually mattered.
Surviving.
Not some girl in a supply shop.
It couldn’t be because of her.
But as he shifted the truck into gear, his grip on the wheel tightened even more.
He couldn’t deny the physical reaction in his body—the tension building low in his gut, the heat rising through his chest.
Joel shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his breath catching for a moment.
He hadn’t even noticed it before, hadn’t allowed himself to.
But now, as he adjusted himself, the realization hit him with a force that nearly knocked the breath out of his lungs.
He was hard.
His heart pounded in his chest, the weight of it settling low in his gut.
How long had it been?
He couldn’t even remember the last time he felt like this, the last time his body reacted this way.
But it couldn’t be because of the girl in the shop, right?
“Jesus.” He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his neck tightening as he fought the urge to dwell on it. “There was no way.”
She was just a kid. I mean, a woman sure. But so young, soft, innocent.
Completely the opposite of everything he was—everything he’d become.
Joel’s grip on the steering wheel tightened even further, his mind racing.
This was wrong. He shouldn’t be thinking about her like this, shouldn’t be feeling this way.
But the more he tried to push it down, the more it rose to the surface.
Her voice, the way she’d blushed when she looked at him, the scent of her clinging to the air around her like a warmth he hadn’t known he needed.
Joel shifted again, trying to shake the thoughts from his head. He’d drive home, clear his mind, and forget about it.
Forget about her.
But as he drove down the empty road, the tension in his body only seemed to build. It had been years. Years since anyone, or anything, had made him feel like this.
And the truth gnawed at him, whether he wanted to admit it or not.
It was because of her.
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moodboard:
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New series incoming!! Thank you for the nice comments, they make me the most motivated to keep writing. :)
summary: after you run away from home, you meet a handsome stranger who offers you a ride, a meal, and a bed. but you know what they say—don’t talk to strangers, or you might fall in love. and this particular stranger has a very dark secret, one you might not be able to escape the consequences of discovering.
overall warnings (please also see individual chapter warnings): 18+, smut, DDDNE, age gap (reader is college-aged, joel is mid-50s), no outbreak au, no use of y/n, graphic talk of death/murder and blood, mommy & daddy issues, brief talk of domestic violence, lying, gaslighting, coercion, manipulation, f-receiving non-con groping/breathplay/fingering/sex, being held captive, degrading language toward victims/victim blaming, joel is implied to fantasize that you're dead while fucking you, development of stockholm syndrome, pet names (baby, darlin', sweetheart, babydoll, etc), some joel pov, no ellie/sarah but tommy has an unnamed daughter, somewhat inspired by "preacher's daughter" by ethel cain, vaguely set in the 70s/80s
Series summary: You return to your home state the summer after graduating college. The relentless Texas heat, the suburban southern bubble and your treacherous relationship with your mom give you the feeling this will be a long summer. That's until Joel Miller enters the picture.
Chapter 1 : Your welcome-back party brings a re-encounter with one of your dad’s old friends, one you don’t remember looking so good.
Chapter 2: Tensions rise during a church fundraiser, unexpected closeness with Joel begins to blur the lines between what’s right and wrong.
Chapter Summary: On the last day aboard the yacht, you get to spend some alone time with Joel, and things heat up.
Chapter Warnings: language, slow burn, sugar daddy/baby vibes, food and alcohol consumption, implied drug use, jealousy, angst, flirting, sexual tension, thigh/bulge riding, dry humping
WC: 8.1K
A/N: happy birthday @itsafullmoon 😘
Series Masterlist
Joel's fingers shyly found your knee underneath the table and you held back a smile. Instead, you focused on your breakfast, one that pleased him to see you were actually consuming, while he sipped his coffee.
It was another warm day, the heat already climbing and it was barely nine in the morning. As you looked around the rest of the table, you noticed most of the guests looked just about as hungover as you felt, yet they still insisted on indulging in more mimosas and Bloody Marys.
You chose to stick with water and coffee.
There were some quiet conversations being held around you, but mostly you shut it all out in favor of gazing out over the crystal blue ocean. Joel's thumb brushed over your knuckles and when you breathed in deep, you could smell the salt in the air. It made you feel completely at ease, the drama and your argument from the day before the furthest thing from your mind.
Well, maybe not the furthest. You still side eyed Tammy when you both sat down to join everyone that morning, but you decided to let it go. Joel's admission that he hadn't been with her in a year gave you some peace, and you weren't going to allow her to get under your skin. Instead, you were determined to enjoy the last day out at sea because, according to Glenn, the yacht was planning to dock back on your island rather early the following morning.
"We're supposed to stop in a few hours so we can do some water sports. You ever been on a jet ski? Or they got these aqua toys that'll take you under the water so you can see the fish. You wanna do any of that?" His voice sounded slightly nervous as he rambled, something you found incredibly endearing.
"Both sound fun. Whatever you want to do," you told him with a small smile. He was trying very hard, you could tell. You weren't sure if it was guilt that was driving him, or if it was the way you woke up accidentally wrapped in each other's arms, but either way, you enjoyed this side of him.
Just the thought of that morning made your cheeks burn and you had to look back down at your plate. You had a feeling he might have been thinking about it too because he shifted his weight in his seat and released your knee, draping his arm behind your chair instead while he pretended to listen to something Zachary was saying with the tips of his ears turning red.
That morning, your face had been pressed up against his chest, his arms wrapped around your shoulders, facing one another. Before you even opened your eyes, you could smell him. That distinct scent of hair products, expensive cologne and soap, faded by that point, but still lingering on his skin. One of his legs was slotted between yours. A dangerous place, to be sure. All he really needed to do was roll you both over and his hips would have pressed enticingly against your center.
When your gaze flickered up, expecting to find him fast asleep, you were surprised when you locked eyes. It appeared that he had been awake for a while. Sleep no longer clouded his eyes. So if the way you woke up together was an accident, why didn't he pull away? Why did he continue to stare down at you without withdrawing his limbs from yours? Why did his eyes scan your face and linger on your lips?
And why didn't he kiss you?
"Say, when are you two lovebirds getting married? Set a date yet?" Glenn's voice boomed from the head of the table with a wide smile. His linen shirt unbuttoned halfway down, revealing a mass of grey curls scattered all across his chest.
Joel's grip on the back of your chair tightened and he looked at you affectionately.
"We haven't picked a date yet, but I've always loved springtime," you replied dreamily.
"Then springtime, it is," Joel murmured, then leaned forward to press a kiss against your temple.
"We had a spring wedding," Tammy piped up from across the table. She curled into Scott's side, pulling his arm around her shoulders and you spotted Zoe stifling a laugh next to her. "May 21st. I was so nervous it was going to rain, the forecast called for it all week but when we woke up that morning the sun was shining and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. I told Scott at the time it felt like fate. Right? Remember, honey?"
He smiled and curled his fingers around her arm, his eyes flickering back and forth as if he were scanning his memories, desperately trying to remember.
"Of course I do," he said, kissing her forehead.
"Maybe we should get married here. On the beach," you announced, narrowing your eyes in Tammy's direction. "Then we wouldn't have to worry about rain."
Joel chuckled next to you, his thumb brushing gently over your back. "Whatever you say, baby."
"Oh, no. You should get married at home. Nobody likes to travel for a wedding," Tammy challenged, and you bristled.
"I don't think anyone would mind traveling to Fiji," Harry interjected, and suddenly it seemed like the entire table was involved, previously private clusters of conversation long forgotten in favor of discussing your fake wedding plans.
"Yes, well," Tammy said, fixing a few invisible flyaways, "even so. Guests prefer to stay near their home. Won't you be afraid of alienating people on your special day if you choose a destination wedding?" she asked, tilting her head to the side questioningly.
You probably shouldn't have let it bother you. After all, your entire relationship was a farce, but you couldn't help yourself.
"It doesn't matter to me," you replied airily with a shrug. "The only one I want there is Joel."
When you looked up at him, you could see the playful glint in his eye. He knew what you were doing. He knew Tammy was bothering you and knew goddamn well why.
And he fucking liked it.
His lips curled up into a smile and he inched a little closer, wrapping his arm around you a little tighter, and you felt a shiver run through your body when his lips met yours once again.
You decided to blame it on the leftover tension from that morning, but you flicked your tongue against his lips, looking to deepen the kiss. Joel only hesitated for a second before parting his lips and slowly sliding his tongue into your mouth. It took everything in you not to moan into the kiss, knowing full well how inappropriate it already was, so after allowing yourself just another moment to enjoy it, you breathlessly pulled away. He smirked at you, his eyes dark and filled with desire, a look you no doubt mirrored back.
"What do you think, Joel?" Tammy asked, clearly trying to crack the tension brewing between the two of you. "Don't you have family you'd want there?"
Family.
Why did she say it like that?
Joel's expression changed instantly. Something flickered across his face and his lips twitched nervously when he dropped his gaze to the table.
Then it clicked.
She knew something about him. Something she was taunting him with in front of the whole table.
You desperately wanted to know what she was insinuating, but your bigger issue was not knowing anything about his damn family whatsoever because as he foolishly told you on the plane, it won't come up.
So you had to think fast.
"Anyone who loves us will make the effort to be there. Right, baby?" you purred, stretching an arm to circle around the back of his neck. He dragged his eyes up to meet yours and you gave him a subtle nod.
That's right, look at me.
"Yeah," he agreed, and you could see his resolve coming back the longer you clung around him.
"Oh, you two are just so cute," Zoe gushed. Your eyes briefly shifted to hers over Joel's shoulder and she shot you a wink.
"Maybe you should get married while you're already here," Glenn suggested. "Do another ceremony when you get home. Problem solved."
Your blood ran cold and for the first time, your mind went blank. You had no idea what to say. You looked at Joel, trying to silently convey your panic without being obvious, but he seemed perfectly at ease when he tilted his head to look at Glenn with a sly smile.
"Nah, I'll wait til my new hotel is built on that nice spot of land you got 'n we'll get married there, instead."
The table doubled over at his comment, some of the men jokingly calling him ruthless and Glenn complimenting how quick Joel was with his face all pink from laughter. You noticed with a jolt of satisfaction that Tammy was the only one at the table not laughing.
When the table finally let the topic of your wedding go, everyone falling back into their own personal conversations once again, Joel leaned into you and whispered in your ear, "good job."
You grinned and tried not to preen too much at his approval. "You, too," you said back. He scanned your face, his shoulders relaxed and the tension gone from his eyes and you swallowed thickly with a flutter in your chest. You really liked this side of him. The side that wasn't glued to his phone or laptop, the side that smiled and grazed his fingers along your back or arm for no reason.
The side that held you close while he slept.
Just then, Brooks flung the door open from the cabin and stepped out onto the deck with an apologetic look to his father. Glancing around the table, you realized then he was the only person missing from breakfast.
"Sorry," he mumbled before pulling up a seat next to Mary. "Had too much fun last night."
You tried not to stare but you couldn't stop yourself from noticing his obvious disheveled state. His clothes were wrinkled as if he slept in them, hair sticking out at all angles, and his eyes looked bloodshot and glassy.
"Sheesh, guess I wasn't the only one who drank too much," you muttered to Joel. He looked over his shoulder at Brooks, their eyes momentarily locking, before turning back to you.
"Think it's more than just booze," Joel told you softly. Your eyes widened when you remembered how fidgety Brooks seemed at Glenn's cocktail party and the pieces began to fall together.
Scott clapped his hands together after he tossed back the rest of his Bloody Mary. "What's the plan today, gang?"
Glenn checked his watch while Brooks hunched over his plate, his focus solely on his food.
"We'll find a spot around lunchtime and drop anchor. Try to find somewhere quiet so we can really open up those jet skis. Then we got a beautiful dinner at sunset. Mary wrote the menu, can't wait to see what you have planned, sweetheart," he said, lovingly curling his arm around her shoulders and giving her a kiss. She flushed and grinned, the cute display of affection making you smile.
The table began to murmur, some people standing and stretching as they discussed what they wanted to do with their last few precious hours at sea.
"Sounds like we got some time to kill," Joel said as he watched people branch off towards different sections of the boat. You spotted Scott and Jack already sidling up to Glenn while Tammy linked arms with Lynne and strolled towards the open part of the deck to sunbathe.
"You should probably spend it with Glenn," you told him, jutting your chin in his direction. When you looked back at Joel, you caught something not unlike disappointment flicker across his face before he caught himself.
"Yeah, you're right," he replied, "you sure you'll be okay? Don't wanna leave you all alone."
You smiled, touched that he was showing some concern. It was a very different Joel than just a day ago, but you had to keep reminding yourself while his delivery left something to be desired, his message was correct: you were there because you had a job to do, and so was he.
"Yeah. Go get that land so we can have our dream wedding," you joked. He chuckled but when he stood, you noticed his cheeks dusting with pink.
"Yes, ma'am," he said, then reached forward and pinched your chin in exactly the same way he did when you were shopping for clothes on your first day there. "Stay outta trouble for me, will you?"
You giggled and nodded after he dropped his hand from your face. And when he tossed you a flirtatious wink over his shoulder as he was walking away, you felt your face warm and your stomach flip excitedly.
It was too late. You were already in trouble.
"Jesus, I shouldn't have drank," Zoe said nervously while you both watched the crew unload the water toys. "One lap around the yacht on a jet ski and I'll be throwing up my lunch."
"Just aim for the big, wide ocean and not Zach," you joked. Fortunately, you had stuck to your word and hadn't had a drop of alcohol all day, but you still felt your stomach drop when you watched Trevor and Brooks fly past on their jet skis, their bodies bouncing violently with each wave.
Zach called out Zoe's name, his round stomach hanging over the band of his black swim trunks, and she groaned before forcing a fake smile and flirty wave.
"Fucking kill me," she muttered before abandoning your observation post. You leaned over the railing, grinning to yourself as Zoe was getting fit for a life jacket with the fear of god in her eyes when Joel sidled up next to you.
"You wanna take a spin on one of those?" he asked, bumping gently against your shoulder with his own. His skin looked bronzed from all the sun and his eyes sparkled as he gazed down at you.
"Uh, if you want to," you replied, biting your lip nervously when you watched Zoe and Zach take off at full throttle, the look on her face telling you everything you needed to know about the experience.
Joel noticed your hesitation and looked around.
"How 'bout we check out the inflatable stuff?" he offered. You frowned and swiveled your head back and forth. "On the other side of the boat. There's a few different ones, I think. Bit more low-key," he said, giving you an adorable shrug when you looked at him with relief.
"That sounds great," you said, then he tilted his head to the side before pushing off the rail, indicating you should follow him.
Joel was right. The crew had been inflating a couple cabanas, a trampoline and a jungle gym for you to use. Glenn and Mary were already waiting for one of the cabanas, joking with you both about how they felt like chickens for not giving the other toys a try.
The cabanas were spaced apart, the trampoline and jungle gym between them and so far you were lucky; the other guests seemed far more excited about the water toys on the other side of the boat, so you were afforded some privacy together for the first time all weekend.
"'M sorry you've been on your own so much," Joel apologized once you both got comfortable on your cabana. "But I'm makin' good progress, I can feel it. Zachary ain't got a chance in hell," he chuckled.
He sat up and gripped his linen button down shirt at the hem, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the side with a grunt. You couldn't look away when his lips puckered around a bottle of water, tipping his head back and closing his eyes as he drank. A small noise got stuck in the back of your throat when he finished and a few drops fell from the bottle and trailed slowly down his sun-kissed chest.
"Ain't polite to stare, sweetheart," he said lowly without even looking your way. Your cheeks flared and you fumbled with your sunglasses, but he just chuckled and laid back down.
"Oh! Speaking of Zachary, I have something to tell you," you said, suddenly realizing after your argument the day before, you never told him what you found out.
He rolled his head to the side and squinted up at you. "Oh, yeah?"
You glanced around before leaning in and whispering, "Zoe is a sugar baby."
His eyes went wide and he scrambled to sit up.
"How'd you find that out?"
"She told me yesterday," you shrugged. Joel swallowed tightly, his mind racing.
"Did you..." he trailed off, not wanting to finish his question and insult you, but needing to know the answer.
"No! Of course not!" you exclaimed. "I wouldn't say a word, I promise."
He nodded, visibly relaxing before averting his gaze. "I just didn't... I know you were pissed yesterday, but you should know it'll void the contract if you say somethin'."
"I know," you said softly, "but regardless of the money, I still wouldn't do that to you, Joel."
Something flickered across his face, something quick that you couldn't read before he looked away and slid his sunglasses on, effectively building his wall back up.
"Oh, and another thing," you added, "she thinks he's in a bad place financially. Says if he doesn't get the bid, he might go bankrupt and have to sell his hotels."
His eyebrows raised above the top of his sunglasses and hummed under his breath, looking thoroughly impressed.
"Goddamn, look at you. Feels like I got my own little spy or somethin'," he said, making you giggle. "Might need to hire you to work for me full time when this is all over."
"Oh, yeah? Doing what?" It was impossible to keep the playfulness from your voice. As much as you tried to deny it, you really enjoyed being on the receiving end of his praise.
"Oh, I'll think of somethin'," he replied, winking at you over the tops of his sunglasses, then smirking when he watched you get all flustered.
You settled back in your seat with a sigh, watching as the other guests zoomed by on their jet skis or dove under the water with the sub aqua toys.
Joel had your number before the plane even landed in Fiji. Even though it was taking you a little longer, you were slowly starting to figure him out. One thing was for sure: his good moods were really good, but his bad moods were really bad. He was obviously a man who had grown accustomed to getting his way, a man who had high expectations for the people who worked for him and had zero tolerance for mistakes.
He was a confusing man, made even more confusing by his behavior towards you. One day he was flirting with you, touching you, kissing you, but the next day he was icy and cold and hyper focused on work.
You turned your head in his direction, watching quietly as he basked in the sun with his eyes closed, skin prickling with sweat. Were you reading too much into those little glances and touches? Was it all part of the act? Or did he feel something more? It was clear you were attracted to him. He called you out on it more than once.
So why wouldn't he fucking do something about it?
"Do you wanna go on the trampoline with me?" you asked. He cracked an eyelid and peered at you.
"I think that stuff's made for kids."
You shrugged and flung off your cover up. You caught the way his eyes raked down your body before pretending to look out at something behind you, and you grinned.
"They wouldn't have set it up if adults can't use them."
"I ain't sayin' adults can't use 'em, I'm sayin' it's childish."
You feigned offense before adjusting your bikini and dipping your toe in the water. It was crystal clear and far too inviting to resist sliding in for a quick dip. The warmth of the water engulfing your entire body sent a thrill right through you. When you bobbed back up to the surface, you brushed the hair away from your face with a sharp gasp. Turning around, you saw Joel had laid back down, his eyes closed once again and facing away from you.
"Are you sure?" you called out to him as you began to swim backwards towards the other inflatables.
"Yep," he replied without opening his eyes. A devious smile tugged at your lips and before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned back and kicked your feet wildly, splashing water all over him.
"Hey!" he shouted angrily, but you were already swimming away as fast as you could. Once you got to the trampoline, you pulled yourself up and swiveled around to see if Joel was truly pissed or if he had just laid back down, but unfortunately from your angle, you couldn't see the front of the cabana.
With a shrug, you stood up and took a few hesitant steps onto the trampoline. It was pretty large, in an octagon shape but no walls, so if you so chose, you could bounce right into the ocean. You took a couple small jumps, barely getting any air so you could get an idea of how strong it was before bending your knees and jumping as high as you could go. You laughed when you landed with your legs tucked under you, relaxing your muscles so you could bounce this way and that until you lost momentum and rolled onto your back.
You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, enjoying the sway of the ocean underneath you. In the distance, you could hear voices from the others on the water sports, mostly squeals of excitement and barking laughs, but otherwise you were completely at peace.
Before you even had a chance to process it, the trampoline dipped and you were suddenly drenched with water. You shrieked and snapped your eyes open, heart slamming in your chest from shock just to find Joel standing above you smirking with an empty plastic drink bucket in his hand.
You swung your leg out, kicking his legs out from under him. The bucket went flying when he collapsed next to you with a loud, deep laugh you weren't sure you had heard from him before. The sound brought a huge smile to your face only to gasp and yelp when he leapt onto all fours and shook his head like a dog, showering you with the water soaking his hair.
You raised your arms in defense, desperately trying to protect yourself.
"Stop!" you half yelled, half giggled from underneath your hands. Finally, the water stopped raining down on you and you slowly dropped your hands from your face.
Joel was smiling down at you victoriously, his arms bracketing you in on either side of your head. The sun shined brightly behind him, making his wet hair and tanned skin practically fucking sparkle.
"No fair," you whispered.
"Never said I play fair."
You swallowed when you saw his eyes darken, his gaze lazily sliding down your face, your neck, your chest, brazenly taking in every bit of you he could see. He swung his leg over your waist, pinning you down into the trampoline when he sat back on your thighs so he could take the weight off one of his arms. To your surprise, he cupped your jaw and dragged the pad of his thumb over your cheek, carefully and tenderly wiping away the droplets of water from your face while you struggled to remember to breathe beneath him. And just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, he spoke again.
"Did I make you all wet, baby?"
Fuck. You squeezed your eyes shut, the low tone in his voice making it very clear he knew he was tormenting you, making you squirm and bite your lip while you fought to keep a clear head.
"'S'matter? Dish it out but can't take it?" he tsked, his fingers gliding down to trace your lower lip. Your eyes flashed open, your lips tingling under his touch and breath coming in shallow pants. You locked eyes with him and opened your mouth so you could wrap your lips around the tip of his thumb. It sent a surge of satisfaction through you when you saw his eyes go wide and his jaw fall slack. The corners of your mouth twisted up into a smile around his finger, your tongue flicking suggestively against the tip. All the smugness from a moment before vanished from his face, and the only thing that remained was surprise and undeniable lust.
Joel said your name warningly, his eyes glued to the way your mouth was wrapped around his thumb. He could have easily pulled his hand away, but he didn't. He let you swirl your tongue around him, gazing up at him through your wet lashes, your arms lying limp next to your head, painting the perfect picture of obedience and that was when you felt it: a small twitch against your thigh, one he tried to hide by shifting his weight but it was too late. A look of triumph flared in your eye when you released his finger with a grin.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to make it hard on you."
He chuckled and shook his head. "Funny."
You stared at one another for a heavy moment, Joel still pinning you onto the trampoline. You waited for him to do something, say something... anything to acknowledge the elephant in the room before you lost your mind. And for one brief moment, you thought he just might. His lips parted, his expression softened and you held your breath, waiting for it. Then suddenly it was like a door slammed shut. He rolled off you in an instant, leaving you feeling cold despite the tropical, humid heat.
"I'm gonna get somethin' to drink. Want anythin'?"
You shook your head in a daze, the sharp turn of events sending you reeling.
"No."
Then you heard a splash and listened while he swam back to the cabana, leaving you with a devastating ache between your legs and more confused than you thought possible.
Despite Joel leaving you wanting more, you still couldn't wipe the smile from your face the entire afternoon. And it seemed like he couldn't, either. Something felt like it changed in him that day. He appeared more relaxed and happier than you had seen him the entire week you'd been on the island.
It was the reason you were distracted on your way back to your room. You told Joel you were going to take a quick shower and change before dinner right before he got roped into a game of poker with Glenn and a few others, but not before giving you a quick peck on the lips. After he hurried to catch up with the others, you glanced around and found no one was there to witness your little kiss. It wasn't for show.
Your mind was swirling with images of Joel, replaying everything with a stupid smile on your face when you turned the corner of the quiet hallway.
"Oh!" you cried out when you collided with something, or rather someone, firm and strong walking from the opposite direction.
"Hey, there," Brooks said, grabbing onto your shoulders to keep you steady. You took a step back, removing yourself from his hold, and gave him an apologetic smile.
"Sorry. Wasn't watching where I was going."
You moved to step around him when he blocked you with an extended arm and you looked up at him questioningly.
"Having a good time so far?"
"Uh huh," you replied, folding your arms in front of your chest when you noticed his gaze wandering down. "This yacht is amazing, we're having a great time."
Brooks smiled and propped his hand up so he could lean against the wall, fingers tapping rapidly against the wallpaper, effectively blocking your path.
"Glad to hear it. You're welcome to come for a ride whenever you're on the island next."
You smiled back and tried to create a little more distance, but the hallway was narrow enough as it was.
"That's so nice, thank you. I'll be sure to pass that along to Joel."
"Nah, we don't have to tell the old guy, huh? I was thinking it could just be the two of us," Brooks said, "that way's more fun, don't you think?"
You felt a shiver go down your spine at the hungry way he was looking at you and suddenly you realized, aside from the crew somewhere in the depths of the boat, you were the only ones indoors.
"Oh, I don't think that's a good idea," you said, hoping to keep the tremor from your voice. "Joel would be worried."
It didn't seem to matter how many times you reminded him you were with Joel, Brooks still persisted.
"Aw, I'm sure we could work something out," he replied, brushing his knuckles slowly over your bare arm. Your eyes dropped at the contact and the panic began to set in. You knew you should push him away. Hell, you should punch him in the throat and tell him to keep his hands off you, but all you could think of was Joel and how hard he was working to get that plot of land and what a great mood he had been in all day.
So instead, you took a step backwards and pulled your arms tighter across your chest.
"Why don't we talk about it with Joel at dinner?"
You were giving him your fakest smile at that point and he could tell. Slowly, his expression dropped along with the arm that was caging you in.
"Sure," he said, then finally began to slip past you to join the rest of the guests but paused and leaned in to whisper in your ear, "but I see right through you. Everybody's got a price."
By the time you had collected yourself and turned around, Brooks was gone.
"You're missin' an earring," Joel said with a frown the moment you emerged from the cabin, freshly showered but still shaken.
"What?" You lifted your hands to your ears and groaned before removing the one you did have and dropping it in your clutch. "Shit. Sorry. Must've forgot."
His eyes drifted over your face for a moment, concern etching his features. "Don't be sorry, sweetheart. Everythin' okay?"
"Yeah," you said immediately, ignoring the heated look Brooks was giving you behind Joel's back. "Everything's great. How was poker?"
You partially listened to him talk about his card game, joking about how he was lucky they weren't playing for any actual cash because he was fucking terrible at it, but you had a hard time moving past that interaction with Brooks just an hour prior.
He could tell your attention was elsewhere. You looked nervous and distracted but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why. He replayed everything over and over since you slipped inside to freshen up. Sure, he knew he left you high and dry after that particularly intense moment on the trampoline, one he knew if he didn't stop, you would both have done something you would regret, but you seemed fine afterwards. The rest of the afternoon you were bubbly and sweet, your playfulness leaving a permanent smile across his face.
So what the hell happened between then and now?
Mary clapped her hands together, sending a wave of silence over the bustling table as everyone turned to give her their attention. Joel's hand found your leg, his instincts telling him you needed an anchor, even if he didn't know why, then twisted around to listen.
"Good evening," Mary began. "Once again, I'm so pleased you could all be here on this beautiful getaway with Glenn, myself, and our boys," she said, giving Trevor and Brooks a loving glance. "I had the pleasure of curating tonight's menu, the theme being Tropical Barbecue."
A ripple went through the table and a pleased smile pulled at Mary's lips. Your eyes flickered down to Joel's hand on your thigh and you slid your own on top, fingers curling around his. After a moment where you felt him still, his thumb came up to brush gently against your knuckles, making you smile at the comfort it brought.
Mary began to describe each course and her inspiration behind her choices, but you were finding it difficult to focus. Everybody's got a price. What did that mean? Did Brooks somehow find out you were hired by Joel to fabricate a relationship and sway his father into selling him the land?
No, that would be impossible... right?
Then Joel uttered your name softly and you snapped out of your trance.
"Huh?"
He fixed you with another concerned look.
"I asked what you wanted to drink."
"Oh," you said, shaking your head a bit, "I'll just stick with water, thanks."
He scanned your movements. Your eyes were darting around nervously, your foot was tapping incessantly on the floor and he hadn't seen you smile once since you washed up.
Joel leaned into your side, hand still firmly planted on your leg, and murmured, "You can drink, y'know. I ain't mad 'bout yesterday."
"Mhm, I know," you replied, tugging your lower lip between your teeth. Joel shifted his weight in his chair and gave a polite smile to the crew member who placed two plates in front of you. He watched you pick up a fork and pick at your first course and he swore he saw your hand tremble.
"Did I do somethin'?" he asked after leaning in again. "If it's 'bout earlier, we can talk -"
"What are you two lovebirds whispering about down there?" Brooks' booming voice called from his end of the table. You each turned to look at him, Joel with politeness, you with dread. When Brooks met your eye, you could see the veiled threat behind his otherwise friendly demeanor: don't you say a fucking word.
"Just talkin' 'bout what a great time we've had 'n how disappointed we are it's comin' to an end," Joel replied kindly. His hand left your leg to pick up his glass of scotch and you instinctively found yourself raising your arm, trying to bring him back to you, surprising yourself with your neediness.
Joel raised his glass for a toast to Glenn and Mary while you forced a shaky smile and raised your water. Zoe leaned into your other side when the volume rose around the table and whispered, "Are you pregnant?"
You sputtered around your glass and you looked at her all wild-eyed.
"No!"
She giggled and shrugged. "You've been drinking water all day and you look like you're about to hurl."
You laughed at the absurdity of it and you finally felt some of your nerves begin to ease. If only she knew how long it had been since the last time you had sex.
"No, I promise you I'm not."
"Not what?" Joel asked when he turned away from talking with Harry on his other side.
"Nothing," you replied sweetly. The tone of your voice made him smile and his hand found your leg again. Then, his brows knit together and he raised his other hand to swipe his thumb gently over the corner of your mouth. When he pulled it back to examine the spot of barbecue sauce he collected, your breath stuttered at the same time his paused. It seemed as though you both realized at the exact same time he was holding up the same thumb you had wrapped your lips around just hours before.
His eyes met yours and his lips parted. Slowly, he raised his thumb to his mouth and you watched with heavy lidded eyes as his soft looking lips spread open across his finger, taking an unnecessary moment to grunt in pleasure when the sweet and tangy sauce was lapped up by his tongue.
"Mmm, you taste good," he teased with a little smirk. His chest flooded with warmth when he saw that playful spark in your eye again. He didn't like it when you weren't yourself, he realized, but he really, really didn't like to see you cry. It only happened once, but he knew he didn't want to see it again. As much as he tried to fight it, he had grown too fond of your sweet nature already. He liked the way you stood in awe of the affluence surrounding you but also found a great deal of joy from a few pink seashells, so delicate and so beautiful.
Just like you.
He noticed the more attention he gave you, the happier you became, and he really shouldn't have liked that as much as he did. Seeing your wide smile and hearing your adorable laugh made him soften. But watching your eyes glaze over or your eyelids flutter from his touch, whether it be your arm or leg or back, did something else to him entirely. Something that made him have to remind himself more than once during dinner that this was all an act, that this wasn't real.
Once dinner finished up, you appeared back to your usual self once again. Your hand fused with his while everyone said their good nights, and they remained that way when you walked together towards your room, the air around you silent and thick.
You swallowed nervously as you picked up your pajamas from where you abandoned them earlier that morning.
Instantly, your cheeks warmed when you remembered how you both woke up, all tangled limbs and hesitant glances. You cleared your throat and kept your eyes cast down while you maneuvered around him to get to the bathroom. As you changed and washed up, you wondered what would happen that evening. Probably nothing, you decided, based on the way he abruptly stopped things that afternoon, but just in case you made sure to apply a little lip balm and spritzed a dash of perfume in your hair.
"All yours," you said shyly before sliding into bed. All yours, all yours, all yours. You listened to the water running in the bathroom while you flipped through the channels on the television before giving up and turning it off.
When he exited the bathroom, you locked eyes and gave him a small smile. He tossed his clothes into a pile next to his overnight bag before turning off the lights and slipping into bed next to you with a groan.
You both laid there for a few minutes, each of you staring up at the dark ceiling, your hearts beating too fast to really find any rest. Finally, you tilted your head to the side and peered at him through the darkness. You could just make out his side profile in the moonlight, his distinctive sharp nose and the little pout to his lips.
"I can't sleep," you whispered. He blinked and turned his face towards you.
"Why?"
Everybody's got a price.
Did I make you all wet, baby?
"I don't know," you lied.
He turned onto his side so he was facing you, then you did the same. You left your hand flat on the mattress between you, not touching, but wishing you were.
"Did you wanna talk 'bout... earlier?" he asked softly. You couldn't really make out his face but you heard it in his voice; he was uncertain.
For a moment, you almost said yes. Yes, please explain what the hell is going on between us. Until you realized you may not like the answer, then you whispered, "No."
You couldn't see it, but he was relieved.
"Okay," he replied. You inched your hand a little closer.
"Can I ask you something, Joel?"
He nodded, then remembered it was too dark to see. "Yeah."
You took a deep breath. "What did Tammy really mean this morning when she mentioned your family?"
He inhaled sharply and you immediately knew you weren't getting an answer. "Don't matter," he replied, then stretched out his arm to loop around your shoulders. "C'mere," he added, giving you a tug and pulling you into his chest.
You burrowed your face against him, arms wrapping around his middle, all thoughts of Tammy and Brooks erased from your mind. Instead, you focused on how warm he felt, how good he smelled, how strong his heart sounded against your ear, and before you knew it, you were fast asleep.
"Hey."
You heard his voice whispering in your ear, but you frowned and ignored it. It was barely light out, too early to wake up, and you were so warm and at peace curled up next to him, you didn't want it to end.
"Hey," he whispered again, this time a little louder. Still, you didn't respond. Then you heard him curse under his breath and shift his weight on the bed.
Finally, your curiosity was enough to make you open your eyes.
He rolled onto his back, his arm still trapped underneath you but the other was stretching down to grip his rock hard erection through the comforter. Your eyes widened when you saw the pained look in his face after he flexed his hand, as if he were trying to seek out some relief without actually jerking himself off. His eyes were screwed shut and his brows furrowed together while he focused on taking long, deep breaths. Then he squeezed himself again and a quiet noise slipped past his lips. The tendons in his neck strained with effort, his skin looked flushed and a little sweaty and the entire visual was enough for you to feel your pussy soften and throb.
He must have wanted you to move so he could get up and take care of himself in the bathroom, but fortunately your deep sleep paid off into what you saw as a golden opportunity.
Before you could overthink it, you slid your hand down his stomach towards his waistband, but right as your fingertips came in contact with the elastic, he stopped you.
"What're you doin'?" he asked gruffly, his hand wrapped tightly around your wrist.
"Giving you a hand," you replied, hoping you sounded sultry like you intended.
"'S not funny," he said, yanking your hand out from under the covers before he looked at you. His eyes were stern but his forehead dotting with sweat and his chest heaving underneath his white tshirt gave him away.
He wanted this.
"I'm not laughing," you said, trying to tug your hand from his grip, but he shook his head. You squirmed next to him under the covers, pressing your thighs together, feeling your arousal soak through your panties. "Please," you whispered, voice breaking on just the one syllable. He shook his head again but you felt his fingers begin to loosen around your wrist.
"Can't," was all he managed to grit out. You groaned and lunged forward, biting angrily at his jaw, then his lower lip.
"Why?" you practically begged, your mouth brushing over his beard, the sharp hairs poking your sensitive lips, leaving them feeling tingly when you pulled away and asked again, "Why, Joel?"
"Ain't part of the deal."
You scoffed and hooked both your legs around one of his, pulling it towards you, towards the heat radiating between your legs. You began to roll your hips, doing your best to torment him into breaking by rubbing yourself on his thigh.
"I don't care about the deal," you replied, narrowing your eyes as you continued to rock your hips against him. "I want you, Joel, fucking please," you whined, then gasped when he dropped your hand and in one swift movement, hauled you up so you were straddling his lap.
"You think you want me, but you don't. Not really," he told you, jaw tense and eyes so dark, you could barely see the sliver of dark chocolate brown you had grown so fond of.
"What does that mean?" you asked. His statement made your hips stall in a moment of clarity.
His eyes dropped to your chest, swallowing when he noticed your nipples poking through your loose fitting tank top.
"You don't know me, darlin'."
"Yes, I do," you cooed, bending forward seductively to play with his hair, but in reality you were just trying to give him a glimpse of your tits.
"No, you don't," he shot back, his eyes glued to your chest, his hands leaving bruises on your hips when he began to shift you back and forth, encouraging you to rub yourself over his clothed erection. "And I ain't gonna fuck you, baby, I'm sorry."
You fought back the sob that clawed its way up your throat. "You want me, too," you tried, tipping your head back and biting your lip when you felt his cock slide perfectly through your folds. He was thick, that much you could tell, and you moaned at the thought of him stretching you open. How delicious that sting would feel at first, the pain that would bleed into pleasure, your mingled breaths and the feel of your skin sticking together that first time.
"This is... fuck," he groaned, bucking his hips up to meet yours. "This is a business relationship, that's it." But his voice held no conviction whatsoever.
"Yeah?" you panted, tilting your chin down to look at him. He was fucking wrecked underneath you. His eyes were all wild, teeth clenching together so hard the muscle in his jaw twitched. You smirked and lunged forward to kiss him, your tongue sliding into his mouth with ease. He whined against your lips, his hands sliding up your back, pressing against your spine as he gave in, his jaw falling open wider, giving you more room to swirl your tongues together frantically while your hips ground down onto his lap, selfishly chasing your high.
"If you do this with all your business partners, I can see how you became so successful," you breathed when you pulled away.
His eyes fluttered closed and you watched his muscles relax, as if he were giving up the fight. You leaned forward and tenderly kissed the corner of his mouth, your thighs burning from the effort as you continued to rut yourself against him. You felt the tip of his cock catch on your clit and you squeaked as a shiver ran through you and your vision began to blur.
"Joel," you whimpered, pressing your nose against his throat.
"Just... just take what you need, sweetheart," he told you, wrapping his arms around your ribs. "I'm hangin' on by a thread here, just - take what you need."
You whined and pushed your face into his neck, too close to your orgasm to fight with him any longer.
"Come with me," you whispered. You could feel his body tremble underneath you at the request, but he replied, "No."
Tears stung your eyes and you weren't sure if it was the confusion surrounding his steadfast rejection or the intensity of your orgasm, but either way you gasped and two tears slid down your cheeks when you fell apart on top of him.
With a shocking amount of speed, Joel flipped you over so you were on your back. He hovered above you, watching your release wash over you, his hips still pressing against your center, still grinding and thrusting and rubbing as he memorized the look on your face when you came. And maybe it was just all too much: too much build up, too much tension, too much begging for his cock from your perfect fucking mouth because he suddenly tensed and groaned.
Your eyes snapped open in surprise when you felt the warmth spreading through his boxers and dampness leaking through the fabric, just barely touching your skin.
"Oh, fuck," he moaned as he continued to come, "fuck, fuck, fuck!"
He dropped his chin to his chest, mouth forming a circle and his eyes squeezing shut while his body pulsed and shook with an incredible amount of force.
"Oh, shit," he breathed, his eyes finally meeting yours.
You stared at one another, each of you panting for air with your hearts hammering wildly in your chests and heat flushing your faces. Slowly, when you began to come down, reality seeped in. As much as he tried to fight it, and as frustrated as you were with him, there was no denying it now:
A line was crossed, and there was no going back.
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I had to deal with something, so I threw Joel in the mix.
TW: grief, anxiety.
His body is warm underneath you. The warmth it brings to you transcends the physical. The warmth seeps deep into you. It's a comfort that wraps around your heart and soul. His slow, soft breaths go unheard by you, your own masking them perfectly. His heartbeat is the perfect metronome for your own. Two bodies completely in harmony. In an endless loop of reassurance. The world outside melts away. The children playing in the mid-morning sun. The low drone of cars carefully navigating the neighbourhood. It's all gone.
As if reality is trying to shock you back to real life, the truth flashes across your heart. Gone. Dead. Died in terror. Rotted away. Burned to ashes. You feel the truth, but you can't move towards it. Instead, it sits with you. Each synced heartbeat is now poisoned with the truth.
They're dead. They're dead. They're dead.
The warmth now feels like hell fire. Your eternal damnation for surviving. The truth corrupts harmony and reassurance, it turns it bitter. A glimpse of a prize long lost. It is torture.
Finally, you are released, the real world rushes in. The dusty floorboards. The paper thin bed roll. The darkness only slightly abated by the silver of the moon. The pain of the dream lays under your skin. Your heart beats rapidly low in your chest. It caged by a heaviness that constricts your wayward breathing. Pins and needles stab at your feet. Thoughts rush through your mind. The reality. The dream. The nightmare.
It feels like years before he reaches you. In reality, it must have only been seconds. Joel always sleeps with his good ear to you. Not that he would ever admit it. Not in the harsh light of day. No, the moonlight seems to bring about a transformation in Joel. The darkness conceals his affections as he reaches for you. It's a gentle hand on your arm at first. When that makes you flinch, he wastes no time in making his movements more deliberate. A heavy hand grips you as his arm draws you back to him. His chest presses to your back, broad and shielding. His head rests on top of your, weighing down the errant thoughts dashing around. Everything stops in place, buzzing with inaction. The buzzing grows overwhelming until there is one clear signal where to go.
It's alright, Darlin’, I've got you. Let it out.
It comes out in gasps for air and sobs. Hot tears on your face. Groans of frustration and anger. Bitten off screams of fury, despair, and loss. Once it's all drained away, there's nothing left in you. Your hollow husk lays in Joel's arms. Until his warmth spreads, chasing away the hollow cold inside. His heartbeat echoes around the empty cavern of your chest. Yours follows it. Not quite in sync, not yet. Their rhythm sounds out something new.
All fics are explicit and 18+. Please see individual fics for tags and warnings. You are responsible for what you choose to read. [Note: ⚠️ indicates dark content.]
✿ Whiskey Sour | complete, 54k
Reuniting with your estranged father while you finish college in Austin has unintended consequences.
His best friend, for one.
✿ Boots | one-shot, 4.5k
Joel doesn't like the idea of someone else gettin' all your best.
✿ Red Light | one-shot, 15.8k ⚠️
The men you keep bringing home are no good for you. It's up to your landlord Joel to protect you from heartbreak.
✿ Honey-Do | one-shot, 10k
It’s Sunday, chore day, and Joel has a honey-do list item of his own: get his girl pregnant.
✿ Candy Girl | one-shot, 6k
The before and after.
Or, Joel fucks his friend's daughter for the first time.
✿ let it snow | one-shot, 5k
It's cold on the trail. Joel keeps you warm.
✿ Gloves Off | one-shot, 9k
You enjoy watching him bleed, but you love to watch him succeed. He builds ‘em up just to knock ‘em down. He’s The Contractor, and he’s your reigning king of the ring.
✿ yellow bird | one-shot, 2.7k
Taking the weight off your shoulders.
✿ helen | complete, 45k
Si vis pacem, para bellum.
Or, a retired hitman returns to the fold.
Blood Runs Thicker than Water - Joel & F!Reader (Platonic DBF!)
Summary: You fight tooth and nail to get back to Joel and Tommy, but not everything goes to plan.
Word Count: 4.4k
Tags: Loss, grief, violence, blood and injury, pain induced visions/flashbacks, descriptions of injury, captivity
Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on AO3
Chapter 16: Crawl Home to Them
The hours pass slowly as the sun rises and falls through the sky, and you remain sitting by your father's side, anxiously awaiting Joel's return.
But Joel never comes.
Slowly, an intrusive, painful thought begins to creep into your mind: he must be dead. In the absence of any other logical explanation, you find yourself settling on that as the only plausible reason why he hasn't returned to your side.
You sit on the steps of the cabin, your hair covered in a thin layer of snow, the blood from your father's killer drips down the staircase and stains your jeans, soaking into the fabric. The bitter cold seeps into your body, but you hardly notice.
You sit still, fixated on the sight of your father slowly being buried under the falling snow. The white flakes gently descend upon his unmoving form, blanketing him in a cold, unforgiving embrace.
As the sky lightens once again, you kneel beside your father and place a gentle kiss on his forehead.
He’s so cold.
You shiver as you remove the jacket from your own back, carefully laying it over him in a silent gesture of love and farewell.
The journey back home is a grueling one, marked by the cold and the solitude that surrounds you. Every rustle of leaves or crunch of snow under your feet sends a fresh wave of adrenaline surging through your body, your heart racing in fear that someone else is lurking in the shadows, waiting to kill you just like they had with your dad.
With Joel.
As you finally reach the familiar surroundings of home, you are met with a horrifying sight: bodies of the dead scattered everywhere, filling the air with a putrid stench of death. The very essence of what once provided you with a sense of security and belonging is now tarnished, and a wave of grief and despair washes over you, breaking something deep within your soul.
Desperate for a response, you call out Tommy's name as you enter through the front door, but only silence greets you. With fear and worry building within you, you shout for both Tommy and Joel, hoping to hear their voices or see a familiar sign of life.
The stark contrast between your recent carefree morning spent solving puzzles with Tommy and the horrific scene now laid out before you is jarring. The remnants of the puzzle you had been working on earlier are scattered across the floor, their colorful pieces now stained with blood. Your father's favorite mug sits silently on the coffee table, waiting for his return.
But he’s not coming back.
Overwhelmed by a wave of grief and despair, you collapse to the floor, a heart-wrenching sob wracking your body. Your mind is flooded with the painful realization that you've lost your father, that Joel's fate is uncertain, and that you have no idea where Tommy is. The thought of being utterly alone in the world envelops you, leaving you feeling lost and vulnerable.
The onslaught of emotions becomes too intense to bear, leaving no space for any other thoughts or sensations to register in your mind.
You don’t hear the grunts as someone wakes.
You don’t hear footsteps on the stairs.
You don’t hear the person behind you.
Caught off guard, you hardly hear the presence behind you until their rough hand grips your hair and forcefully throws you to the ground. The shock and pain momentarily cut through the fog of despair, leaving you disoriented and confused.
In that moment, as you lay on the ground, a realization dawns upon you suddenly. You understand now why your father had insisted on keeping your hair short over the years.
You had hated every time he picked up those rusted scissors, the sound of them snipping through your hair ringing in your ears. Each time, you would feel a pang of annoyance and frustration, wishing your hair could be longer, like the girls in the old torn magazines you would sneak glances at.
As you are dragged across the floor, your cries escaping your lips, a profound sense of longing wells up within you. You yearn for the days when you were safe in your father's embrace, his gentle touch on your hair, and the sound of his soothing voice telling stories about the life that once was.
How you wished to be back in that place, engulfed in his embrace, far away from the nightmare that envelops you now.
The man's words seep through the fog of your thoughts, and you catch fragments of his grumbling about Tommy. He roughly pulls you into the kitchen and pushes you onto the circular dining room table, causing the remaining plates from your morning breakfast to crash to the floor in a loud symphony of shattering ceramic.
Desperation fuels your actions as you struggle against your captor, your hands desperately trying to peel away the hands grasping your hair. Your legs kick and thrash wildly, making contact with his stomach and then finding their mark with a well-aimed kick to his groin. The man curses and loosens his grip, creating an opening for you to land another kick to his face, causing him to stagger back momentarily.
With a gasp of pain, you roll off the table and land heavily amongst the shattered remnants of broken plates and mugs. The cuts from the shattered ceramic slice into your skin, the pain searing through your body. Undeterred, you push yourself up, gritting your teeth against the agony that lances through your limbs. You clamber awkwardly over the side table that separates the kitchen from the dining room, desperate to put some distance between yourself and the man.
You hear the man's curses ring out as you crawl across the wooden floor, trying to put as much distance between yourself and the approaching threat. The rough texture of the wood digs into your skin, mingling with the sharpness of the shattered ceramic. You can feel the warm trickle of blood as it flows from the open wounds on your hands and knees.
Amongst the chaos and fear, your attention is drawn to the motionless body of a woman slumped against the cabinets that line the wall. A chilling sight, you see one of Tommy's knives deeply embedded in her chest. With trembling hands, you pull the knife free, your blood mixing with hers.
The sound of glass and porcelain being crushed under his heavy boots resonates through the room as the man hauls himself over the side table. His weight landing heavily sends a rumble of tremors through the floor, echoing the impending danger that looms closer. Your heart pounds in your chest as you make eye contact with him.
The man eyes the knife in your trembling grip, a sly smile crossing his features as he points at it mockingly. "And what do you think you're going to do with that?" he sneers, his voice dripping with condescension.
A flicker of fear and uncertainty dances across your face as the man's challenging words hang in the air. For a brief moment, the thought of taking another life, of watching someone else succumb to your actions, sends a wave of trepidation through your soul.
Your instincts scream at you to turn and face your pursuer, but instead, you pivot on your heel and flee in the opposite direction, hurtling down the hallway and bursting into Tommy's room. The man follows in hot pursuit, closing the distance between you at an alarming speed.
Despite his messy tendencies, Tommy's room is packed with an array of supplies. Weapons, ammo, and explosives are discreetly hidden amongst the clutter, a testament to Joel’s practical and wary nature. Joel's familiar sighs of disapproval echo in your mind whenever he entered the room, his subtle way of expressing irritation and concern over his brother's habits.
You recall the memory of sitting on Tommy's bed, your expression turned to a disapproving frown just like Joel’s as you took in the untidy state of his room. The floor was covered with discarded clothes, empty bottles and stray scraps of metallic objects, creating a chaotic scene that clashed with your own tidy habits.
Tommy had sat behind you on the bed, a frown of concentration on his face as he attempted to braid your hair. A tattered book sat in his lap; its pages filled with detailed instructions for braiding techniques. Despite his determined expression, the results of his efforts were far from perfect, leaving you both frustrated and amused.
You had asked him, curiously, why he kept his room in such a messy state. He had chuckled lightly before he dropped your half-braided hair, and as you turned to face him, he replied, “We’re safe here, but you never know when something might happen. It could be someone breaking in or even Joel going through my things. I never know when I might need something to defend myself with. I threw a book at Joel last week when I woke up to him going through my drawers… again. I keep telling him if he wants my magazines so bad, all he has to do is ask”
“What magazines?”
He paused. “Never mind.”
After that, you kept your own floor messy, much to Joel’s disgust.
You scramble into the room, but the man follows closely behind, his weight crashing down upon you as you fall onto the pile of Tommy's clothes from the previous night. With your hand reaching out in desperation, you clutch the nearest bottle, swinging it upwards with all your might as he turns you onto your back. The bottle connects with the man's face, shattered glass flying in all directions as you plunge the knife into his shoulder.
As the man reels in agony from the shattered glass, his shouts of anger and threats of death fill the air as he pulls the knife from his body. You scramble away from beneath him, your hand reaching out for the nail bomb sitting in front of the dresser. Just as your fingers close around the cold tin can, the man grabs your ankle and tugs you back forcefully. In a desperate act, you lash out with your free foot, landing a powerful kick to his face, buying you enough time to grab the nail bomb.
Escaping from the room, you leap over the man's grasping hands and rush out the front door, heart pounding with adrenaline. In your haste, a misplaced step on the stairs causes you to stumble and fall face-first into the cold, soft snow as your blood stains it red.
The man emerges from the house, his seething anger evident in every line of his face. Tommy's knife glints menacingly in his hand as he points it towards you, the blade still stained with blood.
The man's voice cuts through the tension-filled air as he scoffs, his words laced with condescension. "You little shit. That's not a toy, put it down, kid" he warns, taking a step closer towards you. In response, you instinctively take a step back, creating some distance between you.
The man stops in his tracks as you raise the nail bomb in your hand, a flicker of caution crossing his face. “One more step and I throw it,” you threaten, your voice trembling slightly.
"You throw it, we both die," the man cautions, but your expression remains stoical.
A standoff ensues, with you still standing at the bottom of the stairs, gazing up at him as he looms menacingly above. His gaze locks onto yours, his expression a mixture of anger and determination, silently challenging your resolve.
With a sudden lunging motion, the man hurls himself forwards, closing the distance between you rapidly. In a split-second decision, you make a desperate toss, throwing the nail bomb right at him. The bomb arcs through the air, its explosive potential ticking away as it hurtles towards its target.
The nail bomb detonates in a fiery explosion, throwing you backwards with a violent force. You tumble through the snow, your body a rag doll in the impact, as you cry out in pain. The world spins around you, disorienting your senses, and you feel your body grow heavy and still in the cold white embrace of the snow.
Cold air rips at your chest as you gasp for breath, each desperate inhalation chilling your lungs. As you look down, you see the nails and fragments of metal are embedded deep within your body. Your voice breaks out into agonizing screams, crying as your body trembles.
In between the waves of pain, your thoughts flicker to the hope of being rescued. You fervently wish for either Tommy or Joel to hear your cries and come to your aid, carrying your broken body to safety. In the back of your mind, you can almost hear their voices chiding you for being careless, worry and concern lacing their words as they tenderly tend to your injuries.
Your head lolls to the side, and through the haze of pain and tears, you see the man lying motionless in the snow. Yet, the image that forms in your mind is not the man, but your father.
As time loses meaning, you find yourself drawn irresistibly to the river that flows in front of the house. With each painful inch, you crawl and pull your aching body toward the river's edge, determined to meet your fate in its familiar embrace.
The images from your memory play out vividly in the river's rippling surface. You see your dad laughing heartily as he teases Tommy for looking like a drowned rat. And beside you, Joel, sits with a book in one hand, his other hand tenderly running through your hair, soothing.
Your mind, foggy with pain, struggles to separate the past from the present. It feels as if you can truly feel the touch of Joel’s hand, a calming presence offering comfort. But even in your delirium, you know that it's mere illusion, a figment of your wounded imagination, offering temporary solace in the face of your agony.
The sound of shouting in the distance reaches your ears, and during your torment, you twist your head away from the river. Tears well up in your eyes as you hear Joel and Tommy.
Two figures appear from the trees, and seeing them, you cry out desperately, your voice choked with pain and fear. Your heart races as you hope and pray that it's the brothers, that they have come to rescue you.
A soft touch tenderly cradles your cheeks, and as the tears clear, you see Joel's face hovering above you. Relief floods through you, his familiar features offering a small comfort during your pain.
“She could be bitten, Beck,” Tommy says, and a frown creases your brow in confusion. Something is not right; this voice doesn't sound like Tommy.
Why is he calling Joel Beck?
“Do you see any infected, Wade? Take a look around you, they tried to kill a kid.” The confusion deepens as a voice you don’t recognize as Joel's speaks, but the tone and timber are wrong. It’s not the deep, gruff voice you know so well.
Despite the pain, you muster the strength to call out his name, your hand reaching out instinctively towards the figure before you. But the smooth, delicate skin that meets your touch feels completely wrong, lacking the gruff, calloused texture of Joel's hands.
This isn’t Joel.
Your eyes blink, trying to focus and make sense of the scene unfolding before you. The world blurs and shifts as the comforting visage of Joel's face vanishes, replaced by a woman's delicate features. Confused and dizzy, you struggle to comprehend the sudden change in your surroundings.
Pain shoots through your body as you attempt to move away, and the woman grips your arms, holding you firmly in place. Frantic and desperate, you thrash and struggle, tears streaming down your face, trying hopelessly to break free from her grip.
Her voice is soft, trying to soothe you with reassurances of assistance. But in your pain and confusion, you don't want their aid. The only names that swirl in your mind, like a mantra of comfort, are Joel's and Tommy's.
The man's voice registers in your pain-filled consciousness, his words sinking in. "She doesn't want to come with us," he says, a resigned sigh escaping his lips. The woman shakes her head.
The woman's determination is evident in her tone as she retorts, "I'm not going to leave a kid out here to die alone." Your heart races in fear as she speaks, and before you can protest, the man moves towards you. With little effort, he lifts you off the ground, and you are helpless to do anything against his hold.
The last thing you think of before you pass out in the strangers’ hold, is how different he feels compared to Joel. Joel, gruff and protective, would cradle you close, his grip strong and comforting.
This man feels cold and unfamiliar, and you hate it.
The steady rumbling of the car beneath you lulls you out of unconsciousness, and your eyes slowly flutter open, catching glimpses of the silvery moonlight that filters through the car's windows. The pale light casts a gentle glow inside the vehicle, causing you to squint as your senses gradually return.
The slightest attempt to move sends waves of pain coursing through your body, and you wince as you look down at the unfamiliar clothes you're wearing. You notice the bandages covering various parts of your body, evidence that someone has tended to your injuries.
Caught in a haze of pain and confusion, your voice rasps weakly as you murmur Tommy's name. Fresh tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you take in the strange environment around you, completely different from anything you recognize.
The unexpected touch of a stranger's hand on yours jolts you back to reality. Instinctively, you recoil, yanking your hand away as if burned by the contact.
The woman's soothing words fall on deaf ears as your distrust and fear take over your thoughts. “You're safe,” she insists, “We won't hurt you." But the promises mean little to you in your current state of unease.
How can you trust the intentions of strangers?
Your body, battered and exhausted, cries out in pain, yet the soft plush seats of the car beckon you back towards sleep. The desire to rest, to ease the aching, overpowers your fear, and slowly, your eyelids grow heavy with the weight of weariness.
As sleep starts to claim you once more, your lips barely move, forming the names of Joel and Tommy, a silent plea for their presence and comfort. With each mumbled syllable, your voice grows weaker, until finally, you succumb to unconsciousness, enveloped in the deep embrace of sleep once more.
As you come to awareness, your bleary eyes take in the dimly lit surroundings. There are no windows in sight, only grey cobblestone walls which reflect the dancing light of candles that cast flickering shadows in the room.
Your eyes survey the cramped room, the bed you lay on like an island in the middle of the mess. Medical supplies are scattered on tables that line one wall. On the opposite wall, bookcases stand tall, filled with tomes and books that are surprisingly well-preserved.
Your voice, hoarse and raw, whispers Joel's name into the silent room, hoping for an answer or a familiar face to appear. You attempt to sit up, but your movements are hindered by the wires and needles that protrude from your skin, keeping you in place. Worse still, you realize that your wrists are handcuffed to the bed, firmly restraining you against your will.
Panic wells up within you as your eyes fix on the handcuffs. You pull at them with all your strength, straining against their unyielding restraint. Despite your efforts, the metal digs into your skin, the unforgiving handcuffs holding you captive.
“Good to see you’re finally awake.” A man's voice slices through the silence from the darkened corner of the room. It startles you, making your eyes dart towards the source of the words. Your heart pounds in your chest, dread settling in the pit of your stomach as you try to make out the man's features in the shadows.
The man emerges from the shadows, revealing his appearance under the dim candlelight. He is in his early thirties, his face marked by a deep scar that slashes across his forehead. His clean-shaven face and hardened features give him an intimidating aura, and you instinctively shrink away from him, warily watching his every move.
The man's apology is a sharp contrast to his intimidating appearance, and his chuckle sends a shiver down your spine. He gestures towards the handcuffs, "Sorry 'bout those," he says, his tone laced with mild amusement. "We didn't want you hurting yourself when you woke up in a strange and dark place."
“Where am I?” You say.
He leans against the medical table, pushing up the sleeves of his black button-up as he looks down at you without answering right away. He seems to be studying you, assessing your condition in the dim light. The silence between your question and his response stretches out, causing your heart to race with anticipation.
“Where am I?” You repeat yourself.
With a smile, the man spreads his arms, gesturing around the room as if presenting a prized possession. "We call it The Refuge," he says. His words sound almost comical, given the bleak and cramped surroundings. It's hardly a refuge but a place of confinement.
You can't help but scoff at the man's words, rattling your handcuffs once more. The metal links rub against each other, the sound echoing loudly in the quiet room. "Doesn't seem like a refuge to me," you retort, your voice dry and filled with sarcasm.
A short laugh escapes the man's lips as he listens to your words. He pushes off from the table and saunters over to your bed, pulling a set of keys from his pocket. The metal keys jangle as he twirls them around his index finger, the sound adding to the tension in the room.
The man stops beside your bed, keys dangling from his raised hand. He quirks an eyebrow at you, his gaze scrutinizing your face. "Are you going to try and run if I uncuff you?" he asks, his voice a mix of caution and mild amusement. He holds the keys up, making the metal jingle once more as he waits for your response.
You consider your options, the desire to escape overwhelming you. In your mind, you yearn to be back home with Joel and Tommy, where you feel safe. But, as you take stock of the pain that still courses through your body, you realize that attempting a dash for freedom would be foolish. Not only would it be painful, but you doubt you could even make it to the door, let alone leave the room without collapsing.
So, you shake your head.
The man's smile softens as he moves closer, stepping up to the side of the bed. He brings the keys to your wrists, the metal clinking as he searches for the right key. With a click, the cuff on your left hand comes undone, the man moving around the bed to do the same to your other hand. The cold metal slips off, freeing your wrists from its vice-like grip.
The man pulls the chair closer to your bedside, its legs screeching against the stone floor, before plopping down into it with a sigh. He sits down, leaning back with a casual nonchalance that is at odds with your dire situation. "I was surprised when my brother told me they brought in a kid," he says, his tone tinged with curiosity. "We don't see a lot of you anymore, let alone in the state you were in. You really put up a fight."
You glower at the man, your teeth grinding together as you process his words.
The man continues to speak, his voice unnervingly calm as he mentions that there are a few couples inquiring about you, interested in taking you in. Your heart clenches at the thought, and you shake your head fiercely, a wave of fresh panic washing over you. The thought of being placed with strangers, in a new place without Joel or Tommy, is too much to bear.
"I’m not staying here," you assert, your words edged with a hint of defiance. "They'll come looking for me," you add, the certainty in your voice masking the fear that lurks beneath.
"Joel and Tommy, right?" he asks, and your eyes widen, both horrified and relieved that he seems to know who you're talking about. "You mumble in your sleep," he explains with a chuckle.
The man's tone shifts from nonchalant to one of sorrow and understanding as he speaks, his expression becoming serious. "Listen kid," he begins, his words heavy with a sadness you can almost feel. "I don't want to give you bad news, but they're dead." The sudden declaration leaves you stunned, your heart plummeting at the thought that Joel and Tommy are gone. "My brother checked the resort, there was no one left alive."
“You’re lying.”
The man's lips twitch into a small, sympathetic smile and he leans forward, patting your arm. "I'm sorry," he says quietly.
The man rises from his chair, his presence no longer looming over you. Your eyes remain downward, refusing to meet his gaze as tears begin to blur your vision.
The man walks towards the door, pausing for a moment to look back at you. "A nurse will be by shortly to check on you," he says, his voice gentle. "Once you're up to it, I'll make sure you're put with someone to care for you. Who knows, you might find you like this place." The words seem hollow and empty as he leaves the room, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing in your ears.
You can feel the hot, salty tears streaming down your face, staining your skin. Your eyes flutter shut, refusing to accept the harsh reality the man told you. You cling to the belief that Joel and Tommy are alive, that they will find you and bring you home to safety. The tears keep falling as you silently pray that your hope isn't misplaced.
And if they don’t come for you, you’ll crawl home to them.
Click here for Chapter 17- Comming soon
Notes
Sorry for the wait, I’ve been sick and have not had the energy to write this chapter. It’s heavy, so I had to be in the right mindset for it.
I’m anxious about fight scenes, but I tried!
Also there’s one more chapter left of part two! Then we move on to part three! I’m excited to write the new part!
If you want to be tagged, please comment on the masterlist for this series and I will add you. If you want to be taken off, please DM so i don't miss your request.
Every comment, like and reblog means the world to me. please let me know your thoughts about this, i want to ramble about this story so much.
Pairing: step uncle Joel Miller x f!reader x stepdad Tommy Miller
Summary: a month after Joel exposed your relationship with Tommy, the Miller brothers pay you a visit and your feelings come to the surface.
Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, fluff, angst, step-cest, big age gap (reader is 22, Joel and Tommy are in their late and mid-40s), dark!Joel, soft!Tommy with darkish vibes, edging, mfm, unprotected DVP, f!oral, ass slapping(2), handjob, multiple orgasms, creampies, cum eating, degradation, praise kink, daddy kink, fingering, swearing. Joel can pick up reader. The pics are for the mood only. Reader has no specific physical descriptions.
Word count: 8,2k
A/n: this is the final part of the main story so I’m very emotional about it. I love these menaces. There’s going to be an epilogue and I’ll probably do some extra stories for them bc I can’t see myself letting them go🥹 dedicating this part to my everything @milla-frenchy ❤️ Thank you for being with me every step of the way! Your support, your help, your love for the characters (mainly Joel *coughs*slut) mean the world to me. Love you sm, baby!!💖🫂😘 big hug to @romanarose for answering my dorm-related questions!🫂 I’m grateful to everyone who’s read the series, liked, commented, rb-ed, sent asks about it. I’ve been overwhelmed with your love and I’m sending you some back💕Love you all!!❤️ Hope you’ll like this part! Dividers by @saradika-graphics
Part 5 || SERIES MASTERLIST II MASTERLIST
“I’m off, babe!” your roommate Mel says when you meet her at the dorm on the way to your room. She’s carrying a big sports bag, ready to drive to her parents’ house for the weekend.
“Oh! Your dad’s here. He’s in our room,” she nods in the direction of your suit and adds with a playful smile, “he’s hot!”
You furrow your brows, blinking at her with confusion.
“Dad? But.. He lives in Europe.”
“Ehm…Maybe it’s your stepdad then? He said he was your daddy.”
‘Daddy’. Your jaw drops and your heart plummets into your stomach.
“You ok?” Mel places her hand on your shoulder, with a worried expression. “You look… shook.”
“No, I’m fine… just surprised.”
You wave her goodbye with a strained smile and your weak legs carry you to your dorm room.
Your mind is racing and every step seems to last an eternity. You can’t believe he’s here. A mixture of guilt, fear and excitement fills your chest. What are you going to tell him?
You haven’t talked to Tommy in more than a month, scared to face him, to admit that you had ruined his life because of your desire. You hoped that he realized that Joel was the real villain of the story but you couldn’t deny that all that mess had started with you. After that horrible day, your mom flooded your phone with hateful messages, calling you a slut, a whore and a homewrecker. You didn’t pick up her calls which were rare. Apparently she didn’t want to hear your voice, just like you didn’t want to hear hers. Indifference filled your heart. You had already hated her for years, your relationship ruined long before you slept with her husband.
And Tommy…You couldn’t bear to hear him breaking up whatever thing you two had so you just blocked him. His hate would be too much for you. You had never felt anything like that before and you wanted to save those moments together untainted by his resentment.
You did the same with Joel’s number. But you pressed ‘block caller’ only after you phoned him and cursed the fucker out. How did he dare to drop a nuclear bomb on your life like that? Deep in your heart you knew that he had overplayed you in your own game and your pride was hurt. What made matters worse was your sickening yet undeniable desire for the bastard.
When you come up to your room, you see that the door is slightly ajar. He really is here. After taking a deep breath, you step into the room and find Tommy, sitting on your bed, elbows planted on his knees, your exercise book in his hands. He’s wearing a black shirt with a white tank top underneath and a pair of dark jeans. Your pussy tingles just from a sight of him, his big body, soft curls, but you drive away these thoughts, trying to concentrate on the goal that you set on the way here - to get him back.
Your stepdad raises his eyes to you. Is it a trace of smile on his lips? What if he doesn’t hate you after all? A slither of hope gives you much needed courage and you take a few steps towards him.
“Hey. What are you doing here?”
Your voice is small and shaky and you hate it but it’s stupid to deny your overwhelming feelings for him.
Tommy gives you a little smile and throws your book back on your desk, next to your bed.
“I wanted to see you. We need to talk.”
“Yes, daddy,” you agree, biting your lip and batting your eyelashes at your stepdad.
“I didn’t think you’d call me that after blocking me.”
“I’m sorry, but… I was scared. I thought you hated me. But it’s not my fault. I had feelings for you and Joel used it. He ruined your life. I’d never do it.”
Tommy drops his head, rubbing his hands, and hums. You start seeing red as soon as your step uncle's name leaves your lips and your anger spills out.
“That fucker secretly took the photo and sent it to our fucking family chat?! Who the fuck does that? Is he insane?”
Tommy looks up at you and then his gaze slides to the side, somewhere behind you, before he says,
“You can ask him yourself, sweetheart.”
For a second time your heart jumps in your chest, when a pair of strong arms grabs you from behind and you sense a broad chest pressed tightly to your back. Startled, you are about to scream, but a huge hand claps over your mouth.
“Surprise, angel,” Joel gruffs in your ear while his arm squeezes your waist. You thrust and shake but all your attempts to break free are fruitless against his strength.
“Keep wriggling, baby, I love feeling your ass, grinding against my dick.”
He hums and pushes his hips into you. You sense his huge bulge and your pussy tingles when you remember what he can do with this cock. Joel’s scent envelops you just like his body and you gush. Yet your hatred for the man overpowers your desire and you keep thrashing in his steel embrace. Your nostrils flare, and searching for help, your pleading eyes dart to Tommy.
To your surprise your stepdad doesn’t rush to help you— he sits up straighter and spreads his thighs wider, while his darkening eyes are sliding up and down your bound body, powerless in Joel’s arms.
You whine, realizing that he’s enjoying it, the view is turning him on. You’re getting worked up as well, feeling yourself small and helpless, fully at the mercy of the two men.
Joel’s arm, wrapped over your arms and under your chest, pushes your breasts up and they almost spill out of your neckline. You can feel your step uncle’s breath on your cleavage, and he’s groaning, probably enjoying the view of your tits. A new surge of arousal makes you press your thighs together. Are they gonna fuck you in your dorm room like it’s some raunchy porn? You really hope so.
Not being able to hide your desire any longer, you make a loud moan, muffled by the hand covering your mouth, but it still electrifies the air in the room, and both men grunt.
As much as you love Joel’s strong back and huge bulge pressed against you, scorching anger rises from the pits of your stomach again, and you try to push him off yourself. Tommy’s watching your weak attempts for a few seconds before taking pity on you.
“Let her talk, Joel.”
The older brother puts his hand away and you exclaim, wriggling in Joel’s arms, trying to break free.
“Let go of me, perv!”
"You had this perv's cock in your mouth and your ass not so long ago," he reminds you, not easing his grip.
"I'm not fucking proud!"
"You should be, angel. You took it like a champ both times."
He emphasizes his words with a thrust of his hips and you growl, trying to hide your arousal.
“Daddy, what the fuck? Why’s he here? Why didn’t you tell him to fuck off?”
Joel tightens his python-like embrace and gruffs in your ear,
“Blood is thicker than water, angel. But you and your “mummy didn’t let me host a party and now Ima fuck her husband” will never understand that.”
“It’s not…you know nothing about me, you asshole.” Your voice strains as the rage suddenly mixes with deep sadness. Trying not to burst into tears you grit your teeth as you explain,
“She ruined my whole life, drove my dad away. She cheated on him and now he’s not even talking to me, just sends money for college. It’s all because of that slut.”
Tommy drops his head and you know that he's feeling sorry for you right now. Your pride pangs but a ray of hope dries your upcoming tears - he cares, he still cares about you.
Joel on the other hand is not sympathetic in the slightest, commenting with a chuckle, "Damn, angel, you're a textbook example of daddy issues.
Not saying we ain't happy, right, brother?" He looks at Tommy and adds, "it got our dicks wet."
You begin thrashing harder and exclaim, “Fuck you!”
“Yeah, you will.”
“Let go of her, Joel,” Tommy commands, steel in his voice, and to your surprise, Joel follows his brother's order immediately.
You hurry away from your step uncle and stand closer to Tommy.
Your eyes dart between the men, as you’re fixing your bunched up clothes, panting heavily after trying to get free.
Joel grabs your chair, plops down and places his booted foot on the edge of your desk with a thud.
You’re glaring at him, trying to convey all disgust and hatred for the man with your expression, but Tommy sighs and your gaze darts to him.
“Daddy,” you whisper, taking a shy step in his direction.
His eyes freeze your heart. He looks serious, too serious for your liking.
Tommy leans on his knees again and starts talking, eyes moving between you and Joel.
“Joel is an asshole, sweetheart, you’re right. But what’s new? I’ve known him all my life and I understand what he’s capable of. Yes, he ruined my marriage but to be honest…I’m glad.”
Your jaw drops as you’re staring at your stepdad, and he continues,
“Life with Jess was suffocating me. I thought I needed to settle down, to start a family but I was wrong. I was happy in Austin. And she…fuck,” he shakes his head with a sigh, “She’s a lot. You’re the best person to know it.”
His eyes set on you and you see a genuine regret and sadness in them. You want to reach for him, hug him, kiss him but he needs you to listen. So you listen.
“In an absolutely horrible way, yes, but Joel helped me to get out of it. I’m gonna lose a lot of money in the settlement but it’s just money.”
“Shoulda got a prenup like I told you,” Joel mumbles.
The longer Tommy speaks, the more you can’t believe what you’re hearing.
“Wait! So now he’s your savior, huh? He manipulates you, Tommy! He says what you want to hear and then stabs you in the back!”
“Baby, the only thing I did behind your back is come in your ass,” Joel smirks and then points his thick finger at you, “And not you talking about fuckin’ loyalty! We had a deal but you weren’t gonna do shit with that recording! I saw your fuckin’ heart eyes. You’d never do it to your precious daddy so I had to do it my way. And it needed to be done!”
You narrow your eyes and clench your fists, barely holding yourself from hitting the man, as you exclaim,
“You sent the pic of me fucking my stepdad to my family group chat, you fucker! My nana’s there! She almost died after seeing that photo!
All you get from your step uncle is another bark of a laugh.
“Who gives a shit? She’s ancient.”
“You motherfuckin’…” you’re about to launch at the men but Tommy rushes up and steps between you and his older brother.
“Stop!” His hands are on your shoulders, his eyes kind and warm. “Calm down, sweetheart. Please.”
You take a deep breath and inch closer to him and Tommy doesn't push you away. He hugs you, pulling you closer to him, and rubs your back with his big hands. You immediately melt in his warm embrace with your cheek pressed to his chest, your arms wrapped around his waist. You bite your lip and squeeze your eyes shut, fighting back tears as a mix of strong emotions- hate, love, desire, rage, fills your heart and you take a deep breath, wishing to find comfort and peace in your stepdad's arms.
You open your eyes and see Joel watching you two, his gaze piercing, expression pensive. You’d give a lot to know what he’s thinking about at the moment. Probably scheming again.
You turn your face away from him and press your cheek to Tommy’s chest.
Suddenly he pulls away and looks down at you, head tilted.
“You hurt me, baby. I needed you, and you left. Even blocked my number.”
You swallow loudly, shifting on your feet, as fear is rising in your chest again. With your eyes downcast, you mumble, “I’m sorry.”
“Are you really?”
“Yes, daddy.”
“Are you willing to show us how sorry you are?” He sits back on the bed, manspreading, his gaze dark, intense.
“To you? Yes. But not to him!”
“Sweetheart.” His warning tone binds your pride and you stop fighting what you really want. What your pussy wants.
“Ok, daddy.”
A corner of Tommy’s mouth curves up a little and he says,
“Good girl. Take your clothes off.”
Joel groans and slightly shifts in his chair, making it squeak. You glance at him but your eyes return to Tommy.
You start discarding your clothes piece by piece, gaze locked with your stepdad and he drinks in every exposed part of your body. Your panties fall on the floor last and you step out of them.
Now you’re standing in your dorm room completely naked in a company of the two fully clothed older men. You’re already dripping, the wetness between your thighs is evident just to you for now but you desperately wish for them to discover it.
“We’ve talked enough about Joel. Let’s talk about you, babygirl.”
You feel your stomach twist, nervous about what he might say.
"Have you fucked anyone since you left?" Tommy asks, his expression serious.
"No."
Your stepdad's eyes are darting between yours, searching for any sign of you lying.
"Has anyone fucked you?"
You hate that he doesn't trust you but it's hard to blame him —he knows better than anyone how thirsty you're.
"No, daddy. I promise. I've... only been making myself come, thinking of you. All this time.”
You bite your lower lip and purr, "been imagining you fucking me. Your kisses. Your hands on me. Your cock in my mouth."
Tommy's chest expands and he squirms on the bed. You clasp your hands in front yourself and drop your head down, telling him the truth,
"I've missed you. Still miss you."
"Aww, how sweet," Joel mocks you with a laugh.
Tommy frowns at him and you shoot a fiery glance at the older brother for ruining the moment.
“What about your favourite uncle, angel? Have you fantasized about me?”
"No," you reply without hesitation through the gritted teeth.
"Don't lie," Tommy commands, his tone cold and demanding.
You avert your gaze from them both and look in front of yourself.
"Yes," you admit as your voice is barely audible,
"yes, I did."
Joel's smug grin is noticeable even from your peripheral vision.
"What was it about? Your fantasies?” Tommy asks.
"You both fucking my pussy."
"Damn, angel," Joel groans, palming himself.
“I know my pussy is off limits to Joel. I’m sorry for thinking about it, daddy.”
“It’s ok, sweetheart. You’re allowed to imagine whatever you want.”
You inch closer to Tommy and his eyes slide down from your face to your breasts and then to your wet pussy.
Your stepdad licks his lower lip and a memory of him making you come on his tongue in the darkness of your bedroom overflows the glass of your desire and you kneel slowly between his legs.
“Sweetheart,” Tommy breathes out in surprise but spreads his legs wider for you.
“She remembers well where she belongs,” Joel comments as you feel his hungry gaze on your naked back and ass.
You place your palms on Tommy’s jean-clad thighs and sit on your heels, batting your lashes, before you lower your head to his crotch. You press your cheek to his huge warm bulge and whisper, “let me suck your cock, daddy. I want to apologize.”
Tommy takes a sharp breath and Joel whistles. You feel cold air on your naked pussy and squeeze your thighs together to relieve the ache in your needy center.
Then you nuzzle the stiff lump under his jeans and rub your nose and cheek over it. It twitches against you and a moan escapes your lips. Tommy bucks his hips against your head but then his hand on your cheek stops you.
“We have something else in mind for you, babygirl. You can’t deny that you deserve a punishment, right?”
You drop your eyes in agreement and Tommy continues.
“Your step uncle promised you something that morning when we ehm… had breakfast together.”
You hear the squeak of your chair and then Joel’s heavy steps. The older brother stands next to you two and you lift your head to look at him.
He’s looming over your body, tall and broad and your pussy throbs harder as your eyes involuntarily slide down from his handsome smug face to his broad chest and then huge bulge.
“Get your ass on the bed so I could eat your slutty pussy.”
You scream internally, keeping a straight face, and ask,
“Are you that bad that it’s considered a punishment?”
Joel shifts his jaw and gruffs,
“Let’s hope I won’t bite your clit off, brat.”
You wince and Tommy curses under his breath. Then he pulls you up from your knees and gets up too. You’re standing between the two men, burning up with desire to be used and Tommy doesn’t help you to calm down, when he starts taking off his shirt, leaving only his white tank top on and exposing his thick muscular arms. When you glance back you notice Joel is doing the same, and you softly moan at the sight of his broad torso in a mesh top.
“Moaning like a whore already,” Joel mocks you, stepping up to you and pressing his body to your back and ass.
You gasp but don’t pull away. His hands on your hips slide up and down, until he brings one palm to your pussy and gives your mound a light slap.
“Joel,” you whimper as it sends a wave of arousal through your body.
“You’ve been a bad girl, sweetheart,” Tommy chides you, stepping in front of you.
“Worse than usual?” You purr, biting your lip.
With Joel’s at your back, Tommy presses his hips to yours, sandwiching you between the two brothers and your pussy cries for them so much that you feel your slick run down your inner thigh.
With Joel’s arms wrapped around your torso, Tommy locks eyes with you and you reach for his lips but he immediately pulls away, takes your hand and leads you to the bed.
He sits down, leaning his back on the headboard and pats the place between his legs.
“Get in here, babygirl.”
You want to sit on your knees but suddenly Joel roughly turns you around and pushes you to plop between Tommys legs.
Your stepdad pulls you to lean against his warm chest before Joel kneels on the floor.
“Oh wow, big bad Joel Miller on his knees for me? Not the first time though,” you gloat and Joel grinds his teeth and roughly pulls your hips to the edge of the bed. You gasp as your head slides down Tommy’s chest and your naked breasts jiggle. Joel’s thick fingers dig into your skin as he throws your legs over his shoulders, and your pussy blooms for him. His dark eyes get obsidian with lust, as he glides his palms up and down your thighs.
“Fuck, ya seeing it, Tommy? She wasn’t lying about not fucking. This pussy is desperate for cock. ‘m afraid I’m gonna choke on all this slick,” he comments, not tearing his eyes from your needy cunt.
“I’ll be ok with this outcome,” you grunt as your clit twitches with anticipation.
Joel looks up at you with a sneer and then leans down to your mound. You hold your breath, expecting him to finally start eating you out but his lips land on your inner thigh instead of your waiting cunt. He kisses your skin there and you squirm in Tommy’s arms as Joel’s facial hair tickles you. He gets lower, peppering kisses along your inner thigh, moving closer to your center and you buck your hips to meet him halfway and to finally shove your pussy in his face, but Joel places his big palm on your lower belly and pushes your back on the bed. You hear Tommy’s voice over your head,
“Don’t move, honey. Promise to be a good girl for us, ok?”
“Yes, daddy,” you breathe out and tilt your head up and to the side to look up at him. He’s giving you a warm smile, its effect spreads warmth deep in your belly, but soon it turns into a scorching fire, when Joel’s lips finally latch onto your aching pussy. You gasp and turn to him and the sight almost makes you come. Joel fucking Miller, your asshole step uncle, a mean, selfish, arrogant prick, is on his knees for you, feasting on your wet cunt, lips smacking, tongue gathering all the wetness between your folds.
Already feeling like you’re in heaven, you moan loudly, not caring who might hear and catch you getting a head from your step uncle, while your stepdad’s hands are kneading your breasts and twitching your hard nipples.
“You love it, sweetheart?” Tommy whispers in your ear, as you’re fluttering your eyes shut with pleasure, when Joel’s skillful tongue flicks your throbbing clit and then he sucks it into his mouth.
“Yes—yes—yes,” you chant, almost tasting the climax on your tongue. But a second away from the explosion, Joel parts from your puffy cunt and presses his wet lips to your inner thigh again, kissing and nibbling on it lightly.
“No, Joel, my pussy,” you desperately whine.
“What is it, angel?”
“Make me come, please.”
“Good start but you can do better,” he mumbles while he’s watching his fingers trace your sopping hole. It’s hot but not enough to push you over the precipice.
You grit your teeth but your pride is quickly drowning in the sticky pit of desire.
“Joel, please, please make me come on your tongue. Please, I need it,” you beg and his smile is triumphant and content.
“I’ll do anything for my little niece.”
His mouth returns to your pussy and he grabs your thighs tighter as his tongue swirls your clit around and then slides down to your leaking hole.
“Fuck,” you hear Tommy curse and you feel his stiff cock under your back, he must be so turned on by this.
The older brother starts fucking you with his hot muscle and your hand slithers down to rub your puffy clit but Tommy grabs your wrists and pulls your hands up to your chest, crosses them and keeps them there with his one strong hand.
“Daddy, I wanna come,” you beg the moment Joel’s mouth leaves your pussy again and again whenever you feel so close to ecstasy.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but bad girls don’t get to come so fast,” Tommy smirks and his fingers tighten around your wrists.
You feel tears well up in your eyes, your breaths heavy, belly and chest heaving and your whole body is vibrating in frustration.
“Joel,” you sob and your step uncle lifts his head, his lips, mustache and beard glistening with your juices.
“I’ll give the candy to you, slut. But only if you tell me why you love your uncle Joel so much.”
“What?”
“You heard me, baby.” Joel’s lips are so close but, at the same time so far from where you need him. You curse and whine, grinding your teeth while anger is taking over you again.
Joel hurries you by planting a feather light kiss on your clit and your whole body jerks from a bolt of pleasure but it quickly dissipates, leaving you desperately needing more.
So you cave in.
"You're hot, Joel."
"Yeah, I know. What else?" your step uncle mumbles, drawing a path from your pussy to your knee with his lips.
Tommy chuckles and you squirm in his embrace, annoyed and frustrated.
"You... you're a good fuck."
"Mmm... don't ya think 'great'?"
"Yes. You're a great fuck, Joel."
"You sound like a horny slut, angel," he grumbles, "Hot and a great fuck. Way to objectify your poor uncle. I need more."
His lips travel back down to your cunt and you raise your hips in search of his caress, but Joel pushes you down and Tommy's free arm wraps around your waist tightly.
“Keep still, sweetheart,” he orders and emotions take over your mind and burst out of your mouth.
“Wanna know what I feel? I fucking hate you, Joel. I see myself in you and I fucking hate that. Because it’s like I’m staring at my own future. Just like you I want someone so much that I grab onto them until I realize that they don’t need me. Not as much as I need them. So I lie and manipulate and make them love me. But sooner or later they will see the real me. See my tiny black heart and they will get disappointed and dump me. And I’ll lie and manipulate more to get them back. And it’s a fucking cycle. I’ll never be loved for who I am. Because who I am doesn’t deserve any love.”
Joel freezes with his face between your legs, his expression pensive and serious. If you didn’t know him you’d say you see a trace of sympathy and sadness in his eyes.
“That’s why I hate you, Joel. And you know what’s funny? It’s that I can’t get you out of my fucking mind.”
You want to puke at how vulnerable you’re feeling, baring your soul and body to him. You turn your pained face to your stepdad and say,
“I can’t stop thinking about both of you. Is it love? It’s hard to understand. I’ve never experienced anything like this. Tommy, you’re fucking perfect and I made you suffer and I hate what I did to your life.”
You burst into sobs and your stepdad grabs you by the arms and manhandles you to get on his lap. Joel gets up and sits on the bed.
Tommy’s holding you close, your cheek pressed to his naked chest, peeking out the tank top, that you’re soaking with your tears.
He’s rubbing your shoulder with his hand and softly says,
“I'm not perfect. I’m a piece of shit. I should’ve never done what I did to you. We shouldn’t have. And it’s my fault for getting you into this mess.”
You throw your hands around his neck and start crying harder, mumbling through sobs and whimpers,
“No, please— don’t say that you regret it— regret us—don’t leave me like everyone else, please, daddy.”
“I won’t, babygirl. I’m sorry for… for everything. I love you. I’ll be there for you. Always.”
His arms tighten around you and he kisses everywhere he can reach — your forehead,
your temple, your nose until you tilt your face up and he finds your lips. He’s gentle with you, and you kiss him back, smearing your tears over his face but none of you cares. You’re caressing each other, drowning in the comfort of the embrace and the kiss.
When you part from him you press your nose into the crease of his neck and breathe in his scent, nestling into his big body. While sobs still crawl up your throat from time to time, Tommy wipes the wetness off your face and covers your naked body with a bedspread.
For a few minutes it’s quiet in the room, and when you calm down, you turn your red eyes to Joel, surprised that he hadn’t said anything assholish yet.
You find him watching you with curiosity and now you’re sure. He’s upset too.
A strange feeling envelops you. You want to hug him, feel the warmth of his body and share yours with him. But it’s not your relationship, not the way you connect. So you narrow your eyes and croak,
“Do you know how creepy you look when you’re staring like this, perv?”
You give him a little smile and notice a corner of his mouth slightly rising too.
“You surprised me, angel. Jus’ one month without a cock and you go completely nuts. Crying and shit. Throwing ‘L-words’ around.”
Now you’re both smiling at each other.
“Fuck off.”
“Ok, she’s back,” he says and slaps your ass over the fabric. “Ya know, your tears are golden, angel. Any man will do whatever you want if you cry like that.”
“It was genuine, asshole,” you snap back but there’s no bite to it. You feel lighter, all the pent up frustration and pain left your body and were wiped away by your stepdad’s warm embrace and Joel’s quiet support.
The only emotion that’s still tormenting you is desire. You squirm in Tommy’s lap and the bedspread falls off your shoulder revealing your naked breasts.
“Do you want us to leave, sweetheart?” Tommy asks and his breath caresses your tits.
“No, no, please, I want— .”
“What do you want?”
“I want you. I want you both.”
You look at your stepdad and notice him and Joel exchange glances.
“I think I owe you something, baby,” Joel gruffs and you turn to him and the shine in his beard reminds you of his lips on your pussy. The thought sets your core ablaze and you turn back to Tommy.
“Daddy?” you purr and the man nods.
“But no playing around this time, Joel,” Tommy warns his brother with a serious tone.
‘Course. Hop on my face, cry baby, I ain’t kneeling again.”
He lies down next to Tommy, shoulder to shoulder, and you almost squeal with excitement, throwing the cover off. Tommy leans back on the bed and you tell Joel to scoot lower.
“Wanna play with daddy’s cock.”
“Jesus, angel, is there anything you can do without daddy’s cock?”
You don’t reply and plant your knees on either side of Joel’s head.
A rush of dominance goes through your body when you see your step uncle in this position.
“Finally I’m gonna shut you up,” you smirk and lower your hips slowly, eager for your pussy to meet his smug grin.
Yet Joel is not the one to give up control easily and his hands grab your thighs and he pulls you onto his face. Having teased you before, now he doesn’t play at all and starts passionately making out with your sopping cunt, drawing gasps and moans out of your mouth. With his mouth open wide he stimulates you with a perfect suction while his tongue swirls your throbbing clit around.
You are reduced to a whimpering mess in a matter of seconds and you go so high and so fast that you need to ground yourself.
“Daddy,” you call.
“I’m here, sweetheart.”
Tommy unzips his jeans, trying not to fall off the bed, and takes out his cock.
It’s throbbing, the head glistening with smeared pre cum, and you spit on your hand and wrap your fingers around it. You give his manhood a few pumps, and Tommy moans, but Joel gets your full attention, when his tongue prods your clenching hole and then pushes inside you as deep as it’ll go. He starts fucking you with it and you ride his face, rhythmically bumping your clit against his prominent nose.
“Daddy, I can’t,” you whine, failing to concentrate on two acts at once.
“Don’t worry, I got you,” Tommy mumbles and his hand wraps around yours and he starts moving them together up and down his stiff shaft. His head is resting against the headboard but his half-lidded eyes are sliding between your pussy, crying into Joel’s mouth, and the unity of your hands, pleasuring his cock.
Your other hand is clenching your step uncle’s hair and your tits bounce as you increase the pace of riding his face.
You almost there when Tommy pulls your hand off his cock, sits up and mumbles, kissing your palm and panting,
“Oughta stop— too good— wanna come in your pussy.”
“Delicious little cunt,” Joel growls and starts rubbing your clit with the flat of his tongue, up and down, up and down, and you cry out his name, as euphoria bursts in your core and spreads like wildfire all over your body. You’re sobbing with pleasure, trembling over your step uncle's face, dripping juices onto his lips and he drinks them, slurping and groaning.
When the climax subsides you move off Joel’s face and Tommy takes you in his arms. The men are still fully clothed, except for their exposed cocks. You look down Joel's body and realize that he has been stroking his huge hard manhood while eating you out and your core reignites.
Tommy searches for your eyes.
“Do you feel better, sweetie?”
You nod with a tired smile and in a moment your lips crash against his and you kiss while his hands are hungrily roaming your sweat-covered body, your fingers running through his curls.
Not parting from your lips, Tommy brings his hand to your pussy and your legs fly apart. You shift in his embrace, now your back flush against his chest, lips still glued to his, and you moan when he slowly inserts two fingers into your hole, avoiding your oversensitive clit.
You sense a movement and open your eyes to see your step uncle get up.
“Mmm, Joel stretched you well with his tongue,” Tommy murmurs against your mouth. “Your pussy probably can take two cocks now.”
You pull away and stare at him.
“Two cocks, daddy? Do you mean..?”
“Two fat dicks, angel.”
Your head darts to Joel while Tommy’s fingers are still massaging you from the inside and the older brother laughs, lighting a cigarette, standing next to the bed,
“We gonna stuff your needy cunt so full, your belly’ll look like ya 4 months pregnant.”
He takes a drag while his free hand is wrapped around his huge hard cock.
Their words are ringing in your ears- ‘two cocks, your pussy.”
Your head snaps back to Tommy as you plead, “Please-please-daddy-yes-I want it. My pussy can take it, please, please.”
Your brows are pulled together and big needy eyes are glossy with desire. Tommy smiles at you with adoration in his warm dark gaze.
“We can try, sweetheart.”
“Fuck, angel. Your cock hunger sometimes surprises even me. And I know what a giant slut you’re.”
You don’t tear your eyes off Tommy as he coos at you while his fingers are playing with your soaked cunt,
“We still should prepare you. You know we are big. Especially now.”
“Now?”
“Look at you, my beautiful girl. Our cocks are throbbing hard just because of you.”
He leans lower and his lips brush your ear.
“I barely hold myself from taking you right now.” His fingers are moving inside you, slowly at first but gradually increasing the speed.
“My cock demands your little pussy. I’m so close to just sticking it deep in your sweet cunt and using you, taking what I need from you.”
“Fuck, daddy,” you whisper, closing your eyes and spreading your thighs wider, offering yourself to his hand.
You feel him add two more fingers, four inside you now, and the stretch makes you whine but the dull pain adds to the pleasure.
“Yeah, good girl,” Tommy praises you and kisses your cheek, his hand still working tirelessly, preparing your hole for them and bringing you closer to another climax.
You turn your head and see Joel smoking and watching you getting fingered.
His obsidian eyes lock with yours and he winks at you.
“Lemme help you, brother. ‘m afraid to split her poor pussy in half with my dick.”
He bends down and you gasp when you see his meaty hand move to the place where Tommy’s fingers are already stretching you to the limit.
“Joel,” your scared mewl mixes with the squelching noises of your sopping cunt.
“He’s gonna be gentle,” Tommy commands his older brother, and Joel humms absentmindedly as his thick middle finger prods your entrance over Tommy’s digits.
“C’mon, angel, breathe for me. Yeah, good slut, relax your hungry cunt.”
You do as he says and soon you watch his finger disappear inside you, joining Tommy’s digits. With an open mouth you watch two brothers fuck your stretched hole. You grip their wrists, not to stop but to encourage them to keep going.
Tommy's voice is strained with lust when he groans,
“Shit, honey. Listen to her. She’s crying for more. My fingers are drenched.”
His words send you spiraling into the depth of arousal and when the heel of Joel’s hand hits your clit, you cry out. Your body is shaking, your nails scratching their wrists, your face twisting with euphoria.
“Yeah, jus’ like that, little slut. Happy pussy, happy dicks, yeah?”
You barely hear Joel, after two orgasms your brain is mush. Through the fog in your head you hear Tommy’s voice,
“You sure you still want it? Honey, yes or no?”
You nod because of course you do. The way they make you feel when you fuck is the best thing you’ve experienced in your life, the brightest, the richest pleasure. You feel needed, desired, like they will never leave you. Never will be able to exist without you.
“You need to say it, baby, c’mon,” Tommy coos, “Need to hear it.”
“Yes. Please, fuck me both. Fuck my tight pussy.”
“Ain’t so tight anymore, angel,” Joel laughs, “but it’ll snap back after we done with her.”
He gives you a reassuring slap on the thigh and you smile, too spent to talk.
The men get undressed and then manhandle you into straddling Tommy. You kiss him as soon as you’re close, moaning into his mouth as if tasting him is your basic need, one thing you can’t live without. You both seem to get lost in it until you hear Joel’s grumble.
“Quit it, lovebirds. Let’s get to fuckin’.” He’s next to the bed and you turn your head, ogling his gorgeous cock.
“Soon my dick and your sweet cunt will meet, angel. Let’s make their first time special, yeah?”
He tilts your head up with his fingers, bends down and kisses you passionately. You missed his taste, mixed with yours now, missed his lips, his scent, enveloping you. Your pussy aches for him as much as for Tommy and you might hate to admit it but your heart craves him too. His fire is as scolding as it is addictive and you want him to destroy you, in whatever way he wishes.
You wrap your arms around his thick neck and kiss him, really kiss him, like you’re surrendering yourself to him.
Suddenly he lifts you with his strong arms, throws your legs around his waist and starts devouring your mouth like an offering.
You feel his hot cock pulsating between your bodies and you mumble against his lips,
“Fuck me, Joel. Ruin me.”
With a growl he helps you to sit back on Tommy’s thighs.
Your stepdad’s eyes dart between yours as he cups your cheek, “ya making me jealous, sweetheart,” with a smirk he adds, “I love it.”
He’s not lying, judging by the way his hard cock is smearing precum over your belly, and you smile, taking it in your hand and lifting your hips.
Joel encourages you, his heavy hand on your shoulder,
“Yeah, like that, baby.”
Eyes locked with Tommy’s you sink on his shaft in one go and you both moan, joined at last, relishing this sensation.
“Fuck, you’re wet, babygirl. So warm.” You press your tits to his chest, nuzzling his neck and start moving on his length, up and down, slowly and steadily. His hands grab your ass and he kneads and spreads your asscheeks while his low moaning in your ear makes your head spin.
“Ahhh—That’s my good girl—sweet pussy—riding me so well—missed it—hnggg.”
Then he looks up at his brother and grunts,
“Fuck, let’s do it, Joel, gonna come soon.”
“Daddy was celibate just like you, angel. Savin’ his dick for his dear stepdaughter,” Joel chuckles, stepping on the bed and getting on his knees behind you with a grunt. “Miracle that he didn’t bust a nut yet.”
“Fuck off,” Tommy groans and adds, “hope we won’t break the bed,” he smiles at you but you couldn’t care less about it.
“Daddy, what should I do now?”
Instead of Tommy, Joel replies, “Lie forward and enjoy, baby. Your daddies gonna do all the work.”
Tommy nods with a reassuring smile and you lean on his chest, your eyes locked.
Tommy’s cock twitches inside you when you feel Joel’s hands grip your hips and his fat tip prod your already full pussy.
“Be careful, Joel,” Tommy says as his hand rubs your cheek and he stares into your widened eyes.
He moves his thumb to your lips and says, “Suck, my love.”
You feel butterflies in your belly, hearing the pet name, and take his thick finger between your lips and start sucking. It instantly calms you down.
At this moment Joel pushes his tip fully in and you whine around your stepdad's thumb.
“Shhh, the head’s the meatiest part, angel. Now it’ll slide in like a knife through butter.”
Surprisingly enough he’s not lying. The burning you felt before subsides and with his fingers digging into your hips, Joel parts your walls, inserting his whole cock into your slicked up pussy and bottoms out with a roar.
“Fuck me,” he growls and laughs, “My little niece has a perfect hole.”
He slaps your ass lightly and your pussy clamps around their fat cocks, making both of them groan.
“Oh my god, I’m so full,” your voice is shaky, endorphins already coursing through your body.
“Yes, sweetheart, you did it. Shit, it’s so tight inside you now. It feels amazing.” Tommy’s head falls back against the headboard as his eyes flutter shut.
You almost giggle at how great it feels, then take a deep breath and whine,
“Fuck me, please.”
“Damn, you don’t have to ask twice, baby,” Joel gruffs and pulls his cock out almost to the tip before rolling his hips back into you.
The sensation almost sends you over the precipice. You squeeze your eyes shut, your nails scratching Tommy’s chest, and he hisses and thrusts his hips up into you. You gasp when they both start moving and in a few moments the brothers find a perfect rhythm of fucking your stretched hole, their stiff cocks, sliding in and out of your channel, are drawing moans and whimpers out of your open lips.
While Joel is concentrating on balancing his weight on his knees and stuffing your hole, Tommy makes sure to kiss and lick every spot he can reach. His tongue swirls around your nipples, hands grab your flesh, teeth nip your skin. He paints your neck with hickeys, gently kissing the pain away, until his lips reach yours and he kisses you, while the two cocks are fucking you.
Joel interrupts your kiss when his hand wraps around your throat and he pulls you closer to him. Your back arches and you look up at his face, hovering over yours, as he growls,
“Here’s my sweet niece— our pretty fuck doll.”
He begins snapping his hips into you harder, faster sending his cock deeper and Tommy follows his suit, thrusting his member up into your pussy with the same rhythm.
“I told him ya a slut—ahhh, fuck— and look at ya,” he smirks, ruining your pussy, holding your neck tightly, “his good girl’s bouncing on two big dicks, pleading to be fucked like a whore she is.”
“Dreams do come true,” you mumble back with a hazy smile.
Suddenly Tommy’s fingers swirl around your clit and the sensation together with the filthy words, spilling out of Joel’s mouth, pushes you over the edge and you come, harder than ever, trembling between the men, squeezing their cocks with your pulsating pussy while tears of bliss stream down your cheeks.
With a groan Joel licks a tear off your face and pushes you on Tommy’s chest before immediately exploding into your core, spurting warm cum deep inside you.
While you’re still shaking with your orgasm, Tommy embraces your body tightly and begins coming too, pumping you full of his load. Both men are thrusting, the rhythm uneven and hectic, and you’re milking their cocks until their balls are empty. You feel bloated with the amount of cum they squirted into you and soon it starts leaking out around their cocks and sliding down your thighs.
Gradually your climax dissipates while the men are still inside you. The room gets filled with heavy breathing of the three of you. Joel’s manhood slides out of your pussy first and he tilts your head to him and plants a quick kiss on your lips.
“Keep ‘er plugged, brother,” Joel gruffs, getting up, plops in your chair and lights another cigarette. “Happily,” Tommy murmurs into your ear, before he starts peppering soft kisses along your neck. You giggle when his mustache is tickling you, and to make him stop, you press your lips to his and you make out while his softening manhood is still buried deep inside you, in the pool of their cum.
Joel doesn’t ruin this post-orgasmic moment between his younger brother and you, the room is quiet except for the sounds of lip smacking and him smoking. And you’re grateful to him.
When you finally part from each other, Tommy helps you to lie down next to him. The mess between your legs makes you whine and Tommy gets you some tissues and helps you to clean yourself.
Then you settle down next to him on the bed, your cheek on his shoulder and your leg thrown over his thigh.
Meanwhile Joel puts his jeans back on without zipping them up and rests in the chair.
Tommy and you don’t care about the clothes, both reveling in the afterglow. Your eyes are closing when suddenly Tommy asks,
“Do you have any plans for thanksgiving holidays?”
You blink a few times trying to understand the question and gather your thoughts.
“I…Mel invited me to spend them with her family… but I don’t know. Why?” You tilt your head up to look at him.
“I’m moving back to Austin. Gonna live with Joel for now until I find my own place. Maybe you can visit me there. Us.”
Your heart sings and stomach flutters with excitement when you hear his invitation.
“Sounds nice,” you murmur, barely keeping yourself from squealing. Then you look at Joel.
“Would you mind?”
His piercing eyes slide along your naked body, linger on your lips and then lock with yours.
“I wouldn’t. Always nice to have a good pussy in the house.”
You roll your eyes and Tommy shoots Joel a glare before talking to you again,
“What about Christmas?”
You try to hide a wide grin, biting your lower lip.
“You might meet someone by then, daddy. Get yourself a girlfriend,” you murmur, drawing hearts on his chest with your index finger.
“I won’t. I don’t need anyone else.”
He places his hand under your jaw and tilts your head up.
“You’re the only one I need, sweetheart.”
You’re searching for lies in his eyes or his words but don’t find any. Your throat tightens and tears sting your eyes but you blink them away and reach up to give him a kiss. You pour all your love into it, need and desire in every stroke of your lips and tongue.
A few minutes in heaven are interrupted by Joel’s gruff voice,
“Before you swallow each other whole, let’s go find a bar and get me a drink.”
You giggle against Tommy’s lips and turn to your step uncle.
“I know a good place.”
You try to get up but your legs are still weak from all the orgasms, your pussy sore from the double-cock-pounding, so you almost fall, but Tommy’s strong arms help you up.
The brothers smirk and exchange glances, visibly proud of what they’ve done to you, when you stagger to the wardrobe. You’re still leaking and the thought that their cum is going to seep out of your pussy for days, makes you smile.
“Wear something slutty for us, angel,” Joel orders, putting on his mesh top. Then you feel his bulge press to your naked ass as he whispers against your cheek, “And no panties. Wanna play with your messy cunt under the table.”
The vision painted by your mind sends a shiver through your body and your clit twitches.
“Ok, uncle,” you agree and he lightly slaps your ass.
“Good little slut.”
Already dressed, Tommy comes up to your two and you turn around to the men. Joel’s bulge pokes your hip and his sticky gaze slides up and down your body. Tommy places his hand on your asscheek and gives it a gentle squeeze, cooing at you with a warm smile,
“Our good girl.”
You bite your lip, batting your lashes at the men, and purr with a mischievous smile,
“We’re gonna have so much fun together.”
Thank you for reading!❤️ Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! l'd love to hear your thoughts🌺💕
Part 5 || SERIES MASTERLIST |I MASTERLIST
Tag list for the series:@milla-frenchy @iamasaddie @koshkaj-blog @survivingandenduring @nana90azevedo @mermaidgirl30 @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff @obscurexsorrows @tammythr @ratoonstown @anama-cara @pedge-page @huskyfox5 @ashleyfilm @neverwheremoonchild @stevie75 @untamedheart81 @puduvallee @theoraekenslover @eloquentdreamer @ashhlsstuff @evolnoomym @pinkiec6-rubi @guelyury
Shout out to @hellishjoel for making this challenge because DILF's are my favorite thing. ever. I made these memes to celebrate just a few of my fav PP dilfs.
Also I will be submitting my own take on the challenge tomorrow!
boyfriend!Joel Miller who's very anxious about your age gap and often worries you'll find someone better and younger than him but also trusts your words and actions when you assure him you love him and no one else
boyfriend!Joel Miller who doesn't understand exactly why a girl like yourself fell for him, but he's thankful every single day for that blessing
boyfriend!Joel Miller who fixes up anything you want: the leaking faucet, the warped bookshelf or the weird noise your car's been making, he might be tired after work, but he's still gonna do it
boyfriend!Joel Miller who loves going grocery shopping with you even if he doesn't admit it, it's something so simple and mundane but it reminds him he's not alone anymore, and running errands is always good when he's got you by his side
boyfriend!Joel Miller who doesn't really know if he'd like to get married some day, but he certainly knows how gorgeous you'd be all in white and feels his heart racing at the picture of you as a bride
boyfriend!Joel Miller who always complains about the reality shows you watch but the truth is that he's as addicted to it as you are and it's sort of a couple moment, where you both aren't doing anything sexual or romantic, but it still feels good to be that close
boyfriend!Joel Miller who loves laying hid head on your lap and purring at your soft caress, feeling your fingers scratching his scalp and his beard, closing his eyes and relaxing
boyfriend!Joel Miller who acts all rough and tough but melts whenever you prepare him a lunchbox so he won't live off tacos or burgers
boyfriend!Joel Miller who always watched as you sleep next to him, taking in how beautiful you truly are and reflecting on how much he loves you and wants to spend all the time he's got left with you
annaxmalina
blakekathryn
stormborns
origamiaround
jbbartram-illu
2087
