hello! i dont know who may be reading this but since ive had sime time away to think i have decided to leave this account behind for good and just start a new one from 0. Some of the fics on this account will be deleted and most rewritten and reposted. Hopefully this will also help me with the shadow ban, because as i said in my other post, this account wasn't getting anymore traction and it made me feel less excited to write.
the new account ill make will still be named tokkiwrites of course, so you may find me there, and hopefully enjoy the rewritten work more.
after a long long time of thinking i have decided to leave this account behind and Tumblr overall. the last couple of fics i wrote were pretty overlooked, and while people still read my old ones, im pretty sure i have been shadowbanned for the past few months. not to mention that it get extremely lonely in a place where you've no one to talk to.
all that being said, thank you all for the best 3 years of my life, i absolutely loved every second of it and i wouldn't change it for anything. thank you for being here even from the start and for the ones who are still reading to this day.
all of my fics will be found right here but i will no longer write or be active.
🧩 『 Ꮪ𝔘MMARY 』 : Six years away turned you into someone new, or at least that’s what you tell yourself when you drive back into Willowridge. But coming home means facing the version of yourself you left behind. And it means facing Joel, your father’s best friend and the man you once crushed on, who somehow makes you feel both exactly the same and nothing like you remember. What begins as an innocent homecoming slowly burns into something else.
🧸 『 ᎢᎪGS 』 : DBF ! JOEL MILLER & F ! READER, implied agegap ( reader is 23-24 years old and Joel is around 45 ), slowburn, no outbreak AU, no use of YN, use of petnames ( both from joel and readers family ), smoking.
﹙💌﹚𝖇unny 𝖓ote: here's chapter two!! longer than the first but also i would like this short series to have a max of five chapters, havent decided yet. anyway, here's part one. go read it if u haven't!!! ( tags ⭐️ @realdirectionx )
The first thing you notice when you finally open your eyes is how bright the sun is cutting through your old, pink curtains. The clock on your nightstand blinks back at you in a mocking way. 11:52 a.m. You can’t remember the last time you slept this late. leaving for college pretty much stomped that habit out of you.
You sit up slowly, hair a mess and throat dry. For a second, it doesn’t even feel like you’re home. The ceiling looks different, the wallpaper is faded. Then your nose finds something sweet floating in the air, cherries, butter, sugar, and your chest warms.
You pull yourself together enough to pad down the stairs in a t-shirt with my little pony characters on it and shorts, rubbing your eyes.
"Well, look who decided to join the living!" your mom teases, sliding a steaming slice of cherry pie onto a plate. A scoop of vanilla ice cream melts over it in ribbons.
You flop down at the table with a groan. "I haven’t slept in this late since… I don’t even know when."
"City must’ve wrung you out" she says, setting the plate in front of you, then kissing the top of your head. "Eat up! You look like you need sugar in your system."
You don’t argue. The pie is warm, tart, sticky sweet, and the ice cream balances it out perfectly. For a second, you close your eyes and just let yourself be in it. It takes real power to not engulf it all in two bites.
Your mom leans against the counter, watching you. "Your dad’s already down at Crossroads with Joel. Getting ready for the big party tonight."
You perk up at the new name of the bar. "Crossroads?"
She smiles faintly. "Mm-hm. Your dad couldn't bare seeing your grandma's name every day after sheㅡ" she trails off, then waves her hand, trying to smile.
"Anyway, it’s that time of year again. You came back just in time for the cowboy party!"
You laugh around a bite of pie. "Oh my god, you still do those?"
"We still do those." she corrects with a scoff as she rolls her eyes. "Don’t think you’re too grown to skip out, missy. Everyone’s expecting to see you tonight!"
"I bet they are." Your stomach does this weird flip. You cover it with another bite of pie.
After pie, you spend a good twenty minutes just sitting at the kitchen table with your fork, dragging it through the syrupy cherry streaks left on the plate, staring out the window. Willowridge sunlight feels different— way warmer somehow, better than the one in the city.
Your mom paces around, wiping down an already clean counter. "You should take a walk into town!" she says, casual but not really. she knows what she's doing. "Folks will be happy to see you. Let them know you’re back."
You make a face. "You just want me to get out of your hair."
She smirks, one eyebrow raised. "I do have things to cook for tonight. Go on, stretch those legs before the party! Got a lot of dancing to do."
So you go.
The heat envelopes you the second you step outside, cicadas droning from the trees that line your street. It smells like cut grass, warm pavement, and something fried from a restaurant two blocks away. It smells like home.
The first familiar face you see is Mrs. Keating, your old math teacher, outside the post office. She recognizes you instantly, her hands flying up like she just won a prize.
"Well I’ll be—" she hugs you before you can stop her, pressing your cheek into the shoulder of her floral blouse. "You were just a little thing the last time I saw you. Look at you now."
You laugh awkwardly, patting her arm. "I guess I grew."
She holds you at arm’s length, looking you over with misty eyes. "I always knew you’d make something of yourself."
You murmur a thank you, cheeks hot, and escape after a few more pleasantries.
By the time you enter the grocery store, your nerves have settled. Mr. Brooks is still behind the counter, older but basically unchanged. He beams when he sees you.
"If it ain’t trouble herself!" he drawls.
"That was years ago..." you protest, grinning in spite of yourself.
"Mhm. You gonna tell me you’ve gone soft?" He winks.
He insists on bagging your single grape soda himself, slipping a pack of gum into the bag just like he used to do when you were a kid.
You’re halfway down Main Street when a sharp voice cuts through the hum of traffic.
"Well, if it isn’t little miss runaway!"
You've got to be fucking kidding me.
You freeze before turning, because you know that voice. You could pick it out of a hundred, even after six years.
Stacy Willer.
Back in school, she was the girl with perfect hair and a perfect laugh, and perfect everything. she knew just how to twist her words, making you actually believe the bullshit she spread. You’d been her favorite target, and though you learned to fight back, those years carved themselves deep.
Now she’s standing there in a sundress that probably cost more than your car, sunglasses perched on her head, nails painted a shiny red. She looks you over.
"You’re back!" she says finally with a smile curling her lip but not really a smile. you know shes just getting ready to pounce. "Didn’t think I’d ever see you in this town again. Guess the city wasn’t all it cracked up to be?"
Your stomach knots, but you force yourself to hold her gaze. "Guess I like to keep people guessing."
Her smile flickers just a bit. Huh.
"You always were full of surprises. Being a fucking menace. Your little city friends know?" she says, her voice dripping with molten sugar. Then she tilts her head, eyes narrowing a little. "Don’t worry, though. I won’t tell anyone what you used to be like. Ancient history, right?"
That lands sharper than you expect. For a second, you’re sixteen again, standing by your locker with her words permanently echoing in the halls.
But you’re not sixteen anymore.
"Funny. Ive changed a lot since then. Guess you’re the only one still stuck in high school."
Her smile falters. She smooths her hair and forces a laugh like you didn’t just hit something tender.
"Oh, please!" Stacy waves a manicured hand. "I was just kidding. you always were so sensitive."
Sensitive. That almost makes you laugh now.
"Right." you say, already turning away. "Must be exhausting keeping up the same old act."
And that’s it. you don’t give her more time or more breath. You’ve wasted enough years on her. The town stretches out ahead of you, wide open, sunwashed and waiting.
You keep walking and walking, paying no mind to the time. You round the corner and catch sight of the Vica's bakery, sunlight glinting off the faded sign above the door. Before you even get closer, the smell of sugar hits you.
The windows are a little fogged, and you can see stacks of cookies and pies inside, arranged just like you remember.
The bell above the bakery door jingles when you push it open. The air inside is thick with butter and flour, and you’re hit with the memory of sitting on that stool by the window, always trying to finish the stupid assignments you got for history class.
Behind the counter, a woman about your age looks up. She’s not familiar, not someone you went to school with. "Hi there!" she says brightly. "What can I get you?"
Your eyes fall on the tray near the register. Round sugar cookies, pale and dusted in bright sprinkles, just like you remember.
"One of those, please." you say softly. "Actually, make it two." She smiles and s he wraps them in wax paper
After you pay, she slides them across the counter. You grab the sugar cookies and put them into your bag, the wax paper crinkling under your fingers. The sun has dipped a little lower when you step out, painting the streets in soft gold. You take a slow breath, letting the warm air wind your face.
On the walk back, you pass the old park. The swings creak the same way they always did, chains groaning against the metal frame. A couple of kids ride their bikes in loops around the basketball court, their laughter carrying down the street. It makes you smile, even though you’re not sure why. Maybe because it’s nice to see things have not changed.
You pop a cookie into your mouth, sugar melting on your tongue instantly, and suddenly the day doesn’t feel so overwhelming. It’s just a warm day and you’re back here. And there’s a pie waiting at home. That’s enough for now.
When you finally reach your house, the porch swing rocks gently in the evening breeze, and the sky has started to bloom pink. Your mom’s voice floats from the kitchen through the open window.
"You’re taking forever!" she calls. "Go wash up and get ready! The party starts in two hours!"
You pause on the porch, smiling, before making your way inside. Your mom sulks in the distance about not finding 'that damn hat'.
You walk up the stairs and into your room. The red leather boots your mom gifted you at fourteen sit in the corner. She got them two sizes too big and you never got to wear them.
It’s strange, standing here, between the girl you were and the one you’ve become. A mix of excitement and nerves coils in your stomach and you feel like you're about to take an important test at school.
You step into the bathroom, letting the warm water wash over you. The steam curls around the tiles, fogging the mirror, and for a few minutes, you just let it run washing away the sticky heat of the day and the nervous tension knotting in your stomach. A quick rinse, a few thoughtful splashes to your face, and you’re done, refreshed and a little more daring
Sunlight filters through the curtains, dust motes floating lazily in the beams.
After searching for a bit, you pull a crop top from your suitcase, holding it against your chest for a second. 'Save a horse, Ride a cowboy.' Bold, for sure. Embarrassing, maybe. But the longer you stare, the more right it feels.
You slip it on, then tug on some ripped shorts, adjusting them until they feel right. The red boots are next, sliding your feet into them, the leather stiff but cold against your ankles. They fit perfect now. You twist in front of the mirror, examining the whole outfit, feeling the warmth rise to your cheeks. It’s a little ridiculous, yes. But perfect for tonight.
You catch your reflection again, tracing the line of your jaw, the curve of your shoulders. How different you look from the girl who used to tear through Willowridge streets with fists and fire in her eyes, and yet some piece of her is still here, daring and untamed.
A soft knock at the door makes you jump.
"hey, hon, you in there?" your mom’s voice floats in, cheerful. "just checking before I start fussing with my hair."
"yeah, I’m here." you call, smoothing down your top.
There’s a pause, then a laugh. "Well, you look… something else. That’s new. I like it! Ready to turn some heads tonight, I see?"
You shrug, tugging the shorts one last time. "Depends on what kind of heads you mean."
"Good enough." she laughs, stepping back. "Go on, don’t make me wait all day. Your dad’s probably already stirring up trouble at Crossroads with Joel."
You inhale, steadying your nerves. This is it, seeing everyone again. And seeing him.
You spray some perfume on, and glance at the boots one last time. "It's okay. They'll see you changed." you whisper to yourself.
Then you step out of your room, heading downstairs to face the night.
The house smells like your mom’s hairspray when you come downstairs, but the night air quickly swallows it whole as soon as you step outside. The boots thud steady against the pavement.
By the time the glow of the red neon sign hits you, your chest is already tight, nerves winding up higher and higher.
Inside, the bar is alive. Country music twangs from the jukebox, and strings of yellow lights give everything a warm haze. You spot your dad immediately, behind the bar, arms moving as he pulls pints, his voice booming above the noise. And then you see Joel.
He’s leaning at the far end, one boot propped against the brass footrail, sleeves rolled to his elbows, talking with a couple of the regulars. He’s dressed the part, that youll admit. Worn denim, plaid shirt tucked in, leather belt with a heavy buckle that gleams when the light hits. He looks like every cowboy stereotype come alive, only better, you think.
And just like that, something hits you in the gut. It’s ridiculous really, but your palms sweat, your pulse hammers, and you can’t stop looking at him.
You spend the next hour drifting through the crowd. old faces, too many names, people who want to hear about the city, about school. You smile until your cheeks hurt and sip from a cheap plastic cup, laugh at jokes that aren’t funny. But every so often, your eyes go back to him. And every time, he’s already watching you.
Eventually, the heat of the room and the sharp smell of spilled beer gets too much. You slip out the side door, into the cooler dark. The muffled music still spills through the walls, but its more quiet.
You turn the corner. Joel is leaning against the brick, cigarette glowing between his fingers. He exhales slow with his head tipped back.
"You smoke?"
Joels mouth pulls into a grin. "Ya actin like you don’t know it."
You swallow, shifting on your boots. "Guess I was too busy being a kid to notice."
His eyes cut to you then. He doesn’t move, but it feels like he’s pulling you closer without even trying to.
You cross your arms, like it’ll guard you from whatever this is. "Thought you were inside holding court with my dad."
He taps ash to the ground, gaze never leaving your face. "He’s busy enough. Figured I’d step out for a bit. Didn’t think I’d see you out here."
"Needed some air." you admit, eyes darting to the glowing tip of his cigarette just to avoid his stare.
Joel lets out a low hum. He takes another drag, then blows the smoke out the corner of his mouth. The smoke swirls around you, and suddenly you’re too aware of the way the air feels on your skin.
"You always did run off when things got too loud." he says. "Guess some things really don’t change."
Your mouth twists. "Yeah, well, some things do."
That earns you a look. His eyes dip and take their time, then come back to your face. It’s not subtle, nor polite.
You cough, arms crossing tighter. "What?"
Joel smirks. "Nothin’. Justㅡ don’t remember you lookin’ quite like this, is all."
Your stomach flips so fast it makes you dizzy. He says it so casually. This fucker.
You laugh really shaky. "Guess six years will do that to a person."
"Mm. Maybe. Or maybe you just grew into yourself."
You don’t even know what to say, so you push your heel against the dirt, looking anywhere but at him. "You’re making me sound like a science experiment."
Joel chuckles deep. "Nah. Just tellin’ the truth, darlin’."
The word knocks the air out of you. He’s said it a hundred times before to you, to your mom, to waitresses, to whoever, but the way it rolls off his tongue now feels way different. Feels like it’s only meant for you.
"You always this charming, or is it the cowboy theme getting to your head?"
"Theme ain’t got nothin’ to do with it."
Your mouth goes dry.
Joel’s eyes flick down again, and this time there’s no mistaking the curve of his smile. He jerks his chin slightly toward you.
"That shirt." he drawls. "Real subtle."
You glance down at yourself. "It’s…Ironic. A joke, you know?" you mutter, suddenly wishing you’d gone with literally any other top.
Joel chuckles low in his chest. "Sure. Real ironic, wearin’ that to a cowboy party." Then he steps closer, close enough that you can smell his cologne. "You tryin’ to tell folks somethin’?"
"Oh my god. It’s just a shirt, Joel."
"Mmm." He tips his head "Funny thing. Thought you wanted to send out a message."
His gaze doesn’t move.
"You’re staring." you speak up.
Joel smirks unhurried. "Yeah, reckon I am." He drags out one last inhale then drops the bud to the ground and grinds it out.
He comes closer and blows a thin ribbon of smoke right into your face, smoke immediately disappearing when you inhale sharply. Your stomach twists.
You flinch, not away, more like your body doesn’t know what to do with the way it burns and tickles all at once.
"See?" he begins. "Cowboys don’t always play nice."
Your pulse kicks hard against your ribs. "That’s disgusting." you bite nack, though it doesn’t sound half as mean as you want it to.
Joel smirks, shameless. "Funny. Don’t hear you coughin’ me off, sweet cheeks."
You bite at your lower lip, before dropping the eye contact. You're waiting for something but you don't know what for.
He pulls away and pats your back. "See ya tomorrow, kiddo."
🧩 『 Ꮪ𝔘MMARY 』 : Six years away turned you into someone new, or at least that’s what you tell yourself when you drive back into Willowridge. But coming home means facing the version of yourself you left behind. And it means facing Joel, your father’s best friend and the man you once crushed on, who somehow makes you feel both exactly the same and nothing like you remember. What begins as an innocent homecoming slowly burns into something else.
🧸 『 ᎢᎪGS 』 : DBF ! JOEL MILLER & F ! READER, implied agegap ( reader is 23-24 years old and Joel is around 45 ), slowburn, no outbreak AU, no use of YN, use of petnames ( both from joel and readers family ).
﹙💌﹚𝖇unny 𝖓ote: should i start a new series when kinktober is right around the corner? not recommend. will i still do it? yea. i hope you'll enjoy this short first chapter, ive been craving some realll dbf joel drama and i needed to act fast. not proofread yet, but will get to it !!
You’re halfway through stuffing a sweater into your suitcase when your roommate, and childhood friend, drops onto her bed with a theatrical groan. she’s still in pajamas, hair in a messy knot, phone in hand.
"do you really have to go tomorrow?" she says, eyes narrowed. "the landlord’s already been sniffing around like he wants my firstborn. i hate having to deal with him alone."
you tug the zipper, curse under your breath when it catches. "maybe that’s his way of flirting." you tease, because you’re not ready to be nervous yet.
"gross. so definitely gross." she rolls her eyes but she smiles. the way she looks at you right now is like taking inventory of a husband who’s about to leave for war.
you sit back on your heels and laugh, the sound a little hollow. "you’ll survive."
“girl, whatever.” she says, deadpan. "but seriously— are you okay? six years is a thing..."
you pick at the seam of a t-shirt watching the thread pull. "I'll be fine. it’s just...weird, that’s all." you look at the stack of textbooks on the desk, the little mug with dried coffee rings, the concert ticket stub taped to the lamp.
This apartment has been your life for the last few years. Your neat and manageable life.
"I meanㅡ you were the town menace." she says suddenly, grinning. "You remember when you Slashed mister Baker’s tires because he gave you a D and said your drawing ‘lacked seriousness’, hah!"
you blink at her. "Yes, totally deserved."
"And the bus stop thing?" she waggles her fingers. "You punched that guy for yelling at his girlfriend. Didn’t even know her, you just has a to make a scene. Clark Kent wannabe." she playfully pokes your shoulder.
"Had to be done." you shrug, like it’s obvious. you remember how it felt. You were hot all over, lungs full of furious air. you remember the scrape of knuckles, the stupid rush, the blood on that guy's face.
you remember sneaking out at fifteen because it was the only thing you could think to do to prove you were alive.
What a ridiculous kid.
your roommate watches you with this weird look on her face. Her brows are furrowed. "you sure you wanna go back for the whole summer? like, really sure? they’ll remember that stuff. thats who they know you as..."
"they’ll talk. I know." you admit, "but so what? i’m not sixteen anymore.” you fold a shirt, fold it twice, tuck it perfectly into the suitcase. it’s the little domestic gesture that says you’re different now, not because the kid you were disappeared, but because you learned how to put things away.
she swings her legs off the bed and nudges you with her foot. "Just promise me one thing? don’t let them make you feel small, okay? you earned your degree, got your masters, don’t let the diner crowd drown that out."
you grin, heart lifting. "promise. and don’t try to kill the landlord. please?"
"I will not. Probably. Hopefully. "
she gets up and presses a hand to your shoulder, and you suddenly get this feeling in your tummy. "text me when you get there. and get your ass some sleep tonight! you look tired."
you stuff socks into the tiny gaps, zip the suitcase with a firm tug. the apartment feels right, messy in the best way, and yours. You feel the familiar tingles of anticipation, not all nerves, some good kind of electricity.
Leaving isn’t the end, you tell yourself. It’s a reroute.
"do you want me to take you to the station?" she asks as she opens the door, balancing a mug in her other hand.
"Actually, I'll drive." you say. " I like having the car. plus, it’s quieter."
she shrugs. "Fine, but bring me some of that pie your mom makes. You owe me pie."
"Pie, got it." you grin and sling your tote bag over your shoulder. You glance back at the room once, all the small things that kept you company through thesis nights and crying fits, and you don’t make a show of it.
you hug your friend goodbye and you're out of the door.
outside the evening air takes you in, it smells like freshly cut grass and cigarette smoke. You walk a little before reaching the main sidewalk where your car is parked, opening it quickly and throwing in the trunk all of your things.
Finally, you get into the driver's seat, grabbing the steering wheel tightly, heart hammering against your chest. The lights outside blurr a little as some tears finally escape your eyes.
you don't know why you were crying. maybe you missed your family a lot, or maybe because you'll miss the big city. maybe its because you know people will talk again. or maybe you're afraid you'll never wanna leave home again.
You wipe your cheeks quickly, not wanting to sit there and wallow. With a shaky breath, you turn the key in the ignition. The car rumbles awake, headlights spilling out over the quiet street.
The drive out of the city is uneventful at first, just traffic lights and half lit billboards. But as the miles peel away, the scenery shifts. High rises melt into farmland, neon into starlight. The roads get narrower, darker, the familiar curve of the hills finally greeting you just like old friends.
By the time you pass the crooked “Welcome to Willowridge” sign it finally dawns on you. Six years came and went, and you were back here, even if you promised yourself you'd never step foot in this dammed town again.
The grocery store is bigger now, with a glowing digital sign out front. There’s a new gas station on the corner. But the diner with the red stools is there, with the same warm yellow light inside.
You see your dad's bar and frown, knowing he had to close early because you were coming home. The old movie theater looks like it hasn’t played a film since you left, but people still came in and out of it. you smile, trying your hardest to not think about it too much, how time passes so fast.
You roll slowly down Main Street, eyes darting from old shop to new shop, modern cafés, even a yoga studio that looked totally out of place between a hardware store and the old butcher shop.
Finally, you pull up to your house. The porch light is on. Your dad is sitting out front on the swing under the oak tree. Only the swing groans a little louder now, and the tree looks older, its bark splitting.
He walks to the driveway when he sees your car, waving like you’ve only been gone a day. "There she is!" he calls out. "My baby girl."
You slide out of the car, stretching your stiff legs. "Hi, dad!" you say, voice a little strangled, but you smile anyway.
he’s older, sure, hair a little thinner on top, hands rougher than you remembered. but he’s still your dad, with that same smile that can light up any room.
he wraps you in a hug, arms so gentle. "welcome home, kiddo." he murmurs against your hair. Your mom appears in the doorway, apron dusted with flour, hair slightly messy.
"my baby!" she squeals, pulling you into a hug so tight it makes your chest ache. "i can’t believe you’re really back."
“i missed you a lot.” you admit softly.
"we missed you every day." she says, you can tell she's ready to cry. she steps back, brushing your hair from your face. "come inside, everyone’s around waiting for you."
you nod, smiling, letting yourself soak in the warmth, the smell of home. Bread baking in the oven, old wood, faint traces of the same lavender air freshener your mom loves.
Your grandpa was there, with your two aunts and your youngest cousins, all waiting for a turn to hug you. Miss Graceforth, your neighbor, was also there. You remember when you used to watch her puppy while she was at work.
After catching up a little with everyone, you give your dad your car keys so he can go and get your bags.
"I need to use the toilet." You whisper to your mom and she smiles brightly. "Sure, hon, but hurry, the lasagna is almost ready!"
You nod, before heading towards the hallway. You climb the stairs, fumbling with your bag, looking for your phone. "Probably left it in the car..."
you turn the corner at the top of the stairs, still half lost in thought, and almost run straight into someone.
"Shit!" you stumble back, grabbing onto the railing for balance.
The man steps back too, hands raised slightly in a friendly gesture. "Easy there." he says, voice warm, with that unmistakable drawl.
you glance up, and your breath catches. "Joel ?" you whisper, eyes widening.
he grins "well, look at you… you’re here earlier than i thought." he tilts his head, eyes crinkling. "if i’d known, i wouldn’t’ve been wanderin’ around upstairs, lookin’ for somethin’ to do. seemed like a good excuse to wait for you a bit."
your heart skips. he looks…different. sharper somehow, older, but god, still impossibly handsome.
you blink, heart thumping and cheeks blushed. "It's nice to see you..." he chuckles softly, taking a step closer. You swallow.
"Ya acting like you don't remember me at all, girl'."
your stomach flips, remembering your teenage crush. it’s different now, weirdly confusing. You almost forgot about how you felt. but you were a kid back then, surely things have changed.
"oh, no… yeah, i remember." you murmur, looking down for a second, tugging at your bag strap nervously.
he studies you for a moment, grin softening. "well… you’ve grown up on me, haven’t ya?"
you flush, shrugging. "i guess… a little" you suddenly feel sixteen again. he laughs all low and it makes your chest feel light.
"I'm glad you’re back. Real glad.”
you swallow hard again, smiling. “Me too.”
he tips his head with a familiar teasing glint in his eyes. "alright then… go on and get settled, don’t let this old man hold you up."
and with that, he steps aside, but you linger a moment longer, heart still beating just as loud, cheeks still warm, eyes following him as he disappears down the stairs and out into the hallway below.
The bathroom door creaks open as you step inside, cool tile under your feet, the familiar smell of macadamia soap hitting you. You splash some water on your face, staring into the mirror a little too long.
"Just nerves," you whisper to yourself. "That’s all it is."
By the time you head back downstairs, the house is louder, filled with voices and laughter. Your mom is setting out plates in the dining room with your grandpa, your cousins are talking over each other on the couch, and your dad’s in his chair with a beer in hand, grinning like the proudest man alive.
"There she is again," he says when he sees you, patting the arm of his chair. "You take forever in that bathroom, guess some things don't change."
You roll your eyes, laughing, "Dad…" but the warmth in your chest is undeniable.
Your mom glances up from the table, her eyes soft as always. "You must be tired from the drive, sweetheart. Come eat a little something, then you can rest."
Dinner is loud, but in a way you’ve missed. This beats microwaveable meals by a long-run. Your mom keeps piling food on your plate no matter how many times you protest, and your dad is grinning like he won the lottery just having you at the table again. Your aunts leans in, firing questions about the city, miss Graceforth about your degree, if you’re really going to stay this time.
"So… masters degree now, huh?" your dad says, puffing his chest a little like it’s his accomplishment too. "Told everybody at the bar. Think I annoyed half the customers braggin’ about you."
You laugh, cheeks warming. "It's not that deep dad!"
Your mom chimes in, "She worked hard for it. You should’ve seen her, Joel. Always had her nose in those damn books whenever we called her."
Joel chuckles low across the table, fork pausing in his hand. "Don’t surprise me none. She always had that fire in her. Just put it in the right place now."
You glance up at him before quickly dropping your gaze to your plate, fiddling with the food there.
One of your cousins smirks, nudging you. "So, miss big city college girl, what’s next? You staying? Or you gonna run off again?"
"Iㅡ" you hesitate, smiling a little. "I’m not sure yet. Thought I’d just…breathe for a minute before deciding."
"Well, whatever you decide to do next, just know you made us proud." your grandpa says firmly, raising his glass like a toast. Everyone clinks theirs, and you're suddenly less anxious about being back.
By the time plates are cleared and goodbyes are said, the house grows quiet again. Joel lingers with your dad talking about some new tables that need to be changed at the bar, the low rumble of their voices carrying from the living room while you slip outside.
The porch swing groans when you brush your hand over it, the baby blue paint on it barely visible now. And the stars are bright above, clearer than you’ve seen in years. You’re lost in them when the screen door creaks behind you.
Joel steps out, his boots heavy on the old wood. "Could’ve sworn your dad said you were asleep. When’d you get down?"
You tilt your head, grinning. "A ninja never reveals their secrets."
That earns you a real laugh from him, before silence stretches between you again. He studies you for a moment, leaning against a post.
"You’re a real good girl now, ain’t ya?" he says finally, his voice rougher somehow, like the gravel you used to scrape your knees on when you fell off your rollerskates as a kid.
Heat creeps up your neck and to your cheeks, and you try to shrug it off, thinking it might be from the beer you just had.
You smile shy. "Depends what you mean by that?"
He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches you then a slow smile tugs at his mouth and you feel like your breath got taken away.
"Goodnight, darlin’." He says, tipping his chin before heading down the steps. You watch as he climbs into his old red truck, the engine waking to life.
After he drives away, you're left there with this strange taste in your mouth. You dont know if it's because of him or from the carrot cake your aunt had baked.
You run your hands through your hair, a dog barking in the distance, the cicadas filling in the silence between. The porch swing creaks as you pull your knees up, arms wrapped tight around yourself.
It feels weird. To be back. To be here. Six years of living a whole other life, and yet the night air still smells the same. Blooming jasmine, hot pavement and motor oil clinging to the driveway.
Inside, you can still hear your parents talking low, your mom fussing in the kitchen even though everyone’s gone, your dad’s laugh booming now and then. Safe. Familiar.
But you can’t stop thinking about the way Joel looked at you.
You shake your head, groaning softly, like you can scrub the thought right out of your brain. "God, get a grip!" you say under your breath.
The swing rocks gently, your foot brushing against the porch boards. You stare out at the dark street until your eyes sting from the stillness, then finally push yourself up.
The house is warm when you step back in, quiet now. Lights dimmed, TV buzzing softly in the other room. Your parents must’ve gone to bed.
You grab a glass of water from the kitchen, drinking half of it in one go. With the glass still in hand, you catch your reflection in the dark window.
You barely recognize the girl staring back.
Not the kid who yelled at faculty or picked fights with people two times her size. Not the girl who never thought she'd get so far. And not fully the woman she swears she’s become, either.
Something in between.
You set the glass down. "Home sweet home." you whisper, before flicking the kitchen light off and heading upstairs into your old room.
꒰ ꪆ୧ ꒱ SUℳM𝛢RY ⌢ ꒰੭. You grew up defying the village’s only law: never enter the forest. But the forest gave you a companion, a wolf who never left your side. At eighteen, forced into marriage with a man you cannot love, the wolf comes to save you, not as you remembered him, but as something far more dangerous.
˖˙ ᰋ ── 𝖙ags ˚ WEREWOLF ! JOEL MILLER x fem!reader, afab! reader, no outbreak au, mentions of blood, violence, slight gore, death, age gap (implied, joel is literally a thousand year old wolf), ABO dynamics (mentions of mates and knots), unprotected p in v, virginity loss, belly bulge, fingering ( f receiving ), lmk if i missed anything
𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒﹙ʚɞ˚﹚ 𝖓ote: back again with part two of this fic. this is shorter than the first part but its only smut. a little rusty since i haven't written in months but i hope i enjoy nonetheless. not beta read!!!!
( @ghostwritesthings )
He had waited for so long.
The taste of his tongue was iron and smoke, your lips smeared with blood, his, yours, theirs— you didn’t care. You clung to him, hands gripping his shoulders as if he gave you life.
“I shall make you mine now,” he murmured against your mouth.
your veil had slipped back, tangled with your hair, matted with blood. the pristine white of your gown was gone, streaked red where his hands had held you, where strangers had fallen. You should have been horrified, undone by it all, yet when his golden eyes burned down into yours, you felt nothing but heat.
“Come,” he said, his hand took yours. “This place will rot. It was never meant for you.”
He pulled you gently over broken benches and shattered glass. the chapel doors hung open, crooked on their hinges, and beyond them the forest called.
You stumbled once, the hem of your dress catching, but his arm caught you. The chaos around you was nothing compared to the need burning in him.
Outside, the night was waiting. The moon swelled fat above the treeline, its silver light spilling down like a blessing.
He led you into the shadows, further and further, until the screams of the village were only echoes in the wind.
finally, when the trees grew dense enough to hide you from every prying eye, he stopped. His chest rose and fell, still ragged from battle. He turned to you.
“You do not know what I am,” he said.
You swallowed hard, your hand still trapped in his. “I do. You’re the wolf,” you whispered.
“Not just a wolf.” He looked past you. “A man, a beast— both, and neither. Long before your priests, before your coin houses and their false gods, my kind walked among yours. We lived, we loved, we shared blood and bread and fire.”
He paused, his breath unsteady. “But men are quick to fear what they cannot chain. So a treaty was carvedㅡ your kind to the villages, mine to the forest. We were forbidden to take wives from you, forbidden to bear children together. It was peace, they said. Peace bought with walls.”
“And you obeyed?”
“For a time.” His mouth curved, bitter. “Until they stole what was mine.” His hand tightened around yours. “You.”
“I—I don’t understand.”
his other hand rose, rough fingers brushing your jaw. “You are my mate. From the moment you were born. From the moment you stepped into the forest as a child, I knew. Your scent, your voice Iㅡ I could not keep away. The treaty has no claim on you. no paper signed by frightened men can sever what the moon has bound.”
The forest was so still. “You are mine,” he said again.
Your lips parted with your heart slamming in your chest. "IㅡI..”
“From the first breath you drew, you were marked. I have circled this place for years, waiting, cursing the gods who made it so I could not touch you. But no longer.”
“You waited for me?”
“I hunted, I killed, I endured. But I did not take a mate. You were mine. Always. Even when you were too small to know, I knew. I could not choose another.”
“Then why now?”
“Because they would have bound you to another. Stolen you from me. And I will tear apart the world before I allow that.”
the ferocity of his tone should have frightened you, really. Instead, you felt the heat pooling in your lower belly. his hand drifted to your throat, just to feel your pulse racing beneath his fingers.
“You are mine." he said again. “Mine, as the moon is to the night. Do you accept it? Do you accept me, wolf and man alike?”
The forest leaned closer, the wind curling around your gown, whispering and urging you on.
“I do.” you whispered. “I accept you.”
His eyes softened, though his grip did not. He leaned his forehead against yours, breath hot against your puffy lips.
“I am yours." you managed.
"And I am yours." he spoke against your skin.
His nose brushed the line of your jaw, a low growl vibrating in his chest. “With those words, you bind me as surely as the moon binds the tide. There is no undoing it. No escape from me now.”
“I do not want to escape.” you confessed.
Moonlight slipped between the branches, painting silver over your bloodied gown, over his torn shirt, over the curve of his throat as it moved when he swallowed.
He drew back just enough to look at you, his hand still cradling your jaw. “You are trembling.” his voice was low. “Is it from fear or want?”
Your lips parted, no answer rising.
A slow smile curved his mouth. his thumb brushed over your cheek, smearing the tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “You shake like a doe cornered in the grass,” he murmured, voice almost like laughter.
“But I see the truth in your eyes. It is not fear that has you weak, little fawn.”
His other hand slid to the nape of your neck, tilting your face up to him. “Tell me." he said softer now “what is it you want of me?”
Heat surged in your face, your throat tightening. Words gathered, then scattered before they could leave your lips. You look away.
His hand at your neck tightened just enough to make you gasp. He tuts. “Do not hide from me,” he said. “Not you. Not now. Speak it.”
“I—” Your breath faltered. His golden eyes bore into you, demanding, waiting. Shame clawed at you, but beneath it was something far hotter, an ache that made your knees want to give up. “I don’t know what I— what I feel.”
he leaned closer, his mouth grazing your temple. “Then I shall tell you. You feel hunger. Need. You want me to put my hands upon you. To make you mine in truth.” His lips brushed your ear. “Say it.”
“I wㅡant you,” you stuttered.
“Again.” His voice was firm.
“I want you,” you whispered again, stronger this time, though your face was blushed.
His own restraint was fraying. “Good girl."
His hand slid from your jaw, down the column of your throat, over the swell of your breast, pausing as to feel the way you shivered. His mouth was still at your ear, breath ragged, his words sinking deeper than a dagger.
“I will guard you,” he murmured, thumb brushing the edge of your collarbone. “No man will lay claim to you again. No vows but mine. No chains but the ones you choose.”
your lips parted, your body leaning into his without thought. his palm flattened over your chest, right where your heart thundered.
“You will run where you please, little fawn. The hills, the streams—” His voice deepened almost breaking as his hand swept lower, over the folds of your dress, gathering the fabric in his fist, the buttons giving out. “You will laugh, and breathe, and never bow again.”
Your knees buckled, a gasp tearing out of you as his fingers brushed your thigh.
“You hear me?” His voice was demanding, though his lips ghosted tenderly along your neck and shoulder. “You are mine, and I will see you free.”
His hands roamed slowly, memorizing every curve of your body that had been hidden from the world all this while. “My little fawn,” his voice was fire. “you belong to no one but me.”
“I… I’ve never—” your voice wavered “I’ve never been with anyone.. like this.”
“I know,” he breathed, thumb stroking along your waist. “Ive waited a long time to show you.”
his hands pressed you tighter to him, but his eyes softened as he saw the way you clung to him desperately. “Do you trust me, little fawn?”
You nodded weakly, unable to speak. "You should. You are mine and I would die a thousand deaths before letting a single hair on your head be touched.”
His hands moved, teasing, grazing over places that had never known attention, and your body flinched and arched into it all at once.
"I will show you, little fawn. I will show you what it means to be cherished and wanted and protected.”
he takes your hand into his rugged palm, pressing it onto the hardened form in his pants. You were new to this, yes, yet you knew what that meant.
“Do you feel it? How much I’ve waited for this? For you?” You moan without reason, all shy and teary eyed.
in mere seconds, your dress was completely off, ripped into rags by his strong hands. You were flush against a tree, flowers wet of dew dancing at your bare feet. Though the wind blew, your body was hot all over, this strange, new feeling leaving you wanting more.
"I do not wish to scare you away." He finally speaks again, his pants coming undone and slipping past his knees. "You need to understand there is nothing human about what is about to happen."
You nod, though you can feel your toes curling into dirt. You look down and saying you were shocked would be an understatement. He was utterly enormous. Is this what all men carried in their trousers? Ah, wait, but he was no man.
Your shy eyes meet his again and he smiles. "Do not fear. It may hurt at first but then, i promise, it will feel just as heaven."
rugged hands make their way up and around your hips as his bearded face stays flush against your tender chest. he was ready to devour you. The wolf man looked up into your eyes, and all of the things you felt this instant caused your fears to melt away, just as you had in his embrace.
gently, he laid you down onto the flowers below, the wet petals cold against your burning skin.
you looked like something out of a dream, skin glowing in the moonlight, hands covering your breasts, legs barely closed. Your doe eyes searched, long lashes clumped with tears and dry blood. You looked unreal. Erotic. And all his.
"Spread your legs for me." it wasn’t a request, it was an order. and you obeyed. spreading your legs you give him a full view of you dripping cunt, and the wolf man throws his head back with a low groan.
He kneels in front of you on the earth, pulling you so that your thighs are right over his, your puffy lips now on full display. two of his digits make their way up to your mouth. "Suck." you comply.
after that was done, his calloused fingers make their way between your folds, gathering up the juices you've been dripping. You whimpered softly and he shushed you, rubbing small circles on your plush thigh with his other hand. He pushes one of his fingers inside, and you can feel it. It didn’t hurt, not yet, it was just strange and new. the second finger comes quick after and he starts pumping them, moving them in and out as his lips made contact with your swollen bud. Your eyes are wide open as this new feeling washes over you, and you can't help but let out sounds you didn’t know you could make.
You mewl and writhe before it all comes to an agonizing stop. He pulls his fingers out, looking straight down at you. Keeping eye contact, he licks them and you're sat there, mouth agape. Before you can protest he shoves those same two fingers into your waiting mouth, his other hand now fondling one of your breasts.
"Such beauty, I could only dream of it. Thank you for letting me have you this way, eternally."
You hum around his digits, trying to pull him closer by his waist. He smiles, squishing your face with the sleek fingers he had in your mouth seconds ago. "Impatient girl." Your muffled whimpers only seem to please him.
His broad hand presses flat to your stomach, sliding lower until he’s teasing the entrance of your flower with his leaking tip.
He smirks at the dazed parting of your mouth, the flush creeping down your chest.
The hand at your breast squeezes once rough, before sliding down to hook your thigh high around his hip. You stumble, caught only by the sheer size of him pressing you into the tree behind you.
“Look at you,” he breathes, eyes roaming. “Shaking for me, and I’ve barely even started.”
His cock drags heavy against your thigh, hot and insistent. He groans low at the contact, the sound beastly.
“I’ll split you open on this cock, little fawn" he growls, lips brushing your pebbled nipple. “Fill you so deep you’ll never forget what it feels like. Every time you walk, every time you breathe, you will remember tonight.”
His manhood slid against your soaked folds, teasing and pressing against them but not entering. Your breath hitched, thighs trembling as you tried to buck closer. He only chuckled holding you pinned with maddening patience. This is the cruelest you've seen him so far, you thought.
Your nails dug into his shoulders with useless resistance. “Pleaseㅡ" you whispered.
“Please what?” He tilted his head, grinding the thick head of his cock against you, just enough to make you cry out. “Say it, little fawn.”
Your cheeks burned. Your voice cracked. “Please, inside! Iㅡ I want you inside of me.”
“Do you want my seed in you?” His words were sharp. “Do you want to be bred full of my pups, so everyone in that wretched village knows who you belong to?”
Shame and heat tangled in your chest, and you sobbed. Your legs wrapped tighter around him.
“Yes!" you gasped, frantic tears streaking your face. “Yes, please, I want itㅡ I want your pups.”
Thats all he had to hear. He thrust, hard, splitting you wide, dragging a cry of pain from your lips. He tries to kiss your tears away, whispering soft sorrys as he lets you adjust, but its so long he can hold himself back while you squeeze so deliciously around him.
He moved a bit shallow at first, ragged control making his body shake. But soon the beast broke loose.
His hips slammed forward, burying himself to the hilt, the sound of flesh on flesh ringing sharp in the night. You clawed at him, overwhelmed. You could feel him in your stomach, the sheer size of him forming a small mound in your belly.
Each thrust was forcing a whimper from your throat. Your legs were now up on his broad shoulders. “TㅡToo much” you gasped though your legs locked tighter around him, keeping him there.
“Not enough.” he growled, breath hot against your ankles. “I’ll give you every drop, little fawn. You’ll take it— you’ll take all of me.”
He bit down on your shoulder, hard enough to break skin, enough to leave a mark. His pace turned brutal, unrelenting, like he was carving his claim into your very bones.
Yet even as your cries broke in his ear, he murmured “I’m sorry, my sweet."
Your body gave in before your mind could catch up, heat sparking low in your belly, your cries changing into something else entirely.
You didn’t even realize you were begging until the words spilled out shameless. “Please— Oh, don’t stop, don’t stop!”
He wasn't going to stop. Not anytime soon at least.
Each thrust was a strike of thunder, his hips slamming into you until the bark of the tree dug into your back leaving bloody marks.Your nails scored red trails across his shoulders, pleas spilling broken from your lips between sobs and moans you could no longer tell apart.
His breath came ragged, harsh growls rasping from his throat with every plunge. He pressed his forehead to yours, sweat and blood mixing where your skin met.
“You feel it, don’t you? How tight you are— how you take me? You were made for me.”
He bit down on the tender place beneath your ear, pulling another moan from you as his hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise.
“I’ll fill you" he swore, voice breaking rough and desperate. “I’ll put my pups inside you, make you heavy with me.” He grunts.
Shame burned your cheeks even as you nodded wildly. “Yes—yes, please, I want it, oh, I want you to!”
His rhythm faltered, hips grinding harder, deeper, drilling into you with no mercy.
The sounds tearing from his chest were no longer words, only ragged growls. You felt him swell inside you, thicker, stretching you wider than before.
“WhㅡWhat is happening?” your voice broke with panic, unsure if what you were feeling was right. He buried his face against your neck, teeth grazing your skin where he had bit it earlier.
“Don’t fight it. You’re mine now. All of you. I will keep you filled until it takes.”
the pressure inside you built unbearably. You whimpered, pussy clenching around him.
with a few more moves of his hips he came undone. his knot swelled fully, locking you to him, stretching you open around the thickest part of him. Pain lanced through your body until were crying out with each frantic jerk of his hips.
“Ah—don’t, I—” Your protest dissolved into a sob as his hand cupped the back of your head, forcing your gaze into his large eyes.
“Yes." he growled, forehead pressing hard against yours. “Take it! Take me! Carry me!"
The knot throbbed inside you, his release flooding deep, searing heat that wouldn’t stop. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.
“Mine. My little fawn. You’ll never escape me now.”
The world was still. Just the two of you tangled together beneath the watchful moon. you felt so full it was almost unbearable, yet your body no longer fought him.
he started brushing the tangled hair from your face with one palm, the other smoothing across the curve of your back where your skin was scratched.
“You did so well. My brave fawn."
Tears stung your eyes, but he kissed them away, mouth gentle now, where as moments before it had been so wild and beastly.
“I’ll never let you go." he pressed another kiss on your swollen lips. "The forests, the rivers, the hills… they’re yours, all yours. And I’ll guard them. I’ll guard you. Always.”
“Stay? Please..stay with me.”
His smile was small almost boyish, and so full of warmth it undid you more than his savagery ever could.
꒰ ꪆ୧ ꒱ SUℳM𝛢RY ⌢ ꒰੭. You grew up defying the village’s only law: never enter the forest. But the forest gave you a companion, a wolf who never left your side. At eighteen, forced into marriage with a man you cannot love, the wolf comes to save you, not as you remembered him, but as something far more dangerous.
˖˙ ᰋ ── 𝖙ags ˚ WEREWOLF ! JOEL MILLER x fem!reader, afab! reader, no outbreak au, gothic fairytale kind of, little red riding hood inspired, cursed forest & forbidden woods 😈😈, mentions of blood, violence, slight gore, death, arranged marriage, religious symbolism, false prophets, outcast reader, dark romance ???, slow burn, gothic horror elements, age gap (implied, joel is literally a thousand year old wolf), morally grey characters, ABO kind of dynamics (joel mentions once how the reader had always belonged to him), if there's something else lmk !!!
𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒﹙ʚɞ˚﹚ 𝖓ote: hey... i was gone for an eternity... again... BUT I AM BACK WITH THIS TWO PART STORY YEPPEEE !! i bring you werewolf joel. now, this first part won't have any smut in it because it is already super long, at 5.4K words. soo, this is like the exposition the pwp that will follow in the next part teehee. i hope you enjoy this tiny world ive built and lmk if you'd like a longer series.
As the full moon settles deep under the hilltops, the sun bloodies up the sky again, signaling yet another day has begun. This cruel world, for what it is worth, has its beauty. A beauty that punishes as much as it blesses, that lures you with sweet words only to tear you apart in the next breath. No child is born into this world without being touched by its cruelty.
You were no exception.
The village had rules that were written in the marrow of every person, whispered in every lullaby they sung to children. Never step into the forest.
It was not yours to touch.
The trees were old, older than the temple stones, older than the altars where false gods, charlatans pretending to be holy men, now fattened themselves on coin and praise. The forest belonged to others, others who were not men nor beast.
But what does a child care for rules when the air is new with spring and the light pools gold on the green grass?
You saw her first, the little doe. Her flank streaked red, a gash blooming along her side. She stumbled from the underbrush and collapsed just beyond the tree line, sides heaving, eyes rolling white. Without thought, without even fear, your little legs carried you to her.
“Easy.." you whispered, voice trembling, hands outstretched as if your touch alone could heal.
Behind you, the village roofs slept in the distance. Ahead, the trees loomed, black spines against the dawn.
And in their shadows, something watched.
You didn’t see him at first. Only heard the sound if branches shifting, a low pad of paws on damp earth. The doe’s ears flicked but she did not bolt. Perhaps she understood before you did.
Yellow eyes, twin coals, caught the newborn sun.
The huge wolf stood where the light couldn’t reach, silent. Enormous. His coat was dark, thick, blending with the shadows, but his gaze burned. He did not lunge. He did not growl. He only looked.
A scream might have saved you. Running might have spared you. But instead you did the strangest, most dangerous thing of all.
“She’s hurt... Don’tㅡ be cruel.” You whispered.
The wolf tilted his head, as though the words puzzled him. As if even he couldn't understand how one could be so careless and so naive. Then he stepped back into the deeper dark.
He was gone.
The doe trembled under your touch, warm blood slicking your palms. You cried, but not out of fear, but frustration.
You had no way to help. Your family’s apothecary was full of herbs, tinctures, salves. Yet here, you were helpless.
By the time you fetched anyone, the doe was gone. The grass was stained where she had lain, the earth turned over in signs of struggle. And among them you saw pawprints. Larger than any dog or wolf.
Yet you told no one. But you kept going back since then.
By fourteen, you had learned well what it meant to be silent.
The apothecary shelves sagged with jars no one bought anymore, the herbs inside curling into dust. The air smelled like thyme and vinegar, but no footsteps crossed the threshold. Only your father’s voice filled the space, muttering as he ground another root no one had asked for.
You kept your head down, hands busy, because it was easier that way. Easier than watching the villagers bow to men in gold chains and red velvet robes, who arrived in their square with empty promises. Easier than noticing how your mother’s eyes lingered on the cracked beams above the counter, as though she were counting how many more days before they collapsed.
When the feeling of it was too much, you went where no one was supposed to go.
The forest was forbidden, yes, but it welcomed you more kindly than the village ever had. The trees leaned low, their branches a shelter. Wildflowers tangled at your ankles, and the streams whispered secrets you never dared tell your mother.
And when you went in the forest, he was there.
You couldn’t always see him. Sometimes he was only a shadow between trunks, or a faint rustle in the leaves. But you knew he was there.
Even when the woods were still, you felt eyes on you. Not cruel. Not yet kind. Only watching.
You should have been afraid. Perhaps you were, at first. But children grow used to danger when it becomes a part of their days.
You carried your fear like another basket in your hands, which was heavy but it became ordinary.
Once, gathering berries, your hem snagged on a thorn. You tugged too hard and stumbled, and the fruit scattering into the dirt. Hot tears stung your eyes, not for the pain, but for the waste. It was foolish, yes, yet you cried anyway.
You looked up through wet lashes and saw them, those two coals burning in the shade. The wolf. He seemed larger than before.
You did not run. Foolish child.
“Don’t laugh at me.” you said. “It wasn’t my fault!”
He tilted his head, and for a moment you heard the faintest rumble. It wasnt quite a growl. Almost like a reply.
Your heart beat so loud you thought it might shake loose out of your chest. When you left, you felt lighter. As though confessing your shame to the shadows had eased something in you.
You didn’t tell anyone about it. How could you? No one would believe that the forest had listened to a mere girl.
As time passed, so had your hope in the world. For the time will never stop for mere dreamers.
The bell above the apothecary door rang, a foreign sound now, and you froze mid sweep, hands gripping the broom so tightly it ached.
Your father’s shoulders tensed behind the counter, jaw tight as he straightened the jars of powdered roots. Your mother’s eyes flicked toward the newcomers, wary, composed, as though she had been expecting them all of her life.
They were the gilded men, with heads high, and their robes of deep red embroidered with gold, coins clinking as they moved. One stepped forward, hands behind his back, a vile smile on his face.
“Good day,” he said. “We have heard of your, how shall I say, services to the village over the years. And we think perhaps we can improve upon them.”
Your stomach knotted. You knew these men. Men who hid in holy trappings. Men. They weren't worthy of such title.
“We have what we need,” Your father’s words did not falter. “The herbs, the roots, they are ours. We tend them with care.”
The man tilted his head, smile widening, his ugly eyes scanning you for a moment, lingering a beat too long before sliding back to your parents.
“Ah, but of course!” he said. “But care alone does not suffice. People desire results. We can provide those results. And in exchange we require only your cooperation!"
Your mother’s fingers twitched, brushing a loose strand of hair from her forehead. “Cooperation?” she asked, trying to calm herself, all though you could see the tears in her eyes.
“What do you mean?”
The man’s gaze flicked to you again. “A simple matter. We wish to purchase the apothecary. Its location, its resources, and its goodwill with the people. We will provide wealth, advancement, a future.”
A laugh slipped from somewhere in your chest. It was bitter. Your hands pressed to your apron as you felt the heat rise in your cheeks.
“A future?” you whispered. “You call it a future, but why does it feels like a cage?”
One of the other men, who was shorter and more rotund with a bald patch on the top of his head, leaned forward.
“Dear girl...” He glanced at you, as if noticing you for the first time. “You work here?" He cocked an eyebrow.
"She is my daughter." Your father began.
"Oh, yes.. lovely, diligent, though unseen. Perhaps you can assist us in the transition?”
You swallowed. Youd rather die than help. Your throat was dry. You wanted to speak, to argue, to tell them they had no right, that this was your father’s work, your mother’s dreams, but the words stuck somewhere behind your heart.
“They will take the shelves,” you heard your mother mutter under her breath to your father, but the words were lost amid the polished laughter of the men. “They will take everything..”
And then you heard your father’s voice, which was sorrowful.
“If we refuse, they will burn us from the village. They will take the apothecary by force, and the people will cheer.”
You felt small and hollow, as the men made their terms clear. Coins were counted, papers slid across the counter, signatures pressed into ink that smelled of rot and control.
The tall man with eyes like polished diamonds turned to you.
“You may stay,” he said softly. “You shall be the maid. Admirable work, yes.” But you did not feel admired.
You felt exposed, like a fish caught in a net. The door closed behind them, the bell ringing one last time. Silence filled the room. You sank onto the floor behind a low shelf, hands gripping your knees, cheeks streaked with tears you hadn’t meant to shed.
"Why did yㅡyou let them...Why?"
“Child,” your mother said, her voice trembling now "We had no choice. Not anymore.”
You pressed your face to your knees, letting the sobs come. And somewhere beneath those tears the memory of the forest stirred, a place where no gilded man could enter, where no coin could buy or threaten.
Again, you ran.
You ran until the cobblestones gave way to soft earth, until the scent of smoke and coin and polished wood faded behind you. Your legs trembled, from exhaustion, from the hurt of helplessness, the spoiled, ugly taste of despair curling on your tongue.
The trees leaned toward you as you stumbled into the forest, leaves brushing your hair like words comfort, roots rising to steady your frantic steps.
Your breaths came unevenly, sharp and desperate and then you finally fell to your knees on the soft earth.
You buried your face in your arms, letting the tears come freely. You felt it all now. The flowers at your feet, the petals damp with dew. Somewhere nearby, a stream murmured, threading its way through the underbrush. You shivered and pressed your body closer to the earth, curling in on yourself.
Hours passed.
When you stirred, the sky was lighter, pink at the edges of the canopy. You looked around, trying to shake some sense into your sleepy mind.
And there he was again.
He did not approach, did not make a sound. He simply stood there, dark and immense, watching and patient, as always.
You lifted your head, blurry eyed. “Iㅡ I can’t do anything right!"
There was a low rustle.
You pressed your hands to your face again, ashamed. Yet you felt seen without judgment, without ridicule. By him.
More hours must have passed in that stillness. When you dared to open your eyes again, the forest had shifted with the afternoon light. Around you, the petals of wildflowers were arranged into a soft, inviting bed, and beside you lay a small pile of berries, dark and ripe.
Golden eyes watched from the shadow line of trees. He had been guarding.
“Youㅡ didn’t leave.”
Something swelled in your chest, fear, yes, but something else, too. Comfort. Wonder? Maybe. A connection to something alive and strong in a world that had often been cruel.
You pressed your hands to the ground and leaned forward, face nearly touching the petals, murmuring, “I’m sorry.. for everything. I know I cry a lot.."
And for the first time in a long while, curled amongst the blossoms with the sweet berries at your side, you dared to let your wild heart rest, even if only for a little while.
As the years passed, so too had your hope in the world.
The village shifted around you, but not toward kindness. The apothecary your parents once ran, now a Coin House with no herbs that filled the shelves, no smell thyme or lavender, only the faint must of old wood and money hungry men. And you still worked there, of course.
Villagers came, yes, but not for cures. They left coins pressed into your hands or on the counter, whispered prayers tucked into envelopes, along the little richness they had. They were trusting, hoping, that one day, some return would be made if they gave it all away now. Some profit. Some miracle.
Your father had left a year ago, or more, although you lost count of time, claiming he needed to secure more patrons. Even if the apothecary was no longer, he still wanted to sell what was left of it.
No one expected him back. Not after three months had passed. After seven moths of him gone, your mother became a ghost of whom she was, counting the little coins left, counting days, counting her strength until it ran thin.
Days came and went, and you were eighteen now. Which meant one thing: you were eligible. And the arrangements had already been made.
The man chosen for you was old and cruel, but rich, yet unmoving as stone. Your mother spoke little when she told you. Your father was now gone, so it was your turn to give back for the many years they have raised you, fed you, clothed you.
And so, the day of the meeting came. Alongside him was the richest of them all, his brother perhaps. They looked related, both with shrunken faces and blue eyes, yet with guts huge from the lot of money they ate on the daily. Gluttony and greed, both stood in front of you.
Greed did not smile, yet his brother spoke softly, as if talking to a child. “Your duty is simple,” he said. “Love him. Bear his children. Keep his house. That is your life now.”
You nodded, but the destain in your eyes was clear. You wanted to bite back, for the taste of ugliness was too much on your tongue and the thorns that pierced your heart were growing.
"What if I do not want to?"
Gluttony turned to his brother in silence, as if considering it. Then, they erupted in laughter, their voices echoing in the empty church.
“You are a child even more so a woman! You will do as you're told.” They both laughed some more, as if seeing you actually take into account what you might actually want was the tastiest meal they’ve ever had.
"Obey, and do not make me repeat myself. You're only but a lowly peasant girl, with no father and a mother on the brink of death. You should feel lucky you were chosen."
You sucked in a deep breath, the wind hitting against the dusty glass windows. You would be damned if you ever cried in front of a man, not again, not ever. You may be forced to marry that heathen of a man, Greed, but no one could force you to love him.
So that was that. You excused yourself and walked out of the church, the sundown hugging you with its golden light.
Alone, you walked the quiet streets of the village, listening to the distant crackles of lanterns, to the clatter of pots and pans as people were preparing supper.
The forest at the edge of the village beckoned. And you slipped toward it, letting your tears fall freely.
Branches arched above like spires, and the earth beneath you was soft. Somewhere in the shadows, that same presence remained.
Tears slipped down your cheeks as you stumbled over a root. You pressed your hands to your face and let it all go, the sobs coming ragged and ugly. You had nowhere to hide now, but the forest did not judge you for that.
You froze, half blind with tears. He came, the wolf. Closer than ever before.
He came forward until his shadow covered yours, and lowered himself until his head pressed into your lap. Your breath hitched. Fingers hovered, trembling, until instinct overcame fear. You touched him. His fur was thicker, softer than you had imagined all these years.
The heat of him seeped through your skirts, steadying you as though he were more real than anything else in the world.
“I don’t know what to do,” you whispered to the wolf. “They want to marry me off. To him. He is.. he’s cruel, and I’ll be nothing but a caged bird.”
The wolf’s chest rose and fell.
“I don’t want to leave. I belong here.” Your voice cracked. “I belong to the trees, and the streams, and the air in this forest. Not to him.”
His ears twitched.
“I wish I was brave,” you confessed. “I wish I could say no. But Mother says we’ll starve otherwise. She says I must be grateful.”
Your fingers sank deeper into his fur, clutching at it. “They all look at me like I’m a coin to be spent. No one asks me what I want. Not once. Not ever.”
The wolf let out a low sound then, a rumble that shaked against your hands, your thighs and your chest. You felt it more than heard it.
“I know,” you said, as if he had spoken. “You understand, don’t you? You’ve been here all along.”
Silence stretched. You curled forward, pressing your forehead to the crown of his head, your tears dampening his fur.
“If you were human, I’d ask you to take me away. Anywhere. Anywhere but here.”
The wolf stilled. If he were human.
There were only five more days left until the ceremony. People you didn't even know were to come to the day you'll be forever tied to that monster.
You were out in the back garden, looking at the now dead plants your dad used to take care of. This patch of earth had been his pride. It used to be a place full of life, now, the stalks were brittle, the soil dry and cracked. A graveyard of what had been. It was truly horrible how much things could change in so small a span of years.
Some crunching on nearby leaves wake you from your sorrowful trance. You lifted your head, and froze. A man stood at the edge of the garden. A villager. No, he couldn't be one. You knew every face, good or bad.
No, this man was someone else.
Tall, broad, his shoulders filling the space as if the air itself had to bend to allow him through. His hair was dark, touched with grey that caught the wan light of dusk, and his jaw was shadowed with rough stubble. His face looked carved from something older than the stone of this earth, something cruel yet tender all at once.
You tried to speak but couldn't.
You felt the strangest pull, not fear exactly, but almost recognition. As though your soul had seen him before, but your eyes never had.
He looked at you, trying to weigh his words as to not scare you away, perhaps.
“You live here?” His voice was lower than you expected. It sounded just like thunder.
You swallowed and nodded. “YㅡYes.” The word snagged in your throat. You hadn’t stammered like this in front of a man since you were a child.
He stepped no closer, though you realized you wished he would. “Strange place for someone like you,” he said quietly, his eyes drifting over the dead garden you were mourning.
You looked down at your hands, embarrassed without knowing why. “It wasn’t always like this.”
When you dared to look up again, he was already walking away, vanishing into the trees.
He came again, and again. Never with warning, never with reason. Sometimes he asked simple things. Whether you liked the woods, whether you feared them.
Sometimes he said nothing at all, only watched you as though he were reading you like a book. You never found the courage to ask who he was.
But each time he came, your shyness only deepened. His presence made you clumsy with words, made your skin burn beneath his gaze, all blushed and warm.
You always waited for him, in the same place, with that same feeling in your stomach.
He was older, rougher, and oh so handsome, nothing like the boys who tried to snicker at you in the square, or the vile man you were about to marry.
On the third night, you slipped away to the forest and the wolf was there, as always, waiting.
“I’ve met someone,” you confessed, cheeks heating though no one else could hear what you had said.
“The most handsome man I’ve ever seen. It seems like... Like he understands, even if he doesn’t say much.”
The wolf’s ears flicked. You laughed softly, reaching out to pet him. “I must sound foolish, don’t I? Telling secrets to a wolf... But I can’t tell anyone else. Not Mother. Not the others. Only you.”
You brushed your fingers through his fur.
“His voice is so soft,” you whispered. “It feels like I’ve heard it before. Maybe in a dream.” The wolf closed his eyes. The forest went utterly still.
Maybe in a dream.
The fourth day came fast.
The house was filled with people and of preparations. Strangers came and went, voices too loud, hands too busy arranging a future you wanted no part of. Your mother’s face was pale, her eyes darting whenever they met yours, as though she couldn’t bear the sight of what she’d done.
You escaped to the garden, as you always did. The plants were still dead. The soil still barren. But at least here the noise of the village could not reach you.
You sat on your little stool by the fence, skirts brushing the dirt, fingers plucking absently at a wilted stem until it snapped.
And as always, he came.
He lingered at the edge of the garden, that towering frame occupying the fading light. He never crossed into the garden as though there was an invisible wall between you two.
He didn’t speak and only watched you with that unreadable gaze, his arms folded across his chest.
You tried not to look at him too long. Tried not to let him see the way your throat tightened or how your heart was knocking against your ribs.
But the silence pressed on you until you thought you might choke. When at last he turned to leave, something in you broke.
“I will get married tomorrow!” you called. The words tore from your throat louder than you’d meant. You were desperate.
You rose from your stool, fists clenching at your sides. “I do not want to,” your voice cracked, “but I must.”
Slowly, he turned his head, just enough to glance over his shoulder. In the dim light, you saw the sharp set of his jaw.
“Why must I marry someone whom I do not love?” you asked, your voice breaking into a sob. “Why must I give myself to a man I despise?”
For a long, long moment, he said nothing. Did he even hear you?
“The world is a cruel place, little miss.”
He turned his back again, striding away, but his voice you still heard as he walked in the coming darkness. “But you will get your happiness in no time.”
He was gone just like that, swallowed whole by the forest.
You stood alone in your silence, tears running down your face like a cascade.
The door snapped open behind you.
“What are you doing out here? Who are you talking to?” your mother’s voice cut like a whip across your skin.
You turned quickly, dragging the back of your hand across your cheeks, but it was too late. Her eyes narrowed, catching the redness in yours.
“Is this how you plan to make these plants come back alive?” she snapped, gesturing to the withered stalks around you. “Crying over them?”
Your frown deepened, and you wiped your tears more harshly this time, angry at yourself for letting her see. Angry at the world for making you cry at all.
Her shoulders lowered just slightly. The sharpness in her tone gave way to something softer, as she sighed. “Come, child. It’s dark.”
You hesitated, glancing back once at the trees.
“Come inside.” she said again, louder now.
And though every part of you longed to run into the forest and follow him, you obeyed.
The morning of your wedding dawned without mercy.
Church bells tolled in the square as if the iron itself knew what fate they were striking for you. Your mother’s hands trembled as she drew the white gown over your shoulders.
The cloth was rich, far richer than anything you had ever owned yet it felt like a shroud, heavy and suffocating you.
“Stand still,” she whispered sharply. “Do not shame me before them.”
You stood stiff as she pinned the veil into your hair. It fell like a curtain of smoke over your face, blurring the world into shadow. When you looked down at yourself, the white was blinding, sanctified but you knew it wasn’t purity they celebrated. It was possession.
“They will see you as a proper wife,” your mother muttered, tying the last ribbon at your waist. “And perhaps you will know comfort. Perhaps not. But you must endure, child.”
You turned your face toward her, though the veil softened her features. “Do you call this comfort?”
Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “Do not make me answer that! The world has no patience for women who dream too loudly.”
The door opened. The sound of voices carried from outside, of villagers gathering, the clatter of carts, the laughter of children who did not know better.
Your stomach twisted.
The walk to the chapel felt endless. Each step made you feel as if you were walking to your own funeral. Villagers turned their heads as you passed, some smiling, some whispering behind their hands.
A few looked at you with pity. None dared to speak.
The chapel loomed ahead, its spire stabbing the sky. Inside, candles flickered against the stone, throwing long shadows. The priest stood ready, his robes gleaming red and gold. Beside him, your groom waited.
The Greed. He was older than you by decades, his face sagging like wax melted in the sun. Rings glittered on every finger, but his eyes were small, sharp and hungry. When you approached, he grinned, a crooked thing of a smile.
“Lift her veil,” he ordered to the best man, who was there to make sure you will not try to run away.
The man reached for you, and for a moment, you thought to pull back, but your mother’s hand pressed at your back, forcing you forward. The veil was lifted.
The groom’s eyes swept over your face, down your form, slow and possessive. “You shall give me strong sons.” he said.
The priest cleared his throat, raising his hands. “Before the eyes of the gods and of men, we bind these two.”
The groom’s hand clamped down on yours, his nails digging into your glove. His smile was a sneer, fat, greedy and assured. The priest’s voice rose again.
“Let no one put asunder what is bound this day—”
The doors exploded.
Wood splintered, crashing inward as a sound like thunder split the air. A growl rolled through the chapel, low and guttural vibrating the very stones of it.
The wolf filled the doorway.
Gasps, screams, prayers, a flood of voices all at once. His teeth gleamed wet, his eyes burned like molten moons. He stepped forward, claws raking the stone, and the people fell back.
“Beast!” the priest yelled, holding his relic high. “Abomination!”
The wolf lunged. The relic snapped like kindling between his jaws, the priest crumpling beneath him with a scream that ended wet.
Panic erupted. Guests scrambled over pews, mothers shielding children, men fumbling for weapons they had no courage to use.
The wolf moved through them like fire through dry fields. He was unstoppable, merciless. He ripped one man in half, sent another crashing against the altar with a swipe of his large paw. The whole building shook with the force of his fury.
Your mother grabbed your wrist. “Run!” she gasped, tugging you toward the side door. But the crush of bodies shoved her back. You saw her eyes widen with tears before the crowd carried her away.
The groom shrieked, pushing you aside as he tried to flee, yet his velvet robes tangled his legs. He stumbled, falling hard. The wolf’s head snapped toward him, lips curling back over fangs.
“No—!” the man wailed. “Stay away you abomination!”
The wolf’s jaws closed on his neck, dragging him across the stone. His scream ripped through the chapel as blood sprayed the white floor.
The wolf shook him like a rag, bones cracking, flesh tearing.
You pressed against the altar, your veil slipping, your hands shaking, and yet your heart did not cower. Not from him.
The wolf dropped what was left of the man. He turned, his chest heaving, blood matting his muzzle. His eyes locked on yours.
You thought it must be all a dream, surely. But then he began to change. From beast to man.
His form convulsed, stretching, breaking. Bones shifted beneath fur, muscle twisting, reshaping. Claws curled back into fingers, fur melting into skin slick with sweat and blood, the growls faded into a human gasp.
When it ended, he stood before you. The man from the garden.
His chest rose and fell, blood running down his arms, his hands. His eyes, the same golden fire, fixed on you.
The chapel lay in ruin around you, the floor slick with blood, streaking your once white gown. The cries of the dying were echoing off the stone.
You swallowed. “You…” The word barely scraped out by your lips. “You killed them all.”
His gaze didn’t flinch. “I spared who deserved sparing.” His voice was low. “The rest—” He glanced briefly toward the broken benches, the dead people, the corpse of the man you were meant to wed. His lip curled. “The rest were vermin.”
Your throat tightened. “But you—” you shook your head, tears streaking down your cheeks. “You’re the wolf.”
“And you were never afraid.”
“I was,” you whispered. “At first. I thoughtㅡ I thought you might devour me.”
“And yet,” his voice rumbled, “you stayed.”
“Why me?” You blinked hard. “Why not anyone else? Why watch over me?”
His breath shuddered as he stopped just before you, close enough that you could smell the copper on his skin. “Because you were never theirs to take,” he said. “Because you are mine.”
“Yours?”
The corner of his mouth curled in a smile, but heavy, sorrowful. “Do you not feel it?” His eyes searched yours.
“All those nights you spoke to me as though I could answer? All those tears you spilled into the earth, thinking no one cared? I was there. Always.”
Your hand lifted, trembling, and you touched your chest where your heart thundered. “I thoughtㅡ I thought I was imagining it.”
“You were not imagining me.” He reached then, slowly, taking your hand in his. His fingers were slick with blood, staining yours, binding them together. He lifted it, bowing his head, pressing his lips hard against your knuckles.
You gasped softly, your tears slipping faster. “You’re covered in blood, are you hurt?”
His eyes flicked up, still holding your hand against his mouth. “Would you rather I left you to him? To a life of chains?”
“No!” The word burst out. “I would rather die than belong to him.”
He released a sharp breath, almost a laugh. “Good. Then you belong to me.”
Your other hand rose, cupping his cheek. The blood was now dry. Still, he leaned into your touch, his eyes slipping shut in relief. “Say it,” he murmured.
“I belong to you.”
His eyes snapped open. And then his mouth crashed against yours.
The kiss was brutal, desperate, full of teeth and hunger. His hand tangled in your hair, pulling you close, as if he might fuse you to him forever.
He has waited for so long.
The taste of his tongue was iron and smoke, your lips smeared with blood, his, yours, theirs, you didn’t care. You clung to him, hands gripping his shoulders as if he gave you life.
was just thinking about how old as fuck bf Joel would have you in bed by 9pm and had to write it 😭😭 all fluff xx
It’s 8:42 when he flicks off the living room lamp with a sigh, the whole house dipping into that familiar, sleepy hush. You’re already brushing your teeth, barefoot in his flannel that hangs loose and low, the sleeves swallowing your hands as you lean over the sink. He watches you from the hallway like he always does, arms crossed, eyes soft, like he still can’t believe you’re here—his—night after night.
By 8:56, you’re both under the covers. Clean sheets. Fresh pajamas. His arm is warm around your waist and the windows are cracked just enough to let the breeze in. The town outside is quiet. Your limbs are tangled, skin on skin, and he smells like cedarwood and peppermint toothpaste and the kind of comfort you never thought you’d get to keep.
You glance at the clock. 8:59.
“You made me boring,” you whisper, smiling into his chest. “I used to be wild. Fun. The last one to leave the party.”
Joel’s voice is low, sleep-soft. “You still fun. You’re just tired now.”
“Because I’m in bed at nine. You’ve aged me.”
He snorts, the sound muffled by your hair. “You’re the one who yawned through dinner.”
“You were the one talking about home insulation and firewood like it was the highlight of your week.”
He chuckles again, hand smoothing down your back beneath the blanket. “That’s ‘cause it was.”
You bite back a laugh, snuggling closer, cheek pressed to his chest. You can hear his heartbeat—steady, warm, yours. His other hand cups the back of your head like he needs to keep you there, needs to hold on even in sleep.
“You like our little life?” he asks suddenly, voice quieter now, almost shy.
You blink up at him, and the look on his face is so open, so tender, it makes your breath catch. That furrow between his brows, the one he always wears like a shield, is gone. He looks… safe. Happy. Home.
“I love our little life,” you whisper. “I’d go to bed at 7 if it meant doing it with you.”
He smiles. Really smiles. The kind that starts in his eyes, slow and crooked and completely devastating.
And then he leans in, presses the softest kiss to your lips, like a thank-you. Like a goodnight. Like a promise.
summary: swiping left and right on tinder, you think you match with Joel Miller, a handsome single dad in his late 30s. Feeling enamored and horny you decide to meet in person, only to be met with an almost completely different person.
warnings: darkfic, dub-con eliments due to alcohol intoxication, gaslighting, very big age gap [Joel is 61], switching POVs, explicit sexual content. Some tags are not added to avoid spoilers, dm me if you need the full list.
reader description: afab she/her, has hair long enough to be pulled; has boobs and ass; reader mid to late 20s-early 30s.
word count: 6,2k
a/n: thank you for all of the excitement and interest you'd shown to this idea, i have been working on it for some time and i'm finally happy to show you part one. huge thanks to @arcanefox207 , Ally helped me to polish this chapter and shown me a lot of support which i truly appreciate <3
READ ON AO3
MASTERLIST | part 2
Dating wasn’t fun. It always felt like an inescapable chore for you, and you tried to avoid it at all costs. Hiding your face in your morning cup of tea when attacked by your mom’s questions, her voice distorted by poor video connection. Joking only to avoid the topic of boyfriends and girlfriends when your friend kept nagging you about it. Losing yourself in an unsatisfactory myriad of hands that belonged to faceless people when the nights got too cold for empty sheets.
You looked at your table, a small hand-made sign read “do better” in your own handwriting. And that was exactly what you were going to do. You were going to kill not two, but three birds with one stone, and that stone was going to be going on a date. A real, proper date, with excruciatingly predictable questions and awkward first touches. And you were going to have fun.
On the fourth hour of swiping Tinder, you were a breath away from ghosting everyone you knew and hiding in the Peruvian Amazonia for the rest of your life. The few conversations that you managed to have quickly died out when the person you talked to learned what you were there for. A month ago you’d find a pretty face and invite them over to smoke and have some fun, but that wasn’t a great start for an actual relationship. No, your fuckgirl days were over, so you went back to swiping.
And that was when you saw him.
Joel M., 39
Southern gentleman with a beautiful daughter. Work in construction, so I can build you a house. I am looking for a real connection, please, respect that.
God, he was handsome. Your mouth started salivating as you swiped through his pictures. He was broad, tall and had a tool in his hand. Not the one you immediately started wondering about, but it looked like at least he didn’t lie in his description. Feeling like a complete creep, you screenshotted his profile. If you weren’t a match, at least you’d have someone pretty to think about before going to bed tonight.
Gently, as if afraid, you swiped right. Your screen lit up, and so did your face, you gave a wide grin to your phone. “It’s a match!”
He was too good to be true. A gentleman, he didn’t lie there. Joel gave you the exact amount of attention to make you run towards your phone whenever it rang. It was definitely nothing like you expected. He was attentive, remembering what you said and when, never shied away from your questions, and on top of that he was devastatingly hot.
You heard a blip of a new message and unlocked your phone, a smile already plastered on your face like a Pavlovian reaction.
[Joel M.]: I was thinking, we seem to have a nice connection here, don’t we?
[You]: I think so, too. A little unbelievable, but I am feeling hopeful.
[Joel M.]: Unbelievable how?[You]: Unbelievable that no one snatched you up earlier. From where I am sitting, you look like a full package.
[Joel M.]: Well, you’re sitting awfully far away, so I see how it looks like that. Why don’t we meet in person and find out if you still think the same, darlin?
[You]: Joel, are you inviting me on a date?
[Joel M.]: Only if you’re accepting. How about a dinner at my place? I am a pretty decent cook.
Your hand hovered above the screen. It wasn’t smart, going to a man’s place for your first date. He could be a creep, he could be a murderer… But then again, you could never brag about your self preservation instincts, sometimes you just thought with a little kitty purring between your legs.
You tapped on his profile again, looking at the zoomed in picture of his face. His brown eyes looked sad, but kind. A half-smile tugged on his soft-looking lips. Just a few sprinkles of salt and pepper in his hair. Even if he turned out to be a creep, you’d never had such a handsome lay before, and you were planning to check all of his tools as soon as you could, you thought to yourself before typing your reply.
[You]: I’d love that. Send me the address?
You weren’t worried, not really. You never struggled with too low of self-esteem. You knew your strong suits, and you wore them like armor. The upcoming date sent a pleasant shiver down your back, anticipation made you giggle into the void of your lonely apartment. The closer the day came, the giddier you became.
So on the fateful night you had enough confidence to pick out the dress that was a bit uncomfortable but looked gorgeous on your body. You smacked some lipstick that complemented the shade of your skin, grabbed a small purse and a bottle of wine and winked at your reflection in the mirror. You looked good, you felt even better.
August kept tricking you with its weather, the days still suffocated you with heat while the nights were unpleasantly chilly. You hugged your naked shoulders and rubbed your skin in an attempt to warm up as you waited for your Uber to arrive.
You got inside the white Honda Civic, the smell of cigarettes unpleasantly soaked into the seats so you opened up the window praying that it wouldn’t stink up your dress. The driver acknowledged you with a small grunt and a nod, you did the same, not willing to start a conversation. The estimated forty minutes dragged out and became an hour in the man’s GPS, of course you got stuck in traffic it was just your luck. And on your way to a literal dream man, no less.
Your kitten heel kept tapping on the car floor, the annoyed-looking driver gave you a stern look in the rear view mirror that you completely ignored. You needed to warn Joel that you were going to be late, and it made you want to grind your teeth. You hated being late, be that a party, a dentist appointment or a walk in the park with a friend. It made you feel guilty, leaving your palms sticky with cold sweat. You clearly weren’t going to make a good first impression, and with the way you chewed your lip bloody, you might not even get a kiss. You looked at the picture of him you shamelessly saved to your camera roll. Out of the two of you, you were definitely winning the creep competition, while he was just a dream come true.
You zoomed in on his face, your thumb caressed the pixels of his skin. There were smile lines around his lips, and you wondered what made him laugh so hard throughout his life that the remnants of the gesture permanently cut themself into his skin. Joel’s eyes were gleaming with youthful mischief, something you’d thought a person loses after having a child, but he clearly proved you wrong. Sun made his brown look like amber, adding to the overall handsomeness of the man. You imagined yourself next to him – yes, it was way too early, but you couldn’t keep your mind from wandering – he’d be taller, bigger than you, his strong hand on your lower back as you walk through the city. The eyes of men and women hungry to have what’s yours, but he’d only look at you. Yes, he was a bit older, but still young enough to have you on his arm without dealing with accusatory stares and venomous whispers behind your back.
A loud honking from the car behind you made you jump in your seat. The line of cars finally started moving and it brought a sense of relief to you. You had 20 more minutes, maybe you were still going to make it.
The sound of your heels kissing the pavement echoed like gunfire through the neighborhood. When your taxi left you at the needed address, you looked around. It wasn’t too late, the small houses still looked alive with yellow lights and muffled voices. You took a deep breath, straightened your back and looked in front of yourself, examining the location.
From the outside, Joel’s house looked nice. Nothing too fancy, the white paint a bit chapped, but the porch looked recently freshened up. A sturdy looking rocking chair covered with a blanket and a pillow gave the place a cozy feeling. His lawn was perfectly trimmed, and you imagined watching him mow it from that same porch with an iced tea in your hand. He’d be sweaty and shirtless, you’d drag him inside to fuck before he finished even a third of the territory. You clenched your thighs, a small pool of wetness gathering in your thongs. You better keep that thought away or you’d jump the poor man’s bones before he had the chance to say hello.
You checked your phone, 8:27 PM. Not too late, even acceptable in some countries, you tried to cheer yourself on. You hoped he wasn’t as insane about being late as you were or here went your first date in years. Gently, you tapped on the wooden door, the sound of someone approaching from the other side made you squeeze the bottle neck harder.
When the door flew open, you stretched out the hand holding the wine and fired out an apology in the most comical way you could, your eyes tightly shut.
“I’m so sorry I’m late, the traffic was horrendous. I promise I am usually never late, ever.” When no reply followed, you opened your eyes, a smile still tugging on your lips as you took in the man in front of you. It was both Joel and not. With your hand still outstretched, your mouth dropped with a hundred different questions, but you only managed to ask one. “Joel?”
“Hello, darlin’.”
“Is this some kind of a joke? Are you his dad or something?”
The man in front of you was not in his late thirties, hell, he wasn’t even in his late forties! The Joel that was staring at you looked pretty old, mid-fifties at least, you thought to yourself. His hair was mostly salt, no pepper in sight. It was inches longer than in the picture, soft-looking, it curled at the bottom. He was as tall and broad as you imagined, and it did give a little pang to your core that you quickly shut off. His face was ridden in wrinkles, prominent crows feet near his eyes that were still sad, still brown. You had half a thought to turn around and order yourself an Uber home, but the bewildered look on his face made you stop where you were.
“Darlin’, I know what’s going through your head right now, because I promise I didn’t expect you to be this young either! It must’ve been Sarah, my baby girl. She set up this thing, said she was tired of seeing her old man sad an’ miserable. Guess she didn’t think I was mighty attractive anymore.” He says with a self-deprecating chuckle. “She just straight up told me today that a nice woman would come over for a dinner, said she’d be here too, and if I loved her I had better prepared my nicest shirt an’ all. Christ, what was that girl thinking?”
You caught yourself feeling bad for the man, your heart clenching. He was still definitely handsome. His stomach was slightly more prominent and his was shirt hugging him tightly in the middle. His hand that tucked a little white strand of hair behind his ear matched his face in little sun spots, skin that had been kissed by the burning star for longer than you’d been alive. But he still got it, in a silver fox kind of way. Poor man, put into such an embarrassing situation by his own daughter. Being willingly childfree had never looked more appealing to you.
“You came all the way here just to be disappointed, I can’t tell you how-“
“I’m not disappointed,” you interrupted him quickly and stepped forward, an unknown force drove your hand to squeeze his forearm in a reassuring gesture. His eyes dropped when your manicured nails dug into his ironed flannel. “Just surprised, but that’s not a bad thing. We both unknowingly catfished each other.”
“Catfish? Ain’t that a type of fish?”
“No,” you laughed lightheartedly, the man was adorable. The cold breeze picked up, and you were reminded that you were still on the porch, if any neighbors were out they were definitely getting a fresh batch of gossip to discuss before sleep. “It’s when you… You know what, no matter, it’s not important.”
Joel looked hesitant, his jaw ticked and you noticed him look you up and down before swallowing hard. Was he blushing?
“I want to make it up to you before you go. I made us a nice dinner when I thought you were umm… age appropriate,” Joel tightened his lips and gave you an apologetic smile. “It ain’t catfish, just a steak, but I swear on my mama, it’s good.”
Before you could respond, your stomach growled making the decision for you. Your hand jumped to it, fisting the material of your dress as if trying to silence the embarrassing sound.
“Well, I don’t see any harm in that,” you smiled, accepting Joel’s invitation. The man looked harmless and you didn’t want to leave him sad and miserable, it seemed like he felt guilty enough. “It was quite a long drive.” Maybe it all could become a funny story you both would tell your friends. Separately.
He stepped aside and you waltzed inside his house. It was big enough to still be cozy without making you feel trapped. The warm light made everything look safe and homey, hardwood floor creaked gently under your footsteps. The door lock clicked behind you and you turned around.
Joel was looking at you, a more confident smile now stretching his lips. The soft lighting took a few years off his face, and once again you noted that the man aged like a fine wine. That reminded you of the bottle you were still tightly gripping in your hand, and you stretched it out to Joel for the second time that night. He accepted with a muttered ‘thank you’.
“Feel at home, sweetheart, I’ll just grab something real quick.” Joel pointed towards his kitchen, the space was open, luring you in with a mouth-watering smell.
You felt awkward walking around a stranger’s house, but followed his instructions.
You didn’t see the way his eyes lingered on the exposed skin of the back of your thighs, his tongue flicking over his lower lip in anticipation.
He disappeared further into the hallway, and you made your way towards the dining table.
Alone, you took the opportunity to study the place you were allowed in. Unfortunately, it wasn’t very unique, or maybe you were just a shitty detective. Joel’s kitchen that spilled out into a dining room was disappointingly ordinary. Walls painted a soft yellow; polished doors of wooden cupboards and kitchen cabinets that looked old but taken care of; a four-person dining table that was now set with a few plates, simple utensils, napkins and wine glasses. You narrowed your eyes trying to see the pictures that were stuck to the fridge with small butterfly magnets. Your long ride and empty stomach must’ve taken a toll on your eyesight so you could barely make out Joel in those. There was a picture of him with another man, and… You leaned over the table as if trying to get closer, to see better.
“You know, you can just come closer to the fridge.” Joel’s chuckle made you jump in your seat.
“Sorry, I was just,” the right explanation failed you, and you surrendered. “I was just being nosy.”
“Didn’t catch you going through my drawers, so no harm. Can’t really snoop if it’s out there to see, right?” Joel set the opened bottle of the wine you’d brought on the table and waved a bottle opener in his right hand. “Haven’t had wine in some time so had to go look for this guy,” he explained.
“Whatever you made, it smells delicious,” you smiled at him. The sucking feeling in your stomach became uncomfortable, and you cursed at yourself internally for skipping lunch.
“Well then, let’s get some of it in you, shall we?”
Joel seemed way more relaxed, maybe your agreement to spend time with him made him feel less guilty for his daughter’s actions; or maybe it was the confidence of being a host. Either way, it looked good on him.
You didn’t stop your eye from wandering over his frame while he looked away, putting food on your plates. His dark green shirt was snug around his broad shoulders, the soft-looking material translated the feeling of warmth and comfort you lacked in your dress. He had blue jeans on, and you felt your cheeks heat up when you noticed a firm ass hidden behind the rough fabric. Your hand left the table, and you tugged at your bottom lip absent-mindlessly. What was twenty more years? He turned around and since your eyes hadn't moved, you were now shamelessly staring at his crotch. The jeans did not hide much.
You snapped your face up immediately at Joel’s quiet cough. There was a barely hidden smirk on his face, so you decided that no harm was done. So what if you gave the man a quiet compliment? You’d been doing that for the last two weeks, even though apparently his daughter was the one responding to them. You could spare some flirting for the poor guy, he looked like he enjoyed a bit of your harmless attention.
He didn’t lie, he was a decent cook. The meat melted on your tongue and the wine you brought complimented it nicely. You didn’t notice the way your glass was always full, Joel’s stories from the past kept you too entranced.
Heat was creeping up your chest, settling in your cheeks and you moved the wine glass away. You could tolerate a full bottle without being visibly affected, not your proudest trick but it was what it was. Yet, now you felt like you’d emptied at least a couple of bottles on an empty stomach, even though the bottle on the table proved otherwise. You felt dizzy, but not in a bad way, just more relaxed than you were planning to be. Joel looked more handsome every minute, his syrupy thick voice lulled you into a trance-like headspace.
“Can’t lie, you look mighty pretty, darlin’. Had I been thirty years younger it’d be hard to keep my hands to myself.”
Wine dimmed your instincts, so you just giggled. Joel’s eyes darkened as he tripped his gaze from your face to your bust, your breasts straining against the silk fabric of your dress. You noticed him looking and cleared your throat, tits jiggling slightly.
“Forgive an old man, sweetheart?” There was nothing sorry about his tone, but it slipped your mind completely, your guard almost all the way down. “As I said, haven't had a pretty thing like you here in ages.”
You tried to study his face, your brain foggy as you struggled to figure him out. “You compliment like a man deep in the dating pool,” you smirked, “makes it hard to believe it’s all an accident. Maybe you actually lured me in here
intentionally?” You raised your eyebrows, but couldn’t handle your own silly accusation, breaking down in giggles.
“Don’t worry, darlin’, this old dog is all bark no bite.” His smile looked sincere, kind laughter leaving his wet lips and he gave you a wink.
“You’re not that old,” your voice dragged the words out like you wanted to convince yourself more than him. You felt hot all over and you weren’t sure if it was the result of the wine you drank.
“You’re too kind, sweetheart, no need to spare my feelings. My prime is long behind the horizon.”
“No, you’re actually very handsome,” you didn’t lie, anyone with a good working set of eyes would see his attractiveness, and you had two weeks to cement it in your brain. “You have a very nice smile, and your hands,” your eyes dropped on the table where a giant fist was curled around his fork. “A lot of women appreciate a good set of hands.”
“Learned to work with them pretty well, too.” Joel nodded and smirked. “Leaking faucets, clogged drainage. Can fix it all.”
In your mind that phrase sounded naughtier than you were sure the man intended it to, and you reprimanded yourself, feeling a different kind of heat rise from your belly. With one swift movement you’ve emptied what was left in your glass of wine, forgetting about your need to somehow get home after dinner. Joel only poured some more in your glass, smiling softly.
He learned the dance moves long ago. Pretty birds like you were comfortably predictable, and even though you oozed a different kind of odor, he knew exactly what to say. He watched you sip your wine with ease, his own glass barely touched on the table.
When the last piece of salad was cleaned off your plate, you felt a pleasant fullness in your belly. Your head was heavy in a sleepy kind of way, and you looked around, trying to find something to hold your attention on. Your eyes skimmed the living room, from where you were sitting you could see an old couch, in some spots it was now more beige than brown, its big cushions looked soft and the blue quilt draped over the back of it was calling your name.
There was a guitar leaning against one of the armrests and you moved your eyes back at Joel who was silently studying you.
“You play that?” You blindly pointed your thumb towards the strategically placed instrument and Joel curtly nodded.
“I pluck the strings, sometimes something bearable comes out.” He joked, the apples of his cheeks saturated with color and you reached your hand to take his
and gently squeezed it. Joel’s skin turned out to be warm and dry, the sensation of giving him such an innocent touch tingled on your fingertips.
“I noticed you tend to undersell yourself. Would you play something for me?” You didn’t want to leave yet, and your empty plate didn’t really leave you a reason to stay. You tilted your head to the right and gave Joel a sweet smile, hoping he’d succumb to your charm. He didn’t wait long before returning the soft gesture. Slowly, he got off his seat. His figure loomed above you for a quiet moment before he outstretched his palm.
“I’d never be able to refuse you,” he admitted. Your hand drowned in his and he tugged you up. You almost crushed into his broad chest, but to your own dismay he took a step back. Your insides throbbed, the smell of his cologne mixed with his own odor awoke every single receptor on your skin.
“Do you like old stuff?”
“I’m still here,” you quipped and shrugged your shoulders innocently. Joel stopped, making sure you saw him roll his eyes in fake annoyance. He couldn’t contain the breathy laugh, though, so you knew he got your joke.
You moved towards the couch, while Joel walked a step behind you, enjoying the view of your ass in a skin tight dress. The outline of your thongs was visible to him, and he smiled to himself, maybe you weren’t as innocent as you pretended to be. Joel bit the inside of his cheek to refrain from any comments.
His hand hugged the neck of the guitar confidently, while you made yourself comfortable on the couch.
“I think I know just the thing.”
Your eyes never left his fingers as he started to hum an unfamiliar melody.
His voice lulled you in, deep vibrations as he plucked the strings reverberated in your chest. You felt so warm inside, the heat that was pooling in the depth of your belly rose and touched your chest, neck, the tips of your fingers. The dress clung to your skin unpleasantly and for a moment you wished you could take it off. Was it so wrong?
Your eyes traced Joel’s face, the sharp angle of his nose, the tip of it twitching as he sang gently. His lips caressed the words with a tenderness of a lover and you wondered when was the last time they did the same to a woman. Your thighs tightened as your body already knew something your mind only danced around. You shifted in your seat, moving closer to Joel, letting your knees touch.His eyes found yours, a question burning in his browns. You shrugged your shoulders and gave him a small smile, he smiled back. The melody continued, his warm timbre embracing the words.
Maybe tomorrow, honey,
Some place down the line, I’ll wake up older
So much older, mama,
I’ll wake up older, and I’ll just stop all my trying
Your fingers drew patterns on your dress, nails picking at the seam with nervousness. The fire in the center of you gave you confidence to follow through, and your hand ended up on Joel’s knee, slowly moving up until your pinky touched the wood of his guitar. The melody didn’t falter, but his voice did.
“Whatcha doin’, sweetheart?”
“It is a date, isn’t it?” The shreds of your confidence only allowed you to squeeze his thigh with a hint, yet your eyes looked anywhere but his face.
“You shouldn’t do something like that to an old man like me, will break my heart when you leave,” he sounded so painfully sad, it made your heart ache as bad as your pussy. You looked him in the eye then, god, he was so handsome.
“What if I don’t leave?” You challenged him like a mouse challenging a lion. Joel shook his head, his hand gripping the guitar’s neck viciously.
“Stop playing with me, darlin’.”
“What if I’m not playing?”
You expected another sad plea, another crack in his voice. But instead, he put his guitar to the side and spread his legs wider than before. “Then prove it.” He husked out. “Prove that you know what you’re doing.”
There was no mistake in what he meant. His voice added a new depth into it, eyes glowed with something dark. Passion, you thought. Need. The one that was pushing you to your knees at that same moment. The one that numbed your skin when your bones hit the hardwood floor between his spread thighs. The one that guided your hands to his zipper before you could even steal a kiss off his tantalizing lips.
He was hot underneath his clothes, his skin was burning like he had a fever and you were almost too impatient to be gentle. Joel lifted his hips just enough to help you tug his jeans down, his grey cotton boxers followed. He watched you intently, and you watched his half-hard cock lay heavily on his full balls. They were hanging low, their size intimidating. But no more intimidating than the main course.
You weren’t offended that he wasn’t fully hard yet, still, Joel took you by the chin and made you look at him. “Sorry, darlin’, you’re the prettiest girl I’ve seen in a long time, but at my age, it’s just not enough anymore.”
You nodded, your mouth flooding with saliva at the thought of him growing under your tongue. He was thick, veiny, more veiny than the dicks you’d seen
before so you thought it was an age thing, however the vines surrounding his shaft only made you whimper harder, thighs squelching with your arousal.
You leaned forward, inhaling full lungs of him. It was heady, strong, and made you dizzier than all the wine you drank. You reached your hand out with the intent of touching his cock, but Joel stopped you.
“Touch yourself.” For the first time you heard something dark in his melody. Commanding.
“What?” You were confused. Did he want you to just play with yourself? Because you were on the verge of bursting if he didn’t let you get closer to his cock.
“Put your little hand in your panties and slick it up with all the sweet juices that have been leaking out of you since the moment you saw me, darlin’.” Your mouth fell open, hand following his order under Joel’s dominant gaze. “Then you can wrap it around my dick, and prove to me that you really want this.”
It was so easy to just do what he said, without questioning the moral, the consequences. Your hand was wet with your arousal, pussy begging to keep it
there, to give some attention to your clit, but your mind was set on the man before you.
He hissed when you wrapped your slick hand around his shaft and started jerking it slowly, feeling the girth of him thrum with growing desire. You looked at his cock, entranced. His shaft was shining with your own juices, a pink head became deeper in color as more blood rushed to his cock. You swiped your thumb over it, a tiny drop of precum glistening in his slit.
“You’re doin’ such a good job, angel.” Joel’s hoarse voice was almost a whisper. You felt the steam coming from him, it made you sweat, your breath hitching. “Why don’t you put that mouth to use, hm, darlin’? You speak awful lot with it.”
It almost made you giggle, a plan forming in your head. Instead of letting his cock in the scorching wetness of your mouth, your head dropped lower. You
stuck your tongue out, lathering his heavy balls in your saliva. They were fuzzy, like a ripe peach, and you massaged them with the wet muscle.
“Fuck, ain’t nothing angelic about you, huh?” Joel’s voice was barely recognizable, hungry and low it vibrated in your pussy. You opened your mouth wider, sucking his balls in turn. “That’s right, making me feel so good, sucking on my balls like that. Come on, baby, use your tongue.”
You tried to alternate between licking and sucking on his ballsack, your spit drooling over your chin while you were panting like a rabid dog. The only thing that mocked your ladylikeness was your goddamn dress, and it was almost drenched in your own slick at this point.
“Good girl, sucking on my balls like it’s what you came here for. Came here to make an old man cum? What a perverted little girl you are, sweetheart.” Your pussy tingled with your praise. The mouth on him made your head spin, like a newfound drug that affected only you he seeped under your skin making you pant and moan as you continued pleasuring him. Your hand jerked his thick cock in tandem with your mouth on his balls. Joel’s eyes never left you, as he continued praising you. “Mmhm, that’s good, drench ‘em, fuck you’re a dirty one.”
You felt his hand at the back of your head as it pressed you harder into him, your nose was forced into his perineum and he almost humped your face with his groin. Your tongue hung out, and he managed to slide his balls across it before it almost went too low. The tip of your tongue almost touching his puckered hole covered in more hair.
“Not today,” you heard him grumble before tugging you up. “Come on, darlin’, don’t make me waste a load.” He pushed on your cheeks with his hand, feeding you his cock in one movement. It was a lot to take, your teeth barely scraping his shaft, and you used your tongue to protect the underside. “Take it all, come on, darlin’, you’re the one who wanted it.”
Intoxication and arousal didn’t mix well, as you just moaned pathetically around him, letting him deeper in your throat. It bulged with the sheer size of his dick, you felt it, uncomfortable, but you couldn’t move, your body too heavy and tired. Instead, your hands found his wet balls, already tight and ready to blow every drop of cum he’d been saving for you. You tried to fit them in your hand, gently tugging at his sack to stimulate him further.
“Ready, sweetheart? I better not see you waste a drop.” His hips bucked, and your nose was pressed into the soft tuft of his grey pubes. Joel pressed your head into him harder as his hot load trickled down your throat. You tried to breathe through your nose, the lack of oxygen blackening your vision.
He pulled out seconds before you were ready to pass out.
“Gotta tap my leg or somethin’, sugar. I don’t need you dying with my cock still in your throat.” You chuckled, not sure why. Joel placed his hand on your cheek, his thumb tracing your lower lip, slippery with your saliva. His whisper sounded gentle, “God, you’re a mess. Beautiful.”
You didn’t trust your throat to work, so instead, you tried to get up on your trembling legs. Your pussy still screamed for release, so wet you could feel your arousal escaping your thongs and dripping down your leg. You hiked the skirt of your dress up, not an ounce of shame inside, and straddled Joel.
“Whoa, darlin’, slow down,” his hands dropped to your hips, keeping you in place. Your brows furrowed. He didn’t look like a man who’d let a lady down. “Why don’t we change our location?”
You didn’t get an opportunity to look around, your feet scrambling as he tugged you into a dark room. His pants were up, but undone, and you lost your heels somewhere along the way, your dress still hiked up like a common whore.
Everything was spinning, so when he dropped on the bed at first you thought he fell. His voice was navigating you through the darkness, but you could barely concentrate on it.
“Come here, angel, let this old man take care of your pretty pussy.” Joel smacked his lips, and guided you to climb on top of him, legs on each side of his body until your pussy hovered over his face.
“Panties,” you whimpered and heard an immediate crack of fabric ripping.
“Sorry, darlin’, can’t make you wait any longer,” his face pressed into the side of your thigh, sticky with your own juices, and you whimpered pathetically at the texture of his scruff scratching your sensitive skin. “Smell so good, fresh, like a new doll.”
You couldn’t understand what he meant, you didn’t even try to. When his lips latched onto your clit, your head tilted back and you let out a loud moan. Joel only moaned back, the sound penetrating your pussy alongside his tongue.
His hands gripped your asscheeks painfully, forcing you to grind on his face. His tongue slipped in your wet hole, and you felt yourself shaking on top of him, your legs giving out as he kept fucking you with his tongue.
Joel growled in your skin, making you crawl to your orgasm faster and faster with every swipe of his tongue.
The tip of his nose kept hitting your sensitive clit, as he pushed his tongue further and further in your fluttering hole. He kissed his way up, pinching your clit between his tightly clasped lips and sucked, punching a cry out of you with his raw vigor.
“Come on, sugar,” he commanded, “I feel her cryin’, give her what she wants.”
With doubled passion he flickered his tongue over your throbbing bud, and you felt sweat trickling down your neck and soaking into your dress as an orgasm rushed over you.
Your body felt powerless, and if not for Joel’s strong hands still holding you up, you’d have fallen back. But he kept you somewhat steady, lapping up all that your wasted body could give him until every swipe of his tongue started being painful and you had physically push his face away with trembling hands.
“Got too enthusiastic, my bad. Ain’t every day I get to drink from a fountain of youth.” Joel joked, helping you settle next to him in his bed.
Your tired body was half laying on top of him, fully drained yet still unexplainably insatiable. Forced by something deep in the pit of your belly, you dragged your nails over his soft stomach until you touched his soft cock again. Joel quickly stopped you, grabbing your wrist and bringing your hand to his chest. You felt the sparse hairs on his nipple tickle your palm. His heartbeat was hard, but steady.
“Sorry, angel, ain’t that young anymore.” He said, kissing the crown of your head. His fingers found their way into your hair and he tugged at it gently. “If you want me to fuck that pretty hole of yours, you’ll just have to agree to a second date.”
Your words were slurred, eyelids too heavy to keep them open. “Maybe I will, old man.”
He chuckled, the grip of his fingers in your hair tightened as he looked in the distance. A couple of flickering street lamps visible from his window were providing minimum light in his room and a possessive smile creeped onto his lips as he listened to you snoring lightly into his chest.
You weren't the first mouse to get trapped so easily, but something told him you were special. He wasn't ready to discard you just yet.
LEAVE A COMMENT, YOUR FEEDBACK IS MY MOTIVATION <3
Can you write more Wade Wilson? I really like your writing :)
▪︎summary: you're at a small diner, where you work part-time as a waitress. Every day, you meet tons of annoying jerks, but today, one of those said jerks gets your heart pounding and your panties wet.
▪︎tags: pwp but not really, afab reader, this takes place when Wade was just a mercenary, lots of flirting (its wade duh), pet names, sex with a stranger, sex in a public place, mirror sex, unprotected p in v, kind of mean wade, tiny breeding kink, creampie.
▪︎thank you for requesting!!! honestly, im still on the deadpool rush, and I'm working on another fic with him. until then, i hope you enjoy this 2.45k word read!
It’s a slow afternoon, the kind where time drags and you’re left counting salt shakers just to stay awake. The bell over the door jingles, pulling your attention, and when you look up, the air in your throat gets stuck. The man who walks in is leaves you a bit dizzy. Tall, broad shoulders, all cocky in his step. His leather jacket clings to him like it was made for him, and the way he runs a hand through his messy hair has your stomach doing involuntary flips. Then he looks your way, and his grin is sharp enough to cut glass. You snap your gaze back to the table you were wiping, cheeks heating up. Great. Just what you need— a customer who’s not only trouble but stupidly attractive.
He slides into a booth in the corner, his movements fluid. You grab your notepad, steeling yourself as you approach. “Ready to order, sir?” you ask, your voice sounding far more composed than you feel on the inside. “Not quite,” he says, looking you up and down, grin widening as his eyes meet yours. Your legs turn into jelly. “Guess I got a little distracted.” Your heart skips, but you mask it with an unimpressed look, though you're sure it didn't fool him. “I’d recommend sticking to the food, sir.”
He chuckles, leaning back in his seat like he’s settling in for a show. “Feisty. Alright then. I’ll take a burger. Surprise me with the toppings.”
“Anything to drink?” You ask, writing it down.
“Coffee. Black. Like my soul, in case you couldn’t notice." he says, in a fake sad voice, leaning forward slightly, his eyes still locked on yours. You try your best not to laugh. Perfect, he's hot and funny. “And for dessert…” He pauses, tilting his head as if he’s really considering it, then hums. “I was hoping I could have you for dessert.”
Your face heats instantly, and you fight the urge to stumble over your words. “W-we have pie,” you manage to stutter out, glaring at him even as your pulse quickens. “Pie sounds good,” he says, clearly enjoying your reaction. “But only if I get to eat it between your legs."
This is really happening to you, isn't it? “I’ll get your coffee started.” But there's no bite to it. As you walk back to the counter, you feel his gaze following you, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop the way your lips tug into a small smile.
You place his order and try to busy yourself at the counter, but you can feel his eyes on you the entire time. It’s like he’s made it his personal mission to get you as riled up as possible. You grab the freshly brewed coffee, setting it on a tray along with a small creamer and sugar packet.
As you walk back to his table, you steel yourself, determined not to let him see how much he’s getting under your skin. But the moment you set the cup down in front of him, he looks up at you with that same infuriating smile that gets you wet in all the right places.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, taking the coffee and blowing on it lightly. Then, as if the thought just struck him, he adds, “How about instead of a cash tip, I give you another kind of tip?” Your skin burns so hot it’s a miracle the coffee in his hand doesn’t start boiling. “S-sir, this is a diner,” you stammer, voice barely steady.
“Oh, keep calling me ‘sir,’” he says with a groan, giving you a once-over that feels appraising. “Might give you an extra 10% just for that.” You gape at him, completely thrown off. “A-are you always like this?” You manage, trying to regain even a shred of composure.
“How about you meet me in the bathroom to find out how I really am,” he says smoothly, taking a slow sip of his coffee while his eyes stay locked on yours.
You quickly grab the empty tray, retreating to the counter under the guise of checking on his food. Your heart is pounding, your hands slightly shaky, but you can’t help the ridiculous tug at your heart and the growing feeling in your lower belly.
As annoying as he is, there’s something oddly charming about him—something hot. Maybe it's his courage. Or maybe he's just stupid. Either way, going to the bathroom sounds really good, just about now. So that's what you do, heading to the bathroom he entered minutes ago.
Pushing open the bathroom door, you freeze.
There he is. Leaning casually against the sink, as if he owns the place. His leather jacket is slung over one arm, his other hand resting on the counter. When he sees you, that devilish smirk spreads across his face like he’s been expecting you all his life.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he says, his tone dripping with mischief. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? Couldn’t stay away? Thought you were a good girl” Your stomach twists, and you feel both mortified and strangely thrilled. “This is the women’s bathroom,” you manage, your voice a little breathless.
“Is it?” He glances around exaggeratedly. “Huh. Guess that explains the lack of urinals. My bad.” You narrow your eyes, trying to look unimpressed despite you knowing he'd be here and your pounding heart. “You s-shouldn’t be in here.”
“Or maybe,” he says, taking a step closer, “I should. And I'm exactly where you want me to be.” Your breath hitches as the space between you shrinks. His presence feels overwhelming, and you can’t decide if you want to disappear or drop to your knees in front of him. "C'mon, sweet thing. I know you wanna." he practically purrs in your ear.
"There a-are people here, andㅡ" he tuts, resting one of his large palms onto your hip."There aren't, babe, this place is basically abandoned. plus, your shift is over soon." Your eyes dart around his face as you try and speak again. "But, Iㅡ" but he chuckles while interrupting you again. "Look, do you want me to fuck you or not?" Well.
"Yes.." god, what are you doing? "See. Wasn't so hard now, was it?" He towers over you, taking away any last wish for fighting that you had left. You work too damn hard. Maybe it's okay to let loose. If letting loose means fucking a stranger in the bathroom of your workplace... so be it. The last piece of resistance crumbles. You don't want to fight anymore. You want to see where this will go, consequences be damned. You want the wildness, the chaos, the thrill of stepping outside the boundaries you've always kept yourself within.
Without thinking, you tilt your head up, meeting his gaze with a mixture of defiance and submission. His eyes darken, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, as if he's won some battle. "Good girl," he breathes, his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw. The contact sends sparks through you, and your skin burns where he touches.
without any hesitation, he spins both of you so that you are facing the large, old mirror above the counter. He groans, rolling his shoulders back as he bends you over the sink, your hips snug in his grip. "Shit, you're so fucking gorgeous."
you look down, a whimper bubbling at the back of your throat. "Please.." The man shakes his head and lands a hard smack on one of your asscheeks, making you yelp in the process. He takes his time pulling up the uniform skirt you had on , finally taking a look at your soaking panties. They were barely covering anything. His calloused thumb makes contact with your clothed folds, dragging it up and down, in painfully slow circles. Without a warning, you hear the material rip and feel the flimsy undergarments fall on the cold tiled floor.
"Pretty pussy." he mutters under his breath, undoing his jeans. he pulls them a bit down, enough for his manhood to spring free and slap against his covered bellybutton. you can see it all in the mirrorㅡ it's huge. you gasp softly as you feel him drag the tip of it against your swollen bud, and you hide your gaze, head hanging low. this doesn't last long, as you feel his rough palm grab at your face and pulling it up again. you're making eye contact with him through the mirror and you see him shake his head. "Uh-uh, you watch while I fuck you, okay?" you shake your head, agreeing, but that isn't good enough so he slaps your cheek with the back of his hand, lightly. "C'mon, you were all cocky out there. What happened? I didn't even dick you down yet and you can't speak?"
" 'M sorry..." he drags the pulsing tip up and down, up and down as if he didn't make you wait long enough. truthfully, you never wanted it to end, so maybe him teasing was his way of making sure this lasts. after he thinks its sufficient, he starts to push inside, and godㅡ your breath gets stuck into your lungs from the feeling laden with thorns; every prick of discomfort is countered by an unexpected surge of delight. Your tears fall down onto the surface under you, little moans gripping your throat as he slips inside further. "Shhh. It's okay. C'monㅡ" he assures you, asking you to surrender. " There we go...Nice and full, right?" he laughs, lifting your hips a bit to get a better angle. He moves gently at first, each stroke hitting deeper within your core, the pain soon converging with ecstasy right as he alerts his movements.
His hips dive down with force, one of his palms snaking up and wrapping itself tightly around your throat, assuring you see how good he's destroying you. your head was spinning, heart pounding, as his whole weight dominated over you. "That's it, pretty girl." his thrusts are rough, each hit making your body bounce, the urgency as he hit that very spot each timeㅡ your whole insides burning, too cock drunk to talk or respond, other than some pathetic whines that perfectly accompanied the wet sounds your pussy made wrapped around the stranger.
"Fuckㅡ please.." You manage. pulling at your hair, he starts. "What if your manager walked in just now? What if they saw how good you take this cock? Yeah, nice and deepㅡ" while thrusting relentlessly into you, your legs barely holding up anymore.
Feeling you tightening, the hand that was around your throat slips down to your clit, while the other makes you spread your legs wide again for easier access, giving you a chance to take in a big gasp of air. "want me to cum in this pussy, huh? feel you up with my babies?" the room spins around you, body floating as if ready to plummet back down, you try your best to reply. "Yes, yes! please, please, I'mㅡ"
"Go ahead." the man succeeded to say, between his breathy groans. "Thank you, thank you, oh god, thank you so much!" you say as if praying to him whilst he keeps fucking into you. The man buries himself into you as you come down from your high, body almost too limp to register your surroundings. he slaps your ass, and watches you writhe under him. With a few more snaps of his hips you know he's close, nails digging roughly into your skin as he finally paints your walls with white ropes. "Holy shit." You know that you'll be bruised tomorrow.
the bathroom feels sticky, and the mirror in front of you is all fogged up, but you can just barely make out your face, all tearstained and messy. You moan as he pulls out, the sudden feeling of emptiness leaving you shivering. He watches intently as his seed drips out of you, body beautifully splayed out right under him. you're both quiet for a bit, catching your breaths and you feel like you are floating.
SUMMARY - josh has been unusually handsy all night–lingering touches and whispered jokes against your neck. it’s getting harder to tell if it’s just the alcohol...or if he’s finally giving into what you've both been pretending not to want.
PAIRING/SETTING - fem!reader x bsf!josh washington. no prank au (that timeline hurts too much). no use of y/n.
WARNINGS - graphic sexual material (porn with plot basically), dubcon(ish?), strong language, & underage drinking.
W/C - 1,876
A/N - hey, hey, heyyy…i’m not exactly “new” to the game, but this is my first work on this page (how exciting)! a full-length josh x reader series is currently in its development stages. until then, enjoy my silly, sappy, smutty one shots ♥︎
joshua washington is a lot of things. persistent, loud-mouthed, and a bit perverted–but ohh does he know how to throw one hell of a party. you hate to admit it, but nothing hits quite like a washington house party at full tilt–too many bodies, not enough boundaries, and the absolute guarantee that you will wake up with glitter in places it should never be. there’s something euphoric about the filthy spectacle.
you manage to make your way to the kitchen amidst the chaos, converse clinging to the tile drenched in sweat and spilt red solos. there was chris, mystery shot in hand–the two of you had developed this unspoken tradition over the years of ragers–you blithely accept his offer, throwing back the concoction. the faint taste of lemonade and lighter fluid burns the back of your throat. you’d think you’d have learned your lesson by now. you jet to the sink, running your tongue underneath the faucet before swishing and spitting.
“gahh~ what the fuck is that?”
he brings a wagging finger up to your face, “ah-ah-ah, a magician never reveals his secrets.”
“i’d hardly call that magic,” you retort, eyeing the empty glass. “eugh~” you shiver.
you reach for a paper towel, dabbing away the water that dribbles down your chin, when you feel an unmistakable shift in the air.
“annnd there she is…” there stands josh washington in all his smug glory, leaning against the doorframe with a beer in hand and that shit-eating grin he wears like a trademark. “tsk, tsk, tsk–and to think i had faith you’d last at least 15 minutes before making such poor choices,” he tuts, stepping further into the kitchen.
you don’t bother with formalities. “well you can blame chris and his shitty taste in alcohol.”
josh shoots him a finger gun, “doing god’s work, man.”
chris brings his hands together in prayer, bowing before his best bro, “always a pleasure.”
you can’t help but roll your eyes, “ahem~ losers,” you cough out before turning on heel to make your escape.
suddenly, josh’s free hand is planted on the counter beside you, boxing you in–not enough to trap you, but just enough to make your breath hitch. “and just where do you think you’re going?” he questions, a tinge of devilry curling around his words.
“i don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this is a party josh. i’m going to dance, obviously,” you patronize.
he furrows his brows, eyes raking up and down your figure, tongue slowly swiping across his lips before perking up. “well, if that’s the case…” he starts, walking his fingers up your arm and down your spine, hands finding solace on your waist, “mind if i ride along?”
the cool sweat from his bottle drips down your thigh, sending a slight shockwave through your body. you manage to steady your breathing, “not at all.”
“sweet,” he spins you round, giving you a small push towards the door before turning back to chris to shoot him a two-finger salute.“peace-out cub scout.”
as the two of you make your way through the sea of bodies, you become hopelessly aware of josh’s grip on your hips. sure, it wasn’t exactly out of character for josh to get a bit handsy with you, but this felt different, very different. “what has gotten into you tonight?” your tone is light, playful, but his touch caries an edge, far from innocent.
he leans down—lips hovering mere centimeters from your neck—“mm~ wouldn’t you like to know?”
his breath is hot against your skin, laced with the sharp bite of booze. his tone, low and wanton, sends a pool of warmth to the pit of your stomach. what the hell is wrong with you?
relief washes over you as you spot an opening in the crowd, a brief, fleeting escape from the dizzying heat of josh’s touch. you turn to face him, fingers sharply pressed into the skin of his forearms as he moves the pads of his fingers to brush over your ass.
you suck in a breath, eyes now glued to the floor. “you keep touching me like that,” you stammer, just loud enough to be heard over the booming bass of the speakers, “people are gonna start talking.”
he chuckles, low and satisfied. “good. let ‘em.”
you narrow your gaze, half-expecting him to stumble, slur, do something to explain his sudden brazenness. this was new territory–for you, that is. josh washington flirted like it was sport, sure–but this? this felt…focused. intentional. like he had tunnel vision, and you were the prize at the end of it.
he must be drunk, you tell yourself, a futile attempt at rationalizing his behavior. he brings his beer to his lips, taking a quick swig. a sly smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth as he swirls the bottle around. “second one,” he says, as if reading your mind. “i’m barely buzzed.”
your stomach flips.
so he’s not drunk. not even tipsy. which means every longing look, every teasing word–its all him. clear-headed and in total control.
you must’ve zoned out for just a second too long–snapped back into reality by a rough tug on your waist as he pulls you in. he cocks his head to the side, “what’s wrong? you’d prefer i was?” he taunts.
the air around you begins to thicken as the sound of your pounding chest fills your ears.
“josh i-” you murmur, your voice becoming increasingly shaky as he presses his now painfully obvious hard-on against your body. “tell me to stop and i will, no questions asked.” his gaze doesn’t stray, steady and unflinching.
you persistently shake your head, throat bobbing as you swallow, “no, don’t stop. please.”
his pupils blow wide, the last shred of restraint flickering out like a snuffed candle.
“upstairs,” he rasps, “i’ll be up in a minute.”
“promise?” you question sweetly–god, what has he done to you?
he takes your chin between his pointer and thumb, “ohh~ absolutely.” his eyes flick down to your lips, then back up with a sinful grin. “wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
you make your way up to his bedroom, the familiar scent of his cologne floods your senses. you take in the charming mess before you, and for a brief moment, everything is still. your fingers graze over the soft fabric of his sheets as the door quietly clicks shut behind you.
josh brings a swift hand up to your hip, swiveling you towards him, the other loosely fisting your hair.
“miss me?”
you arch into him, positively aching.
“i’ve got you,” he mutters against your skin, fingers tracing the waistband of your jeans.
your lips crash into his in a messy, hungry kiss. he tightens his grip onto your thigh, sweeping your other leg from underneath you, forcing you to stumble onto the bed. you gasp against his mouth as he grinds his erection against your clothed heat, allowing his tongue to slip past your lips.
your hands roam over his chest, desperately twisting at the fabric of his shirt. he takes the hint, swiftly pulling it over his head and discarding it with the rest of his dirty laundry that lays in a pile on the floor. you follow suit, evening out the playing field–but not for long.
he undoes the button on your jeans, arms hooking around your legs as he peels them off. his lips never leave your skin for long–trailing a line of kisses from your jaw down to your inner thigh–until your legs are trembling beneath him and your voice is nothing more than a whisper of his name.
“god, look at you,” he worships, gently thumbing over your clit. “so perfect for me.” you whine at his words, hips shamelessly lifting off the mattress. he chuckles at your desperation, “sooo needy.” he hooks his fingers around the band of your panties, pulling them down your figure at a painfully slow pace. he’s practically torturing you, and enjoying every second of it.
“josh–please~” you breathlessly plead. there’s that stupid cheesy smile again, “well, since you asked so nicely…” he dips his tongue into your cunt with all the fervor of a starved man–drawing tight circles on your swollen clit as he coaxes you open. you bring a hand to his hair, tugging at the dark locks, your other grasps onto his navy sheets. his eyes never leave yours, drawing you further in as your climax grows closer.
“fuck josh, 'm gonna-”
you’re cut off by the wave of pleasure that crashes over you.
he lifts his head, a string of spit connecting his swollen lips to your pussy. he runs his thumb along his chin–slick with a mixture of saliva and cum–before sucking it in and out his mouth with an obnoxious pop. it’s a vulgar sight, but the prettiest you’ve ever seen. “so sweet,” he smirks, before pulling you into a sloppy kiss.
you fumble with the button on his jeans, dragging down his zipper with a satisfied sigh. “impatient much?” he teases, nipping at your bottom lip. you let out a whimper, “mhm~” josh groans, low and guttural, “jesus christ, you’re something else.” he pulls a condom out of his back pocket before hurriedly kicking off the denim. he removes his gray boxers–now stained with precum–soon after, simultaneously tearing at the foil with his teeth and rolling the rubber onto his length.
fuck he’s big. you’re practically gawking, almost wincing at the thought of taking all of him.
he recognizes the hesitation in your eyes, brushing his thumb back and forth over your cheek. his tone is soft, but his words send a fiery heat to your core, “you’re okay, you can take it baby. be so good for me.”
you let out a breathy moan as he rubs the tip of his dick through your soaked folds. he begins to push into you, slowly, inch by inch. your moans quickly turn to choked sobs. the stretch stings, but if it doesn’t hurt so. fucking. good.
“atta girl, let me hear all those pretty noises.” your walls flutter around his cock at the praise. “ohh fuck~” he sputters–head dropping at the sensation–“yeah, squeeze me just like that baby.”
you bring your legs up to wrap around his waist as he fucks into you, nails clawing down his back at the erratic pace. the sounds of slapping skin and your broken moans–now borderline pornographic–fill the room, drowning out the party just below you. he finds a delicious rhythm, each snap of his hips pushing you closer to the edge.
“m’fuck josh, please” you plead as he wraps a hand around your throat, giving it a light squeeze. “yeah? ya like that? so-fuck-hot.” your eyes roll back as you are overcome with ecstasy. “come on baby, be a good girl and cum on my dick.”
with that, you come undone–melting into the mattress as josh continues to use your pussy as his own. he follows just behind you, spilling into the condom with a few more thrusts. he collapses next to you, flushed and fully fucked out. he’s never looked better.
“best. pussy. ever.” you giggle at your new superlative, but not before reaching for a pillow to smother him with.
꒰ ꪆ୧ ꒱ SUℳM𝛢RY ⌢ ꒰੭. Heartbroken and lost, you find your peace in the strangest place — or maybe, in the rough hands of a stranger who feels more like home than anything you've ever known.
˖˙ ᰋ ── 𝖙ags ˚ trucker joel miller x fem reader, no outbreak au, afab reader, strangers to lovers, hurt comfort, soft joel, age gap (mentioned like once), slight angs, found family themes, reader is in a vulnerable mental state, themes of family problems, abandonment themes, sex with a stranger, shower sex, unprotected p in v, head m receiving, some fluff.
𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒﹙ʚɞ˚﹚ 𝖓ote: wooow who is this??? guys i just have so many ideas like i want to keep on writing sm i hope you wont get tired. idk what this is but i craved some trucker joel so yeah. this is not proofread soo...lmk if u want a pt2!!! hope u enjoyyy 🎀🐇🌟
You hadn't even known they were leaving.
No call. No letter. No warning.
Just gone.
The late afternoon sun beats heavy against your back, turning the asphalt into a slow, shimmering sea. Somewhere down the block, a dog barks once. It sounds lonely.
You stand there on the cracked sidewalk, a single suitcase dragging heavy behind you, staring up at the place that once tethered you to the earth.
It looks smaller now.
Older. Sadder.
The windows are dark. The porch swing hangs lopsided, one chain snapped clean through. The garden is wild now, strangled with weeds.
And then there's the sign.
Staked crooked in the dry grass.
FOR SALE.
Faded letters, rust blooming along the edges like sickness. Your mouth is dry. Your throat is tighter than it should be. You step closer, slow. One foot in front of the other, like maybe if you just knock on the door, they’ll open it, laughing, some cruel surprise party for the daughter they forgot.
Maybe they’re inside right now.
Maybe.
But you can already feel the lie breaking apart inside you. No car in the driveway. No porch light left burning. Not even a note tucked into the mailbox.
Nothing. They’re gone.
They left without a word.
Your palms are sweating. Your heart hammers helpless against your ribs, each beat growing louder, louder, until you can’t stand it anymore. You sit down hard on the curb, scraping your palms against the concrete. You barely feel it.
The ache opens up inside you like a sinkhole. A hollow thing, sharp around the edges. You drag in a broken breath and press your fists against your eyes but it’s no good.
The tears come anyway.
Hot. Ugly. Unstoppable. Not the pretty kind you see in movies. No trembling chin, no single glistening tear. Just sobbing, red-faced and snotty, body hunched in on itself like you could somehow hide from the shame of it all.
You must look ridiculous. A full-grown girl weeping into her hands on a shitty little sidewalk in the middle of nowhere.
A few cars roll past. None of them slow down. The sun keeps sliding westward, pulling long shadows behind it, and still you sit there. Too heavy to move.
By the time the low rumble of a truck grinds into the gas station across the street, the sky has cracked itself into a thousand bruised colors. Orange. Violet. Sickly gold.
You don't look up. You don't think you could bear it.
Not until you hear boots and the slow, heavy crunch of them over gravel. You freeze.
Instinctively shrinking into yourself, holding your breath.
"Figured you might need these." A voice. Rough. Warm. Older. You look up through a curtain of tear-blurred lashes. A man stands over you. Sunburnt skin. Faded jeans. Sleeves rolled up to thick forearms. Hair gone silver at the temples.
A stranger. A trucker, maybe.
In his hand there's a fistful of gas station napkins, crushed and slightly oily, but clean enough.
You blink at him. The late sunlight outlines him in gold, makes him seem almost unreal.
Some part of you wants to tell him to go away. That you’re fine. That you don’t need anybody. But you’re not fine. And the kindness in his face is so rare it slices you right open. You reach out and take the napkins with shaking fingers. "Thanks," you whisper, voice breaking apart like wet paper.
He crouches down without being asked, one knee cracking softly under the strain. "Didn’t mean to scare ya," he says, low and careful. "Just saw you sittin’ here lookin’ all broken up." You try to smile, try to pull yourself together, but a fresh sob bubbles up before you can stop it.
The man frowns softens. He shifts closer, careful like he’s approaching a scared doe. "Hey now," he says. "Ain't no shame in it, darlin’. World kicks hard sometimes." You wipe your nose, mortified. Your skin burns with embarrassment.
"IㅡI didn’t know they were gone," you choke out, the words spilling uninvited. "I didn’t knowㅡ they never even told meㅡ" His mouth draws into a thin, grim line. He doesn’t say Jesus or what the hell’s wrong with them or any of the things he could say.
He just nods. Understanding. Like he’s seen this kind of hurt before.
"Families," he mutters, almost to himself. "They can gut you worse’n any knife." You let out a strangled laugh. It sounds ugly, broken, but it’s better than crying. He huffs out a soft breath, like he’s relieved to hear even that.
You’re staring at him before you realize it. At the steady set of his jaw, the faint scar running through his eyebrow, the careful way he holds his hands.
Like he knows what it’s like to hold something fragile. And for one aching second, you lean forward and try to kiss him. It’s clumsy. Salty with tears. Desperate in a way you don’t mean it to be. You feel the scrape of his stubble against your cheek, the stunned heat of his mouth, but just as fast his hands are on your shoulders, gently pushing you back.
"Hey," he says again, voice tight. "Hey. No. Not like this." You stumble backward, cheeks flaming, tears stinging anew. "Iㅡ I’m sorry," you stammer. "I wasn’tㅡ I didn’tㅡ" He’s still crouched there, breathing hard, dragging a rough hand over his face like he’s mad at himself. "You’re not thinkin’ straight," he says. "You’re hurtin’. That ain’t the way this should start."
You press the napkins to your face again, wishing you could disappear. The shame is thick enough to choke on. He hesitates. "My name's Joel." He looks out toward the highway, then back at you. "You got somewhere to stay tonight?"
You shake your head miserably. His jaw tightens. He scrubs a hand through his hair. "I got a room down at that old motel, just off the 45," he says finally. "It ain’t much. But it’s safe. Two beds. Nothin’ will happen you don’t want, I swear it."
You stare at him, every nerve screaming at you not to trust a stranger.
You nod. "Okay," you say, small. Something eases in his face.
"Alright then," he says, rising to his feet with a grunt.
He holds out a hand. You hesitate then reach out and let him pull you up. His hand is big and rough and calloused, but it holds you carefully.
Like you’re a porcelain doll. You follow him toward the truck, the sky bleeding itself dry behind you.
The motel is even sadder than you pictured.
A squat strip of rooms sagging under their own neglect, washed in the sickly orange of buzzing neon lights. Joel pulls his truck into a cracked parking spot and cuts the engine. You fidget with the hem of your sleeve.
"You sure?" Joel asks, voice low. "Last chance to change your mind, darlin'." You glance over at him. The dashboard lights throwing sharp shadows across his face. There's no pressure in his voice. No expectation.
You nod. His mouth pulls into something that isn't quite a smile, but almost. He gets out first, boots hitting the ground with a heavy thud. Comes around to your side and opens the door like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You slide out, clutching your suitcase tight, trying not to feel like a little kid lost at the fair.
The motel office is locked up for the night, but Joel already has a sad looking brass key. Room 2. He leads the way down the sidewalk. He opens the door, steps aside to let you in first, giving you space.
The room is as bad as you expected.
Scratchy bedspreads. Faded floral curtains. A humming mini-fridge in the corner that sounds vaguely threatening. But it’s clean enough. And it's safe. The first thing Joel does is toss his duffel bag onto the bed nearest the door.
"You can have the other one," he says, jerking his chin toward the second bed. Sheets still tucked in tight. Untouched. You set your suitcase down and stand there awkwardly, wringing your hands. Joel watches you for a long moment.
"You want somethin’ to eat?" he asks. "I got some stuff in the truck. Nothin' fancy, but it's somethin’."
You shake your head. Your stomach feels twisted into knots. "Water, then," he mutters to himself.
He crosses to the mini-fridge, crouches down with a soft grunt, and pulls out two water bottles.
He cracks the cap on one and hands it to you. "Here you go, darlin'," You take the bottle and sip gratefully. Cool water rushing down your raw throat.
Joel lowers himself into the chair by the window and the old wood creaks under his weight. He stretches his long legs out, resting his forearms on his knees, and looks over at you.
"You got anybody you can call?" he asks. You shake your head again. He scrubs a hand over his jaw, the rasp of it loud. "That’s a damn shame," he mutters. "You don’t deserve that." Your chest squeezes tight and you bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood. "Thank you," you whisper. It’s all you can manage.
It feels stupid and small and nowhere near enough. Joel tips his head like he heard you anyway. For a while, the only sound is the hum of the fridge and the distant buzz of the neon sign outside. The whole world feels like it’s folded itself down to this one room and this one moment.
You sink down onto the bed across from him, clutching the water bottle in both hands. "I'll take first watch, if you want." You blink at him, confused.
He smiles, just a little. "Ain’t no locks on these doors worth a damn," he says. "Rather keep an eye out. Make sure nobody bothers you." Something hot and unfamiliar twists low in your stomach. A rough, tender kind of feeling, one you didn’t even realize you were starving for until now.
You curl your legs up onto the bed, tucking yourself into the smallest shape you can make. "Thank you," you whisper again, voice cracking. Joel just leans back in the chair, arms crossed loose over his chest, boots planted solid on the floor.
You wake in the dark.
For a second, you don’t know where you are.
The room is still. But you remember Joel.
Your heart calms a little. You lift your head from the pillow and squint across the room.
He’s still there.
Sitting in that same battered chair, not really asleep. The lamp on the nightstand is still on, dim golden light painting the sad looking walls. You sit up slowly, the blanket pooling around your waist.
Joel stirs when he hears you move and lifts his head.
His eyes find you instantly, bleary but alert, making sure you’re alright. "Sorry," you whisper. "I didn’t mean to wake you."
"You didn’t," he says. He runs a hand through his messy hair, the soft gray at his temples catching the light. "You need somethin', sweetheart?"
You open your mouth then close it again, suddenly too shy to say it. But Joel waits, patient as ever. You pick at a loose thread on the blanket and breathe in slow through your nose.
you whisper, "Will you come sit closer?" Joel goes still. Some battle raging behind his eyes.
Then he stands up, slow. He lowers himself onto the edge of your bed, careful to leave enough space between you that you could still escape if you needed to. If you wanted to.
You shift, just slightly, letting your knee brush his thigh. "You sure?" he murmurs. It would be so easy to say no. But you nod again instead.
The tears come out of nowhere. One minute you're fine, the next you're crumbling. Crumbling into a thousand jagged pieces. "Hey, hey," he murmurs, shifting closer. Without thinking, you press your face into the crook of his shoulder, clutching fistfuls of his worn flannel. He wraps his arms around you.
You sob into him. Ugly, gasping, hiccupping sobs and Joel just holds you through it. His hand rubs slow circles over your back as his mouth brushes your hairline. When you finally pull back, Joel lets you go without a sound. Your face is a mess, tearstained, flushed, swollen but you don’t even care. He tips his head down to meet your eyes.
"You alright now, darlin'?"
You nod. But you're impulsive, so you lean forward and press the softest kiss to his stubbled jaw. Not a kiss that asks for anything or a kiss that demands.
Just a thank you. Just a please stay.
And he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t tell you no.
Not this time. He just presses his forehead against yours, breathing you in slow and shaky.
You wake a little before the sun. The cheap motel curtains let a little light bleed through. Joel is still sleeping. Or at least, his eyes are closed.
You slip out of bed quietly, your body aching in ways you didn’t even realize from the long day before. Sticky with sweat. Heavy with sleep.
You need a shower. Desperately.
You gather the little toiletries you bought from the gas station last night and tiptoe to the bathroom.
The water comes alive with a groan of old pipes and a thin hiss of steam. You step under the spray, shivering a little at first, then sighing when the heat seeps into your skin. Washing away the grime, the dust.
You’re half-done, shampoo stinging your eyes, when you realize you forgot your clean clothes. They're still folded neatly by the bed, in the other room.
Shit.
You wrap your arms around yourself, but there's no towel in the tiny bathroom either. Just bare skin and dripping hair and a racing heart. "Fuck this..." you whisper. "He’s still sleeping. Just real quick." You crack the door open and peek out. Joel's heavy figure is still sprawled across the bed. Face turned into the pillow, blanket rucked around his waist.
You tiptoe out.
Naked, dripping. You reach the edge of the bed, your fingers brush the hem of your clean shirt, but that’s when you hear the shift of sheets. Then the low and scratchy sound of a man clearing his throat.
You freeze. Like a deer caught in the center of a long, empty road. Joel is awake. Very awake, actually.
Sitting up, eyes wide and dark and fixed on you. His gaze drags over you, his hands clenching in the bedsheets like he’s holding himself back with everything he’s got. Heat floods your whole body. You can't move. Can't think.
You're naked, soaking wet, standing in front of a man you met less than 15 hours ago. "Shit—" he rasps, dragging a hand over his mouth, looking away fast. "Shit, darlin’, I thought you were still in the shower—" You scramble backward, grabbing your shirt against your chest, face burning hotter than the sun. "I—I’m sorry, I thought you were still asleep—!"
Joel swings his legs over the edge of the bed, palms raised like he’s trying not to scare you. "It's alright! Ain’t your fault." He keeps his eyes carefully averted, his jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle jump.
You hurry back into the bathroom, slam the door shut, heart trying to punch its way out of your ribs.
You lean against the wood, gasping, mortified.
But for a moment you pause. With your palms flat on the door, heart still hammering, you call out to him. "Joel?"
"Yeahㅡ" you can hear the hesitation in his voice. You squeeze your eyes shut as your cheeks burn. "Will you come wash my back...please?" The quiet drags out for a second too long. You almost lose your nerve. Then the floorboards creak and his rough voice come through again.
"Yeah, s-sure 'Course I will." he stutters. This giant hunk of a man was blushing, and you could hear it in his voice. The door opens. Finally. He steps inside and shuts the door behind him. You turn away, back into the shower, giving him your back, the damp curve of your shoulder blades. You can feel his stare.
When he finally touches you, it’s like fire. His hands are rough, careful, sliding soap over your back, your shoulders, the nape of your neck. Everywhere he touches, your body lights up. And when his hands slip around to your front and you don’t stop him. You don’t want to stop him. You turn in his arms.
Still slick and warm and trembling. Finally he lifts your chin and kisses you like he’s been dying to. Soft at first. Then deeper, needier, like he’s finally giving in.
Joel kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. His palms flatten against your hips, fingers spreading wide like he wants to memorize the feel of you. You clutch at his shirt, the old cotton clinging damp to your palms, dragging him closer without thinking, needing to feel him, needing more.
He groans low in his throat, the sound rumbling against your chest, and suddenly it's like something inside him snaps. He picks you up, just lifts you like it’s nothing, your bare thighs hooking around his waist, your wet skin sliding against the denim of his jeans.
You gasp into his mouth, and he carries you, stumbling, until your back hits the cool tile wall. "Fuck," he breathes against your jaw, "Fuck, you’re killin’ me, baby..." You can feel him, hard and aching pressing into you, and it sends a desperate heat spiraling through your belly. Your hands roam up under his shirt, tracing over rough scars and thick muscles, greedy and shy all at once.
He shudders under your touch, dropping his forehead against yours, trying to catch his breath. "You sure about this?" His voice is hoarse, wrecked. "Don’t gotta do nothin’ you don’t want, sweetheart."
Your throat feels tight, but you manage a shaky whisper."I want to. IㅡI want you." Something shifts in his face. He kisses you again, slower this time. Like he’s worshiping every little gasp, every brush of your lips against his. One hand slides down between your bodies, rough fingertips skimming the inside of your thigh then finally finding its way to your wet fold, and you whimper into his mouth.
He smiles a little at that, a small crooked thing that makes your knees even weaker. You can barely hold on. "S'alright," he murmurs, soothing, "lemme take care of you, little girl."
He touches you with maddening patience, two fingers deep in you, dragging every tiny sound out of you until you’re shaking in his arms, crying out against his neck. "good girl, so pretty, you’re doin’ so good for me, sweetheart —" and it wrecks you even worse.
You want to cry so bad.
You manage to push yourself off of him, sinking down to your knees and looking up at him through tearstained lashes. A little gift, you said, for taking care of you. He groans, his head all over thinking how is this even real. You looked straight out of one those pornos he used to rent back when he was about your age, face flushed and mouth full of cock. "Shitㅡ Atta girl...Y-eah, please keep goin'" he whimpered through bared teeth, hands roughly gripping your hair. His hips were barely kept from snapping like he wanted to. He wondered how it'd feel to fuck your throat, but he didn’t want to force you right now.
Your tongue swirled and lapped around his head, saliva and precum mixing and dripping down onto the shower floor. Your jaw hurt, and knees even more, but you didn’t want to stop. Not until you made him unravel.
Your thoughts are cut short by Joel, pulling you off and up. "Don't make me come yet, baby. Gotta feel you around me first." Oh, how your heart twisted. When he finally sinks into you, slow and careful and thick, your head tips back against the wall with a broken sob.
Joel curses under his breath, clutching you tighter, pressing kisses to your damp cheeks, your temple, your throat. "Shhh," he breathes, rocking into you with aching sweetness, "I got you, baby. I'm right here." And you believe him. For the first time in a long time, you believe someone. You cling to him like a lifeline, gasping his name over and over, as the whole world narrows down to just this.
His cock slides in and out of you rapidly, reaching places you didn’t know felt this good. He fucks you deep and hard, and for the first time you're actually not faking anything. It's all raw, and beautiful and sad at the same time. You cry and he kisses you hungrier, eating up your sobs as his length throbs inside of you. You're all broken again, in his arms, body jolting as he bites your shoulder.
Maybe you'll regret it later. But who cares about later when it seems like today is all you have. When he is all you have. Maybe he's a murderer on the loose, maybe he'll hurt you. Maybe it's the pain controlling you, but it feels right. Just right.
Your vision is blurry, and your head is fuzzy with him, that familiar feeling in your lower belly blooming again. Finally you come undone in his arms, shaking, crying and moaning all at once. He holds you closer, if thats even possible, and spills inside of you, his soft groans filtering through the ringing in your ears.
When it’s over, he doesn’t let you go. Just holds you there, cradled against his chest, both wet and sticky. Dirty and clean. Ugly and rough. "Was real brave of you," he whispers rough into your hair, pressing a kiss there. "Comin’ out here. Trustin’ me."
You smile against his skin through tears, small and trembling.
Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was just stupid luck. But you found him. Or he found you. Either way, you hope he won't let go any time soon.
꒰ ꪆ୧ ꒱ SUℳM𝛢RY ⌢ ꒰੭. Heartbroken and lost, you find your peace in the strangest place — or maybe, in the rough hands of a stranger who feels more like home than anything you've ever known.
˖˙ ᰋ ── 𝖙ags ˚ trucker joel miller x fem reader, no outbreak au, afab reader, strangers to lovers, hurt comfort, soft joel, age gap (mentioned like once), slight angs, found family themes, reader is in a vulnerable mental state, themes of family problems, abandonment themes, sex with a stranger, shower sex, unprotected p in v, head m receiving, some fluff.
𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒﹙ʚɞ˚﹚ 𝖓ote: wooow who is this??? guys i just have so many ideas like i want to keep on writing sm i hope you wont get tired. idk what this is but i craved some trucker joel so yeah. this is not proofread soo...lmk if u want a pt2!!! hope u enjoyyy 🎀🐇🌟
You hadn't even known they were leaving.
No call. No letter. No warning.
Just gone.
The late afternoon sun beats heavy against your back, turning the asphalt into a slow, shimmering sea. Somewhere down the block, a dog barks once. It sounds lonely.
You stand there on the cracked sidewalk, a single suitcase dragging heavy behind you, staring up at the place that once tethered you to the earth.
It looks smaller now.
Older. Sadder.
The windows are dark. The porch swing hangs lopsided, one chain snapped clean through. The garden is wild now, strangled with weeds.
And then there's the sign.
Staked crooked in the dry grass.
FOR SALE.
Faded letters, rust blooming along the edges like sickness. Your mouth is dry. Your throat is tighter than it should be. You step closer, slow. One foot in front of the other, like maybe if you just knock on the door, they’ll open it, laughing, some cruel surprise party for the daughter they forgot.
Maybe they’re inside right now.
Maybe.
But you can already feel the lie breaking apart inside you. No car in the driveway. No porch light left burning. Not even a note tucked into the mailbox.
Nothing. They’re gone.
They left without a word.
Your palms are sweating. Your heart hammers helpless against your ribs, each beat growing louder, louder, until you can’t stand it anymore. You sit down hard on the curb, scraping your palms against the concrete. You barely feel it.
The ache opens up inside you like a sinkhole. A hollow thing, sharp around the edges. You drag in a broken breath and press your fists against your eyes but it’s no good.
The tears come anyway.
Hot. Ugly. Unstoppable. Not the pretty kind you see in movies. No trembling chin, no single glistening tear. Just sobbing, red-faced and snotty, body hunched in on itself like you could somehow hide from the shame of it all.
You must look ridiculous. A full-grown girl weeping into her hands on a shitty little sidewalk in the middle of nowhere.
A few cars roll past. None of them slow down. The sun keeps sliding westward, pulling long shadows behind it, and still you sit there. Too heavy to move.
By the time the low rumble of a truck grinds into the gas station across the street, the sky has cracked itself into a thousand bruised colors. Orange. Violet. Sickly gold.
You don't look up. You don't think you could bear it.
Not until you hear boots and the slow, heavy crunch of them over gravel. You freeze.
Instinctively shrinking into yourself, holding your breath.
"Figured you might need these." A voice. Rough. Warm. Older. You look up through a curtain of tear-blurred lashes. A man stands over you. Sunburnt skin. Faded jeans. Sleeves rolled up to thick forearms. Hair gone silver at the temples.
A stranger. A trucker, maybe.
In his hand there's a fistful of gas station napkins, crushed and slightly oily, but clean enough.
You blink at him. The late sunlight outlines him in gold, makes him seem almost unreal.
Some part of you wants to tell him to go away. That you’re fine. That you don’t need anybody. But you’re not fine. And the kindness in his face is so rare it slices you right open. You reach out and take the napkins with shaking fingers. "Thanks," you whisper, voice breaking apart like wet paper.
He crouches down without being asked, one knee cracking softly under the strain. "Didn’t mean to scare ya," he says, low and careful. "Just saw you sittin’ here lookin’ all broken up." You try to smile, try to pull yourself together, but a fresh sob bubbles up before you can stop it.
The man frowns softens. He shifts closer, careful like he’s approaching a scared doe. "Hey now," he says. "Ain't no shame in it, darlin’. World kicks hard sometimes." You wipe your nose, mortified. Your skin burns with embarrassment.
"IㅡI didn’t know they were gone," you choke out, the words spilling uninvited. "I didn’t knowㅡ they never even told meㅡ" His mouth draws into a thin, grim line. He doesn’t say Jesus or what the hell’s wrong with them or any of the things he could say.
He just nods. Understanding. Like he’s seen this kind of hurt before.
"Families," he mutters, almost to himself. "They can gut you worse’n any knife." You let out a strangled laugh. It sounds ugly, broken, but it’s better than crying. He huffs out a soft breath, like he’s relieved to hear even that.
You’re staring at him before you realize it. At the steady set of his jaw, the faint scar running through his eyebrow, the careful way he holds his hands.
Like he knows what it’s like to hold something fragile. And for one aching second, you lean forward and try to kiss him. It’s clumsy. Salty with tears. Desperate in a way you don’t mean it to be. You feel the scrape of his stubble against your cheek, the stunned heat of his mouth, but just as fast his hands are on your shoulders, gently pushing you back.
"Hey," he says again, voice tight. "Hey. No. Not like this." You stumble backward, cheeks flaming, tears stinging anew. "Iㅡ I’m sorry," you stammer. "I wasn’tㅡ I didn’tㅡ" He’s still crouched there, breathing hard, dragging a rough hand over his face like he’s mad at himself. "You’re not thinkin’ straight," he says. "You’re hurtin’. That ain’t the way this should start."
You press the napkins to your face again, wishing you could disappear. The shame is thick enough to choke on. He hesitates. "My name's Joel." He looks out toward the highway, then back at you. "You got somewhere to stay tonight?"
You shake your head miserably. His jaw tightens. He scrubs a hand through his hair. "I got a room down at that old motel, just off the 45," he says finally. "It ain’t much. But it’s safe. Two beds. Nothin’ will happen you don’t want, I swear it."
You stare at him, every nerve screaming at you not to trust a stranger.
You nod. "Okay," you say, small. Something eases in his face.
"Alright then," he says, rising to his feet with a grunt.
He holds out a hand. You hesitate then reach out and let him pull you up. His hand is big and rough and calloused, but it holds you carefully.
Like you’re a porcelain doll. You follow him toward the truck, the sky bleeding itself dry behind you.
The motel is even sadder than you pictured.
A squat strip of rooms sagging under their own neglect, washed in the sickly orange of buzzing neon lights. Joel pulls his truck into a cracked parking spot and cuts the engine. You fidget with the hem of your sleeve.
"You sure?" Joel asks, voice low. "Last chance to change your mind, darlin'." You glance over at him. The dashboard lights throwing sharp shadows across his face. There's no pressure in his voice. No expectation.
You nod. His mouth pulls into something that isn't quite a smile, but almost. He gets out first, boots hitting the ground with a heavy thud. Comes around to your side and opens the door like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You slide out, clutching your suitcase tight, trying not to feel like a little kid lost at the fair.
The motel office is locked up for the night, but Joel already has a sad looking brass key. Room 2. He leads the way down the sidewalk. He opens the door, steps aside to let you in first, giving you space.
The room is as bad as you expected.
Scratchy bedspreads. Faded floral curtains. A humming mini-fridge in the corner that sounds vaguely threatening. But it’s clean enough. And it's safe. The first thing Joel does is toss his duffel bag onto the bed nearest the door.
"You can have the other one," he says, jerking his chin toward the second bed. Sheets still tucked in tight. Untouched. You set your suitcase down and stand there awkwardly, wringing your hands. Joel watches you for a long moment.
"You want somethin’ to eat?" he asks. "I got some stuff in the truck. Nothin' fancy, but it's somethin’."
You shake your head. Your stomach feels twisted into knots. "Water, then," he mutters to himself.
He crosses to the mini-fridge, crouches down with a soft grunt, and pulls out two water bottles.
He cracks the cap on one and hands it to you. "Here you go, darlin'," You take the bottle and sip gratefully. Cool water rushing down your raw throat.
Joel lowers himself into the chair by the window and the old wood creaks under his weight. He stretches his long legs out, resting his forearms on his knees, and looks over at you.
"You got anybody you can call?" he asks. You shake your head again. He scrubs a hand over his jaw, the rasp of it loud. "That’s a damn shame," he mutters. "You don’t deserve that." Your chest squeezes tight and you bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood. "Thank you," you whisper. It’s all you can manage.
It feels stupid and small and nowhere near enough. Joel tips his head like he heard you anyway. For a while, the only sound is the hum of the fridge and the distant buzz of the neon sign outside. The whole world feels like it’s folded itself down to this one room and this one moment.
You sink down onto the bed across from him, clutching the water bottle in both hands. "I'll take first watch, if you want." You blink at him, confused.
He smiles, just a little. "Ain’t no locks on these doors worth a damn," he says. "Rather keep an eye out. Make sure nobody bothers you." Something hot and unfamiliar twists low in your stomach. A rough, tender kind of feeling, one you didn’t even realize you were starving for until now.
You curl your legs up onto the bed, tucking yourself into the smallest shape you can make. "Thank you," you whisper again, voice cracking. Joel just leans back in the chair, arms crossed loose over his chest, boots planted solid on the floor.
You wake in the dark.
For a second, you don’t know where you are.
The room is still. But you remember Joel.
Your heart calms a little. You lift your head from the pillow and squint across the room.
He’s still there.
Sitting in that same battered chair, not really asleep. The lamp on the nightstand is still on, dim golden light painting the sad looking walls. You sit up slowly, the blanket pooling around your waist.
Joel stirs when he hears you move and lifts his head.
His eyes find you instantly, bleary but alert, making sure you’re alright. "Sorry," you whisper. "I didn’t mean to wake you."
"You didn’t," he says. He runs a hand through his messy hair, the soft gray at his temples catching the light. "You need somethin', sweetheart?"
You open your mouth then close it again, suddenly too shy to say it. But Joel waits, patient as ever. You pick at a loose thread on the blanket and breathe in slow through your nose.
you whisper, "Will you come sit closer?" Joel goes still. Some battle raging behind his eyes.
Then he stands up, slow. He lowers himself onto the edge of your bed, careful to leave enough space between you that you could still escape if you needed to. If you wanted to.
You shift, just slightly, letting your knee brush his thigh. "You sure?" he murmurs. It would be so easy to say no. But you nod again instead.
The tears come out of nowhere. One minute you're fine, the next you're crumbling. Crumbling into a thousand jagged pieces. "Hey, hey," he murmurs, shifting closer. Without thinking, you press your face into the crook of his shoulder, clutching fistfuls of his worn flannel. He wraps his arms around you.
You sob into him. Ugly, gasping, hiccupping sobs and Joel just holds you through it. His hand rubs slow circles over your back as his mouth brushes your hairline. When you finally pull back, Joel lets you go without a sound. Your face is a mess, tearstained, flushed, swollen but you don’t even care. He tips his head down to meet your eyes.
"You alright now, darlin'?"
You nod. But you're impulsive, so you lean forward and press the softest kiss to his stubbled jaw. Not a kiss that asks for anything or a kiss that demands.
Just a thank you. Just a please stay.
And he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t tell you no.
Not this time. He just presses his forehead against yours, breathing you in slow and shaky.
You wake a little before the sun. The cheap motel curtains let a little light bleed through. Joel is still sleeping. Or at least, his eyes are closed.
You slip out of bed quietly, your body aching in ways you didn’t even realize from the long day before. Sticky with sweat. Heavy with sleep.
You need a shower. Desperately.
You gather the little toiletries you bought from the gas station last night and tiptoe to the bathroom.
The water comes alive with a groan of old pipes and a thin hiss of steam. You step under the spray, shivering a little at first, then sighing when the heat seeps into your skin. Washing away the grime, the dust.
You’re half-done, shampoo stinging your eyes, when you realize you forgot your clean clothes. They're still folded neatly by the bed, in the other room.
Shit.
You wrap your arms around yourself, but there's no towel in the tiny bathroom either. Just bare skin and dripping hair and a racing heart. "Fuck this..." you whisper. "He’s still sleeping. Just real quick." You crack the door open and peek out. Joel's heavy figure is still sprawled across the bed. Face turned into the pillow, blanket rucked around his waist.
You tiptoe out.
Naked, dripping. You reach the edge of the bed, your fingers brush the hem of your clean shirt, but that’s when you hear the shift of sheets. Then the low and scratchy sound of a man clearing his throat.
You freeze. Like a deer caught in the center of a long, empty road. Joel is awake. Very awake, actually.
Sitting up, eyes wide and dark and fixed on you. His gaze drags over you, his hands clenching in the bedsheets like he’s holding himself back with everything he’s got. Heat floods your whole body. You can't move. Can't think.
You're naked, soaking wet, standing in front of a man you met less than 15 hours ago. "Shit—" he rasps, dragging a hand over his mouth, looking away fast. "Shit, darlin’, I thought you were still in the shower—" You scramble backward, grabbing your shirt against your chest, face burning hotter than the sun. "I—I’m sorry, I thought you were still asleep—!"
Joel swings his legs over the edge of the bed, palms raised like he’s trying not to scare you. "It's alright! Ain’t your fault." He keeps his eyes carefully averted, his jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle jump.
You hurry back into the bathroom, slam the door shut, heart trying to punch its way out of your ribs.
You lean against the wood, gasping, mortified.
But for a moment you pause. With your palms flat on the door, heart still hammering, you call out to him. "Joel?"
"Yeahㅡ" you can hear the hesitation in his voice. You squeeze your eyes shut as your cheeks burn. "Will you come wash my back...please?" The quiet drags out for a second too long. You almost lose your nerve. Then the floorboards creak and his rough voice come through again.
"Yeah, s-sure 'Course I will." he stutters. This giant hunk of a man was blushing, and you could hear it in his voice. The door opens. Finally. He steps inside and shuts the door behind him. You turn away, back into the shower, giving him your back, the damp curve of your shoulder blades. You can feel his stare.
When he finally touches you, it’s like fire. His hands are rough, careful, sliding soap over your back, your shoulders, the nape of your neck. Everywhere he touches, your body lights up. And when his hands slip around to your front and you don’t stop him. You don’t want to stop him. You turn in his arms.
Still slick and warm and trembling. Finally he lifts your chin and kisses you like he’s been dying to. Soft at first. Then deeper, needier, like he’s finally giving in.
Joel kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. His palms flatten against your hips, fingers spreading wide like he wants to memorize the feel of you. You clutch at his shirt, the old cotton clinging damp to your palms, dragging him closer without thinking, needing to feel him, needing more.
He groans low in his throat, the sound rumbling against your chest, and suddenly it's like something inside him snaps. He picks you up, just lifts you like it’s nothing, your bare thighs hooking around his waist, your wet skin sliding against the denim of his jeans.
You gasp into his mouth, and he carries you, stumbling, until your back hits the cool tile wall. "Fuck," he breathes against your jaw, "Fuck, you’re killin’ me, baby..." You can feel him, hard and aching pressing into you, and it sends a desperate heat spiraling through your belly. Your hands roam up under his shirt, tracing over rough scars and thick muscles, greedy and shy all at once.
He shudders under your touch, dropping his forehead against yours, trying to catch his breath. "You sure about this?" His voice is hoarse, wrecked. "Don’t gotta do nothin’ you don’t want, sweetheart."
Your throat feels tight, but you manage a shaky whisper."I want to. IㅡI want you." Something shifts in his face. He kisses you again, slower this time. Like he’s worshiping every little gasp, every brush of your lips against his. One hand slides down between your bodies, rough fingertips skimming the inside of your thigh then finally finding its way to your wet fold, and you whimper into his mouth.
He smiles a little at that, a small crooked thing that makes your knees even weaker. You can barely hold on. "S'alright," he murmurs, soothing, "lemme take care of you, little girl."
He touches you with maddening patience, two fingers deep in you, dragging every tiny sound out of you until you’re shaking in his arms, crying out against his neck. "good girl, so pretty, you’re doin’ so good for me, sweetheart —" and it wrecks you even worse.
You want to cry so bad.
You manage to push yourself off of him, sinking down to your knees and looking up at him through tearstained lashes. A little gift, you said, for taking care of you. He groans, his head all over thinking how is this even real. You looked straight out of one those pornos he used to rent back when he was about your age, face flushed and mouth full of cock. "Shitㅡ Atta girl...Y-eah, please keep goin'" he whimpered through bared teeth, hands roughly gripping your hair. His hips were barely kept from snapping like he wanted to. He wondered how it'd feel to fuck your throat, but he didn’t want to force you right now.
Your tongue swirled and lapped around his head, saliva and precum mixing and dripping down onto the shower floor. Your jaw hurt, and knees even more, but you didn’t want to stop. Not until you made him unravel.
Your thoughts are cut short by Joel, pulling you off and up. "Don't make me come yet, baby. Gotta feel you around me first." Oh, how your heart twisted. When he finally sinks into you, slow and careful and thick, your head tips back against the wall with a broken sob.
Joel curses under his breath, clutching you tighter, pressing kisses to your damp cheeks, your temple, your throat. "Shhh," he breathes, rocking into you with aching sweetness, "I got you, baby. I'm right here." And you believe him. For the first time in a long time, you believe someone. You cling to him like a lifeline, gasping his name over and over, as the whole world narrows down to just this.
His cock slides in and out of you rapidly, reaching places you didn’t know felt this good. He fucks you deep and hard, and for the first time you're actually not faking anything. It's all raw, and beautiful and sad at the same time. You cry and he kisses you hungrier, eating up your sobs as his length throbs inside of you. You're all broken again, in his arms, body jolting as he bites your shoulder.
Maybe you'll regret it later. But who cares about later when it seems like today is all you have. When he is all you have. Maybe he's a murderer on the loose, maybe he'll hurt you. Maybe it's the pain controlling you, but it feels right. Just right.
Your vision is blurry, and your head is fuzzy with him, that familiar feeling in your lower belly blooming again. Finally you come undone in his arms, shaking, crying and moaning all at once. He holds you closer, if thats even possible, and spills inside of you, his soft groans filtering through the ringing in your ears.
When it’s over, he doesn’t let you go. Just holds you there, cradled against his chest, both wet and sticky. Dirty and clean. Ugly and rough. "Was real brave of you," he whispers rough into your hair, pressing a kiss there. "Comin’ out here. Trustin’ me."
You smile against his skin through tears, small and trembling.
Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was just stupid luck. But you found him. Or he found you. Either way, you hope he won't let go any time soon.
꒰ ꪆ୧ ꒱ SUℳM𝛢RY ⌢ ꒰੭. Heartbroken and lost, you find your peace in the strangest place — or maybe, in the rough hands of a stranger who feels more like home than anything you've ever known.
˖˙ ᰋ ── 𝖙ags ˚ trucker joel miller x fem reader, no outbreak au, afab reader, strangers to lovers, hurt comfort, soft joel, age gap (mentioned like once), slight angs, found family themes, reader is in a vulnerable mental state, themes of family problems, abandonment themes, sex with a stranger, shower sex, unprotected p in v, head m receiving, some fluff.
𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒﹙ʚɞ˚﹚ 𝖓ote: wooow who is this??? guys i just have so many ideas like i want to keep on writing sm i hope you wont get tired. idk what this is but i craved some trucker joel so yeah. this is not proofread soo...lmk if u want a pt2!!! hope u enjoyyy 🎀🐇🌟
You hadn't even known they were leaving.
No call. No letter. No warning.
Just gone.
The late afternoon sun beats heavy against your back, turning the asphalt into a slow, shimmering sea. Somewhere down the block, a dog barks once. It sounds lonely.
You stand there on the cracked sidewalk, a single suitcase dragging heavy behind you, staring up at the place that once tethered you to the earth.
It looks smaller now.
Older. Sadder.
The windows are dark. The porch swing hangs lopsided, one chain snapped clean through. The garden is wild now, strangled with weeds.
And then there's the sign.
Staked crooked in the dry grass.
FOR SALE.
Faded letters, rust blooming along the edges like sickness. Your mouth is dry. Your throat is tighter than it should be. You step closer, slow. One foot in front of the other, like maybe if you just knock on the door, they’ll open it, laughing, some cruel surprise party for the daughter they forgot.
Maybe they’re inside right now.
Maybe.
But you can already feel the lie breaking apart inside you. No car in the driveway. No porch light left burning. Not even a note tucked into the mailbox.
Nothing. They’re gone.
They left without a word.
Your palms are sweating. Your heart hammers helpless against your ribs, each beat growing louder, louder, until you can’t stand it anymore. You sit down hard on the curb, scraping your palms against the concrete. You barely feel it.
The ache opens up inside you like a sinkhole. A hollow thing, sharp around the edges. You drag in a broken breath and press your fists against your eyes but it’s no good.
The tears come anyway.
Hot. Ugly. Unstoppable. Not the pretty kind you see in movies. No trembling chin, no single glistening tear. Just sobbing, red-faced and snotty, body hunched in on itself like you could somehow hide from the shame of it all.
You must look ridiculous. A full-grown girl weeping into her hands on a shitty little sidewalk in the middle of nowhere.
A few cars roll past. None of them slow down. The sun keeps sliding westward, pulling long shadows behind it, and still you sit there. Too heavy to move.
By the time the low rumble of a truck grinds into the gas station across the street, the sky has cracked itself into a thousand bruised colors. Orange. Violet. Sickly gold.
You don't look up. You don't think you could bear it.
Not until you hear boots and the slow, heavy crunch of them over gravel. You freeze.
Instinctively shrinking into yourself, holding your breath.
"Figured you might need these." A voice. Rough. Warm. Older. You look up through a curtain of tear-blurred lashes. A man stands over you. Sunburnt skin. Faded jeans. Sleeves rolled up to thick forearms. Hair gone silver at the temples.
A stranger. A trucker, maybe.
In his hand there's a fistful of gas station napkins, crushed and slightly oily, but clean enough.
You blink at him. The late sunlight outlines him in gold, makes him seem almost unreal.
Some part of you wants to tell him to go away. That you’re fine. That you don’t need anybody. But you’re not fine. And the kindness in his face is so rare it slices you right open. You reach out and take the napkins with shaking fingers. "Thanks," you whisper, voice breaking apart like wet paper.
He crouches down without being asked, one knee cracking softly under the strain. "Didn’t mean to scare ya," he says, low and careful. "Just saw you sittin’ here lookin’ all broken up." You try to smile, try to pull yourself together, but a fresh sob bubbles up before you can stop it.
The man frowns softens. He shifts closer, careful like he’s approaching a scared doe. "Hey now," he says. "Ain't no shame in it, darlin’. World kicks hard sometimes." You wipe your nose, mortified. Your skin burns with embarrassment.
"IㅡI didn’t know they were gone," you choke out, the words spilling uninvited. "I didn’t knowㅡ they never even told meㅡ" His mouth draws into a thin, grim line. He doesn’t say Jesus or what the hell’s wrong with them or any of the things he could say.
He just nods. Understanding. Like he’s seen this kind of hurt before.
"Families," he mutters, almost to himself. "They can gut you worse’n any knife." You let out a strangled laugh. It sounds ugly, broken, but it’s better than crying. He huffs out a soft breath, like he’s relieved to hear even that.
You’re staring at him before you realize it. At the steady set of his jaw, the faint scar running through his eyebrow, the careful way he holds his hands.
Like he knows what it’s like to hold something fragile. And for one aching second, you lean forward and try to kiss him. It’s clumsy. Salty with tears. Desperate in a way you don’t mean it to be. You feel the scrape of his stubble against your cheek, the stunned heat of his mouth, but just as fast his hands are on your shoulders, gently pushing you back.
"Hey," he says again, voice tight. "Hey. No. Not like this." You stumble backward, cheeks flaming, tears stinging anew. "Iㅡ I’m sorry," you stammer. "I wasn’tㅡ I didn’tㅡ" He’s still crouched there, breathing hard, dragging a rough hand over his face like he’s mad at himself. "You’re not thinkin’ straight," he says. "You’re hurtin’. That ain’t the way this should start."
You press the napkins to your face again, wishing you could disappear. The shame is thick enough to choke on. He hesitates. "My name's Joel." He looks out toward the highway, then back at you. "You got somewhere to stay tonight?"
You shake your head miserably. His jaw tightens. He scrubs a hand through his hair. "I got a room down at that old motel, just off the 45," he says finally. "It ain’t much. But it’s safe. Two beds. Nothin’ will happen you don’t want, I swear it."
You stare at him, every nerve screaming at you not to trust a stranger.
You nod. "Okay," you say, small. Something eases in his face.
"Alright then," he says, rising to his feet with a grunt.
He holds out a hand. You hesitate then reach out and let him pull you up. His hand is big and rough and calloused, but it holds you carefully.
Like you’re a porcelain doll. You follow him toward the truck, the sky bleeding itself dry behind you.
The motel is even sadder than you pictured.
A squat strip of rooms sagging under their own neglect, washed in the sickly orange of buzzing neon lights. Joel pulls his truck into a cracked parking spot and cuts the engine. You fidget with the hem of your sleeve.
"You sure?" Joel asks, voice low. "Last chance to change your mind, darlin'." You glance over at him. The dashboard lights throwing sharp shadows across his face. There's no pressure in his voice. No expectation.
You nod. His mouth pulls into something that isn't quite a smile, but almost. He gets out first, boots hitting the ground with a heavy thud. Comes around to your side and opens the door like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You slide out, clutching your suitcase tight, trying not to feel like a little kid lost at the fair.
The motel office is locked up for the night, but Joel already has a sad looking brass key. Room 2. He leads the way down the sidewalk. He opens the door, steps aside to let you in first, giving you space.
The room is as bad as you expected.
Scratchy bedspreads. Faded floral curtains. A humming mini-fridge in the corner that sounds vaguely threatening. But it’s clean enough. And it's safe. The first thing Joel does is toss his duffel bag onto the bed nearest the door.
"You can have the other one," he says, jerking his chin toward the second bed. Sheets still tucked in tight. Untouched. You set your suitcase down and stand there awkwardly, wringing your hands. Joel watches you for a long moment.
"You want somethin’ to eat?" he asks. "I got some stuff in the truck. Nothin' fancy, but it's somethin’."
You shake your head. Your stomach feels twisted into knots. "Water, then," he mutters to himself.
He crosses to the mini-fridge, crouches down with a soft grunt, and pulls out two water bottles.
He cracks the cap on one and hands it to you. "Here you go, darlin'," You take the bottle and sip gratefully. Cool water rushing down your raw throat.
Joel lowers himself into the chair by the window and the old wood creaks under his weight. He stretches his long legs out, resting his forearms on his knees, and looks over at you.
"You got anybody you can call?" he asks. You shake your head again. He scrubs a hand over his jaw, the rasp of it loud. "That’s a damn shame," he mutters. "You don’t deserve that." Your chest squeezes tight and you bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood. "Thank you," you whisper. It’s all you can manage.
It feels stupid and small and nowhere near enough. Joel tips his head like he heard you anyway. For a while, the only sound is the hum of the fridge and the distant buzz of the neon sign outside. The whole world feels like it’s folded itself down to this one room and this one moment.
You sink down onto the bed across from him, clutching the water bottle in both hands. "I'll take first watch, if you want." You blink at him, confused.
He smiles, just a little. "Ain’t no locks on these doors worth a damn," he says. "Rather keep an eye out. Make sure nobody bothers you." Something hot and unfamiliar twists low in your stomach. A rough, tender kind of feeling, one you didn’t even realize you were starving for until now.
You curl your legs up onto the bed, tucking yourself into the smallest shape you can make. "Thank you," you whisper again, voice cracking. Joel just leans back in the chair, arms crossed loose over his chest, boots planted solid on the floor.
You wake in the dark.
For a second, you don’t know where you are.
The room is still. But you remember Joel.
Your heart calms a little. You lift your head from the pillow and squint across the room.
He’s still there.
Sitting in that same battered chair, not really asleep. The lamp on the nightstand is still on, dim golden light painting the sad looking walls. You sit up slowly, the blanket pooling around your waist.
Joel stirs when he hears you move and lifts his head.
His eyes find you instantly, bleary but alert, making sure you’re alright. "Sorry," you whisper. "I didn’t mean to wake you."
"You didn’t," he says. He runs a hand through his messy hair, the soft gray at his temples catching the light. "You need somethin', sweetheart?"
You open your mouth then close it again, suddenly too shy to say it. But Joel waits, patient as ever. You pick at a loose thread on the blanket and breathe in slow through your nose.
you whisper, "Will you come sit closer?" Joel goes still. Some battle raging behind his eyes.
Then he stands up, slow. He lowers himself onto the edge of your bed, careful to leave enough space between you that you could still escape if you needed to. If you wanted to.
You shift, just slightly, letting your knee brush his thigh. "You sure?" he murmurs. It would be so easy to say no. But you nod again instead.
The tears come out of nowhere. One minute you're fine, the next you're crumbling. Crumbling into a thousand jagged pieces. "Hey, hey," he murmurs, shifting closer. Without thinking, you press your face into the crook of his shoulder, clutching fistfuls of his worn flannel. He wraps his arms around you.
You sob into him. Ugly, gasping, hiccupping sobs and Joel just holds you through it. His hand rubs slow circles over your back as his mouth brushes your hairline. When you finally pull back, Joel lets you go without a sound. Your face is a mess, tearstained, flushed, swollen but you don’t even care. He tips his head down to meet your eyes.
"You alright now, darlin'?"
You nod. But you're impulsive, so you lean forward and press the softest kiss to his stubbled jaw. Not a kiss that asks for anything or a kiss that demands.
Just a thank you. Just a please stay.
And he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t tell you no.
Not this time. He just presses his forehead against yours, breathing you in slow and shaky.
You wake a little before the sun. The cheap motel curtains let a little light bleed through. Joel is still sleeping. Or at least, his eyes are closed.
You slip out of bed quietly, your body aching in ways you didn’t even realize from the long day before. Sticky with sweat. Heavy with sleep.
You need a shower. Desperately.
You gather the little toiletries you bought from the gas station last night and tiptoe to the bathroom.
The water comes alive with a groan of old pipes and a thin hiss of steam. You step under the spray, shivering a little at first, then sighing when the heat seeps into your skin. Washing away the grime, the dust.
You’re half-done, shampoo stinging your eyes, when you realize you forgot your clean clothes. They're still folded neatly by the bed, in the other room.
Shit.
You wrap your arms around yourself, but there's no towel in the tiny bathroom either. Just bare skin and dripping hair and a racing heart. "Fuck this..." you whisper. "He’s still sleeping. Just real quick." You crack the door open and peek out. Joel's heavy figure is still sprawled across the bed. Face turned into the pillow, blanket rucked around his waist.
You tiptoe out.
Naked, dripping. You reach the edge of the bed, your fingers brush the hem of your clean shirt, but that’s when you hear the shift of sheets. Then the low and scratchy sound of a man clearing his throat.
You freeze. Like a deer caught in the center of a long, empty road. Joel is awake. Very awake, actually.
Sitting up, eyes wide and dark and fixed on you. His gaze drags over you, his hands clenching in the bedsheets like he’s holding himself back with everything he’s got. Heat floods your whole body. You can't move. Can't think.
You're naked, soaking wet, standing in front of a man you met less than 15 hours ago. "Shit—" he rasps, dragging a hand over his mouth, looking away fast. "Shit, darlin’, I thought you were still in the shower—" You scramble backward, grabbing your shirt against your chest, face burning hotter than the sun. "I—I’m sorry, I thought you were still asleep—!"
Joel swings his legs over the edge of the bed, palms raised like he’s trying not to scare you. "It's alright! Ain’t your fault." He keeps his eyes carefully averted, his jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle jump.
You hurry back into the bathroom, slam the door shut, heart trying to punch its way out of your ribs.
You lean against the wood, gasping, mortified.
But for a moment you pause. With your palms flat on the door, heart still hammering, you call out to him. "Joel?"
"Yeahㅡ" you can hear the hesitation in his voice. You squeeze your eyes shut as your cheeks burn. "Will you come wash my back...please?" The quiet drags out for a second too long. You almost lose your nerve. Then the floorboards creak and his rough voice come through again.
"Yeah, s-sure 'Course I will." he stutters. This giant hunk of a man was blushing, and you could hear it in his voice. The door opens. Finally. He steps inside and shuts the door behind him. You turn away, back into the shower, giving him your back, the damp curve of your shoulder blades. You can feel his stare.
When he finally touches you, it’s like fire. His hands are rough, careful, sliding soap over your back, your shoulders, the nape of your neck. Everywhere he touches, your body lights up. And when his hands slip around to your front and you don’t stop him. You don’t want to stop him. You turn in his arms.
Still slick and warm and trembling. Finally he lifts your chin and kisses you like he’s been dying to. Soft at first. Then deeper, needier, like he’s finally giving in.
Joel kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. His palms flatten against your hips, fingers spreading wide like he wants to memorize the feel of you. You clutch at his shirt, the old cotton clinging damp to your palms, dragging him closer without thinking, needing to feel him, needing more.
He groans low in his throat, the sound rumbling against your chest, and suddenly it's like something inside him snaps. He picks you up, just lifts you like it’s nothing, your bare thighs hooking around his waist, your wet skin sliding against the denim of his jeans.
You gasp into his mouth, and he carries you, stumbling, until your back hits the cool tile wall. "Fuck," he breathes against your jaw, "Fuck, you’re killin’ me, baby..." You can feel him, hard and aching pressing into you, and it sends a desperate heat spiraling through your belly. Your hands roam up under his shirt, tracing over rough scars and thick muscles, greedy and shy all at once.
He shudders under your touch, dropping his forehead against yours, trying to catch his breath. "You sure about this?" His voice is hoarse, wrecked. "Don’t gotta do nothin’ you don’t want, sweetheart."
Your throat feels tight, but you manage a shaky whisper."I want to. IㅡI want you." Something shifts in his face. He kisses you again, slower this time. Like he’s worshiping every little gasp, every brush of your lips against his. One hand slides down between your bodies, rough fingertips skimming the inside of your thigh then finally finding its way to your wet fold, and you whimper into his mouth.
He smiles a little at that, a small crooked thing that makes your knees even weaker. You can barely hold on. "S'alright," he murmurs, soothing, "lemme take care of you, little girl."
He touches you with maddening patience, two fingers deep in you, dragging every tiny sound out of you until you’re shaking in his arms, crying out against his neck. "good girl, so pretty, you’re doin’ so good for me, sweetheart —" and it wrecks you even worse.
You want to cry so bad.
You manage to push yourself off of him, sinking down to your knees and looking up at him through tearstained lashes. A little gift, you said, for taking care of you. He groans, his head all over thinking how is this even real. You looked straight out of one those pornos he used to rent back when he was about your age, face flushed and mouth full of cock. "Shitㅡ Atta girl...Y-eah, please keep goin'" he whimpered through bared teeth, hands roughly gripping your hair. His hips were barely kept from snapping like he wanted to. He wondered how it'd feel to fuck your throat, but he didn’t want to force you right now.
Your tongue swirled and lapped around his head, saliva and precum mixing and dripping down onto the shower floor. Your jaw hurt, and knees even more, but you didn’t want to stop. Not until you made him unravel.
Your thoughts are cut short by Joel, pulling you off and up. "Don't make me come yet, baby. Gotta feel you around me first." Oh, how your heart twisted. When he finally sinks into you, slow and careful and thick, your head tips back against the wall with a broken sob.
Joel curses under his breath, clutching you tighter, pressing kisses to your damp cheeks, your temple, your throat. "Shhh," he breathes, rocking into you with aching sweetness, "I got you, baby. I'm right here." And you believe him. For the first time in a long time, you believe someone. You cling to him like a lifeline, gasping his name over and over, as the whole world narrows down to just this.
His cock slides in and out of you rapidly, reaching places you didn’t know felt this good. He fucks you deep and hard, and for the first time you're actually not faking anything. It's all raw, and beautiful and sad at the same time. You cry and he kisses you hungrier, eating up your sobs as his length throbs inside of you. You're all broken again, in his arms, body jolting as he bites your shoulder.
Maybe you'll regret it later. But who cares about later when it seems like today is all you have. When he is all you have. Maybe he's a murderer on the loose, maybe he'll hurt you. Maybe it's the pain controlling you, but it feels right. Just right.
Your vision is blurry, and your head is fuzzy with him, that familiar feeling in your lower belly blooming again. Finally you come undone in his arms, shaking, crying and moaning all at once. He holds you closer, if thats even possible, and spills inside of you, his soft groans filtering through the ringing in your ears.
When it’s over, he doesn’t let you go. Just holds you there, cradled against his chest, both wet and sticky. Dirty and clean. Ugly and rough. "Was real brave of you," he whispers rough into your hair, pressing a kiss there. "Comin’ out here. Trustin’ me."
You smile against his skin through tears, small and trembling.
Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was just stupid luck. But you found him. Or he found you. Either way, you hope he won't let go any time soon.
I went from sober to high in the process of reading this and holy fuckkkkk i can’t recommend it enough.
my literary angel you have done it again!!!!! What a masterpiece. The tender emotions. The visceral visuals. Her loneliness and sadness was so clear. And introducing joel with the crunch of gravel under his shoes was so cool. It felt straight out of a movie. Him turning her down but only a “not here/not like this” rejection, leaving the door open for later when she’s better, if she still wants it??? UGH SO BEAUTIFUL AND SWEET AND SEXY AND KIND. I LOVE THIS JOEL SO MUCH ALREADY. I WANT TO RUN THROUGH A THOUSAND RAINSTORMS WITH HIM.
And offering a bed at his motel room? So so fucking sweet. And the adorable way they slept next to each other 😭😭😭💕💕💕💕 tore my heart in two and stitched it back up at the same time.
And when they got together? Wowwww it was beyond words. So stunning. So heartfelt. So in tune with their hearts and minds and their inner life omgggg
Him SHUSHING HER????? Just kill me right now OHMYGOD. And “I’ve got you baby. I’m right here” ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?? THE SWEETEST MOST TENDER SOFT MAN TO EVER FUCKING EXIST??? Ohmyogd.
AND CUMMING IN HIS ARMS??? SHAKING AND CRYING??? Fucking hell i’ve never wanted anything more.
Her orgasm triggering his, is just MAGIC. Ugh that connected interconnected oneness is just unparalleled. Absolute complete swoon. I love this. I can’t wait to read it again.
PLEASE PLEASE i would love to read more of these two. They were precious beyond words and i love them so much
꒰ ꪆ୧ ꒱ SUℳM𝛢RY ⌢ ꒰੭. Heartbroken and lost, you find your peace in the strangest place — or maybe, in the rough hands of a stranger who feels more like home than anything you've ever known.
˖˙ ᰋ ── 𝖙ags ˚ trucker joel miller x fem reader, no outbreak au, afab reader, strangers to lovers, hurt comfort, soft joel, age gap (mentioned like once), slight angs, found family themes, reader is in a vulnerable mental state, themes of family problems, abandonment themes, sex with a stranger, shower sex, unprotected p in v, head m receiving, some fluff.
𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒﹙ʚɞ˚﹚ 𝖓ote: wooow who is this??? guys i just have so many ideas like i want to keep on writing sm i hope you wont get tired. idk what this is but i craved some trucker joel so yeah. this is not proofread soo...lmk if u want a pt2!!! hope u enjoyyy 🎀🐇🌟
You hadn't even known they were leaving.
No call. No letter. No warning.
Just gone.
The late afternoon sun beats heavy against your back, turning the asphalt into a slow, shimmering sea. Somewhere down the block, a dog barks once. It sounds lonely.
You stand there on the cracked sidewalk, a single suitcase dragging heavy behind you, staring up at the place that once tethered you to the earth.
It looks smaller now.
Older. Sadder.
The windows are dark. The porch swing hangs lopsided, one chain snapped clean through. The garden is wild now, strangled with weeds.
And then there's the sign.
Staked crooked in the dry grass.
FOR SALE.
Faded letters, rust blooming along the edges like sickness. Your mouth is dry. Your throat is tighter than it should be. You step closer, slow. One foot in front of the other, like maybe if you just knock on the door, they’ll open it, laughing, some cruel surprise party for the daughter they forgot.
Maybe they’re inside right now.
Maybe.
But you can already feel the lie breaking apart inside you. No car in the driveway. No porch light left burning. Not even a note tucked into the mailbox.
Nothing. They’re gone.
They left without a word.
Your palms are sweating. Your heart hammers helpless against your ribs, each beat growing louder, louder, until you can’t stand it anymore. You sit down hard on the curb, scraping your palms against the concrete. You barely feel it.
The ache opens up inside you like a sinkhole. A hollow thing, sharp around the edges. You drag in a broken breath and press your fists against your eyes but it’s no good.
The tears come anyway.
Hot. Ugly. Unstoppable. Not the pretty kind you see in movies. No trembling chin, no single glistening tear. Just sobbing, red-faced and snotty, body hunched in on itself like you could somehow hide from the shame of it all.
You must look ridiculous. A full-grown girl weeping into her hands on a shitty little sidewalk in the middle of nowhere.
A few cars roll past. None of them slow down. The sun keeps sliding westward, pulling long shadows behind it, and still you sit there. Too heavy to move.
By the time the low rumble of a truck grinds into the gas station across the street, the sky has cracked itself into a thousand bruised colors. Orange. Violet. Sickly gold.
You don't look up. You don't think you could bear it.
Not until you hear boots and the slow, heavy crunch of them over gravel. You freeze.
Instinctively shrinking into yourself, holding your breath.
"Figured you might need these." A voice. Rough. Warm. Older. You look up through a curtain of tear-blurred lashes. A man stands over you. Sunburnt skin. Faded jeans. Sleeves rolled up to thick forearms. Hair gone silver at the temples.
A stranger. A trucker, maybe.
In his hand there's a fistful of gas station napkins, crushed and slightly oily, but clean enough.
You blink at him. The late sunlight outlines him in gold, makes him seem almost unreal.
Some part of you wants to tell him to go away. That you’re fine. That you don’t need anybody. But you’re not fine. And the kindness in his face is so rare it slices you right open. You reach out and take the napkins with shaking fingers. "Thanks," you whisper, voice breaking apart like wet paper.
He crouches down without being asked, one knee cracking softly under the strain. "Didn’t mean to scare ya," he says, low and careful. "Just saw you sittin’ here lookin’ all broken up." You try to smile, try to pull yourself together, but a fresh sob bubbles up before you can stop it.
The man frowns softens. He shifts closer, careful like he’s approaching a scared doe. "Hey now," he says. "Ain't no shame in it, darlin’. World kicks hard sometimes." You wipe your nose, mortified. Your skin burns with embarrassment.
"IㅡI didn’t know they were gone," you choke out, the words spilling uninvited. "I didn’t knowㅡ they never even told meㅡ" His mouth draws into a thin, grim line. He doesn’t say Jesus or what the hell’s wrong with them or any of the things he could say.
He just nods. Understanding. Like he’s seen this kind of hurt before.
"Families," he mutters, almost to himself. "They can gut you worse’n any knife." You let out a strangled laugh. It sounds ugly, broken, but it’s better than crying. He huffs out a soft breath, like he’s relieved to hear even that.
You’re staring at him before you realize it. At the steady set of his jaw, the faint scar running through his eyebrow, the careful way he holds his hands.
Like he knows what it’s like to hold something fragile. And for one aching second, you lean forward and try to kiss him. It’s clumsy. Salty with tears. Desperate in a way you don’t mean it to be. You feel the scrape of his stubble against your cheek, the stunned heat of his mouth, but just as fast his hands are on your shoulders, gently pushing you back.
"Hey," he says again, voice tight. "Hey. No. Not like this." You stumble backward, cheeks flaming, tears stinging anew. "Iㅡ I’m sorry," you stammer. "I wasn’tㅡ I didn’tㅡ" He’s still crouched there, breathing hard, dragging a rough hand over his face like he’s mad at himself. "You’re not thinkin’ straight," he says. "You’re hurtin’. That ain’t the way this should start."
You press the napkins to your face again, wishing you could disappear. The shame is thick enough to choke on. He hesitates. "My name's Joel." He looks out toward the highway, then back at you. "You got somewhere to stay tonight?"
You shake your head miserably. His jaw tightens. He scrubs a hand through his hair. "I got a room down at that old motel, just off the 45," he says finally. "It ain’t much. But it’s safe. Two beds. Nothin’ will happen you don’t want, I swear it."
You stare at him, every nerve screaming at you not to trust a stranger.
You nod. "Okay," you say, small. Something eases in his face.
"Alright then," he says, rising to his feet with a grunt.
He holds out a hand. You hesitate then reach out and let him pull you up. His hand is big and rough and calloused, but it holds you carefully.
Like you’re a porcelain doll. You follow him toward the truck, the sky bleeding itself dry behind you.
The motel is even sadder than you pictured.
A squat strip of rooms sagging under their own neglect, washed in the sickly orange of buzzing neon lights. Joel pulls his truck into a cracked parking spot and cuts the engine. You fidget with the hem of your sleeve.
"You sure?" Joel asks, voice low. "Last chance to change your mind, darlin'." You glance over at him. The dashboard lights throwing sharp shadows across his face. There's no pressure in his voice. No expectation.
You nod. His mouth pulls into something that isn't quite a smile, but almost. He gets out first, boots hitting the ground with a heavy thud. Comes around to your side and opens the door like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You slide out, clutching your suitcase tight, trying not to feel like a little kid lost at the fair.
The motel office is locked up for the night, but Joel already has a sad looking brass key. Room 2. He leads the way down the sidewalk. He opens the door, steps aside to let you in first, giving you space.
The room is as bad as you expected.
Scratchy bedspreads. Faded floral curtains. A humming mini-fridge in the corner that sounds vaguely threatening. But it’s clean enough. And it's safe. The first thing Joel does is toss his duffel bag onto the bed nearest the door.
"You can have the other one," he says, jerking his chin toward the second bed. Sheets still tucked in tight. Untouched. You set your suitcase down and stand there awkwardly, wringing your hands. Joel watches you for a long moment.
"You want somethin’ to eat?" he asks. "I got some stuff in the truck. Nothin' fancy, but it's somethin’."
You shake your head. Your stomach feels twisted into knots. "Water, then," he mutters to himself.
He crosses to the mini-fridge, crouches down with a soft grunt, and pulls out two water bottles.
He cracks the cap on one and hands it to you. "Here you go, darlin'," You take the bottle and sip gratefully. Cool water rushing down your raw throat.
Joel lowers himself into the chair by the window and the old wood creaks under his weight. He stretches his long legs out, resting his forearms on his knees, and looks over at you.
"You got anybody you can call?" he asks. You shake your head again. He scrubs a hand over his jaw, the rasp of it loud. "That’s a damn shame," he mutters. "You don’t deserve that." Your chest squeezes tight and you bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood. "Thank you," you whisper. It’s all you can manage.
It feels stupid and small and nowhere near enough. Joel tips his head like he heard you anyway. For a while, the only sound is the hum of the fridge and the distant buzz of the neon sign outside. The whole world feels like it’s folded itself down to this one room and this one moment.
You sink down onto the bed across from him, clutching the water bottle in both hands. "I'll take first watch, if you want." You blink at him, confused.
He smiles, just a little. "Ain’t no locks on these doors worth a damn," he says. "Rather keep an eye out. Make sure nobody bothers you." Something hot and unfamiliar twists low in your stomach. A rough, tender kind of feeling, one you didn’t even realize you were starving for until now.
You curl your legs up onto the bed, tucking yourself into the smallest shape you can make. "Thank you," you whisper again, voice cracking. Joel just leans back in the chair, arms crossed loose over his chest, boots planted solid on the floor.
You wake in the dark.
For a second, you don’t know where you are.
The room is still. But you remember Joel.
Your heart calms a little. You lift your head from the pillow and squint across the room.
He’s still there.
Sitting in that same battered chair, not really asleep. The lamp on the nightstand is still on, dim golden light painting the sad looking walls. You sit up slowly, the blanket pooling around your waist.
Joel stirs when he hears you move and lifts his head.
His eyes find you instantly, bleary but alert, making sure you’re alright. "Sorry," you whisper. "I didn’t mean to wake you."
"You didn’t," he says. He runs a hand through his messy hair, the soft gray at his temples catching the light. "You need somethin', sweetheart?"
You open your mouth then close it again, suddenly too shy to say it. But Joel waits, patient as ever. You pick at a loose thread on the blanket and breathe in slow through your nose.
you whisper, "Will you come sit closer?" Joel goes still. Some battle raging behind his eyes.
Then he stands up, slow. He lowers himself onto the edge of your bed, careful to leave enough space between you that you could still escape if you needed to. If you wanted to.
You shift, just slightly, letting your knee brush his thigh. "You sure?" he murmurs. It would be so easy to say no. But you nod again instead.
The tears come out of nowhere. One minute you're fine, the next you're crumbling. Crumbling into a thousand jagged pieces. "Hey, hey," he murmurs, shifting closer. Without thinking, you press your face into the crook of his shoulder, clutching fistfuls of his worn flannel. He wraps his arms around you.
You sob into him. Ugly, gasping, hiccupping sobs and Joel just holds you through it. His hand rubs slow circles over your back as his mouth brushes your hairline. When you finally pull back, Joel lets you go without a sound. Your face is a mess, tearstained, flushed, swollen but you don’t even care. He tips his head down to meet your eyes.
"You alright now, darlin'?"
You nod. But you're impulsive, so you lean forward and press the softest kiss to his stubbled jaw. Not a kiss that asks for anything or a kiss that demands.
Just a thank you. Just a please stay.
And he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t tell you no.
Not this time. He just presses his forehead against yours, breathing you in slow and shaky.
You wake a little before the sun. The cheap motel curtains let a little light bleed through. Joel is still sleeping. Or at least, his eyes are closed.
You slip out of bed quietly, your body aching in ways you didn’t even realize from the long day before. Sticky with sweat. Heavy with sleep.
You need a shower. Desperately.
You gather the little toiletries you bought from the gas station last night and tiptoe to the bathroom.
The water comes alive with a groan of old pipes and a thin hiss of steam. You step under the spray, shivering a little at first, then sighing when the heat seeps into your skin. Washing away the grime, the dust.
You’re half-done, shampoo stinging your eyes, when you realize you forgot your clean clothes. They're still folded neatly by the bed, in the other room.
Shit.
You wrap your arms around yourself, but there's no towel in the tiny bathroom either. Just bare skin and dripping hair and a racing heart. "Fuck this..." you whisper. "He’s still sleeping. Just real quick." You crack the door open and peek out. Joel's heavy figure is still sprawled across the bed. Face turned into the pillow, blanket rucked around his waist.
You tiptoe out.
Naked, dripping. You reach the edge of the bed, your fingers brush the hem of your clean shirt, but that’s when you hear the shift of sheets. Then the low and scratchy sound of a man clearing his throat.
You freeze. Like a deer caught in the center of a long, empty road. Joel is awake. Very awake, actually.
Sitting up, eyes wide and dark and fixed on you. His gaze drags over you, his hands clenching in the bedsheets like he’s holding himself back with everything he’s got. Heat floods your whole body. You can't move. Can't think.
You're naked, soaking wet, standing in front of a man you met less than 15 hours ago. "Shit—" he rasps, dragging a hand over his mouth, looking away fast. "Shit, darlin’, I thought you were still in the shower—" You scramble backward, grabbing your shirt against your chest, face burning hotter than the sun. "I—I’m sorry, I thought you were still asleep—!"
Joel swings his legs over the edge of the bed, palms raised like he’s trying not to scare you. "It's alright! Ain’t your fault." He keeps his eyes carefully averted, his jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle jump.
You hurry back into the bathroom, slam the door shut, heart trying to punch its way out of your ribs.
You lean against the wood, gasping, mortified.
But for a moment you pause. With your palms flat on the door, heart still hammering, you call out to him. "Joel?"
"Yeahㅡ" you can hear the hesitation in his voice. You squeeze your eyes shut as your cheeks burn. "Will you come wash my back...please?" The quiet drags out for a second too long. You almost lose your nerve. Then the floorboards creak and his rough voice come through again.
"Yeah, s-sure 'Course I will." he stutters. This giant hunk of a man was blushing, and you could hear it in his voice. The door opens. Finally. He steps inside and shuts the door behind him. You turn away, back into the shower, giving him your back, the damp curve of your shoulder blades. You can feel his stare.
When he finally touches you, it’s like fire. His hands are rough, careful, sliding soap over your back, your shoulders, the nape of your neck. Everywhere he touches, your body lights up. And when his hands slip around to your front and you don’t stop him. You don’t want to stop him. You turn in his arms.
Still slick and warm and trembling. Finally he lifts your chin and kisses you like he’s been dying to. Soft at first. Then deeper, needier, like he’s finally giving in.
Joel kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. His palms flatten against your hips, fingers spreading wide like he wants to memorize the feel of you. You clutch at his shirt, the old cotton clinging damp to your palms, dragging him closer without thinking, needing to feel him, needing more.
He groans low in his throat, the sound rumbling against your chest, and suddenly it's like something inside him snaps. He picks you up, just lifts you like it’s nothing, your bare thighs hooking around his waist, your wet skin sliding against the denim of his jeans.
You gasp into his mouth, and he carries you, stumbling, until your back hits the cool tile wall. "Fuck," he breathes against your jaw, "Fuck, you’re killin’ me, baby..." You can feel him, hard and aching pressing into you, and it sends a desperate heat spiraling through your belly. Your hands roam up under his shirt, tracing over rough scars and thick muscles, greedy and shy all at once.
He shudders under your touch, dropping his forehead against yours, trying to catch his breath. "You sure about this?" His voice is hoarse, wrecked. "Don’t gotta do nothin’ you don’t want, sweetheart."
Your throat feels tight, but you manage a shaky whisper."I want to. IㅡI want you." Something shifts in his face. He kisses you again, slower this time. Like he’s worshiping every little gasp, every brush of your lips against his. One hand slides down between your bodies, rough fingertips skimming the inside of your thigh then finally finding its way to your wet fold, and you whimper into his mouth.
He smiles a little at that, a small crooked thing that makes your knees even weaker. You can barely hold on. "S'alright," he murmurs, soothing, "lemme take care of you, little girl."
He touches you with maddening patience, two fingers deep in you, dragging every tiny sound out of you until you’re shaking in his arms, crying out against his neck. "good girl, so pretty, you’re doin’ so good for me, sweetheart —" and it wrecks you even worse.
You want to cry so bad.
You manage to push yourself off of him, sinking down to your knees and looking up at him through tearstained lashes. A little gift, you said, for taking care of you. He groans, his head all over thinking how is this even real. You looked straight out of one those pornos he used to rent back when he was about your age, face flushed and mouth full of cock. "Shitㅡ Atta girl...Y-eah, please keep goin'" he whimpered through bared teeth, hands roughly gripping your hair. His hips were barely kept from snapping like he wanted to. He wondered how it'd feel to fuck your throat, but he didn’t want to force you right now.
Your tongue swirled and lapped around his head, saliva and precum mixing and dripping down onto the shower floor. Your jaw hurt, and knees even more, but you didn’t want to stop. Not until you made him unravel.
Your thoughts are cut short by Joel, pulling you off and up. "Don't make me come yet, baby. Gotta feel you around me first." Oh, how your heart twisted. When he finally sinks into you, slow and careful and thick, your head tips back against the wall with a broken sob.
Joel curses under his breath, clutching you tighter, pressing kisses to your damp cheeks, your temple, your throat. "Shhh," he breathes, rocking into you with aching sweetness, "I got you, baby. I'm right here." And you believe him. For the first time in a long time, you believe someone. You cling to him like a lifeline, gasping his name over and over, as the whole world narrows down to just this.
His cock slides in and out of you rapidly, reaching places you didn’t know felt this good. He fucks you deep and hard, and for the first time you're actually not faking anything. It's all raw, and beautiful and sad at the same time. You cry and he kisses you hungrier, eating up your sobs as his length throbs inside of you. You're all broken again, in his arms, body jolting as he bites your shoulder.
Maybe you'll regret it later. But who cares about later when it seems like today is all you have. When he is all you have. Maybe he's a murderer on the loose, maybe he'll hurt you. Maybe it's the pain controlling you, but it feels right. Just right.
Your vision is blurry, and your head is fuzzy with him, that familiar feeling in your lower belly blooming again. Finally you come undone in his arms, shaking, crying and moaning all at once. He holds you closer, if thats even possible, and spills inside of you, his soft groans filtering through the ringing in your ears.
When it’s over, he doesn’t let you go. Just holds you there, cradled against his chest, both wet and sticky. Dirty and clean. Ugly and rough. "Was real brave of you," he whispers rough into your hair, pressing a kiss there. "Comin’ out here. Trustin’ me."
You smile against his skin through tears, small and trembling.
Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was just stupid luck. But you found him. Or he found you. Either way, you hope he won't let go any time soon.
