#neighbor!joel

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. iii

now taking name suggestions for my joel's duck doodle. must rhyme with a curse word. most creative wins.

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: as your pregnancy progresses, you and joel are getting closer. dangerously closer.

warnings: reader is literally pregnant so typical pregnancy symptoms & descriptions of stuff like extreme nausea and gagging (reader throws up off-page, no graphic description past sore throat/esophagus afterward), body changing, nerves around birth/becoming mom, another sonogram (gender reveal...?), baby kicks felt, labor pains shhh, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), joel is dating someone who isn't reader, our girl hates nye (she's valid), tommy uses colors to represent gender (he is Wrong), joel is for sure emotionally cheating at this point and reader knows it, joel kisses someone who is not his partner again, f masturbation, memories of the hot dirty sex they had whew, a SPRINKLING of breeding kink, praise kink, size kink, another parent dies (i love parents i promise ????), jealous!reader, protective!joel, alcohol consumption, cursing, a LOT of angst, lots of fluff, lil bit of smut, and duckie has the best comedic timing of any character in this entire series. :) DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there’s ever anything you feel i’ve missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 11.4k (sorry. lots to cover lots to do.)

pt. i / series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

December.

The days are funneled by a quick pinch of dark, the breeze heavy in its sail. Houses lined with twinkling lights and windows pierced by pointed trees. Crooning from every radio station, teary-eyed movies on TV, and spiced apple everything.

You hate every fucking minute of it.

“Wait a second,” Tommy sits forward, leaning in, “you never do nothin’ for New Years?”

You shrug, lifting your eyebrows. “Nope. Just don’t like it much. That a crime?”

He considers it as he hands his empty tumbler up to Joel, his head lolling some. He’s on his…fourth drink of the night, right? Though, if you take into account his earlier argument – I’m eatin’ as I go. It don’t count. – it’s probably more like two. But it’s whiskey, so –

Never mind.

“Yeah,” Tommy finally decides, “kinda. The hell’s wrong with you, girl?”

“Tommy.”

Joel’s voice is a warning, edged by the sharp clink of three glasses pinched in his fingers.

His brother laughs amiably in response, though, nodding to your mock-offended expression. “At least you’re spendin’ it right this year. Last one before lil’ Dickie comes along, huh?”

Maria slaps his shoulder, rolling her eyes. “It’s Duckie,” she hisses, glancing over to you.

“Shoot,” he says, chuckling. “I knew that. My mistake.” And then, hand out towards you in an apology which makes your shoulders jerk with laughter, “I did know that, I swear.”

Tommy and Maria flew in a few days ago; the younger Miller adamant that he’d spend one last New Years with his big brother before he became a father. The night they arrived, they showed up on your doorstep – a hamper filled with diapers and muslins and baby socks hanging from Maria’s arm. They’ve asked to hang out with you every day since.

They’re good fun. Tommy likes you, at least, enough to tease you as much as you figure a brother might. He’s definitely the louder of the two – sometimes you swear you notice Joel cringing at him, something caught between a laugh and a frown on his face. And Maria’s sweet; she’s asked probably six times every hour since she first saw you if you’re feeling okay, if you’re tired, if you’re hungry.

Joel text you yesterday morning. Tommy and Maria wondering if you feel like coming over for NYE. No pressure, he added, I lie pretty good.

A smile snuck its way across your lips before you had the chance to tame it. Sure, you typed, I’ll bring the newspaper.

What Joel’s told them, about the wedding and the baby and everything since, you’ve no idea. You guys almost talked about it when he told you they were flying down after Christmas, but before you got the chance to ask him, Vanessa pulled up out front.

Not exactly a conversation you felt like having with the dude’s girlfriend hooked around his right arm.

She smiles at you, now, as you shuffle to the edge of the armchair you’re curled up in. Joel’s armchair – the plaid blanket cradling you, the leather soft and crinkled beneath. Your eyes quickly drop from hers when his hand reaches for your mug, your fingers crossing as you pass it up. “Let me come help,” you say, pushing from the chair.

He holds up a palm, shaking his head once. “Stay. I got it.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, settling back. Vanessa resumes smiling. You wish she’d fucking quit it. You wish you’d fucking quit focusing on her.

Joel knocks the mug gently against your shoulder with a small, almost sympathetic smile, and heads for the kitchen – leaving you sat between Tommy and Maria on one couch, and Vanessa on the other. You tuck your heels under your thighs, picking at a hangnail as you wait for the conversation to thaw.

Maria makes some comment about Austin in the winter: how different it is to Jackson, and the three of you nod and hum in agreement before the chatter fizzles to nothing again. You glance over to the clock, watching the hands chase one another to twelve.

This isn’t what you imagined a get-together with Joel’s family would feel like. Tight, tense. So tense that you can feel the weight on your chest, closing your lungs. Talking about the weather and the holiday traffic, talking about nothing to avoid talking about everything.

Tommy’s chin lifts, after a second too long of silence. “Hey, Joel!” he barks. “You ain’t shown me this nursery yet!”

Joel leans around the doorframe, half-distracted. “Barely even started it, little brother. Crib only got delivered yesterday.”

“Sheesh,” Maria’s eyes widen, “you sure are prepared.”

Vanessa laughs when Joel rolls his eyes and vanishes again. “You got no idea,” she says, “I have never seen him so…pedantic, right?” She looks to you, still smiling. So sweet, you worry your lips are pursing at the sight of it. Your neck tensing. Your eyes watering.

“Yeah,” you reply, nodding shyly and swallowing back the saccharine. “I think he’s more nervous than he’s letting on.”

Joel’s voice calls from the kitchen again: your name. When you answer, he says, “Why don’t you take Tommy up, show ‘im what we got so far?” and then, leaning back around the door, “She picked the color ‘n whatnot.”

“Ah,” Tommy says, palms pushing down on his knees, “so you’re the brains, then?”

You mirror him, accepting Joel’s request. As though you had any choice in the first place. Standing beside the younger Miller, you mutter, “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

He holds a hand out to usher you ahead, following you upstairs. Past the tousle-haired boy in grayscale, past the German shepherd, past the Christmas Day portrait. Wandering like you know the house inside out, like you might’ve picked the exact coordinates of each nail the picture frames hang on yourself.

Like the photographs pinned to the walls aren’t still as alien to you as they’d been that day you first set foot in here, the dress Joel would come to tear from your body slung over your arm.

You twist the gold handle and unveil a homely little room, painted by you and Joel just last week. The soft blue drying into his knuckles, random splatters on your palms and your jeans. The giggles drawn from your chest; the thief either the chemicals from the paint, or the man rolling it over the walls – and you’ve a pretty good idea of which.

Tommy sniffs roughly, nodding. Taps the toe of his boot against one of the two bulky boxes leant against the wall, a crib printed on one and a rocking chair on the other. His tipsy head bob bob bobbing. “Alright. ‘s nice, ain’t it?”

You settle against the window, the glass cold at your back. “Real nice, yeah. Be even better once it’s done.”

“What’s yours look like?”

“Mine?”

“Nursery at your place. Your one pink, ‘case it’s a girl?”

You snort. “Mine is a little greener. More…I guess it’s duck egg. Had some leftover paint.”

He clicks his fingers and points to you. “See what you did there. Duck egg. Duckie.”

“Hm. Wish I were that poetic. I just like the color.”

Tommy stuffs his hands in his pockets, wanders around the bare room. The faint lingering of whiskey putting up its best fight against the clean bite of fresh paint, the sweet scent shaking from him when he nods some more at the blank walls and naked windows. He clicks his teeth and asks, “How you holdin’ up, anyways?”

“How am I holding up?”

“Yep. With, uh…” he nods to the door, eyes wide, “…Vanessa,” he whispers. Louder than he must think – probably echoed, if anything, by the palm he curves around his mouth.

You cross your arms protectively, shoulders bunching. “She’s fine,” you say, voice deliberately low. You both ignore the crack in it when you add, “I like her. She’s – she’s taken this all like a champ.”

Tommy leans on the window ledge, a rugged hand you reckon you’d know was a Miller’s just by looking at it. Same rough-cut quality as Joel’s, like they’re torn from the same sheet of sandpaper. He props the other on his hip. “But, boy – it’s gotta be complicated, right?”

“I guess. But she’s real sweet about it. And Joel’s been great, too.” You sniff, the memory of your kiss flashing behind your eyes. The steady drum of Duck’s heartbeat, the gleam in Joel’s eye when he looked down at you. The guilt seeping from your skin like beads of sweat, prickling along your spine and fizzling against the cold windowpane.

Tommy blinks at you, liquor-glazed eyes scanning. His shoulders jerk, a loud huh propelling from his throat. When your head cocks in confusion, startled from your daydream, he spills. “He ‘n I had a mighty long talk when he told me.”

You feel yourself leaning in, magnetized to him – body hunched as though you’re gossiping in the corner of a house party. Inhaling secrets with the tinge of alcohol on Tommy’s breath. “Oh, yeah?”

Tommy hums. “Just wanted to make sure he’d thought it all through. Not you – I always knew he’d take care a’ you and Duck. But…involving Vanessa,” he lowers his voice again, glancing over to the warm light spilling in from the hallway, “I just wanted him to be sure.”

Your blood begins to warm, heat flooding through your body as you step closer, murmuring, “What’d he say?”

He flicks his head, seeming to toss his initial response to the wind. “You know Joel. He is his own man.”

Your face screws, head jerking back. “What’s that mean? He is his own man?”

A voice from the doorway interrupts. A shadow swimming in the golden light. “Who is?”

Tommy steps away from you, loosening his arms as his big brother drifts into the shadowy room. Dusting the conversation under the rug. The smell of whiskey backs off. “Speak of the devil. Nice paint job, Joel. Missed a couple spots, but – I’ll let you off.”

“Uhuh.” Joel’s eyes thin, his body slanted against the wall. Arms crossed, bottle of beer hanging from his fingers.

Tommy swaggers forward when Joel holds the bottle out, taking it with a wary glance at the tall figure. A dog meandering back to his owner, tail between his legs and ears flat. It takes his gritty voice to jolt you back to the room, splintering your gaze from Joel’s toned arms and huge chest. “Looks real good, you two. ‘s one lucky kid.”

Joel’s jaw lifts, his eyes landing on you. Dogs are terrible liars. “He talkin’ your ear off?”

You smile; recognizing the softer Joel you’ve grown used to over the last three months replacing the stern, cold version you once knew so well. “Only a little.”

“Tommy,” he says then, “Maria needs you for somethin’.”

The denim-donned Miller nods knowingly and heads out of the room, thud of his boots receding downstairs.

“Maria okay?” you ask, making space for Joel as he settles beside you.

He shrugs. “Only said that to get him outta your hair.”

You frown. “You sent me up here with him in the first place.”

“So I could come up ‘n check on you. Know this must be a lot – the two of them, tonight.”

“I’m fine. Promise. I’m a big girl.”

You both sigh, turning to look out at the dark street. Your arms cross, sitting somewhere above the tiny slope of your bump – a new development you’re still getting used to. Your stomach feels tighter, a little more solid than usual when you touch it. A little more…real. There’s someone in there, right? Like, actually there. They’re changing the way you look, the way you feel.

“This is it, right?” you say, staring at the white lanterns illuminating Alice Brown’s rose bushes. “This is the year.”

“The year,” Joel agrees.

“Mhm. Become a mom. Become a dad.”

He purses his lips. “Yeah, I don’t know. I’ve had bigger years, kid.”

“Let’s hear it, old man. Let’s hear about your biggest year. God knows you’ve had plenty to choose from.”

He sucks a deep breath in, eyes tracing the silhouette of the houses across the street as he thinks. “Senior year, nineteen ninety-three. Asked Stacy Moore as my date to the prom ‘n she said yes. I was so nervous that I forgot my bow tie. Was a pretty good year.”

You hum, agreeing, and then, “I see your ninety-three, and I raise you: two thousand and one. There was this bike I wanted for-fucking-ever; it had, like, little beads on the spokes – would make this ratatatat sound whenever it moved. Tassels hanging from the handlebars, all iridescent. I begged my mom the entire year for it, and on Christmas morning I woke up, and…” You lift your hands, air puffing from between your lips. “Santa Claus delivered that year, dude.”

“Well,” Joel clicks his teeth, shell hardening only a little, “thanks for making me feel old as hell.”

“You’re welcome.” You beam back at him, breaking into a laugh when he does.

The two of you stand a little distance apart, denying yourselves the innocent brushing of shoulder against shoulder, the nudging of elbows and swaying of hips. Admiring the empty sky and emptier street, bathing between the cold moonlight of outside and the warm lamplight in.

And from somewhere deep in your belly, somewhere tucked behind your ribs, beneath your slow-growing womb: an urge to ask about her. To bring her up. To tend to the curiosity that Tommy poked a clumsy, drunken finger straight into, tearing it apart at the seams.

Like pressing on a new bruise, satiating the hungry need to know where you were hurt, how you were hurt, when you were hurt. A bent fingertip, pushing heavily into a sensitive splatter of dark purple; the burst blood vessels hissing in response, whispering, You don’t know, and you don’t want to know.

But you defy them. You do want to know. Want to satisfy the disturbed thrill you felt, leaning into Joel’s brother. Hands turning over one another, wet bottom lip trembling as he rounded the corner on some sort of…what was it, a secret? Some sort of truth, a long-buried revelation about the other woman. She’s a witch, have you spotted her crooked nose? She’s plotting something, I swear. She’s up to no good.

Your eyes lift again, focusing back on the dull color of the outside world. The bland canvas of reality. She’s not a witch, nor some genius mastermind. She’s a boring, relatively normal woman. Kind, thoughtful. Naïve and a little too eager to please; too willing to forgive a situation which warrants no such kindness or empathy.

She’s just…fine. Lukewarm. And you’ve no idea why that pisses you off so much.

Which, incidentally, makes the bruise sting all the more.

“Maria, Maria,” Tommy’s voice claws its way upstairs, “turn it on, turn it – Joel? Joel! It’s midnight, Joel, you two better come on down, now! Have we missed it –? Have we –?”

The sound of cheering slowly bubbles to life behind his drawl as the TV volume picks up, the tittering of Maria and Vanessa chiming in.

“…five, four, three, two, one…Happy New Year!”

Joel’s looking over his shoulder, waiting for footsteps or voices or a girlfriend who never shows. And he ignores his brother, for he is his own man, and turns to you instead. Bracing himself on the ledge, he blinks down with a plain grin on his lips. “Happy New Year, Mom,” he whispers.

You return his smile, taking his hand when he reaches out to you. “Happy New Year, Dad,” you reply, squeezing his palm.

He pulls you in for a hug, kissing your cheek briskly as you hook your arms over his shoulders. His beard scratches your cheek, grazes the curve of your shoulder, and you don’t mind. Your small, swollen belly presses against his; the tiny curve safe in the midst of your embrace.

Outside, the sky crackles to life with the distant spatter of fireworks, color shattering across the black canvas – red, blue, green and gold, dissolving as quickly as they explode into the now-January night. A burst of purple light washes between the two of you, and you turn your head on Joel’s shoulder to watch as the sparks rain over your neighbors’ roofs.

“I should get goin’,” you whisper, feeling his heartbeat a little too strongly against your own. Becoming suddenly aware of the weight of your frames locked together.

“Glad you came,” he says as he leans away. “I know this ain’t…I know we’re all tryin’, but you’re tryin’ the most, and I appreciate it. I hope you know that.”

“I know it,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. “Now, go. Go kiss your girlfriend.”

He chuckles, making for the door. “You want me to walk you home?”

Your eyes close serenely, the image of him doused in flickers of gold burning behind your eyelids. “I’ll survive the walk across the hedgerow, Miller.”

Joel nods once and leaves, plodding downstairs to be greeted by his open-armed girlfriend, a peck between them, arms crossed behind his neck. The lyrics of Auld Lang Syne slurred against his lips.

And you think – You know what? If it’ll rip you apart from her, if it’ll keep her bright red lips and her shining curtain of hair away from you, if it’ll stop her sucking in your air and your smell and your attention for thirty fucking seconds –

Then, yeah. Walk me home. Stay for a drink. Sleep in the goddamn guestroom.

Walk me home.

You slip out of the front door when the two couples are in the kitchen, missing Joel’s calling your name – or perhaps just ignoring it altogether.

“Spread the love at St. David’s this Valentine’s Day…”

Joel slows alongside a wall of cerise hearts, each one fluttering like wings whenever the hospital doors slide open and the breeze sneaks inside. Slips scrawled with names and messages: Love you M! and J + A, crude drawings of stick figures holding hands. Your lips curl into a smirk, watching him flick through each one as you palm your round stomach.

You just saw Duck for the second time. The last time, Freya was kind enough to mention, before they’re tearing you in two. Sorry, she mouthed when your expression dropped, and went back to twisting the probe over your stomach. Silently.

You’re getting better at it, you think. Playing Mom. Like some little game of make-believe, which is only real for as long as you’re looking it square in the eye – attending doctor’s appointments, updating the neighbors on your newest list of symptoms en route to your mailbox.

A little surer on your feet, now that you’ve found a balance to it: taking it as seriously as it warrants, a dry little pill stuck on the cliff of your throat, and making it easier to swallow with humor like water, a huge gulp anytime the fear claws its way up your spine.

And no more panic, since at least before Christmas. Only a little flustered this afternoon when Freya asked if you wanted to know the sex.

It felt too big a thing to hear, too real. You’re only just getting used to the backache and the bleeding gums. (And why didn’t you know that your gums would bleed? Isn’t that something they should fucking warn you about? Congrats, you’re pregnant: prepare for blood seeping from your jaw.)

No. No, thanks. Your head shot around to Joel. No, right?

He shrugged. Makes no difference to me.

Are you sure?

I’m sure, kid. Promise.

‘cause we can find out. I mean – if you want to.

He rocked forward on the balls of his feet, tapping you amiably on the shoulder. I don’t. You’re good.

You don’t?

No, I – He sighed, a hand dragging through his hair. If you want to, I want to. If you don’t, I don’t. Alright?

Freya bit back a laugh, the closed fist over her lips doing little to hide it. You guys should write a book on co-parenting.

But then she left the room again, closed the door on that same old little bubble – the three of you perched on the bed, you and Joel blinking up at the grains of your child onscreen – and you cried. Again. More.

Everything clearer, everything even more human than before: the globe of their skull, the tiny slope of their nose. All glowing in the dark waves of your womb, twinkling like the most beautiful constellation you could ever come across. Their ankles were crossed, feet forming a tiny heart shape in the top corner of the sonogram. Your hand lifted to point it out to Joel, and before the words found voice, you choked and broke down again.

He held you, lips to your hair, body solid as a rock as you melted into him in waves of salty tears. Smiled that honey-glazed smile and said he was so proud of you, said, look what your body’s doin’, darlin’, look what you’re growin’ – which only made you weep more.

And you pretended not to wait for it – for the moment when you might tilt your head up and your lips might line with his, and he might close the achy space between you again, might shush your cries by stealing the air from your lungs and the beat from your heart.

But he didn’t.

Which is fine.

Right?

“Somethin’ on your mind, kid?” he asks now, eyes still glued to the sea of hearts.

Your stare snaps from him instantly, unaware it was even held there. You tug on the hem of your sweater and pull the sleeves over your hands, mumbling, “Fine, I’m – I’m just…Come on, man. I’m hungry. I didn’t eat lunch today.”

“’n whose fault is that?”

You glower at him. “How considerate,” you seethe, “Vanessa’s a fucking lucky woman, you know that?”

He ignores you, a dumb smile on his face. The usual. “Let’s leave one for ‘em.”

A hot temper begins to boil below the surface of your skin, squeezing between your teeth in a fist-swinging breath. Also the usual these days, apparently. “For who?”

“Duckie. Somethin’ to mark the second scan. Last time we see them, before –”

Your hand flies up, eyes closing with a wince. Shut the fuck up. “Enough. I know.”

Joel hms, still smiling to himself. His beard has grown out a little: thicker, darker, gray sewn through like little whip stitches lining his jaw. He fishes a heart shape from the tub along with a pen, which he twirls annoyingly around his fingers as he thinks.

You sink back against the clinical white wall, an offensively bright color, holding your cheeks up in something of a smile when a nurse wanders past, nodding to both of you. Your face drops back to a scowl as soon as she’s over Joel’s shoulder, and your eyes meet his again – his brows raised, expectant.

“What?” you ask, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

He holds the slip up. “What we gonna write?”

And whatever charm the moment may have held, withers instantly. You throw your arms up petulantly. “You wanted to do it! Pick something. See you soon, or something, I don’t fucking know.”

“I don’t fucking know,” Joel muses, creases by his eyes when he smirks. “Poignant.”

“That’s what you should write,” you step closer, shoving your shoulder into his as you study the trembling hearts on the board, “if you can spell poignant, write that.”

“Hilarious,” he mutters, bending to scribble onto the shape, shielding his work from your view when you hang around his shoulder to pry. Cupping over the message until he’s straightening up, tossing the pen back to the desk, stealing a pin from the tub.

“Let me read,” you protest, tugging on his flannel sleeve.

“I will,” he says, shaking you off. “Patience, darlin’.”

Joel turns to the wall and pins the heart higher than the rest, in a spot clear of its own on the corkboard – thick arms stretching higher higher higher and pulling your gaze with them. As he steps back, he takes you gently by the waist and positions you in front of his body, your shoulders brushing against his chest. Your ribs hold your heart back from hammering into his.

You push up onto your tiptoes and squint at the note, which quivers when the hospital doors pull open again. “Mom and…Mom and Dad f…You fucking…”

Joel dodges your batting arm, snickering with you as he turns to make for the exit. “You don’t like it?” he tosses over his shoulder.

The heart stares down at you, black ink carved into the paper, watching as you turn and hurry after him, giggling. “Mom and Dad fuckin love you? So much for my potty mouth. And the –” another wheezing laugh you’d otherwise be ashamed to let him hear, “– the drawing? It looks – it looks more like a giraffe than a duck. Or, like, you know those long-necked dinosaurs?”

Joel’s head tips back, his own laughter caught up by the breeze when you wander outside, slipping your wrist around the crook of his elbow. Something infectious about it, something which stirs your own laughter until you’re walking arm in arm to the truck with a man who, six months ago, you’d barely look at twice over the fence.

The blind rage bubbling from your empty stomach seems to dissipate, dwindled to nothing in the face of that same man – his swollen cheeks and crows-feet eyes. And you say, “You’re disgustingly sentimental, you know that? Like, sickening.”

And Joel smirks, the way he always fucking does, and says, “You love it. Can’t lie to me.”

“I love it,” you concede, nudging into him as he opens the door for you.

The drive home is quiet, but not uncomfortable. There’s another thing you’re getting good at: being around Joel without need for snide remarks, without feeling your tongue curl under the weight of some snappy quip, loaded and aimed. Being around him and talking about Duck, asking how Tommy and Maria are. Forcing your teeth and tongue to carve out words which ask how Vanessa is, what she’s up to, when he’s seeing her next.

None of this is ideal, that’s for sure. Joel’s girlfriend aside, you’ve spent the last five months cohabiting your body with a stranger who lives most peacefully in the eye of a raging tornado of hormones – flitting between fits of giggles and pulsating joy in your veins, to waves of tears and an anger so hot beneath your skin that you wonder if your emotions might dry up completely by the time this is all through.

It's tough. It’s scary. And some nights you lie in bed, alone, wet eyes fixed on nothing, waiting for someone to burst into the room and announce that it’s all a prank. Just a silly joke. You and Joel can go back to tossing newspapers and casting glowers.

But for now, sat in the passenger seat of his truck – the seatbelt warped around the curve of your belly, the Eagles lilting softly from the radio – it feels like you’re making a home out of that tornado, too. Feeling the swirling walls of wind toss your hair like the breeze through the truck window; the chilled caress of the evening around your outstretched arm, soaring down the highway.

Yeah, you think. I can make something outta this.

“You know what I’m craving?”

Joel’s watching the light, waiting for green. “What’s that?”

“A fucking bagel. Cream cheese, pastrami,” you groan.

He snorts, cringing when he adds, “Pickles?”

A moan tears from the base of your throat, head lolling against your seat. “I could orgasm just thinking about it.”

The light turns, and Joel swings right. “I’d rather you didn’t,” he mutters, turning the wheel with one palm. “I got bagels back at the house, if you want one.”

You stare at him, jaw loose, saliva pooling behind your bottom lip. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He smiles, shaking his head. “Let me make you one, ‘fore you go home. Big day, ‘n all.”

And you hate it – hate the way your cheeks fill with a genuine happiness, something swollen and achy, impossible to ignore when it lifts your eyes and hurts your teeth. Appreciation, or admiration, perhaps, that you figure you’ll only ever have for him. You don’t know what the fuck to call it.

So you sum it up into three words. “That’d be nice,” you whisper, and Joel places his hand over your knee, shaking it lightly as he drives on.

It stays there, until he’s pulling into his driveway.

He pushes the front door open and steps back, an arm extended to let you by first. An after you, ma’am, between his lips. And you turn to make some mocking joke, the beginnings of some comment about how gentlemanly he is, when you’re socked square on the nose by a heavy-fisted, bitter scent.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, stumbling backwards across the threshold and onto the porch again. Your throat constricting around nothing, your tongue twisting, your stomach lurching.

Joel catches you just in time to stop you from falling on your ass. “The hell’s the m–? Oh.”

“Hi!” Vanessa calls from the kitchen, leaning around the doorframe to wave you both in. “Almost ready! Take a seat.”

“V–? Hey, sweetheart?” Joel calls back, one hand around your wrist and the other between your shoulders. “What – what’s cookin’?”

She pauses, glancing back at the stove. Pulls the dish towel between her hands taut. “I…I made pasta.”

“Yeah, what kind, sweet?”

“…Bolognese.”

He can’t cover his own sigh quick enough. Thick with something which feels like anger. “Shit,” he turns back to you, “I am so sorry.”

You pull in a deep, unsteady breath, your lungs struggling to separate night air from tomato juice. A weight rolling at the bottom of your stomach, your entire body beginning to tremble with it. “I feel like I’m gonna – Joel, I’m gonna –”

“Breathe,” he whispers, voice urgent, palm slipping to cup your jaw. “Just breathe for me.”

But your throat’s tightening, swallowing hard around gags which come stronger and quicker the more you try to fight them down. “I can still fucking smell it –”

Her shadow blocks the stretch of light from the house. A nervous little thing, a timid creature’s shadow stretched wide across the porch floor. “Is…everything okay?”

“It’s – it’s fine,” Joel sighs again, torn between comforting you and letting Vanessa down gently, “it’s just – tomato is one of her…her aversions.” He’s unable to pull his eyes from you, privately asking, “Are you okay?” when Vanessa turns back to the kitchen.

“I didn’t – I didn’t know,” she mumbles, thumbnail between her teeth. “I am so sorry.”

Suddenly, your will not to throw up is overpowered by your will to tell her, “It’s fine,” sucking in a deep, sickly breath before adding, “I’m just gonna – I should go.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Joel says, his teeth guarding the words from his girlfriend.

“I’m gonna clean up in here,” Vanessa points over her shoulder, and you think she must’ve heard him, “get outta your hair. I’m so sorry, again. I would’ve never…”

Joel lets go of you as you stagger backwards, the cold air tearing down your throat to meet the burning acid tickling up your esophagus. “Please don’t apologize,” you lift a weak hand, “how could you have known? I’ll –” another sharp gasp, “– I’ll see you guys around.”

He must say your name, must try once more to pull you back to his side, but the blood’s rushing through your ears, and your heart’s pounding at the back of your tongue, and your stomach’s notching its way up your spine. You make it to your kitchen sink just in time.

He keeps you waiting all of one hour before he’s calling you. Your arm reaches over to your nightstand, fumbling in the dark for your heavy phone, the screen cold against your cheek.

“Mhm?”

“Are you okay?”

Your lungs pull a deep, slow breath. The acid painted across your throat tickles as the air passes by it, an uncomfortable, scratchy feeling.“Mhm.”

“That a lie?”

“Only a little. Is Vanessa okay?”

He takes a second to answer. Lets go of whatever he was going to say with a sigh, replacing it with, “She just left.”

“Is she mad at us?”

Another second. “Just me. Not you.”

You massage the slope below your breasts, the ache in your esophagus throbbing when you move. “Why just you?”

Ruffling, like he’s settling back into his couch. Sinking into the cushion, his body as heavy as yours feels on your mattress. “I should’ve told her you didn’t like tomatoes. ‘cause now I’m a goddamn mind reader. I mean, why the hell wouldn’t my girlfriend be in my house cookin’ a damn pasta dish while I’m out, y’know? Jesus Christ.”

“Joel,” you turn slowly onto your back, bravely waiting for the waves of nausea still lapping around your stomach to turn with you, “it was a nice thing, what she did. She didn’t mean to…She probably thought she was helping.”

“Naw, I know,” he replies, the sharp bite of his words softening again, shrinking under yours. “I don’t care about her and her helping, though, darlin’, I care about y –” He barely catches it in time. “I care about you carrying my child, and I care about making sure you don’t spend your nights fuckin’…throwing up tomato sauce.”

You gulp, neck convulsing. The backwash of bile swallowed back. Your chest floods with a heat of quick panic. “Can we…maybe…not use the word? I just –”

“Sorry, baby. Sorry. This is just – it’s a lot easier if she would just…”

Your eyes close over, a salty sting sweeping behind them. If she would just lay off. Back off. Fuck off. “…but she won’t, Joel. She loves you. ‘n you…”

The words drift off, taken by the tide, swept off into silence. And neither of you bother with trying to retrieve them – you just watch, stood safe on the shoreline, as they fold under the waves of something too big for either of you to acknowledge. Too dark, too dangerous.

So, you say, “I get it,” instead; say, “I get why you’re mad. Just – let’s forget about it, okay? Sorry for…ruining dinner.”

Joel scoffs, that old, pissed-off Joel scoff. You can see his deadened expression on the back of your eyelids. You may as well have just thrown his newspaper to the end of the earth. “You know damn well that you didn’t ruin anything. How you feelin’?”

“Tired. Throat kinda hurts.”

“Still feel like that pastrami bagel?”

“Not really. Sorry. Appetite’s gone.”

“How about a water?”

“I got some here. Thanks.”

“Okay,” Joel sniffs, “how about: you take the hint and let me come over there to see you?”

You giggle, hand over your eyes to mask your expression from the dark. “I hate you. Yeah, come over. Door’s unlocked.”

Date night – six month anniversary or whatever. Call me if you need anything.

And I mean anything. OK?

Your thumbs hover over the two gray messages, an awkward jig as your brain scrambles to offer words back. Where are you guys going? Too interested. Too weird. OK, what if I’m bored? Delete delete delete. Trying too hard. Sure, have a good n–

The ellipsis pops up and you freeze. A stupidly polite swish delivers Joel’s third text.

Boredom counts as anything, by the way.

And the fucker steals another smile from you. You notice it when you look up, clocking yourself in the mirror. Accompanied by a warmth which drips down your spine, swirls around your tummy; a fluttering you’re not sure is Duckie or something else.

Have a good night, Dad, you type back, tossing the phone to the end of your bed when you hit send. Swiping for a pillow, holding it firm to your face. Pressing so deep into the plush that even the linen won’t be able to see your grin.

Joel told you about this six-month anniversary last week. He wasn’t too thrilled about it then, either. Dinner to celebrate six months? A year, fair enough. But six months?

You swallowed your pride, swallowed the same throttling ecstasy which seeped through your pores on New Year’s Eve, on that February evening she cooked– never mind; a desperate desire to tear apart the very notion of Vanessa and her cutesy little date nights and candlelit dinners. I think it’s a fun idea, you said. Y’all should do it.

And Joel listened. Because he always fucking listens to you, these days. Listens when you tell him that you like the watermelon Sour Patch Kids best, and picks them up anytime he’s at the store. Listens to you when you tell him he should move the crib away from the window, in case the streetlights shine on Duck while they sleep.

Listens when you ramble about how sore your feet are, how heavy your belly feels, how there’s a clammy heat lingering under your skin at all times, bubbling and bubbling and never rising to anything more than steam collecting on the underside of your flesh.

Listens when you tell him to go spend time with his girlfriend. And neither of you pay attention to the jealous shadow behind your words, the hesitant quiver behind his.

He replies almost instantly, the ping like a gunshot at the beginning of a race. Pillow slammed into the mattress, body lunging forward.

You too, Mom. Don’t have too much fun without me.

You lock the phone and slide it back under your covers, smiling dumbly.

There’s still a small part of you waiting for the big reveal: none of this is really happening. A dream, maybe, something you’ll wake from with a tiny throbbing headache, a dry mouth and a new reason to avoid your neighbor at all costs.

But it seems that, each time that thought crosses your mind, you’re quicker and quicker to quash it. Realizing each time that what lies ahead – Joel, your baby, this future version of yourself that you’re yet to meet, still just a little out of reach – fills you with more excitement and wonder, than it does fear.

Mom.

It’s not something you ever imagined for yourself. Not someone you ever thought you’d be. And yet, each time you say it out loud, each time you look in the mirror and picture a baby in the crook of your arm, a toddler perched on your hip, a kid stood by your side, tugging on the hem of your shirt – she feels a little closer. A little clearer. She just has to look over her shoulder, notice you waiting. I’m right here, she says. Come find me.

Mom. Mom and Dad.

You imagine Joel right now, sat in some ritzy restaurant with jazz music and stained-glass lamps on every table, ordering Vanessa some glorified lentil soup and slapping his card over the bill before the waiter has a chance to reveal the damage to him. Your lips twist at the thought – her jewels and her long hair and her sweet little smile laced with a smug possession.

And then you slap your own wrists, hissing to yourself to shut the fuck up.

“She’s nice,” you argue out loud, thin air holding no debate. “She’s kind, and I like her. She’s good for him.”

And then the air replies. Good for him, it swirls, but you could do it better.

Your arm lifts, lingering for a beat before batting the thought away.

Three weeks. Three fucking weeks, between pushing yourself out of his embrace in bed, and pulling yourself back into it – armed with a pregnancy test and a chest full of fear. Three weeks of dodging him, of your cheeks bubbling with embarrassment and regret anytime you thought of it; of hoping to God that Alice or Diane or Steve and Kris across the street wouldn’t clairvoyantly know what had transpired that night and corner you on your own front lawn.

A one-night stand. That’s all it was. Two lonely bodies, excitement enough to convince you both that it was a good idea; a fitted suit and a backless dress crumpled together on the floor. Liquid courage lacing it all together.

Three weeks, then, of reminding yourself how it felt: how amazing you were together. Your hand between your legs and Joel’s name between your teeth.

Fuck. If only he knew. Goodforhimgoodforhim she’s so good for him but I’m better.

You did it better. You know you did. The sun was cresting the horizon by the time the two of you stopped. You hauled yourselves down to breakfast and sat at least three people apart, made forced conversation with Maria about the DJ stumbling off with one of her cousins, while the ghostly ache of Joel’s body churned somewhere deep inside you.

It travels through your veins the way that everything does right now: urgent and unforgiving. A need to be dealt with, immediately. Coursing through your body, an arrowhead pointing somewhere you know it shouldn’t. But your hands lift anyway – following it, loosening the waist of your sweatpants and skimming beneath your underwear.

Your body lights at the first touch. The first dip of your middle finger against the plush over your clit. Knees bend, thighs part. You push your underwear down your hips, settling your bottoms loose on your legs. You’re already wet. You’re already there.

Good fucking girl. She’s good but I’m better, right? Take it, baby. Does she take it like I take it? Take it. Can she take you like I did?

Quicker and quicker and quicker, your fingers heavy on your clit. The other hand sifting between your folds, dipping to collect a glimmer of wet. Yeah. Just like that. Do you fuck her like you fucked me? You feel what you do to me? Fuck no, you don’t. You’ve never fucked anyone like you fucked me.

Head back, eyes fluttering closed, lips parting to breathe answers to a man who isn’t here. To a man who, as he dips sourdough into an overpriced soup, sure as hell isn’t thinking about that time he fucked you so good he got you fucking pregnant.

Well. Maybe he is. You are, right?

Voice without body, drawl etched in your memory. Think she can take it all? You hum in amusement, waiting for him to answer his own question. Yeah, she can.

Attagirl. Your legs spread further, knee lifting as you insert two slick-coated fingers. His hands are on your thighs, following the dip of your hips, holding your waist as you guide him back inside. Attagirl. That’s my – Fuck, Joel, you’re so b– That’s my fuckin’ girl. Take it. Touch it. His thumb on your clit – his, not yours. You like that? Yeah, that’s nice, ain’t it?

The flesh of your breasts filling his palms, squeezing and nipping and rolling between. The warmth leaking between your legs: his and yours and fuck, he’s so deep and he’s filling you again and he’s groaning as more dribbles from where he splits your body around his own, holding you still until he’s done. Until he’s empty.

“Joel,” you whine, a third finger pushing in.

Between your hips. Headboard hammering against the wall. The sun hanging loose at the bottom of the sky. Gonna make me come again, baby. Do it. Do something irreversible. Change me forever. Fuck me fuck me fill me and then pull out, push back in with the wet squelch of your come mixing with mine and changing me forever. Making me brand new. Making me yours.

Another moan. Louder. Sharper.

Yours yours yours. All mine? All yours. We’re good at this. I know we are. Who fucks you like this? No one – No one – just you – just me. It’s so big, fuck, but I can take it. Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day, baby. All I do is think about you. All I fucking do – You gonna come for me? – is think about you.

Know you need it. Let ‘em hear you, downstairs.

Fuck, I’m thinking about you. Come home. I need you to come home, need you to –

Fuck me, Joel, I’m –

Good girl.

– fuck me.

Atta fuckin’ girl.

She’s good but I do it so much better.

We’re good at this. ‘s do it again.

She’s not as good as me.

Again? Again.

She’s not as good. She’s no fucking good.

Your walls clamp around your fist, entire body shuddering to a stop. Breath held by something shaped like the hook of his accent, two fingers either side of your throat. The same smirk on his lips that convinced you in the first place. Fuck, baby, fuck me.

“Joel,” you cry out, the sound ripping between your vocal cords, punching against the ceiling and reverberating in your ears. Your body convulses on the mattress, back arching and slackening again. “Fuck, I’m – oh, my –”

Just feel it, baby. Feel me. You got it.

Let go.

Your lungs lurch open again, breath flooding in like waves spilling over the gunwale and rushing down to pool at your feet. A lulling rock to your movements, chest rising and falling like the steady tide. Soothing, coming down. Foam and salt carrying the flotsam away, the jagged glass of his name disappearing to sea again.

And then he’s gone.

And you’re just alone in your bedroom.

Last you checked your phone, now face-down on the carpet at your hip, it was eight p.m. Streetlights on, the sky painted by the pale dregs of daytime.

Now, you lie in near-darkness, blinking up at the ceiling. Hand sifting through a bag of glow-in-the-dark stars, comparing the different sizes, considering where to stick them, and then tossing them back in frustration.

Your front door clicks open, a pause between the sound and his voice.

“Anyone home?” Joel calls, and you lift your wrist as though he can see it from the bottom of the fucking stairs.

“Up here,” you eventually announce, knuckles rubbing your tired eyes until Catherine wheels spatter across your eyelids.

His shadow splits the light from the hallway, the long rectangle crossing over your swollen belly. “The hell are you doin’?” he asks, wandering in.

You lift the bag. “Decorating. The hell are you doin’?”

He pulls your nursing pillow from its temporary home in the crib and tosses it down on the carpet, bending to lift your shoulders and slot it underneath. “Scooch,” he says, groaning as he lays back beside you. He smells like whiskey and cologne. All woody, pine and spice.

“You got a bad back,” you warn him. “You shouldn’t be all the way down here.”

“You’re seven months pregnant,” Joel clicks his teeth, “neither should you.”

“What if you get stuck ‘n can’t get back up?”

Offense pulls his brows together. “What if you do?”

You smile in response, feeling the heat of his shoulder against yours. Sucking the scent of him through your nose. The pair of you exchanging smirks and batting eyelashes, wrapped in the cool darkness of the room. It’s juvenile and intimate.

You’re trying not to think too much about it.

“I can’t fucking figure this out. I put two of the big stars over there,” you point to the far corner of the room, streetlight splintered by the shades on the ceiling, “but it looks stupid having two so close. So, then I thought,” moving your arm to the right, “a cluster of smaller ones, right over the crib. But I couldn’t move the damn thing to climb up, so…I’ve been down here ever since.”

Joel lifts his hand, stopping your train of thought. “Please do not climb on anything, bein’ that you are…with child.” And then, when your eyes roll to meet his, he grins, adding, “Nesting got you good, huh?”

“You should see my kitchen cupboards. Never been tidier.” Your expression dissolves, voice quietens – your most desperate plea since that morning you shook hands on his doorstep. Your broken wardrobes and his lonely wedding invite. “Will you help me?” you ask.

He thinks it over less than once, dragging his gaze from the twirling star in your fingers. A quick shake of his head, like it’s obvious. “’course I will. ‘s what I’m here for.” And then he yawns, lowering a hand absentmindedly to settle on the curve of your stomach; a gentle pat in greeting to Duck.

“How was dinner?”

“Good,” Joel lies.

“Vanessa okay?”

“Good,” again.

“Sorry.”

Joel’s eyes roll, fingers pausing. “Why do you always gotta be sorry for som’?”

You shrug when you realize it’s not a rhetorical question. He’s genuinely asking. “I don’t know. Just tryna be polite. I know you’d probably rather be at home right now, not…deciding where some plastic fuckin’ stars should go.”

“For my kid’s bedroom? For you?” He huffs something shaped like disapproval. “Do me a favor – stop with the sorrys, alright?”

“I’m not even done with the last fucking favor I said I’d do you.” Your eyes flit down to your bump.

He stares blankly. You know there’s a laugh gathering like hot air on a windowpane behind his eyes, threatening to shatter the glass.

“Fine,” you concede, “dickhead.”

“Better.”

You sigh, looking back down at the phosphorescent shape in your hands. Turning it over and over and over, matching the rhythm of his fingers tensing and then untensing on your belly. His fingers, matching the rhythm of your chest rising and falling with breath. The room quiet. The night’s eyes averted, even just for this moment.

“If it’s anything,” Joel says, “I think the stars look alright.”

Another stolen smile. Another defiant show of teeth. You place your hand on top of his: a thankful gesture, an invitation. Something in between.

Joel blinks back at you, his eyes flitting from yours to your lips. The dim light in the room swallowing the two of you whole, secluded in the upstairs of your home. And you think, Kiss me, kiss me kiss me kiss me, and you will the words over your tongue in a ragged breath – hoping that Joel might breathe them in and feel their sharp edges as they absorb into his bloodstream, each cell flipping like the star in your hand and whispering the same two words to him: Kiss her kiss her kiss her.

But right then –

There’s a burst of movement. Under your fingertips. A fluttering, like bubbles popping right below the surface of your skin.

Your eyes snap down at the same time Joel’s do; your fingers separating and hovering over your tummy.

“Did you – did you feel –?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“Uhuh. Was that –?”

“I don’t know. Was it?”

He takes your hand, pressing it back against your stomach with his on top. Your knuckles safe in the canopy of his palm. Both staring into space as you hold your breath.

“They’re not…they’re not doin’ it, now…”

“Maybe it was just –”

“Wait! Did you feel that?”

A second burst on your womb, a tiny beat on the other side of your bump. A wide grin breaks across your cheeks, a disbelieving laugh escaping.

Joel laughs, too. “Is that – is that the first time they’ve ever –?”

“Yeah,” you sniff, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, “that’s the first I’ve ever felt ‘em, anyways.”

“Wait,” Joel says, lifting his hand and holding a finger up. Just yours on your belly. “They doin’ it?”

Your head shakes.

When he lowers his hand, Duckie kicks again. The two of you lean in to one another, exchanging laughter. You lift your own hand, watching his expression as he waits patiently.

But then his head shakes, too. “Nothing. They’re only doin’ it when it’s both of us.”

“What the fuck?” you laugh, replacing your hand and waiting for the baby drum. “How can they even tell? What the f–?”

You shift your hands around the globe of your bump, pausing every so often to feel for Duck’s movements. A tiny fist punching, or a heel kicking, or an elbow shoving right above your navel in a way that’s bordering on painful, but numbed by the sheer thrill of it.

And for a while, it’s all you do: play tag with your unborn baby, giggling when they respond to your tapping fingers and cooing voices.

Joel sits up, leaning on his elbow to talk to his kid; runs two fingers across your shirt like a pair of legs scaling a cotton covered hill. And he laughs, and you laugh at his laugh, as if he’s a kid himself again – tearing apart gifts on his birthday, gasping and throwing his head back with glee at whatever he uncovers.

“It feel weird?” he asks, glancing up at you.

“So fucking weird,” you tell him.

“Does it hurt?”

“More…ticklish, if anything. Might get kinda annoying, if they start doing it when I’m tryna sleep, or somethin’…”

Joel lowers his jaw to your stomach, whispering, “You know what to do, Duckie. Make your daddy proud.”

You slap his shoulder, muttering, “Asshole.”

“Alright,” he says, splintered by a laugh. He pushes himself to his feet, swiping the bag of stars from your side. “Let’s get these up so you two can get some sleep.”

You groan as he pulls you upright, one last pat on your stomach, looking at you a second too long and a touch too meaningful. Too warm, too inviting.

It’s the calm before the storm, though you’re still stood motionless. Still trying to work out whether the tornado is moving away, or headed directly for you.

At five in the morning, Vanessa’s sister calls her.

“Heart attack,” Joel tells you a few hours later, the rustle of paper crinkling in your ear. The truck hums in the background. He speaks through a mouthful of sandwich. “Her dad always had a condition, but they thought they were managin’ it with medication,” another crinkle, and then, voice even more obscured, “but he got rushed to hospital durin’ the night, and…”

“Poor Vanessa,” you reply, nail drawing shapes on the curve of your bump in attempt to lull Duck into a more relaxed state than the sharp kicks they’re throwing at your ribs. Now big and strong enough to do considerable damage, your voice falters each time they swing. “Is she – son of a bitch – is she okay?”

“Shaken up,” he says, turn signal ticking over his voice. “She’ll be alright. She’s pragmatic like that. Problem is – they’re in Houston. Her whole family. So I guess that’s where the funeral’s gonna be.”

You swing your legs off the couch, heaving your awkward, nine-months-pregnant body to your feet – the irritating scratch of hunger suddenly gnawing at your stomach. “Yeah?” you say, waddling through to the kitchen. “So?”

“So,” Joel takes another bite of sandwich, “she has to – I mean, we have to…go. To Houston.”

“We?” You slot the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you fish out a couple slices of bread.

“Me ‘n Vanessa.”

“Uhuh,” you carve a knife around a jar of peanut butter, “you gotta be there for her.”

Joel sounds a little defensive. “I know. And I am. I’m goin’ to be. ‘s just – I gotta be there for you, too. For – for Duck.”

Your stomach swirls, a fire catching which lights your chest in a trickle of flame.

“You are. You will be. Houston’s only, like, three hours away.”

He sighs.

The turn signal fills the silence between you, between Joel and an appropriate answer. Clicking like the sound of a tennis match, his head spinning between his grief-stricken girlfriend, and the third-trimester mother of his child.

“I’m here,” he says, and you hear the squeal of brakes out front. “Give me a sec.”

The door pushes open as you sink back into the couch, balancing the plate on the planet beneath your breasts. Joel crumples his sandwich paper in his fist and lowers his hand over the back of the couch, scrunching his fingers over your belly as he passes.

“Thought you hated that stuff,” he calls over his shoulder, disappearing into your kitchen.

“I had a craving,” you say, ripping the first bite from your sandwich. “You made me hungry.”

He returns a minute later with a glass of water which he sets down on the coffee table in front of you. He lifts your legs, letting them fall gently in his lap when he collapses into the opposite end of the couch, heels of his palms pressing against his eyes.

You tap his thigh with the ball of your foot and he turns to you, placing a hand over your ankles. A sticky paste of peanut butter and bread between your molars, you ask, “What’shup?”

Joel holds back a smirk at your chipmunk cheeks. “Just – just worried that you…you know, while I’m gone, is all.”

You scoff, gulping. “Come on. I am not gonna go into labor in the, what – two days? How long would you even be gone?”

He seems to wince at the thought, fingers sifting through his hair – a gray sweep sat casually over his left eyebrow; flicks following the curve of his ear towards the hinge of his jaw. “Less than that, if I can help it.”

“Joel.”

He turns to you, saying your name just as deflated in response.

“You have to go.”

He rolls his eyes, thumb and middle finger massaging his temples. Crosses his arms and huffs like a teenager. “Well, I ain’t happy about it.”

You snort, unable to hold it in as you take another bite. “I ‘on’t think Vanesha’sh too happy about it, either, to be honesh wih ya.”

Joel’s jaw slackens, a choked laugh bursting from the back of his throat. He lifts a cushion and swings it in your direction. “Heartless. That’s heartless, you know that? Jesus, baby.”

He leaves on Saturday morning.

You stand on your porch, watching him shove a suitcase into the backseat of his truck, squinting in the sunlight as he stalks across your front yard. Joining you in the shade, he leans into you, shoving you lightly.

“Quit it.” Your hand locking with his, steadying yourself. Something in the back of your mind begging him not to let go.

And as if he can hear the thought: “I can stay. You know I can stay, right?”

“I don’t want you to stay,” you tell him, sweeping the hair from his forehead. “We will be fine. We’ll stay up late, eat junk food and watch TV; I’ll do audio description for Duck…”

He scoffs, glancing across the street.

“…and then you’ll be back home, back to buggin’ the hell out of us. It’ll be Monday before you know it.”

Joel’s jaw tightens. “And what if…?”

“You really think that’s gonna happen? You think your kid’s that much of an asshole?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah,” he shrugs, tongue in his cheek, “they’re half you.”

“Alright,” you click your teeth, turning away from the simper on his lips, “why don’t you just fuck off to Houston now, asshole?”

“I’ll fuck off, that’s what I’ll do.”

“Uhuh. Here’s hoping you don’t break down, or get a flat, or get struck by lightning, or anything.”

“You’re so funny,” he whispers, leaning closer.

“Hm. Now go.”

His jaw turns, beard grazing your skin. And then his lips; soft and warm, damp when he kisses your cheek. A moment too long. And he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t lean back the way you both know he should. No, he lingers – his lips by your ear, eyes flitting up to the street to make sure nobody sees.

“Joel –”

“I know.”

“We shouldn’t –”

“I know.”

But your arm is hooking around his neck, asking him to do it anyway, and his lips are lowering to yours, submitting to your request, and what’s supposed to be a goodbye kiss lasts at least a few seconds too long for it to mean anything less than a don’t go kiss.

You pull away when you feel the wet dab of his tongue against yours, realizing with an ice-cold shock where you are, and who he is, and what’s happening. Realizing how fucking stupid it’d be for both of you, how catastrophic and terrible the outcome.

A one-night stand.

A one-night stand.

A one-night –

He leans his forehead against yours, nose nuzzling your cheek. “I’ll call you when we get there.”

Your arm loosens, letting him go.

Just – letting him go.

Saturday Night Live ends just after midnight.

You arch your back into the couch, your swollen belly pushing forward. It’s an effort to get to your feet, what with the steady ache in your back all day, the weight on your front, and the fucking human being smushed into every vital organ inside you.

A deep breath feels like it inflates your lungs only halfway, Duck using the bottom half as a fucking ass cushion, and scaling the stairs takes another ten minutes – by the end of which, you’re slumped against the handrail, pausing before making off for your room.

You sink into the mattress, creasing the cool, smooth sheets. Duck stirs inside you, stretches out and throws a right hook against your bladder. You curse under your breath, hoisting yourself back to your feet.

“We gotta sleep, baby,” you hum, swaying back and forth with a hand under your belly. “Shh, ‘s okay. Take your fuckin’ fist outta my bladder, you little asshole.”

Whichever traits of yours and Joel’s have blended into the human cocktail growing in your uterus, you know one thing for certain: this kid has your stubbornness. The weight remains on your bladder, regardless of how much swaying, or pacing, or rubbing, or threatening you do.

You growl, wandering through the upper floor of your house in attempt to shift Duckie, or distract yourself, or, at the very least, tire the two of you out enough to fall asleep.

From the nursery door handle hangs a little wooden star, a tauntingly sleepy smile painted on it. You push the door open with two hesitant fingers, stepping into the still bedroom, the weak wash of streetlight meeting moonlight on the greenish walls.

You suck in a deep breath, floorboards squealing as you take your first step. Over the crib hangs a plastic mobile, soft plush shapes twirling slowly. The matching changing table slotted alongside it, a rocking chair over by the window.

You pad across a fluffy rug and lower yourself into the chair, tilting back and forth on your toes as you glance around one of the two rooms you and Joel have spent the most time in since that October morning bonded you forever. A baby duck ornament perched on a shelf above the dresser, its orange legs dangling. A multi-photo frame Joel’s mom bought you, both scans in the first two slots and the third empty, lying in wait.

Your breathing fragments, struggles, eyes slipping over to the baby clothes hanging in the closet. “You know, little Duckie,” you whisper, rubbing your bump and thinking back to Tommy’s words six months ago, “you are a pretty lucky kid.”

The hooded towel robe on the back of the door, the perfect size for a newborn. The framed prints sat atop the chest of drawers, waiting to be nailed to the wall: a rainbow, a frog, a starry sky.

“You got two houses. Two bedrooms, all to yourself. You got two parents who already love you more ‘n the whole world. And,” you gulp, “you got Vanessa. And she loves you, too.”

You glance down, watching the tiny pulse of movement when the baby stretches in your womb. Your hands scoop them up, as if holding them closer than they already are. As if already cradling them, forcing yourself to feel less alone.

Duck seems to quieten, to still; seems to consider what you’re avoiding. Reads between the lines, hears the words you’re not speaking.

Two of everything, you think, and I barely even had one.

The most evidence you have of being loved by anyone in your life is the house you live in. Four brick walls and three decades’ worth of belongings, more inheritance than memories. But they roll around like marbles – they echo against the walls when they hit them. There’s nothing binding them, no thread of love, or family, or anything real enough to hold it all together.

You’re the only living organ inside a skeleton’s cage. A lonely little heartbeat, making noise for no one to hear.

And that’s the way it has been, at least since you were eight. The absence of warmth and safety isn’t anything new to you – it left the second your parents did. The last scrunch of your mom’s nails on your head, the last kiss of her lips to your plump little cheeks. The passing over to your grandma, like you were cargo, like you were a box to be checked.

Maybe you found some distant flicker of heat in the way Joel looked at you, the day you told him you were pregnant. Maybe you saw the same glimmer of a flame that you used to see in your mom’s eye. The rosy smell of her perfume, the feel of her finger inside five of yours. Maybe, for the first time since you were a kid, you felt safe.

We’re gonna work it out, he said. I’m here. We’re in this together, alright? I am not running out on you.

Together. And yet, now, sat in your child’s nursery – a room built from scratch by Joel’s two hands and strung together by every beat of your heart – you’ve never felt more alone. The same two hands that are wrapped around Vanessa right now, consoling her, wiping her tears away, massaging her shoulders and sweeping her hair from her eyes.

And the same heartbeat which quickens now, fueled by an angry desire, an impulse scratching deep into your flesh to march all the damn way to Houston and tear the pair of them apart. Like he’s yours; like the way he touches you and looks at you and talks to you means anything more than his child growing inside you.

Like it’s you he’s touching and looking at and talking to, and not Duck. Like his attention won’t cease to shine on you, the second this little baby leaves your body.

And then, washing over the scorching hot sand of anger: a foam-lined wave of guilt. Of shame, for wishing for the breakdown of something that clearly makes the two of them happy. That makes Joel…happy.

He doesn’t owe you anything – he was never yours to begin with. Just one drunken night, a mistake until you noticed the two pale lines on the pregnancy test. And by that point, he was already hers again. You had missed him without even knowing it.

You sigh, pushing up from the rocking chair and reaching for a tissue from the changing table. Turning back, giving the room one last teary glance before closing the door, you sniff.

“You’re just…the luckiest little kid who’s ever gonna live.”

At one twenty a.m., cicadas chirping and trees rustling, the low breeze carrying the sounds through your half-open window – your back begins to ache. A blunt, gnawing pain. Feels like your period, and in your doze, you stuff a pillow between your legs and pray you don’t stain the sheets with a show of blood.

The realization comes over you as if that stifling breeze flips to freezing. You slowly come around, eyes peeling open as you think it over twice, then three times, then four. Duck shifts somewhere deep inside you, somewhere you’ve never felt them shift before.

“…No. Not right now, Duck. You gotta give me, like, twenty-four hours. Just – wait until your dad gets ho–”

A blinding pain interrupts you, the moonlit-blue room fading out of focus for half a second before you’re wide awake, clutching the bottom of your spine where you’re sure the kid just tore a fucking hole straight through your uterus.

“You’re a fucking dick,” you whimper, fingers clenching in tight fists around the bedsheets. “You’re a fucking – dick.”

One twenty-three. You go into labor.

#i think duckie is my favorite character i've ever written. that fetus has more personality than vanessa icl #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #macfrog #neighbor!joel #neighbor!joel miller #babydaddy!joel #tw pregnancy

[lacroixwh0r3]

Blow My Load

DBF!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: For the last two year, you and Joel have been secretly hooking up behind your fathers back. One night when your dad goes out on a date, you and Joel spend the night together and Joel gets carried away.

Warnings: SMUT!! DUB CON, petnames (pretty tame ones), doggystyle, oral sex (f recieving), PiV, creampie, crying, pregnancy mention, abortion mentioned at the end, overstimulation, Joel is a little bit of an asshole in this (I am so sorry), age gap (Joel is 40 and reader is around 25), (aged up) Sarah mentioned, no outbreak

Song inspo (Feel free to listen if you want): Blow my load by Tyler, The Creator

A/N: Enjoy! Please reblog, share, like, and comment if you want. <333

"Oh, baby," Joel moans as he breaks the kiss between you two. You look down at his lips, which are now bright red and slightly plumped. His tongue quickly licks off the mix of both of your spits from his bottom lip. His hands were still holding your head in place as he looked at you. "I wanna cum in that tight little pussy so bad, darlin."

Normally, the two of you would have to be quiet, but because your dad had decided last minute to go on a date, it was just you and Joel in the house. Or you might even go over to Joel's house, which was five minutes away, if Sarah wasn't home, but tonight the young girl was at the house with three of her friends having a sleepover doing, lord knows, what. Joel was adamant about staying over to watch the four girls, but you quickly reminded him that they're 18 years old and could easily take care of themselves. You were also going to be home alone, and you wanted him all to yourself.

As soon as your dad pulled out of the driveway, you and Joel ran to your bedroom and stripped out of your clothing.

You couldn't help but let out a whimper. "Joel, you know you can't do that." You tell him as you bring your hands up to grip his wrist. You weren't on birth control, and Joel wasn't a big fan of condoms. When the two of you did have sex together, Joel would usually pull out at the very last second, which would lead to you giving him a lecture as you both came down from the intense orgasm you both had.

Sure, it was hot when Joel did it, but you would rather not have to tell your dad that you were pregnant with his best friend's baby, and you didn't want Joel to tell Sarah that he had gotten the girl she looked up to the most pregnant.

"I know, darlin', I know, but imagine how fuckin' good it must feel." Joel whispered to you as he groans out. He brings his head close to yours again. You could feel his lips ghosting over yours.

"I'm fucking you until you can't think straight, begging me to dump my warm load deep into your pussy." Joel says before he sticks his tongue out again, only this time his tongue strokes against my top lip. You felt a strong pull in your stomach as your pussy clenched around nothing, causing you to push your hips into Joel's. "Maybe even put a baby in there." He says it lightly. It was almost as if he was saying it to himself, but somehow you still heard it but didn't comment on it.

You couldn't help but think about earlier, when Joel had lifted your dress up and ate you out on your family's couch in the living room while your dad ran to the store to restock on beer and some food for dinner. The way he sat down on the floor as he wrapped his large hands around your ankles to keep your legs from closing or falling off the couch Or the way he slurped, licked, and sucked on your clit to the point you almost wanted to scream at the top of your lungs.

You parted your lips to allow Joel's tongue to invade your mouth. Joel cocks his head to the side a bit and sucks on your tongue before letting it go and French kissing you. You can feel it as the drool slides down your chin, getting onto his beard. You feel Joel's hands release your face and move down your neck, stopping at your breast. He fondles them and thumbs your nipples. They were painfully hard now.

You wanted nothing more than for Joel to fuck you senselessly until you couldn't think of anything but him. Joel always turned you on when he talked to you like this, but you were ovulating right now, and his words weren't helping.

You pull away from the kiss. "Fuck me, Joel," You mutter against his lips. "I want you to fuck me hard, daddy."

"Yeah, you want me to fuck you nice and hard? Get on the bed so Daddy can fuck you," He says sternly. "I want you face down, ass up, darlin'." You immediately get to the edge of the bed, just as Joel told you to, with your feet hanging off.

You can feel Joel close behind you in between your legs as he reaches over your naked body and grabs the pillow near your head. "Get on your hands for me real quick," He tells you. Again, you do what he says, and he stuffs the pillow underneath your stomach. "Good girl, now lay back down on your chest." He tells you once more. You lay back down and realized that your hips were now elevated, allowing Joel to easily access your pussy.

"Oh, look at you, so fuckin' sexy with your ass in the air, just ready for me to fuck you," He teases you. "You want me to fuck that pretty pussy, doll?" Joel asked. You felt your pussy clenching around nothing. Begging for your hole to be fucked

"Mmmhm." You whimper at Joel as you nuzzle your face into the soft sheets beneath you. However, your response did not satisfy him because he spanked your ass with his large hand. Your head pops off the bed, causing you to look back at him over your shoulder.

"Say it." Joel demanded it from you. "Tell me how much you want me to fuck you."

"I've wanted you since you got here, baby. I've been so fucking wet for that big cock." You whimpered as you wiggled your ass in the air, causing him to strike your ass again.

"Oh, I know you want my cock, honey. You want me to fuck my cum into you? Hmm?" He spanked you multiple times. You let out soft whines as you shook my head.

"Hmm? What's that, baby? You want me to cum in you?" He not-so-jokingly asked:

"I mean it, Joel. You can't cum inside of me or I'm gonna kill you, old man." You give him a pointed look over your shoulder, causing him to raise his hand in defense with his eyebrows raised. You meant it jokingly, but also not jokingly.

"I promise I won't, baby." He tells you.

"Mmhm, now I want you to fuck me, Joel." You demand him. His left hand grips your waist as the other wraps around his cock as he strokes it, getting ready to slide it into you. You feel him rub his cock against your clit as he gathers the arousal that seeps out of your hole. You moan out his name as he hisses.

Joel then points the head of his cock at your pussy and slowly slides inside. Letting out a deep groan as he does so. "Oh f-fuck, baby," He shudders. Your toes had curled up in pleasure as you dropped your head onto the sheets. "Pussy so fucking tight and warm... I might just have to cum in this pussy and make you a momma, huh?" He questions you as he slowly begins to push in and out of you. Joel felt the flutter after he said that.

"Oh, you liked that, baby?" Joel teases you. His slow strokes began to form a hard, fast pounding. "Tell me."

"I am going to fu-Oh fuck me-I'm gonna fuckin' kill you, Joel!" You moan out to him as he continues his furious strokes. His balls slapped against your clit as he pushed your waist into the pillow beneath you. "Y-you have to fucking pull out," You plead with Joel. You knew that he wasn't listening as he continued to pound his cock in and out of you.

"You promised me!" You squeal out. Joel only grunted in reply and spanked your ass with full force as his left hand gripped your hips.

Somehow, Joel's thrust had only gotten faster. You could hear your headboard hitting against your wall and the sound of my ass slapping against Joel's hips. It was all too much. Your knees began to burn from the friction, your hips began to grow sore as he tightened his grip on them, and with each hit to your ass, there was a sharp sting that lingered. That's when you knew that both you and Joel were close to orgasming.

"Oh, J-Joel, baby, please!" Suddenly, it hit you. You were cumming so hard that you didn't know what to do with yourself. The combined feeling of Joel's heavy balls slapping against your clit and his cock rubbing the spot deep within you was overpowering, causing tears to form.

You grabbed the pillow that sat near your head and brought it close to your face. You bite down on the pillow as your eyes roll to the back of your head, letting out loud moans into it.

"Oh my fucking god, baby..." Joel strains out his sexy, deep voice. He spanks you again as you cum around his cock and rub your ass cheek to soothe the pain. "Come on, sweet girl, tell me who's making you feel good." His strokes had begun to slow down now.

You release the pillow from between your teeth. You were so far gone from your ongoing orgasm that you couldn't even form words. Goosebumps had formed around your whole body as you shaked and quivered.

You feel him bring his hand up and smack your ass hard again, causing your body to jerk in response. "Tell me, girl! Who's makin' you cum this hard?" Joel grits his teeth as he slowly thrusts into you.

"It's you, Daddy!" You moan out to him as you reach your arm around you to grab onto his fingers on your waist. Joel moans and slowly picks up the pace of his thrust. You could feel his balls tighten against your clit, letting you know that he was nearly cumming. You look over your shoulder at him.

"That's fuckin' right, daddy is fucking you." He fucks himself into you. "O-Oh fuck, I'm gonna fuckin' cum soon, my sweet girl." Joel continues to hold onto your hand while his other hand lazily spanks your ass some more. You watch as his head falls back and his eyes close. You feel yourself close to another orgasm as well, but you can't help but worry that Joel isn't going to pull out on time.

"J-Joel," You moan to him as you grip the sheets on the bed. "You have to pull out; I'm ovulating, and you're gonna get me pregnant if you don't." You tried to tell him so that he could pull out. However, this only seemed to turn him on more. His cock strained in you all while he continued to stroke against the spot inside of you. You released his hand, slipped it between the pillow, and onto your clit. You rubbed your clit fast as he fucked you.

Joel looked like he had been transported to heaven. He looked down at you with both hands on your hips, gripping them hard. It hurt, but you didn't care.

"Oh, baby, I love you so fuckin' much," he whimpered as he looked into your eyes. "I'm so sorry," He says, looking down at his cock going in and out of your pussy. The sight of your juices covering his cock made his body go stiff. That's when you knew he wasn't going to pull out.

"I can't stop; I need to fuckin' cum in this tight pussy right now."

"Joel! No, pull out now." You told him as you tried to move your body away from his, but his grip was too tight around you. "You promised me, Joel!" You moaned loudly.

You weren't sure how many times you had orgasmed today, but you knew that you were cumming again. Joel moans as he feels you tighten around him. His cock begins to spurt his warm cum into your womb. You were so overstimulated that your eyes leaked tears and your ears rang loudly as your cunt welcomed Joel's cum and fluttered around his cock. Over the ringing in your ears, you can hear Joel whimpering out soft appologies as he continued to cum.

With his cock still inside you as you leaked out cum from your pussy, he laid his warm body on top of your back. His chest was damp with sweat from pounding into you. You could feel his warm breath by your ear as he took a minute to gather himself together. He still felt your walls fluttering around him. "It's okay, babydoll. I got you," He whispered gently as he stroked your bare side. You couldn't speak or think; all you could do was shiver underneath his body, even though you were far from cold.

Moments later, Joel pushes up from the bed and slowly pulls his cock from you with a slight hiss and groan. Joel bends down to get a look at your cum-filled pussy with his hands resting on your ass. "Oh doll, look at that pretty pussy," He whispers as he strokes his thumb against your sore ass. "I'll be back, okay, baby?" You let out a soft hum, letting him know he heard you.

When he went to the bathroom to clean you off and get something to clean you off, he didn't hear you burst into tears. When he came back, you were now sitting in the middle of the bed, crying with your head in your hands.

He rushes into the room, places the water bottle and towel on the bed, and embraces you. You couldn't help but cry harder as you cried into his neck. "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry." He apologized as he kissed and rubbed your head. "I'm so fuckin' sorry, I don't even know what I was thinking."

You continued to cry for a few more moments before speaking up. "Joel, what if you did get me pregnant? What are we going to tell my dad and Sarah?" You look up at him with worry. He could tell you were stressed over this and couldn't help but feel his heart pull in his chest. Joel honestly didn't know what came over him during sex.

"Doll," He grabs your hand from your lap and gives it a quick kiss. "If you do get pregnant and you decide that you want to get rid of it, I will be there along the way, but if you want to keep it, then I will be sure to take care of you and the baby no matter what." Joel says it truthfully.

You stroked his hand with your thumb. "Joel, I'm not getting rid of it, but we're gonna be so fucked when my dad finds out his best friend of four years has been boning his daughter for the last two years and got her pregnant..." You say this to him as you look down at his hand in yours. "He'll fucking probably end up kicking me out and then kicking your ass."

"Don't you worry your pretty little head 'bout that darlin'; you're always welcomed at my house." With his other hand, he holds your head and kisses the crown of your head. "As for him kicking my ass, that ain't happening, sweetheart," He says sternly, as if he is sure. You let out a snort as you laughed.

"Oh really?" You back away from him to get a look at the cocky look on his face. He just looks down at your face with admiration.

"I'm certain, darlin'," He tells you, causing you to let out a loud giggle. That beautiful giggle overwhelmed Joel with love. He knew he loved you before, and he always made sure that you knew he loved you, but he knew right there that there would be another compared to you. You were it for him.

After your giggles had died down, you noticed that he was looking at you with a sparkling look in his eyes. "What?" You asked him softly as you played with his fingers.

"You know I love you, right?" He asked you. You felt yourself beginning to get shy. The both of you always told each other how much you loved each other, but something about this was different.

"Of course I know, Joel. Do you know I love you more, though?" You lean over and plant a soft kiss on his cheek. You then pull back to take a look at his face. The way his hard eyes softened when he looked at you made you weak in the knees. "So fuckin' handsome!" Joel's cheeks turned a soft pink color.

"And you're the most beautiful thing on earth," He whispers to you. "You're mine forever; don't ever forget it, darlin'." You wish this moment could last forever.

You released his hands from yours and brought them to your stomach. "I can't believe we might be having a baby, Joel," You whispered as you stroked your stomach. You could see you and Joel sharing a child together and even getting married whenever the time is right. He puts his hand over yours as well and rubs his thumb against your hand.

"You want me to cum in you again so we know we're successful, baby?" He suggested it with a smug tone. The soft look on your face immediately dropped and was replaced with a blank one instead.

"You're such a dirty old man," You tell him. "But yes, I do." You give him a quick peck on the lips before laying back down on the bed.

================================================

A/N: I kinda hate this, but its been on my mind and I wanted to write.

#smut #the last of us #joel x reader #joel miller #joel the last of us #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x reader #neighbor!joel #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #dads best friend #dbf!joel #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel miller x reader #dbf!joel x you

[strang3lov3]

Cup of Sugar

Dilf!neighbor!joel x fem reader (pre outbreak)

Summary: You often borrow from your neighbor, Joel. He catches you in his home, digging through his belongings for batteries when your vibrator dies.

WC: 4.5k

Warnings: Smut!! Dirty talk, smug joel, masturbation, blowies, vibrators, unprotected piv, joel is fully clothed and reader is butt ass naked! Soft!dom joel vibes

AN: Dedicated to all my faves, @notjustjavierpena, @macfrog, @gracieispunk, @toxicanonymity and @speckledemerald i love all y’all with my entire heart<3

Please comment/reblog if you enjoyed ❤️

The ceiling fan needs to be fixed. You’ve been meaning to get that taken care of. It’s the first thing you think of on Saturday morning, when you wake up in your bed to the sound of lawn mowers and weed whackers. A gentle breeze comes from your open window and ghosts over your skin, reminding you to get your ceiling fan fixed.

 Saturdays were often your busiest days. Between cleaning, grocery shopping, and getting ready to go out for drinks with your friends, you don’t have much time for just you. Which, arguably, is what weekends should be for. 

You get out of bed and start getting ready for the day. You shower, get dressed, do your hair and your makeup just how you like. You feed your pets and you’re out the door to take on this beautiful Saturday.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see someone waving good morning to you. It’s Joel, wearing nothing except for his grass stained jean cutoffs as he mows his lawn. His dark curls are damp and stuck to his forehead, his torso shimmers in the sunlight. You catch a glimpse of his soft tummy and the thin line of hair leading down from his navel. 

You nearly faint right then and there. Joel’s your ridiculously sexy dilf of a next door neighbor. You’ve been absolutely smitten with him for what feels like eternity, and his slutty lawn mowing outfits are not helping you one bit. 

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he calls to you after turning off his mower. “Big plans today?”

“Grocery shopping,” you reply plainly, trying to keep your cool. You don’t want to say much and trip over your words. God, he makes your knees buckle. “And chores. Then going out to drink with a few friends.”

He nods. “Stay outta trouble,” he tells you with a charming wink, and then he pulls the cord of his mower and begins working on his lawn again. You watch his back muscles twitch and shine in the hot sun, his plump ass filling his shorts just right. 

Fuuuck. You’re nearly salivating at the sight. He’s gonna be an issue again today. 

And an issue he was. 

At the grocery store, you walk past the lawn mowers and other yard work supplies. Joel. You scan your groceries and check out, and you just know you’re forgetting something.

At home, washing your bedding. You can’t help but wonder how his bedding looks, how it would smell and feel with your face pressed into the mattress as he pounds you from behind. Does he keep his bed neatly made? Messy?

At the bar, watching the drops of condensation slide down the glass. You’re thinking of the way Joel looks with beads of sweat dripping down his face, down the dip of his temple and the sharp curve of his jaw. Your friends are trying to talk to you, but your mind is elsewhere. The condensation pools at the table under the glass. 

As the night finally draws to a close, you drive yourself home. It’s late, most of the lights are off in the neighborhood, including Joel’s. You walk into your home, toss your keys on the end table by your door and make your way to your bedroom.

You’re aching between your thighs, your skin feels hot and your mind is focused on just one thing. You strip bare and flop on your bed, reaching for your hot pink bunny eared vibrator. Ol’ reliable. 

Usually, you like to take your time with your self-love. Tease yourself a little, build up that anticipation. Joel’s done that enough to you today, so you get right to business. With your legs spread wide, you turn the vibrator on and press the toy to your center, using it to spread your arousal up to your clit and back down again. 

Maybe two minutes in, just as you find the perfect spot and the perfect pace, and then the whine of the vibrator begins dying down. You let out an incoherent stream of obscenities as you realize what’s happening, then the vibrator’s buzzing finally comes to a heartbreaking stop. “Fuck,” you hiss. Batteries.

You’re irked. You fucking knew you were forgetting something at the store. And you’d think the way you were fantasizing of Joel all day, you would have remembered to pick up the fucking batteries for your vibrator. He is the object of your affection, after all.

You have extras stashed, don’t you? You open your bedside table drawer to check and…nothing. Maybe in the closet downstairs, where you keep your cleaning supplies and first aid stuff? You throw on your robe real quick and check. Nope. You slam the door, irate with frustration.

You’re getting desperate now, and out of the corner of your eye you notice a dim green light, flashing gently. The smoke alarm. That has to have batteries you can steal for a little while, right? It’s not like it’s preventing you from dying in a house fire or anything. You grab a stool and unscrew the alarm from the top of the ceiling and, and,

It has batteries. 

But they’re nine volts. Not even close to the triple A’s you require. 

Jesus. Fucking. Christ. You need to calm down. Women have fingers for a reason, after all. But god bless it, it’s not the fucking same!

In the dark of your kitchen, you get yourself a glass of water and stare out the window at Joel’s house. And as you take a sip of water, it hits you.

Joel probably has batteries. 

You slip on your flip flops and leave your house, heading over to Joel’s backdoor. 

Are you about to break and enter into his home? No, of course not. That would be absurd. You have a key, duh. 

It started with a cup of sugar. 

Once, you had knocked on Joel’s door asking to borrow a cup of sugar for the sheet cake you were making for the neighborhood barbecue. You, ever so forgetful, had failed to remember to pick up sugar on that particular grocery shopping trip. 

Joel left and returned moments later with a large container full of sugar, way more than a cup. You were expecting a baggie with a single cup of sugar inside, not the whole bin. Men, you thought. You thanked him and promised to give his sugar back soon. You never did. 

The next time, it was eggs. You knocked on Joel’s door, but were met with no answer. So you called him. 

“Hey, what’s up sugar?” Your heart swelled at the nickname. It’s what Joel teasingly called you when you never returned his bin full of sugar, not that he really minded.  “Just need a favor. Are you home?”

“Maybe,” he said. “What do you need?”

“Just like, three eggs for the cupcakes tomorrow,”

After trying your delicious sheet cake, Joel was hooked. He had asked you to make cupcakes for Sarah’s birthday, strawberry with vanilla frosting. You had all the ingredients except for a few eggs, and you didn’t feel like running all the way across town for them. 

Joel exaggerated a groan, faking annoyance. “Those are my last eggs, you know. Am I gonna have to starve at breakfast tomorrow morning?” You let out a giggle at his dramatics. “It’s your breakfast or your daughter’s cupcakes, Joel,” 

“Cupcakes,” he decided. You could hear the smile in his voice. “Take the eggs. S’all good, sugar. I’ll have toast.”

You were about to speak, but Joel interrupted. “Won’t be home for a while. Help yourself, just use the key I gave ya. Happy baking, sugar,”

Joel had given you a key long ago. If he was ever in a pinch working late, he’d call you and ask you to babysit Sarah for him. He gave you a key so you could help yourself inside to make her an after school snack or dinner before she got home. Not that Sarah really needed the help, being so self sufficient. But he liked knowing you were there to take care of her when he wasn’t.

“Bye, Joel,”

And that was your neighborly routine. Babysitting Sarah, borrowing different things from Joel. A flashlight or a screwdriver. Ice, when your freezer broke. Sarah and Joel would borrow from you too, a pair of scissors or a hot glue gun for school projects. Once, they had borrowed your printer late at night when Sarah forgot she had a history paper due the next morning. It’s what neighbors are for, after all.

At Joel’s door with his key in your hand, you jiggle it into the doorknob and quietly open the door, careful not to let it creak too loud. You don’t want to wake up Sarah or Joel. 

You tiptoe through his house, first to his living room. You check the drawer of one of his end tables, nothing. Then the entertainment center where he keeps his video game controllers and such, surely he would keep batteries there too? Nope. You close the doors of the entertainment center and make your way to the kitchen. As quietly as you can you open his junk drawer next to the sink and begin moving items around. There’s a phone book, notecards, pens and pencils. The scissors you lent to Sarah. But no fucking batt-

“What are you doin’ riflin’ through my shit at this ungodly hour?” You jump as a voice interrupts you. You stand up straight and turn your head to the source of the sound, and it’s Joel. His hair is messy and sticking up six ways from Sunday, his soft gray sweatpants hang low on his hips and his thin t-shirt hugs his biceps just so. He’s got one eyebrow cocked, half in amusement and half in annoyance. 

“I just need to borrow something. I'll be out in a second. Didn’t mean to wake you Joel, I’m sorry,” you apologize. You curse yourself for being so noisy, but you can’t help it. You’re frantic for these fucking batteries. 

Joel steps down the stairs. “What do you need so badly right now?”

“Just some batteries,” you mumble. 

“Batteries?” Joel asks. “The fuck do you need batteries so bad for it can’t wait til’ morning?”

You didn’t think this far ahead. You were expecting to find the batteries and just go, not be interrogated by Joel. But you know you’re not in a place to argue. 

“Uhh,” you start, “Flashlight. I need triple A’s.”

Joel just nods quietly, his eyes are droopy with sleepiness and he walks to a kitchen cabinet, the one containing different odds and ends. You see the box of batteries and he reaches to pull a few out for you, but then pauses before handing them to you. “Wait a minute. Thought you didn’t have one. S’why you’re always stealin’ my flashlight,”

“Yeah, sorry. I meant the remote,” Smooth. 

“Mmm,” Joel murmurs, rotating the batteries in his hand. He’s staring you down, taking you all in. Your eyes are wide, your cheeks are flushed, your hair is messy. You’re wearing just a robe, and he’s sure there’s nothing underneath. Your voice is shaking, your breathing is loud and unsteady. 

“Come on Joel, I’m missing my show. Please,” 

Joel doesn’t give you the batteries yet, he just keeps playing with them in his hand. It’s distracting, the way his fingers move so deftly. He bites his cheek and raises his eyebrows at you. He knows exactly why you’re so flustered, and he suspects it’s the same reason you need batteries at the fucking dead hour. 

“What show?”

“What?”

“I asked what show you’re watching tonight,” 

You swallow thickly, your brain is racing as you try to think up a lie. “X-Files,”

“Hm. Who’s your favorite character?”

Damn. Ask more questions, why don’t you? “Sully,” you reply with partial confidence, even though you’re not really sure if that character exists or you’re confusing them with something else.  

“He’s from Monsters Inc, hon. Try again,” You stammer. Maybe it was a bad idea to pick a show you don’t watch to lie about. Joel answers for you, “Did ya mean Scully?”

You nod. “Yeah. Him,”

Joel just smiles tightly, nodding slowly like he knows something you don’t. You’re so full of shit. “Guess what, sugar,”

“What?”

“X-Files ain’t on tonight,” he whispers with a lopsided grin. 

Busted. 

“And I can tell you don’t watch it,”   Joel takes a few imposing steps toward you, you take a few steps back as well. Your lower back hits the counter behind you, pinning you between itself and Joel. You hear the sound of him setting the batteries down next to you. “You think you’re slick, don’t ya? Lyin’ t’me like this.”

Your heart is racing out of our chest as he places his two hands on either side of you on the counter. “What?”

“Did your lil’ fuck toy die on you?” he taunts, his breath is hot on your face. Your eyes widen at the accusation. “It did, didn’t it?”

Your silence is the only answer he needs. 

“So that’s what you’re playin’ with when I hear you whimperin’ for me late at night, hm?” You can only look down at the floor in shame. You didn’t realize you were loud enough for Joel to hear through his own bedroom, which mirrors yours. “You really should keep that window closed, sweetheart.”

You’re not exactly sure where this is going, you’re nervous and excited. Is he mad? Turned on? You can’t tell. “The fan’s broken, it gets hot,” you try to explain while stammering.

 “I’d be happy to fix your fan for ya, but that’s not what we’re talkin’ about right now,”

Joel’s eyes are piercing, he never breaks eye contact as one of his hands leaves the counter. He pulls the fabric of your robe away from your chest a little more, and you look down to watch his next move. “Joel,” you gasp, surprised.

“Nothin’ under here, hm?” he croons as he begins playing with your nipple, hardened by your arousal and the cool air. You moan quietly when he teases it, pinching and twisting it slowly. He looks at you with big and concerned eyes as if to ask that this is okay. You nod in response, of course it’s okay. This is what you’ve dreamed of for so long.

Joel’s hand slides down your body until his fingers find your dripping seam. He slides them through your slick folds teasingly, he cocks his eyebrow when he finds you’re soaked to the bone. “And you were right there, weren’t you?”

You don’t answer, you just keen into his touch a little more. 

“Don’t get all shy on me now, sugar,”

“Yeah,” you admit. 

“Shoot. You poor thing,”

It’s completely silent between you both. Deafening silence. Joel wears a smug grin on his face. He pulls his hand away from your center, reaching for the batteries he set on the counter. 

Before you can even process what you’re doing, you reach for his hand again. “Please,” you breathe. 

“Please what, sugar?”

You don’t have words right now. Not that you did before this moment, either. You put his hand back at your pussy, using your body to tell him what you want. That you want this to continue, that you’re begging him not to stop touching you. Fuck the batteries. 

“Ohhh,” he whispers, realizing. “Want me to get you off tonight, don’t ya?”

You nod with hungry and desperate eyes, thankful that this is going in the best direction it possibly could have. “Please, Joel, need you to touch me,”

It’s not a second before he grabs you by the hips, turns you around and shoves you down to your knees. “No,” he spits, one of his hands is tangled in your hair as the other is untying the knot at his pajama bottoms. He pulls his cock out before you, rock hard and angry. “Think you can just sneak into my house to steal batteries for your little toy?”

You’re at a loss for words, in disbelief that this is the position you’re in now.

“And now you want me to help ya rub one out. S’that right?” When you don’t answer he impatiently taps your cheek with the tip of his cock, smearing precum on your face. “Answer me.”

“Yes, please,”

Joel scoffs. “You’re unbelievable,” he remarks. “Think you’re pretty fuckin’ entitled, sugar. That’s not how this works.”

You feel your heartbeat in every inch of your body, blood rushing through your head. Your eyes dart between his face and his cock in front of you, not sure which part of him to focus your attention to. 

“Here’s how this’ll go,” he begins, pressing his cock against your plump lips. They part slightly at the intrusion, but he doesn’t yet push himself into your mouth. “You do what I say, when I say it. We clear?”

You nod. 

“Repeat it,” he demands. 

“I follow your rules,” you whisper against his member. You can just barely taste him, and you’re hungry for more.

“Attagirl,” Joel praises you, and he shoves himself unceremoniously into your mouth. You nearly gag, pulling back slightly but he holds you right where he wants you. 

He’s big. That’s the first thing you notice. He stretches your mouth out wide and fills you up entirely. Then you notice his tuft of slightly unkempt pubic hair that your nose is nudging. Your eyes flutter shut and you savor the way he tastes, tangy and slightly salty from the sweat. 

His voice interrupts your thoughts. “Take your robe off f’me, sug,”

You do as you’re told, untying and shimmying off the thin robe from around your shoulders as you bob your head on his dick. You hollow your cheeks around him, letting him feel every inch of your mouth, so soft and wet. He’s domineering above you, but his hand on your head is gentle. He untangles his fingers from your hair and moves them to your cheek, caressing your skin gently. You can’t tell what the gesture means, if it’s supposed to be comforting or his way of letting you know he’s the one in charge.

You feel him twitch in your mouth every so often as you continue sucking his cock. You look up at him with wide eyes, he looks down at you through hooded lids. You wonder what he’s thinking. 

“I wanna watch you touch yourself,” he requests, but it’s more of a demand. His voice low and gravelly.

You spread your legs slightly and your hand finds your center, your fingers slip and slide through your dripping pussy. 

“Fuck yourself,” is his next command, “Deep as you can go. Come on now,”

You insert a single finger inside of yourself, using your body’s rocking motion to propel your finger deep inside you. But it’s not quite what you need. You pull your mouth off Joel’s cock, which garners you a look of irritation from him. “Need more,” you beg. 

“Yeah? Whatcha need?”

“You, Joel. Please,” 

“Awh,” Joel tilts his head and pouts at you mockingly. “Beggars can’t be choosers. You know that, silly girl.”

You open your mouth to plead for him, but he shuts you up by shoving his cock back into your mouth with a grunt. 

“Keep fuckin’ yourself real nice f’me,” he says. “Gonna watch you come all over those pretty fingers.”

You whine a little and shift on your knees, trying to find the right angle while still taking Joel down your throat. Eventually you do, and you add a second finger while grinding your clit down on your thumb. 

You and Joel find a steady pace, him fucking your mouth and you fucking yourself. You feel the beginning of an orgasm coming on and focus hard on that feeling, letting it build and wash over you. You moan and choke on Joel’s thick cock as you come, spit dribbling down your lips and your chin. 

“Good girl,” he praises you. “Good fuckin’ girl.” 

At this point, your lips and your jaw are sore. You wonder what’s next to come, Joel finishing down your throat or something else. It’s not long before you find out, he pulls away from you and brings you to your feet. 

“What was it you were wantin’ again, sugar? D’ya wanna come all over my cock?”

You try to hold back your excitement, slightly embarrassed by the effect he has on you. 

“Tell me, were you thinkin’ of me tonight? Before that lil’ fuck toy of yours died?”

“All day, Joel,” you whine. “Needed you all day.”

“All day,” he repeats, amused. He turns you around to face the counter,  pulls you back by your hips a bit and nudges your feet apart. “How ‘bout that. What were ya thinkin’ about me?” 

“Y-” you gasp, your words interrupted when you feel the thick head of his cock prodding your slit. He drags it up and down your folds, coating himself in your arousal.

“Go on, now,” His southern accent is thick like honey as he teases you.

“When you were mowing this morning-” you choked out. “You looked so handsome.”

“Handsome, hm? S’awful kind of ya,” Joel notches the tip of his dick inside you and sort of pulses inside you, ever so slightly moving in and out of your dripping entrance. “Got me blushin’, sugar.”

He doesn’t give you time to respond before he buries himself inside of you. You yelp at the sudden intrusion and without missing a beat, Joel wraps a hand around your mouth.

“Pipe down,” he growls. You nod frantically into his hand, which he promptly removes from your mouth and places on the back of your head. Firmly, but not so rough that he hurts you, he pushes your face down into the counter and holds you steady there by the back of your neck. His hand is warm on your neck, the pressure of his strength against you is both comforting and somewhat of a warning. Your guts churn as desire shoots through your veins like electricity. 

Joel finds a steady pace. Not too fast, not too slow. His cock hits you right where you need him. 

“Jesus, sugar. Feel good?”

“Fuck,” is all you can get out. You’re lost in him, your skin is on fire and all you can feel is Joel. His thighs hitting your ass, his balls slapping against your clit. One of his hands on your waist, holding you steady. “You feel good, s’good.”

Joel lets out a strangled kind of noise, somewhere between a whine and a groan. You hear his sharp and unsteady breathing through his gritted teeth, and you wish you could see him like this. You can just about picture it perfectly, his messy hair flopping with each of his thrusts and his brow furrowed, the little line between them more prominent than it usually is.

He fucks you at a devastating rhythm, both of you panting and moaning. Joel’s a little more vocal than you would have expected. You can tell he’s trying to keep as quiet as he can, but he lets out strangled moans here and there, as if he can’t help it at all. When he’s quiet, you wonder how he does it. Is his lip pinned under his teeth? Is he holding his breath?

He taps your cheek. “Look at yourself, baby,”

You open your eyes, and you see your reflection in his glass patio door. You’re stark naked and being mercilessly fucked and Joel’s behind you, still fully clothed. His plump ass peeks out from his gray sweats.

“You look real pretty with my cock in ya, sugar. Always knew you would,” he purrs. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you moan, and you reach an arm behind you to hold onto his own, where he’s still gripping your hips. He holds you in a vice grip and you’re sure you’ll be a painting of bruises tomorrow, a picture of pure, unadulterated sex.

His hand on your neck finally leaves, and he wraps it around the front of your body until he finds your clit. You almost miss the way he pressed you into the cold countertop. 

“Alright, now,” he breathes, “Keep lookin at us when you come.”

You nod into the countertop. Even if he didn’t tell you what to do, you’d still be watching yourself and him in the reflection of the glass. You couldn’t peel your eyes away if you tried.

He expertly paints circles into your clit as his once calculated and steady thrusts turn frenzied and he loses his rhythm. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, Joel,” you’re gasping, feeling your walls clench and squeeze him. “Right there, right there, fuck.”

“Go on, let go f’me,” he pants. 

With a few more circles tracing your clit, you fall apart on him. You come with a loud whine, and Joel pulls you up to cover your mouth with his hand once more. His arm is between your breasts and you’re not sure if the hot sweating on your back is from you or him. You don’t mind either way. 

He doesn’t yet stop fucking you, and the sensation is becoming all too much. Your moaning is muffled by his hand as he chases his own orgasm, and he spills into you with shuddering breaths and grunts, painting milky white ropes of come on your insides. 

You groan at the loss as he pulls out of you and his spend is warm as it drips from your pussy and down your thighs. You turn around to face Joel, both of you panting as you catch your breath. His dominant demeanor is gone as he bends down to pick up your robe and holds it open for you, you turn around and slither your arms through the sleeves. Without words, he turns you around and ties it in the front, then you slide your flip flops back on your feet. The whole song and dance feels oddly domestic and sweet.

With his hand on the small of your back, he guides you out his door and walks you to your home.

“Don’t have too much fun,” he warns you teasingly, placing the two triple A batteries in your hand. “And close that window. I wanna be the only one to hear ya moanin’ all pretty like that.”

You nod with a shy smile, and Joel kisses your lips and then your forehead. The gentleness of the gesture feels odd, but not wrong. You’re suddenly feeling bashful, as if Joel just didn’t have you butt naked and bent over his kitchen counter. 

“I’ll be by to fix that fan for ya, sugar,” 

And then he walks away. And you go inside and back to your bedroom, first making sure to close your window. You watch the light in Joel’s bedroom turn off.

 You lay in bed and play with the triple A batteries in your hand, still feeling the tingle of his lips on yours, the dull ache of the bruises his fingers left on your hips. 

You never did end up replacing those batteries. Just like how you never gave back the sugar.

@swiftispunk @rosaliedepp @pedrotonin @kittenlittle24 @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @brittmb115 @bigboiseason123 @laysmt @venusdemonroe @guiltgoreglory @aubreysylvain @leeeesahhh @oliveg95 @ifall4dilfs @alloftheboysivelovedbefore @harriedandharassed @vickie5546 @louisxosblog @southernbe @ravenouswild @luvrking @r02eg0ld @amythenortherner @walkintheprk @zpandaqueen @silkiers@angel-with-a-heart @kdogreads @boofy1998 @theoremrobin @ihatespoilers @2valentines @happy--birthday--kiddo @elissaaa @paleidiot @brie-annwyl @str84pedro @sesigsss @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @palomaluvsdilfs @kyloispunk @tiredbuthappy @yuk-for-president @jazzy-music-cat @anoverhwhelmingdin @dontatmethebeasts @venus122idkpleaze @nopealoupe @blackvelveteen1339 @monboudoir @darleneslane @bbyanarchist @spideysimpossiblegirl @speckledemerald

#strang3lov3 #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #the last of us #joel miller #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal joel miller #pedro pascal the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #tlou fic #dilf!joel #neighbor!joel #tlou show #tlou hbo #tlou #tlou fanfiction

[toxicanonymity]

blow.

one shot PWP in night walks AU

2k, joel miller x f!reader. joel master list

SUMMARY: PWP. You do a line off his dick and he wants to bang, but you give him an amazing BJ instead. Then a little later, he does put it in you. A/N: This takes place between Harder (where the coke bender starts) and The Morning After, so you’re already nice and high. There was also an ask on this a while back. WARNINGS: I8+, drugs (coke), grinding, breeding kink, mildly dubcon via mutual drug use (established sexual partners), blow job (ball sucking, kinda cock worshippy), jacking off, mild somnophilia, brief p in v, creampie 🤍

Joel’s already fucked you, and he’s fucked you harder, and you’ve come hard as hell.  You’ve moved from the sofa to his bed and you’re both naked. The plan is to take a nap, then do it again. The darkness of his bedroom is welcome. It's minimalist, clean. Nothing on the walls. How weird that this will be your first time in his bed, or in any bed with him, for all the times you've hooked up. His bed is simple, but comfortable. So comfortable.  You settle into it on your back, and he lays an arm over you, face down on his stomach.  The arm is not ideal; you’re sweaty, and his body heat doesn’t help, but you can’t bring yourself to move.  You’ve just begun to drift off when he’s getting back on top of you. 

“C’mere, baby.”

He reaches between your legs and feels the remnants of his cum that’s trickled out between your thighs. “I’mma fill ya right back up.” 

He’s hard again, wedging his body between your legs, his ankles twisted up in sheets.  You’re kissing sloppily, groping each other’s bodies. You’re dying to have him inside you again.  By now he must suspect you’re on birth control, but the higher he is, the more he seems to think he can breed you. Or at least he wants to pretend. With his cock laid against your dripping heat, you're throbbing.

“Yeah,” he says and slides his arousal up and down against your clit. His eyes are wild, like he’s on another planet. “Gonna cum right in here,” he rests his hand on your lower belly then aggressively grabs your side as he grinds into you.   

“Hold on, pumpkin.” Joel reaches for his nightstand, and he sure as hell isn’t reaching for a condom. He turns on a lamp and it’s too bright.  “Shit,” he mutters as he puts it on the dimmest setting. He grabs the coke baggy and it’s almost empty.  “Let’s finish it.”

You ask, “Are you sure you want more?” It seemed minutes ago he was saying he got too high. Selfishly, you’d rather he fuck you first.  

“Not for me,” he mumbles. Then he opens the bag and groans as he lies back on two propped up pillows.  “Not much anyway.” You turn on your side to watch him.  You’re starting to come back down, but everything’s still vibrating.

He’s so sexy. You admire his profile, his dark eyes, his jawline, his scruff, his gorgeous head of dark hair. His muscular arms and chest. The light padding of his stomach, rising and falling. His happy trail, and then his gorgeous cock, near full mast.  And that’s where your eyes settle.  You can’t stop looking at the silhouette of his arousal in the dim, warm light. It’s fucking gorgeous, and it’s all for you. 

It better be all for you.  You never appreciated it before. Looking at it now, it’s so commanding.  No wonder he’s obsessed with it. Frankly, you are too.  It’s smooth, thick, and gets so stiff. It's curved upward just enough to hit that spot just right.  It’s perfect, and he fucks you so good with it. You’re salivating. Really, saliva is pooling at the corners of your mouth. 

Joel says, “here—“ he gets ready to dump the baggie on his fist, but he looks at you and stops talking when he sees the way you’re practically drooling over his dick.  You’re in a trance, mouth slightly open, saliva pooling at the corners, your breasts slowly heaving. 

“Mmmm. . . yeah, that’s for you, baby.” He wraps a hand around his cock. He holds the baggie up to his shaft and wiggles it as though to ask if you’d do a line off his dick, and you nod. He holds his cock flat and ungracefully dumps the rest of the white powder into a short, messy line. “Bad girl shit,” he murmurs and leans his head back against the wall, watching you through half lidded eyes.

You straddle his legs and your wet cunt grazes his knee as you get into position.  He moans softly when he feels it. You lower your head to his cock and look it right in the weeping eye. With the coke still on his shaft, you can’t help but reach your tongue out and take the precum. He gasps then mutters, “oh shit.” 

You look up and make brief eye contact. Then you bring your nose to his shaft and sniff off the white powder.  Some of it sticks to him. You tilt your head back and sniff a few times, feeling the bitter sting of the nasal drainage.

-------

“Attagirl. Now time for round 2.”  But you can’t pry yourself away.  You take the base of his cock in your hand and he encourages you, “Yeah, ride it, baby. . .Fuck, you’re hot.”

But with your mouth so close to his cock, with his musk filling your powder-caked nostrils, all you want to do is consume it. His hands try to urge you into his lap. “Lemme fill ya up, baby,” he lightly nudges your arms, but you hold firm and hover your mouth over his cock.  Most guys would be all about it, but he's got bigger things on his mind at the moment. Completely preoccupied with pumping you full of his cum.

“I gotta put my cum in ya,” he whispers. “Nice ‘n deep," his cock twitches. "Fuck it so it stays.” You take his tip into your mouth and he groans, then he mutters, “Ain’t gonna let me,.are ya?” 

Maybe later, but not until you’ve sucked this cock dry and swallowed every last drop.  Not until you’ve given him the best oral he’s ever had. If he ever thinks about another girl’s head in his lap or god forbid has one, you want him thinking about this.  

You suck the whole tip into your mouth, then bob your head on his cock, taking a little more of him into your mouth each time. The coke residue is bitter but quickly diluted by your ample saliva. His cock feels like heaven on your tongue. Warm and firm. The skin is smooth. You relax your jaw and suck from the back of your throat as you try to make his length disappear into your mouth, and you do. 

“Fuck yeah, baby,” he breathes as the silky tip slides down your throat. “Mmmm.” You curl your lips firmly around your teeth to protect his delicate skin.  Your head bobs, and you suck with all your might. You cradle his balls in one hand and hold the base firm with the other.  You lick him hard as you suck, massaging his shaft with your tongue. “Ohh, fuck,” he sighs.  You let saliva drip out of your mouth. You slobber all over his cock. “So fuckin hot.”   As you cradle his balls, you dip your middle finger against the harder skin behind them and he sucks air in through his teeth. “God damn.”  You’re throbbing and wet. You shift so you’re on top of one leg, and you can’t help but start to grind yourself on it. 

You let his length fall out of your mouth and down your chin, a string of spit falling to your chest. You lick up and down the shaft and around the tip, taking your time getting it nice and slobbery while making eye contact. Then you whisper “I fucking love this cock.”

"Ohh yeah " he moans. His eyes are already half closed.  Your hips move, seeking pressure on your sensitive place. 

“All yours, baby,” he whispers. “All this cock."  You lift the wet shaft out of your way and slowly stroke it while you turn your mouth’s attention to his balls. 

“Fucking love it,” you repeat directly to his cock this time, the breath of your words hitting the base of his shaft.  Then you lick from his shaft down the seam of his scrotum and back up before gently sucking one of his balls into your mouth. He gasps, then moans.   “Mmmm,” you hum as you gently suck his ball and stroke his shaft. You’re still moving on his leg, and tension is gathering in your deepest place. 

“Ohhh,” he moans.  You twirl your tongue around the ball and suck gently again before moving to the other one where you do the same. “Mmm,” these are the only sounds he can muster. No words, nothing intelligible. “Bay—ohhhh.”  You swirl your tongue around his balls and he’s breathing heavily, “mmmgh.” 

You try your best to get both balls in, stuffing your mouth full of them and he gasps, his breathing intensifying. You suck and gently tongue them, then you let them out, and you feel them twitch.  You get his dick wet with your slobber again, then return to his balls.  He watches you in a daze.  You’re getting closer and closer to the edge yourself. 

“God, I love this cock,” you repeat earnestly as you grind on him, and he grunts, “Mmm.” Your tongue sharpens and trails just below his balls, not quite to his anus, but close, and you tongue him as hard as you can while you stroke him with the new slobber and cradle his balls with the other hand.  You tongue him there and his balls tighten and you whisper, “Yeah, lemme swallow.”   He groans, wanting to put it in your cunt. 

“Won’t waste a drop” you say and suck his tip into your mouth.  You suck and make eye contact, and the next time your lower mound presses into his leg, you cum. You moan onto his cock, slowly moving on him as you throb against his leg, fuck.  At that point, he erupts in your mouth, and you feel his shaft pulse against your hand as he does.  He groans and you suck gently as his warm spend coats the roof of your mouth and the back of your throat. It takes him a minute to regain his speaking abilities. “God damn, pumpkin,” he sighs.  The look on his face tells you mission accomplished.

--------   

Having given it your all, you’re tired, too tired to think about getting that cock inside you.  You fall asleep in minutes.  In an hour or two, the bed is shaking rhythmically, Joel is breathing heavily and moaning.  His hot, sticky skin is pressed against your side, and his fist is grazing your hip as he strokes himself.  Then he begins to get on top of you.  

“Mmm,” you sigh as you stir awake. He uses his knees to spread your legs open. 

“You ready for it, baby?”

You blink awake and feel the tip of his cock at your clit.  He teases it rapidfire, slaping your clit with the tip. You’re so cock drunk, you just nod.  

“Hell yeah.”  He slides his hands under your thighs, preparing for an immediate mating press,  and lines himself up at your entrance.  “Mmm, yeah.” He shoves inside and his mouth falls open as he bottoms out with a sigh.  You moan as his girth spreads your insides. He grunts each time he thrusts, and then he presses your thighs back with his body. With your legs in the air, he thrusts into you a few more times. Then he plunges to the hilt with a grunt that becomes a long groan as he begins to pulse warmly against your cervix, his cock throbbing against your walls. He looks down at your body folded under him as he finishes coming. 

“God you’re fuckin’ hot,” he pants. He stays above you for a minute, then pulls out and lets your legs down.  

Maybe he never needs to know for sure that you’re on birth control. You’ll just be extra careful with your pills, and he’s welcome to keep trying. 

——

If you like this Joel, there's a lot more of him in night walks AU. You can pick and choose and skip around. Here's the whole bender this one shot is a part of:

Night Walks 5: Harder

✨BLOW (2k) - THIS FIC.

Night Walks 6: Morning After

Night Walks 7: Soaked

Thank you so much for reading and engaging! I know so many of y'all love him so plz show him your love if you can in rbs/comments. Your engagement motivates me.

⚠️ PLEASE FOLLOW TOXICFICS and subscribe to notifications in lieu of tag list since tags aren't working for many people ⚠️

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #neighbor!joel #toxicanonymity ☠️ #night walks!joel #pedro pascal smut #night walks #nightwalks☠️ #cw dubcon #PWP

[loliwrites]

The One You Need | three

🎶 I spent most my life thinkin’ love was out of reach, so maybe just this once, you could be the one I need, if you let me be the one you need🎶

pairing: neighbor!joel miller x f!reader  rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni  summary: when you move into town hellbent on keeping everyone at an arm’s length, your neighbor Joel finds his way into your life. warnings/tags: au, neighbor joel, age gap [reader is late 20s/early 30s, Joel is late 40s], hyper-independent reader, a bit of a misandrist mindset, men vs boys, dubcon [tagging to be safe] [slight alcohol consumption but neither is drunk], verbal consent received, SMUT, fingering, unprotected p in v sex [wrap it before you tap it, folks], praise kink, slow love, aftercare, vasectomy mention, terms of endearment [sweetheart], female reader, no physical description, protective!joel, soft!joel, dare i say ei!joel, no use of y/n. word count: 5.5k joel miller masterlist | part two a/n: i hope y’all are liking this :) next part may not be out for awhile. gonna figure out what the heck i’m doing with this. tagging @hausofobsession, cuz luv.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

“Please tell me you’re not drunk,” he mumbled against your skin. So tight that it distorted his words and had you humming for instant clarification. He lifted his head and looked back down at you, as if his eyes alone would be able to figure out the answer. “Drunk?”

You ran your hands up to his chest, “on two and a half beers?”

“That’s not an answer,” he let out a breath and drifted his hand from your neck, down to your chest where he gave one of your breasts a squeeze. You noticed at the same moment, he reached around to your ass but avoided it to simply adjust himself in his jeans.

“I’d have to be drunk to want to sleep with you?”

“I reckon it’d help,” he grinned boyishly and bent in again for another tongue-led kiss as though he couldn’t help himself.

You grabbed either side of his face in your hands and curled your fingers into his beard. “Not drunk, just want you,” there was a lack of movement on his end and you weren’t sure if he was short-circuiting or trying to figure out if someone your size could indeed get drunk on two and a half beers. Either way, you tapped his ribs, “now, if possible.”

Like a spurred horse, he got to it. Scooped you up and held you against him with both arms hooked beneath your thighs. He let out a labored breath when he lifted you up and stood from the couch, as if he wasn’t sure he’d make it fully upright. The noise emitted from him made you doubt that as well.

“Heavy?” You asked, burying your own lips to his neck, this time to avoid his answer. There was a delay in his response, which you only noted because when he spoke again, he’d managed to rise completely.

“No, sweetheart, it’s not you. I got a fucked up back,”

You pulled back and looked at him with a smirk as he began to walk, “old man.”

He managed to side step his t-shirt so as to not trip over it, and started down the hallway. “Yeah. But I don’t think you’re gonna be disappointed,”

Your cheeks got hot, partially by his words and partially by his display of strength. You’d never felt more secure being in a man’s hands. That he had you. Steady. Safe. “I need to get you that horn to toot,”

Joel only smiled, adjusting his hold on you to keep you upright with his forearm as his other hand moved to turn the doorknob and give you both access to his bedroom. The silence gave way to more kissing. He cupped his hand around your jaw and kept you at an angle that accommodated his tongue pressing its way back into your mouth. Slowly, you were being lowered and your backside hit the mattress which prompted you to open your eyes. But that did you in and sent a white hot flash between your legs. Joel stood over you, chest rising and falling gently as he became laser-focused. He brushed the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip and suppressed a smile when it made you part them. But instead of lingering there, he moved his hand to the back of your head and gently took a handful of your hair, close to the scalp, and eased your head back as far as it would go. You whimpered and pressed your thighs together to try and stave off the arousal you knew was pooling in your panties.

“Y’wanna get naked for me?” He asked, his voice low and gravelly.

That also didn’t help the situation between your legs. You nodded, but then remembered he preferred to hear it, “yeah.”

His eyes drifted to your lips quickly and then shot back up to yours. With a quick peck, “go on, then.”

He took a step back and dropped a hand back down to the front of his jeans, palming himself. With the hesitation on your end, he clicked his tongue against his teeth to get your attention again. Your eyes focused on him, then started the plight of removing your clothes from yourself while trying not to get too far in your head about it while he just stared – ogled – at you. Your shirt was the easiest hurdle to get over so you pulled it over your head and set it beside you on the bed. Joel’s eyes seemed to light up at your now exposed chest. The bra was nothing special, and upon realizing that, a new spark of embarrassment ignited in you. Not having planned this, the bra was less than “sexy” and you knew your underwear was even less so. And they didn’t match. Not nearly. That was the reason you rid yourself of your bra so quickly. Maybe he’d forget what it looked like by the time you were down to your underwear.

Joel groaned once your chest was completely free from its constraints. His shoulders seemed to hunch forward and his hand pressed harder against his crotch. Even as your fingers went to your pants to nimbly undo the button and zipper, he closed the gap between you and wrapped one large hand around the front of your neck. Again, he used no pressure to it, more of just an anchor so he could kiss you and nibble on your lip.

You reached down, trying to remain in place to allow his kisses to continue, while also trying to rid yourself of your pants. He caught on to the jerkiness of your actions, and helped you out of your tight jeans until he managed to get them past your feet and completely off. Now as he stood in front of you, your hands went for his belt, shakily undoing the buckle until you could finally yank it out of the loops.

He watched your progress as you went for the button, “don’t have a condom, but I could just go dow–”

“I’m on birth control,” you said off-hand, not even bothering to look up at him. Button undone and making short work of the zipper, you nudged his jeans down past his hips and the curve of his ass.

Joel grabbed your wrist when you reached back to rub the outline of his member in his boxer briefs. “Not for that. I’m snipped,”

Your eyes shot up to him.

He pressed a grin, “only way you’re getting a baby from me is if you’re the virgin Mary. I don’t have anything, but…”

“Me either, let’s get to it.” You scooted further back on to the bed, laying against the pillows. But he didn’t follow you right away and seeing his questioning look, you jumped the gun. “Unless you’re lying and I actually need to get you a full STD panel,”

That seemed to rile him enough to crawl on the bed to you. “I’m not lyin’ to you,” he hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties and tugged them down. Instead of keeping his gaze on you, he glanced down at his progress and the damp spot on the cotton fabric that sold you out. He smiled up at you, obviously proud of himself.

The urge to smack that smile off his face was strong. You thought about doing it, and like he could read your mind, he rested his weight on top of you, hips and legs spreading you apart, and grabbed hold of your wrists, tugging them up above your head. He gave you a look, and convinced you’d leave your hands where they were, he loosened his grip and began kissing down your body. First your lips, paying them the sort of attention that made you think he wouldn’t get to any other part. Then his tongue trailed down to your neck, and he sucked on your soft skin there, seemingly dissatisfied until he felt he’d done enough to leave a bruise. A mark that when you’d look in the mirror later, would remind you of what was to come. To remember the way his lips migrated further, to your chest, kissing and circling his tongue around your nipple while his fingers toyed with the other. Only to switch and do the same to the other. You moaned and rut your hips up into him, vying for any friction or anything that would spur him into hurrying. But he was slow with his movements. Each one calculated and deliberate. So that by the time you even realized he was kissing your lower stomach and hip bone, your body tensed up and you lowered one hand, curling gentle fingers around his ear.

“Joel,” you hummed, though his ministrations didn’t stop, and you couldn’t help but understand that your utterance of his name did sound eerily similar to a moan to continue. He kissed just a touch lower and dragged his tongue over the skin where the elastic of your panties had left a mark. “Joel, you don’t have to,”

He let your words sink in for just a second before he kissed your hip once more and lifted his head, “I want to…” he glanced down at your legs as you shifted beneath him, trying to close them. Grasping your hesitancy – or discomfort – with that, he relented and looked back up at you, “maybe next time.”

You nodded and silently thanked the heavens above that he let it go at that and made a quick line of kisses back up your stomach, past the center of your chest and then back to your lips. “Fingers?” He whispered into your neck, resting on his side next to you. His hands continued their dance over your skin.

“Just fuck me,” you pleaded and turned your body into him, slinging a leg over his hip to give him access again.

He smiled and leaned up on his forearm, looking down over you, making you feel smaller than you already were compared to him. “This is not me tooting my own horn, but I don’t want to hurt you,”

“Joel,” you whined and rubbed yourself along the outline of his shaft, knowing he’d feel the wetness through his underwear that you’d left behind.

He pouted at you as if jokingly agreeing with your heady whine. “Thing is sweetheart,” he said and kept his gaze on your face even as his fingers drifted lower. He could tell you were hyper-aware of it though you also kept your focus on his eyes. “Two and a half years is a good bit of time,” he ran his middle finger through your slit, biting back a moan of his own, as a silent one seemed to leave your slackened mouth. After circling your entrance but putting no pressure on it, he brought his finger back up to your clit and suppressed another grin when your legs flinched, “and I don’t think the boys you’ve been with ever did a good job.” He kissed you gently and circled his fingers over your bundle of nerves. This time that earned him a new response in the form of your entire body shuddering. Catching your reaction, he lowered his forehead against yours, “your pleasure’s my only priority right now, so we’re gonna make it good.” Joel lifted his head and looked down at his hand and the way your hips lifted to meet it. “Look at you all wet for me. Barely had to do anything and I’ve got you drippin’.”

You rolled forward and buried your face in his chest, sparing yourself from the eye contact he searched for. A laugh rumbled through his chest, and all you could do to keep from falling apart was roll your hips into his hand harder. 

“How about one?” he looked at you despite only being able to see the side of your head, and notched his finger at your entrance. He felt you nod against his chest, but that reaction had him moving his finger away and opting to cup your sex. “Can I see your eyes,”

You turned your head and looked up at him, “you’re killing me.”

“Well, if ya’ listened to me like a good girl, we’d be on our way. But you’re bein’ stubborn, and I’m not out to hurt you,” he made sure you read him loud and clear. “Now can I put my fingers in you or not,”

But this was what you expected from guys. To gear up for a fight. So your body kicked it into overdrive and you pushed on his chest. “If you listened we’d be on our way because I’ve already said yes three–”

In one fell swoop, he took his place back on top of you and slung one of your legs over his forearm as it rested on the bed by your hip. The move kept you open for him, and left you speechless. If you hadn’t been turned on before, that had surely done it.

“We were having such a good time, and now you’re being a brat,” he smirked knowing he had the upper hand, and laid his fingers back at your entrance. “Can I put my fingers inside you or not,”

“Yes!”

This time there was no delay between your answer and the feeling of him sliding his middle finger into you, going relentlessly until he’d gotten it all the way down to the last knuckle. Your jaw fell slack again and your eyebrows furrowed together, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “Like that?” He asked when he curled his finger inside you, against your front wall.

“Yes,” you cried out, elongating the end of the word and writhing beneath him. Only a few quick thrusts of that finger alone before he pulled it out and set forth with his ring finger included. Your eyes were locked on to his, though his gaze alternated between your face and your core. 

Fingers hard at work, when he looked back into your eyes, he saw them glazing over. Your mouth was open, letting out silent moans, and from that he realized the steady rise and fall of your chest had paused. He smiled to himself and lowered his head, planting a wet kiss to your sternum. “Breathe, sweetheart,”

You gulped in a breath of air, hearing an animalistic growl come from Joel’s throat when your inhale resulted in your anatomy squeezing around his fingers which had yet to cease their constant thrusts in and out of you. “Please, Joel, I can’t…” your breath caught in your throat when he curled both of his fingers inside you. “I need you,” your claws came toward his chest and scratched down his skin, trying to get him as physically on you as possible. 

His fingers slowed, “you’ll tell me to stop if it hurts?”

In chasing a high, with blurred vision and your pulse pounding in your ears, and brain fog that overwhelmed you, you shook your head no.

Joel laughed softly and slowly eased his fingers out of you, shushing you when you whined. “That wasn’t the right answer,”

“Please, please. You’re killing me,” you repeated.

“You’ll stop me if it’s not good,” he reiterated.

“You’ll be the among the first to know,”

He kissed you once. Twice. And on the third, sat back on his knees just to lower and pull off his underwear. With it also discarded off the side of the bed, he slotted himself back between your spread legs. You only had a moment to catch a glance of his member, and it instantly set in a whole new batch of nerves. He’d be the biggest you’d ever taken, perhaps exceeding in length and girth than any other boy in your repertoire. And the thought of what that would do to your body was equally anxiety-inducing and thrilling. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you noticed him evaluating your expression, but not catching your direct eye contact, he reached between your bodies and lined himself up with you. Notched his head against your entrance, “good?”

“Yeah,” you murmured and immediately took your lower lip between your teeth, bearing down for what was to come. Joel couldn’t help but think that was you preparing for an unpleasant, and perhaps, downright painful experience. He took a beat to steady himself before he slowly pressed forward, urging himself in.

He felt the first hint of resistance at the same moment your mouth twisted into a wince. Joel pulled his hand out from between you and set it at your hip for leverage while the other went to your neck. His fingertips pressed to the back of it and lifted your head just enough for him to kiss your lips with urgency. Hips dipping into you a little more until about half his length was sheathed inside you, he pulled back to look down when your jaw dropped open and out came the squeakiest of whimpers.

“Y’alright?” Joel stilled his hips, waiting for the go-ahead.

You squinted your eyes shut, feeling them burn with tears. “Yeah,” you gasped out, “you’re big,”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he lowered his head and licked at your neck. “You’re so tight,” he pulled his hips back before slowly thrusting back into you, still only getting halfway of his length in. “But you feel so good,”

“More. Deeper,”

Joel studied your face as he obeyed your command, pushing further until he’d sunk all the way into you, bottoming out. And the way your muscles spasmed around him almost ended him. He bowed his head forward against your shoulder and took a deep breath in through his nose.

“Joel, move,” you pleaded, still pulsing around his length.

He nodded, not lifting his forehead off your shoulder, “I will, just give me a second.”

You reached around his torso and dragged your hands down his back to his ass, “something wrong?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna come,” he admitted, sucking in another deep breath. “Don’t even start. Just… say something about football,”

“I don’t know anything about football,”

That got him to lift his head. And suppressed whatever urge was rising in him enough so that he could pull his hips back and snap them into you again. His speed picked up, sending you upward on the bed. You both pressed a hand to the headboard in the effort of keeping you from hitting it, but even with the abundance of caution, his thrusts got more forceful. It felt like he was splitting you in two, swearing you felt him up in your stomach. And with each particularly deep thrust, the head of his cock pressed against your cervix. 

It had you moaning and whimpering in an endless stream, and just when you didn’t think you could take more of it, he lowered his mouth to your ear and started whispering to you. “Takin’ me so well. ‘Atta girl. Wrap your legs around me,” he waited until you did so. Ankles hooked together behind him and you let out a deep, guttural moan. “So fuckin’ tight, aren’t you?”

You nodded breathlessly, very quickly losing control of your senses and body. 

You fluttered around him and he growled. “This pussy’s so good,” that earned him another round of clenching from your needy center. “I feel you squeezin’ me, sweetheart,” he emphasized that with another hard thrust. “I’m gonna make you come, but I need you to do me a favor,” his kissed just below your ear.

“Anything,” you moaned. “Anything you want,”

Well if that wasn’t just music to his ears. He moved one hand beneath your hips and lifted them just slightly off the bed to enter into you at a different angle, and placed his other at the back of your head, grabbing onto a fistful of your hair. “Touch yourself for me,”

Eyes blinking open while you simultaneously nodded, you thought you’d just come undone then and there. The way Joel was looking at you became even more overwhelming when you lifted your hand to your mouth and licked your fingers, before lowering them to your waist. Joel moaned and for the first time his hips faltered. You knew he was as close as you were. With the first touch of your fingers on your clit, your legs squeezed around his hips tighter and refused to let him go. Why no boy before had enlisted you to help along with your pleasure, you didn’t know. If anything, they had been offended you needed to. But not Joel. Not this man.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he whispered, staring right at you. It gave you nowhere else to look but back into his eyes. “Good girl,” he hummed, both very aware of the way you throbbed around his shaft with the praise. “You wanna come for me?”

You nodded immediately, feeling heat pooling between your legs and in your stomach.

“Want you to soak me,” he bit your jaw softly, “come all over my cock.”

“Joel,” you whimpered. The muscles in your legs and stomach flexed and released in steady procession. You could barely hear him over the pounding in your ears. It was also nearly impossible to focus on anything other than the weight of him on you and in you that accentuated the building pressure inside you. “Joel, please,” you managed to choke out.

His hold on the back of your head grew gentler and he lifted your head toward him. “You can let go, I got you,”

“Joel,” you cried out again.

“I promise. I got you. C’mon, come for me,”

His thrust paired with your slick fingers over your clit was your undoing. You buried your face in his neck, entire body stuttering beneath him. His hips slowed but they never stilled completely while you rode out your orgasm; the first given to you by a man, and one that seemed to take blissfully forever to subside. Your body twitched and your breathing hitched for a while longer until it finally went limp beneath him. You sucked wind to get your breath back. 

Joel bit back a moan, “can I keep going? I’m close,”

“Yes, please, don’t stop.” You managed to pull yourself together enough to realize that he’d talked you through your climax, and now it was your turn to do the same for him. “You feel so fucking good inside me. So big, stuffing me full,”

His gaze caught yours as if he hadn't expected you to pick up like this. But you just smiled, leaned in, and licked a broad stripe up his neck. With your orgasm behind you, you unhooked your ankles behind him and let your legs fall wide down to the bed. His thrusts got less rhythmic as he chased his own high.

“Give it to me,” you whispered again, “gimme everything you got.”

“Where?” He groaned when his abs flexed involuntarily.

“Anywhere you want,”

He groaned and sat back on his knees, pumping into you in earnest. You reached for your breasts and squeezed them, your body bouncing and writhing beneath Joel; which he had a full, unobstructed view of now. It didn’t take long, just a few extra sloppy thrusts from him until he unsheathed himself from you and stroked his hand up and down his length in quick procession. Keeping your eyes on his, as he held eye contact, you chewed into your bottom lip when he let out a deep, hearty groan and moments later felt his spend decorating your stomach and waist. His gaze had left your face and shifted down to your body. A few ragged breaths filled his lungs before he leaned back over you with hands planted on the bed on either side of you.

His kisses were slow now. A stark contrast to how frantic they’d been at the start. And with far less tongue. Though it did still search for entrance back into your mouth. 

You smiled against his lips and scritched your fingers through his hair, “good?”

“Fuckin’ fantastic,” his eyes opened when you giggled. He kissed you once more, then rolled over onto his back beside you and turned his head, “good for you?”

With an enthusiastic nod, “definitely.”

He smiled breathlessly and looked back up at the ceiling inhaling a couple deep breaths to steady himself. But just as you opened your mouth to say something, to congratulate him on being the first man to get you to finish, he groaned and pushed himself out of bed. After pulling a new t-shirt from his dresser and a quick search for his underwear, which he pulled back up his legs and settled around his waist, he wordlessly went for the bedroom door and left you in the room alone. He was out before you had gathered your senses enough to question him.

Even the worst of your lovers had stuck around for more than a couple minutes afterward. Certainly didn’t remove themselves from the room. Sure they hadn’t gotten you off, but the one that had, just left you with a feeling of being used and a growing soreness between your legs. You took and held a deep breath, blinking rapidly to keep any frustrated tears from falling. Great. The guy you decided to let in is a runner. 

After a minute and feeling that your legs wouldn’t completely give out from under you, you carefully pushed yourself out of bed as to keep the aftermath of his orgasm off the furniture. Though you weren’t sure why you cared so much. He clearly didn’t. The search for your bra and underwear turned out to be harder than expected, until you’d found them tossed to his side of the bed. The only focus was to get out of there as quickly and quietly as possible. Pretend it’s nothing and get out of there.

“You’re leaving?”

Your head snapped up upon hearing Joel’s voice, and you found him in the doorway with a glass of water in his hands. 

You snatched up your pants, “yeah, I’m gonna go home.”

“Why?” he asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“You left and I feel a little in the way so…”

You picked up your shirt, the last item you needed. Joel looked dumbfounded, and it wasn’t until you neared him to exit, that he pressed his free hand against your stomach gently. “I went to get you some water. And pull some things out for you in the bathroom,”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to make sense of his words, then noting that the glass of water he had was meant for you. “You left so I though you wanted–”

“I thought you might feel more comfortable getting cleaned up and going to the bathroom first.” He removed his hand from your stomach and reached to take the pile of clothes out of your arms. “Come back to me, okay? I don’t want you to go,”

“You sure?”

He nodded, “I know you’re probably good, but I need to cuddle after sex or I start to feel like a piece of meat.” He caught your hands as you tried to swat at him, and he stepped aside, patting your ass, “I’ll be waitin’ for you.”

Nodding and carrying on into the bathroom down the hall, you nearly burst into tears when you saw just what he’d been up to. You’d taken his leaving as a sign that he was no better than any other guy you’d slept with, but was once again shown that he wasn’t like the others. The shirt he’d taken from his dresser was there, waiting for you to claim. A warm, wet washcloth had been placed beside the sink for you, along with a pack of unscented wipes. Your cheeks got hot at the thought – Joel Miller cared about your delicate pH balance.

You went about your business, wiping his spend away with the washcloth, cleaning yourself up, and each moment growing more restless to be back in bed with him. The more you thought about it, the more dangerous you felt it’d become. What if you couldn’t keep your hands off him?

Coming back down the hall and re-entering his bedroom in nothing but his t-shirt, you were blessed with the image of Joel laid back in bed in his boxer briefs. He was staring absently at his hands in his lap, but when he noticed you’d returned, a wide grin crossed his face. He held his arm out to the side as if creating the spot you’d so nicely fit into. And you did. Crawled up the length of the bed and tucked yourself into his side, head resting on his chest. You wrapped an arm around his torso, giving it a squeeze for good measure to keep him close. Once you were situated, he lowered his arm around you, settling it over your ass. There was comfortable silence for a couple minutes. Nothing but the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the softness of his breath. He punctuated the end of the silence with a kiss to the top of your head.

“I really enjoyed that,” he mentioned.

“Me too,”

“Is that going to be the only time I get to enjoy it or do you think it’s something we might get to do again?”

But this time, all you did was shrug and it didn’t necessarily put his heart at ease. And despite knowing that wasn’t the answer he hoped he was going to get off the bat, he didn’t press for a definitive answer.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Not getting the sense it had anything to do with pressing his previous case, you tilted your head back and looked up at him.

He smiled softly and dragged his fingertip down the bridge of your nose, “is there a reason you didn’t want me to go down on you?”

“Yes,”

“Okay,” he nodded and squeezed your ass softly; a sign that that was all he wanted to know. The reason didn’t necessarily matter.

But he was being gentle and soft, and in the afterglow of sex, you didn’t quite care if he knew the reason. “It requires more intimacy,”

He smiled, “more than me being inside you?”

You nodded and Joel gathered you were entirely serious. “It’s easy for me to disconnect myself from my body when it’s just… penetration,” you mumbled, thinking he’d laugh at the term like a teenager. But instead, his expression remained even. “It’s harder for me to do that with oral so it feels more vulnerable,”

Joel shook his head. Silent reassurance that you didn’t need to convince him of anything. “I understand,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “And I know faking orgasms is in the women’s handbook of physical intimacy, and I’m not disillusioned enough to believe a woman’s never faked it with me, but… I hope you didn’t,”

Your heart beat heavy in your chest, threatening to break out of your ribcage. You stretched upward until he was close enough to kiss, and then you did so, curling your fingers in his beard. Only when you pulled away, “I didn’t.”

He grinned and pulled your leg over his waist. “You wanna stay tonight?”

And you knew it was going to be another answer he didn’t want to hear. You knew you were going to break his heart. And yet you said it anyway, “no I should go home in a little bit,”

He did his best to hide his disappointment, and you hardly saw any of it before he nodded in acceptance.

Fifteen minutes later after thinking maybe you’d change your mind, you and Joel were dressed again – you still in his t-shirt – as he walked you back to your house. Though he had reached for your hand, you dodged it in fear that nosy neighbors would see you. It was bad enough they could see him walk you back to your place at this hour.

At your door, Joel silently watched you unlock it and nudge it open. He pressed a smile in your direction once you turned back to him.

“Thank you,” you whispered, “for tonight. And for fixing my fridge,”

“‘S’nothing,” he insisted and leaned into you. His hand found a spot behind your head as he backed you up against the door jamb, being saved by the back of his hand rather than knocking into the wood. 

The kiss he gave you felt different than all the other ones had felt tonight. Yes, it was slow. But previously, the slow ones had felt like the unhurried motions of a doting lover. This one felt like he was making it last for as long as he could for he might never get another. You placed a hand on his stomach, feeling your legs turn wobbly. By the end of the kiss, you swore you would’ve fallen over if it weren’t for his steadying hands.

Once parted, you backed into your house and gave him one last smile before you shut and locked the door. But hidden inside, you ran to the living room to spy on him and found that he had remained in place by your door; one hand propped up against the jamb. He breathed a couple quiet breaths before turning and descending your porch steps and slowly returning to his home.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #au #neighbor!joel #joel miller au #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst

[chaotic-mystery]

Peeping Neighbor | J.M.

ꨄ Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

ꨄ Summary: Mr. Miller is your neighbor and he keeps calling you at the worst time…what could he possibly want?

ꨄ CW: smut! 18+, minors DNI, peeping neighbor! Joel, perv!joel, age gap implied (Joel’s late 30s and reader is early 20s), phone sex, mutual masturbation, pet names, reader watches porn (wxw/wxm) toys used, size kink, foul dirty mouth Joel.

ꨄ WC: 1.7k

(Technically this would be no outbreak!Joel, lived long enough to see smart phones be a huge thing.)

Let me know what you think! Enjoy!🖤

There was nothing good on TV this late at night and you knew that, but you flicked through the channels anyway, hoping something would jump at you and get your attention. Nothing did, it was all boring shit. You turned the TV off and suddenly your room was almost pitch black, the street light outside casting an orange glow against your bedroom wall. As you laid there looking at the ceiling, your mind wandered and before you knew it your hand was opening your nightstand drawer and grabbing your vibrator, going down your shorts. Slow and soft rubs buzzed against your clit while you thought absolute filthy thoughts. You were just getting into the motions when suddenly your phone was buzzing on your nightstand.

10:17 p.m: Joel Miller Calling

For fucks sake.

"H-hello? What's up Mr. Miller?" you sounded a little out of breath and frazzled. shit.

"Hey sweetheart, sorry I know it's late, did I happen to leave my tape measure there from earlier when I was helpin' your dad? I can't find it anywhere.."

Was he serious right now? Why the hell was he worried about a fucking measuring tape this late at night?

You scratched your head and sighed a little too loudly. "No uh, I'm sorry Mr.Miller, I haven't seen it, I'm sorry." god dammit you just wanted to get your rocks off and go to bed.

"Okay, thanks darlin', I appreciate you lookin' for me. Have a good night." He hung up before you could tell him goodnight, weird.

The app of all your saved favorite dirty videos you watch on a burner account, you know exactly which app, was staring you dead in the eye. You clicked your burner account and scrolled until you found your favorite girl on girl video you bookmarked, and your hand turned on your vibrator once more, pressing straight to your clit. The moaning, the kissing, the pussy eating was making you squirm with burning hot pleasure under your own touch. Crazy what a two minute video can do for you. You could see your orgasm approaching rather quickly when once more, your phone starting ringing and the call was flashing over the dirty video.

10:25 p.m: Joel Miller Calling

This is a joke.

"Yeah, Mr. Miller?" there was no hiding your panting this time, or your snappy tone.

"Jus' wanted you to know I found it, was in my truck." There was something else he wanted to say, he was too cheery over a fucking tape measure.

At this point you didn't even turn off your vibrator, why lose the momentum when you were so close? It was however, very distracting to focus on what he was saying.

"Mhm, yeah that's-that's great I'm glad you found it." Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull and you almost let a moan out when he said your name.

"Is everything okay, sweet pea? You sound out of breath..and what's that buzzin' sound?" Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You quickly cleared your throat and turned off your vibrator, tossing it to your side. "Oh! Yeah, I'm fine, just doing some stretches before I go to sleep. Buzzing? I don't hear anything, must be your phone. Well I'm glad you found your stuff, but I really have to get some sleep. G'night Mr. Miller!" You hung up so fast he didn't have a chance to say anything.

Sighing deeply, you put your head in your hands and started giggling softly. That was so close. You grabbed your toy one last time and turned it on, pressing it to your soaking wet clit again. Finding another one of your favorites, you watched closely as they started making out, the guy moving down her body and sucking her nipples as he fingers her.

You bent your knees and moved your vibrator up and down along your overwhelmed bud and soft whimpers escaped your lips, eyes screwed shut pretending that was you getting your nipples sucked.

10:31 p.m: Joel Miller Calling

There was ZERO way you were answering for the third time. No, kindly fuck off Mr.Miller. You sent the call straight to voicemail and went back to looking through your catalog of videos. A notification popped up along the top of your phone saying you had one new voicemail. Curiosity got the best of you and you wanted to know what he said. You pressed the phone to your ear and listened closely to the message, vibrator still going against your clit.

"Hey sugar, I didn't get a chance to tell you what I got to see when I went to my truck. You should reeeally be careful with leavin' your curtains open. I was walkin to my truck when I caught a glimpse of you playin' with yourself. Now, It's not a big de-"

You didn't need to hear anymore. Your face was hot with humiliation mixed with anger. You turned off your toy and sat up in bed before you dialed his number back. Who the fuck did he think he was? You heard him pick up the phone and you didn't give him one millisecond to fix his lips to say hello.

"Who do you think you are leaving fucking voicemails like that on my phone?!" you harshly whispered, not wanting to wake up your dad upstairs Joel chuckled and that only pissed you off more.

"Listen to me, pretty baby and listen to me good. I'm gonna help you get yourself off and you're gonna accept the offer because let's be honest here, I've heard you moan my name before when I've come home late and your windows are wide fuckin' open for the whole neighborhood to hear. Now, you dirty lil thing, are you touching yourself right now?"

You never knew your face could get so hot until this very moment. Suddenly all those times you were moaning his name as you were orgasming came rushing back to you, and there was many of those nights. He was attractive, a good face to picture while you came, you admit it. Part of you wondered if this was a joke but the other part wanted to believe he wanted this too.

You took a deep breath and laid back down in your bed, closing your eyes gently. "No, no I'm not, just laying here."

"Ok, I want you to turn on your lil vibrator again like I heard earlier and put it back where you had it, against that pretty lil pussy." His tone was low and seductive, it was hard to stay upset when he sounded so hot.

You did what he said and pressed the buzzing toy against you, moans slipping from your lips. "oo-oh it feels so good Mr. Miller" you whined and pressed harder against the toy.

"Mmmm does it bunny? Would it be better if I was there using the toy against that wet clit of yours while I fuck you? Hm? My hard cock pumping in and out of you while I pinch those pretty nipples of yours and watch you swim in pleasure. Tell you how gorgeous you look wrapped around my cock while I fuck you so good your makeup is running down your face, would you like that baby?" His teasing tone was met with the sound of a belt being undone in the background behind and that added to the images floating in your mind.

"Yes I want that so bad, your cock filling me up to the brim, and I can't take all of it because you're so big. Make me take it all and shove your fingers down my throat before you kiss me, putting your tongue in my mouth. I bet your big cock would feel so good going in and out of my tight hole, Mr.Miller." you breathily respond as the pressure builds in your stomach and goes straight to your clit.

He grunted in pleasure as he took a moment to picture that, and he was breathing heavy now. "Wh-what do you think of when you're cumming sweetheart, why do you say my name? Call me Joel baby."

"Because you're so hot, Joel. I think about riding your face until I cry, I think about fucking you before we'd go to sleep, when we'd wake up, pretty much whenever I'd get a second alone with you. I see the way you undo your belt in your driveway as soon as you get home from work because you want it off so badly and all I can think about is you spanking me with it. " you were being so vulnerable with him, you didn't mean to go into such detail with that answer.

"Fuuuuckkk you naughty girl. You're so fuckin' nasty, I should've called you sooner. Yeah I bet you taste so sweet baby doll. God damn I'd pin you to my face until I'm done eating that pussy. I'd love to have my beard covered in your sweet juices, just glistening before I kiss you to let you have a taste. You want me to spank you with my belt? Throw you over my lap and kiss your ass cheeks before I spank the hell outta them, fuckkk-" he groaned out and you could tell he was close.

"Joe-l I'm gonna cum, i'm gonna fuckin cum right now, oh m-" you squeaked out and you went silent as your body shook with your orgasm. Soft whimpers danced through the phone into Joel's ear and it was enough to send him shooting his load all over his lap like a goddamn water fountain. He was loud when he came, he was cussing and grunting over and over. You laid there in bliss as you listened to him come down from his high, the grunts dying out softly.

"You dirty girl you, I've got cum all over my thighs and stomach. Next time you're feelin' like this, come over. Not like I'm super far." he joked and you laughed with him, replaying what just happened. "I will, Joel. Thanks for the fun. Get some sleep, maybe I'll come over for breakfast tomorrow." you hinted and he gasped slightly. "I better be ready then, shouldn't I? G'night pretty baby."

11:02 p.m: call ended.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x you #the last of us #neighbor!joel #perv!joel miller #joel miller fic #joel x reader #daddy joel #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader

[hellishjoel]

cinnamon girl | masterlist

(dbf/neighbor!joel x f!reader)

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series summary: Each summer, you and your parents rent a lakeside cabin. Joel and Sarah Miller are your neighbors. You’re all grown up, and you’ll do anything to prove to Joel you’re a woman now. 

➢chapter one: off to the races* You and your parents return to Danbury to spend summer on the lake. Seeing Joel Miller after a few years away, makes you realize how badly you want him. Especially at tonight's bonfire.

➢chapter two: dark paradise* Your mind is flooded with the memories of your private time with Joel in his woodshed, but he hasn't reached out to you since the bonfire and it's been a week. You go next door to give him a piece of your mind. ➢chapter three: cherry* Joel invites you over for a movie night with your parents and Sarah out of town. How are you supposed to focus on the film with his hand on your thigh? 

➢chapter four: burning desire* An argument with your mother before family dinner leaves Joel worried about you. He sneaks you away to grab a drink and talk about what’s on your mind. 

➢chapter five: ride* Joel whisks you away to Houston for the weekend under the guise of a work trip. You keep a secret from him to try and keep your fling undetected from your parents.

➢chapter six: let the light in* Joel takes you on your first proper date, but there’s trouble in Houston paradise. 

➢chapter seven: coming soon

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

extras: ➢cinnamon girl - off to the races moodboard by @parksandrecgirly ➢cinnamon girl - burning desire moodboard by @parksandrecgirly

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#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #the last of us #joel miller one shot #tlou #joel tlou #joel miller x f!reader #hellishjoel #joel miller fanfiction #dbf!joel #neighbor!joel

[pascalsbby]

People Talk

Masterlist

Summary: 2.3k/ f!reader, dark!joel, dbf!joel, brat tamer!joel

“Truth is, he’d been waiting for your mouth to form his name all day. He knew you’d be here, always were on the fourth regardless of what boy you were running around with or what was happening in college. This time you were here for good. Or for a while, until your daddy caught on to your problem.”

Warnings: 18+ mdni, SMUT, age gap, joel masturbating, dominate & aggressive joel, unprotected p in v, slight stalker!joel, pet names, praise kink, dubcon, he talks you through it, tells you what to do- the usual pure filth

Notes: In honor of 420 followers + no work tomorrow, here is a 4th of July, neighbor dbf!joel, quickly written and poorly looked over one shot. Love you!

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *

It was entirely too hot to be prancing around outside in that too-tight dress, pretending you missed all your daddy’s other friends- ignoring Joel purposely. Punishing him, swaying those hips towards every other man but him.

Then, you’re bending down to pick up the cornhole bags with no regard to his wandering eyes. Giving the guys hell for throwing them at you while you were walking behind the boards. Wearing red panties, white socks.

You return the bags to who they belong to, and suddenly you’re hanging off Tommy’s collar. Laughing at some dumb joke he’d probably muttered.

He offers you his beer, you take it with a giddy smile. “Oh, Tommy,” you giggled, singing his name.

How fuckin’ rude.

It was Joel’s turn. He’d seen enough of everyone else getting your attention. He walked towards the two of you, catching your gaze and holding it, intensely.

“Hi there, little lady.” Little? Hardly. At least where it mattered. But it slipped out of his mouth, more as a warning to how you were acting than anything else.

“Saved the best for last, did you?” He stepped closer, hand engulfing a beer bottle.

He nudged Tommy, fuck off.

His beard had taken on a tinge of gray, hugging his jawline and accentuating the strong contour beneath it. Wrinkles traced his neck, along with a permanent frown between his eyebrows. His skin was darker than last summer, he’d been outside working on his truck. His crow's feet had deepened with time, age.

"Hey, old man,” you dared step even closer, patting him on the back, “Feelin’ okay? I’ll go get your rocker if you need me to,” you teased.

“Long day for you, almost time for fireworks and then we can tuck ya into bed.” You continued, grinning. He could tell this is the reaction you wanted.

Teasing had always been your nature, kissing his cheek before running your fingernails against his back as you hugged hello, pressing your hips closer to his when saying goodbye. The sighs you would quietly let out as his ear passed your mouth.

You use to leave your blinds slightly ajar at dusk, enticing him to peek through and catch a glimpse of the show you put on, from the comfort of his own home. Most of the time he watched you apply lotion, focusing on your pretty, heavy tits.

A few hours later he’d see you mosey out, around 11pm, rolling and cursing cause it doesn’t turn out like you want it to. You end up smoking it anyways on the back porch.

You never could get your joints to light on the first try, either. Something else he added to his list.

He would watch your shoulders relax, your gaze follow the lightening bugs; the cicadas quiet for the frogs. Then you would dizzily sneak back in.

You started that a few years ago, picking up weed from some ex you’d brought from school one summer.

Joel imagined what your soft insides would feel like completely stoned, fucking in and out of your wetness. Sometimes he’d dip into his stash and smoke after you, using his hands in place of your mouth… your cunt.

It became a habit.

“Joel?” You asked. He stopped imagining your pussy kissing his cock.

Truth is, he’d been waiting for your mouth to form his name all day. He knew you’d be here, always were on the fourth regardless of what boy you were running around with or what was happening in college. This time you were here for good. Or for a while, until your daddy caught on to your problem.

“So you’re nice n’ graduated huh? Pretty and smart. Always knew you were gonna be somethin’,” he smirked. His eyes wandered lower than your lips. This time he didn’t stop. He was starting at your nipples through your dress, poking so pretty against the white material. They’re pierced.

Fuck. That’s new.

“You know what they say,” You leaned into him further, moving higher on your tippy toes to be face to face with him- almost.

“Mm, and what’s that?” He muttered, playfully.

You moved your hair behind your ear, looking deeply into his eyes, welcoming him in.

You want me so bad, he thought.

Then you brake his trance, and answered as if it was your turn to embarrass him. You backed up and talked in a normal-toned voice now.

“I don’t fuckin’ know, you’re the one who told me college wasn’t gonna make me any smarter. Step it up, old man- you’re fallin’ behind.”

God damnit, you were a fucking brat. And he knew it was wrong his cock hardened beneath your smart ass words.

But it didn’t stop him from indulging regardless.

He’d heard stories about you all over town since you got back. It’s been four weeks and you were already making a name for yourself, becoming a town problem.

“‘Ya know Dan’s little girl? A slut, apparently. Sheriff caught ‘er down at the lake with Andrew’s boy, said he’d call her daddy if it happened again.”

Stories of whose son did what to you when. This was a small town, and he knew you knew that.

Before you could pull completely away from him, he walked up beside you and leaned into your ear, tickling your hair falling against it.

“Be more careful who you’re suckin’ dick around, pretty. People talk.” He whispered.

You huffed at him, ready to protest but he continued, “Wouldn’t want your daddy knowin’, would ya?”

Embarrassment reddened your cheeks, eyes faltering with surprise for a moment.

“Mr. Miller, if you wanted to fuck me, you should have just asked.” You dared, saying it loud enough to make his entire body stiffen, he looks around to see if anyone heard. Then he shakes with anger at how fuckin’ stupid you’re being. No one else heard over the chattering and screaming kids, throwing snap pop fireworks onto the shimmering concrete.

Now would be a good time to teach her a lesson. No one’s listenin’ to the loud noises around them, all engulfed in their own happenings. No one would be lookin’ for her.

He’d had enough of you trying to put his reputation on the line. He reaches out, snags your arm and pulls you closer to him, forcing you to walk by his side towards the house. His body heat is radiating off of you.

It’s better he teaches you now, rather than someone else worse down the line.

“We’re gonna go inside and you’re gonna let me teach you somethin’,” he says through his teeth, leaning down into your ear, “first thing you’re gonna learn is silence, baby. Don’t say a fuckin’ word while you bend over that bed for me.” He pointed his eyes towards you with a nod. “Got it?”

He waited for confirmation.

“Oh sure, Joel,” you mocked, “whatever you want.”

“You’re just not gettin’ it are you?” He spat.

-

He’s pulling you up the stairs now, back door slamming. Everyone’s out back getting ready for the fireworks, setting out blankets and calming the children. There isn’t much light to see who is missing and who isn’t.

In front of you are Joel’s broad shoulders, left arm hanging behind him as his biceps flex from dragging you with him. He looks impending, massive, from the view you have a couple stairs down.

His grip stings, your hand starting to lose feeling. He hasn’t said a word the entire time you two have been in the house. Grunting here and there at the weight of you, not letting you move at your own pace.

The fun was gone.

“You’re scaring me, Joel.”

“Good, pretty girl. Someone needs to.”

He knows the exact path to your room, and he takes you there before busting the door open and throwing you inside behind him. He closes the door with one push of his arm.

The release of his grip knocks you to the floor in front of your bed. You catch yourself, wincing in the thud your body had made.

He didn’t apologize for it, he didn’t even help you up. He put his back against the corner of the room and was looking at you, waiting, arms crossed behind his back.

He wanted you to bend over.

His breathing was heavy and his eyes set a little lower, darker. You got up on your knees, facing him. Face red, your tears were starting to form out aggravation of how Joel was treating you, but also the tickle in your mound.

You locked eyes with him, shuffling close enough to him to reach out and unbuckle his belt. He let out a breathy chuckle, laughing at how pathetic you look- compared to your confidence from earlier.

You did what he asked, demanded, and stood up to bend yourself over your childhood bed. You spread your legs, allowing the air to hit your pussy, then your tight ring of muscle before he spit down on it, turning hour over so you’re on your back, centering himself to you.

“That’s right. Let me feel it, pretty.”

He didn’t even do you the favor of one finger to stretch you out a little. He sheathed himself into completely.

“Squeeze. Uh huh, just like that,” his mouth is barely open, in awe, looking down at you.

“I want you to watch me fuck you, okay? Can you do that?” His tone was sweeter, yet more condescending.

You lift your head, peering down at your angled body as your lips spread to suck him in, over and over and over.

“J..Joel, please.” You begged, gasping for reprise.

“It’s so much, I know. But look at you, sweet thing, you’re taking it so well. Stretching yourself on my cock so, so good.”

You pathetically whimper back. Words had left you minutes ago. And that was okay with you. Joel was taking what he wanted from you, but you wanted it just as much. So you shut up and took it.

“I know, I know, pretty girl. Shhhh,” he coos, shoving himself into you. He’s so fucking big, you’d never felt this much pressure inside of you before. You throw your arms against his chest as high as you can stretch them, trying to push him away, overwhelmed by him. Overstimulated from the depth of his cock and the tickle of his calloused fingers, running circles around your throbbing nerves.

A cry escapes your lips, and he takes it as a cry of want rather than pain.

He grabs both of your wrists in one hand then hits you. Your jaw slacks the same as your head as it fall one way. He reaches out and rubs your cheek, holding your head in his hand.

“I said be quiet, did I not? I knew this would be too much for you. No wonder the entire town knows who you’re fuckin’- they can hear you.”

Your cunt fluttered and then slowly dripped release against him.

You start to argue, no, beg for him to slow down a little. His frame is lit from the orange hued streetlights on the street below, his hair falling into his face, disheveled from how he was moving his body.

The sun was almost set when you two had come in, providing some light, but no one turned on a light. No one outside could see in. That wasn’t enough to promise this would stay hidden.

Joel drops your head and puts his palm over your gasping mouth.

His grunts above you are guttural. Joel throws his shoulders back, his head following. Fuck, it’s been so long. And you… you had decided you wanted to tease him with the neighborhood boys, with his brother.

“‘N you think any of those boys down there are gonna touch you like this?” Satisfaction filled your gut as he sat you up, holding him your arms so that the tip of his cock could kiss you deeper, and suddenly you’re finding it hard to keep the smirk off your face.

You knew you’d piss him off, hanging around Tommy like that. Looking at him like that. Bending down in front of him, taunting him while Joel stood on the side of the yard.

He noticed your grin. Oh, he hadn’t fucked it out of you yet.

“Daddy would be so sad to know that he raised a fucking slut. But that’s okay baby, I’m gonna teach you how to be a good southern bell. That’s just what you need, ain’t it?”

You didn’t answer him in time, too busy looking at your shaking thighs, burning and tired as his length stretched you further every time he pulled out and slammed back in again. You, creamy and white against his cock.

He reached out and grabbed your throat, shaking your head yes for him. “There you go. Yes.”

His grip tightened at the base of your throat, pushing out ungodly sounds until your stomach bursts with fire.

Your eyes roll back into your head, bitting your lip so hard that you can taste a familiar metallic taste. You went limp for a moment, taking what Joel had to give you.

“Tommy, I-“ You started to beg him, assure him nothing was going on between you two. You started the sentence with the wrong name.

“Did you cum so hard you forgot who was filling this pussy up? Stop saying his fuckin’ name,” he growled, pushing your face into the bed.

You stopped trying to talk and instead melted further into the feeling of Joel.

“Another thing we gotta teach you is knowin’ who you belong to.”

#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #tlou #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #joel miller x y/n #dbf!joel #brat tamer! joel #neighbor!joel #dark!joel #fic #pascalsbby #one shot #tweet #twitter #Javier pena #smut #Fic rec #ao3 #pedro pascal x you #pedro x reader #oneshot #asks #stalker!joel #perv!joel #maxwell lord #tommy #tommy miller

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. i

purely just some fun and games putting big grumpy joel miller slap bang in the middle of a romcom. i hope you guys enjoy. dedicated to big sis @mrsmando, who is the light of my life, let herself be completely swept away by this idea into unhinged, whimsical mania with me, and who inspired so many lil details for this story. love u, zhort x

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you strike up a deal to attend a wedding with your neighbor as his date. what could go wrong?

warnings: age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), grumpy!joel initially finds reader mildly infuriating, cursing, alcohol consumption, discussion of a car accident (non-graphic) & dead parents, softdom!joel as per, fingering, handjob, comeplay, spitting, drunk unprotected one night stand, creampie, praise kink, one mention of nausea (but nothing happens, my little emetophobic angels), someone falls pregnant and it's not joel miller i'll tell you that much. honk if you love cats!!!

word count: 9.8k 

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

It’s just gone seven on a Saturday night when his knuckles rap on your door.

The sun casts tall, angled shapes on your living room wall. Lights the pages before you in a glow of tangerine. Refracts through the glass tumbler on your coffee table and bleeds the amber liquid onto the pale wood surface. Everything lit in some variation of gold, everything bowing its head quietly as the day begins to turn its back.

The house is still. The world feels still, as though transitioning. Like you’re sat in a waiting room, leg bouncing, anticipating something you don’t know to look for yet.

Perfect, comfortable, still – until he’s on your porch. And he knocks again.

You snap your book shut and slide it across the table, nudging the heavy glass. The ice clinks, irritated.

“You mind fastenin’ your…delicates to your clothesline a little better?”

His voice shoulders its way into your hallway before you’ve even pulled the door back enough to see him. Not that you need to see him to know who it is. You’ve lived in Austin three years now and met only one person with a voice as low and toneless as Joel Miller’s. Slung in sarcasm, dripping with disdain. All that.

You cross your arms and slant against the doorframe, unable to mask your amusement. “Excuse me?”

He answers by lifting his left hand. From his pointer finger hang a tiny pair of white panties, lace pattern fluttering in the late summer breeze. You glance over his shoulder as you steal them from his grasp, balling them in your fist.

“Uhuh. They were sitting on my back lawn. I have company tonight, y’know. I can’t have women’s underwear just – lyin’ in my damn yard.”

Your head tilts. Ears prick. “Company? You hostin’ somethin’?”

His shoulders drop with a sigh. “No. I am not hostin’ anythin’.”

“Good. ‘cause I’d want an invite.”

“If I were hostin’, you’d be the last person I would invite. And you know that.”

“Ouch,” you pout, “that hurts, Miller. I watered your plants while you were off visiting your brother last month. They woulda died without me there.”

“And I am grateful to you,” Joel grumbles, “but that doesn’t mean I need those anywhere in view of my kitchen window.” He throws a pointed finger to your elbow, where your panties sit scrunched in your fist.

You look down to the froth of frill spilling between your knuckles, and back up to his dark features – his glower casting a shadow over the hazel eyes and deepening the creases between his brows. You smirk, a realization dawning.

Company – that he doesn’t want seeing a pair of someone else’s underwear.

“You have a date.”

Joel’s tongue flicks across the inside of his cheek. He glances over his shoulder and speaks through his teeth. “No, not a date,” he quietly tells the street.

“But you have a lady comin’ over. Or at least – someone you don’t want seeing these.” You unfold your arms and twirl your fist. The gentle wind lifts the lace.

He grunts. A low hmph. Agreement, you think.

“Sounds like a date.”

He hisses, “’s not a date.”

Your stare doesn’t slip from his. Not when his brows tighten, not when his jaw does, too. Not even when he sucks a breath between gritted teeth. Your smile widens.

Finally, with a sigh, he concedes. “It’s…it’s somebody Tommy ‘n Maria are tryna set me up with. Alright?”

“So – a date.”

“If you don’t –” Joel’s head flicks over to his own driveway at the same time his hand lifts, a pointed gesture you read as – shut the fuck up. “We’re just having a few drinks. Just – hangin’ out.”

“Just hangin’ out,” you repeat, eyes widening. “One-on-one. With some woman who – Wait, Tommy’s in Wyoming. How the hell do he and his wife know someone way the hell down here?”

“From before they moved. And – Maria ain’t his wife. Yet. They’re getting married next month.”

Suddenly the sun reappears over the dark horizon. The evening begins to clear up, make sense again. You lift your chin, nodding.

“Right, right. So, she gonna be your plus one, or…?”

The understanding raises his heckles again. Exasperated, he asks, “How many damn questions are you gonna –? I’m only here to – to return your –” He nods once more to the pale fabric in your hand.

A laugh shoots from your nostrils. “What’s the matter? You don’t like – whatever her name is?”

“Laura.”

“Laura,” you breathe.

“And there ain’t nothin’ wrong with her. She just – she…”

“She…?”

“She has, like, five cats, and it’s just…hair, everywhere. And at their engagement party, she spilled an entire margarita down me. Right down my –” He sweeps a hand down his front, balling his fists again once they reach the hem of his shirt.

Your lips turn, amused. “Five cats. Cat lady Laura. Well. Have fun, I guess. Thanks for these.”

He acknowledges your raised fist with a bashful glance. He’s already halfway down your front steps when he says, “Keep an eye on your laundry from now on,” and strides off back to his own place.

Joel has lived here his whole life. In Austin. You’ve no idea when he moved in next door, just that he was here when you did. You don’t know much about him at all – the fact he even filled you in enough to tell you about his date is shocking enough.

The day you first arrived, U-Haul truck squealing to a halt by the curb, he found himself unlucky enough to be stood in his front yard watering the blond patches of his grass. He saw you struggling to open the rear door of the truck, and with a grumble and a glance across the street for a more eager rescuer, he tossed his hose and came over to help.

He unclicked the heavy latch and pushed the door up with enough ease to put you to shame. And he seemed to feel some obligation when he saw the mass of belongings stuffed in the back, to help you unload them. Didn’t seem overjoyed by the thought, mind you, what with the sigh he let slip when you hopped up and held out the first box.

He indulged you for no more than one hour. Answered every question you had about the neighborhood, dodged every one about himself. He told you about the couple across the street with the newborn baby, told you about your neighbor on the other side who pretends to garden just so she can snoop on everyone else’s business. And as soon as the last box thudded down on your gleaming living room floor, he nodded, and paced back over to his own property.

He's a good guy. You know this much. He’s a dick to you most days, but he’s honest, and he’s kind when you catch him in the right light. He takes deliveries for you when you’re not home; he once drove Diane to the vets when she showed up on his doorstep in the dead of night, Fred the Jack Russell ailing in her arms.

He’s observant. Noticed just this summer the three different plumbers who showed up to your house in the space of two days, and came over as the third guy was leaving – his shining bald head low between his shoulders.

‘s the matter? Joel asked, watching the navy overalls sink into the rusted vehicle.

Kitchen sink’s leakin’. Fuckin’ – nobody can fix it.

He shouldered you out of the way with his then-trademark sigh and left twenty minutes later, your kitchen finally free of the dripdripdrip you’d been plagued with for a week straight.

He’s good. He’s a good neighbor. But, man, is he private.

You’ve never seen the inside of his place. His body blocks it anytime you’re on his doorstep. He has a brother, you know that – though, only since last month, when he asked you to keep an eye on his garden – and you know, now, that the brother is getting married.

You know that he likes country music, know he plays guitar – accidentally. You heard him one day in the spring, when he left his window open and you were lounging by your pool. When he looked out and noticed how you’d angled your sunbed to listen, really listen, he slammed it shut.

You know he’s single and childless and has been for at least the three years you’ve lived next door to him.

You know little fucking else.

The words on the curled pages seep into one another. You’re staring through the book now back in your hands, the shape of your living room blurring around you: the brick fireplace, the still, red light of the TV. The lulling sway of the sheer curtains, pushed like the tides by the air through the open window.

You cross your ankles on the coffee table. Your lips purse. Tongue dabs at the smoky-sweet singe of whiskey on the flesh of your cheeks. From here, you can see the street outside Joel’s house. If – when – Laura pulls up, you’ll know. And you’ll be here to watch. Survey. Observe.

See what kind of woman a guy like Joel Miller takes to his brother’s wedding.

It��s nine fifty-two when she eventually leaves.

She’s been in there two hours and seventeen minutes. Her car – a kind of rotten green Chevrolet with one tail light out – sits patiently out front, like even it can’t wait to help her fucking disappear.

You’re hoisting a swollen black bag down your drive when his porch light flickers on and his front door opens. The glossy plastic exhales as it slumps against the trashcan. You dust your hands. Joel hasn’t noticed you yet.

“…so nice gettin’ to properly know you,” Laura’s crooning, sidestepping as Joel walks calmly down to her car. Ushering her. You hold back a laugh.

“Thanks for comin’,” he says, his voice falling flat in the windless evening. He’s a step ahead of her, like a parent leading their child away from the park. She’s still babbling about his six-string.

“Maybe next time I can hear a little somethin’…” she says, and you know from the way he halts that Joel hears the same questioning tone you do, the way somethin’ curls up at its end.

“Maybe,” he says, curtly. His words curl down. And then nothing else, and Laura – who, now that she’s a little closer, stood on the curb by her car door, you notice has sweeping golden hair which flicks away from her plump cheeks, and bright eyes which dazzle in the dusky glow – is forced to cough up one last chance.

“I gave you my number,” she says, then, “I didn’t get yours?” and this time, it’s definitely a question.

Joel pretends to pat down his pockets. “I musta left my phone in the house.”

You can’t help it. A scoff bursts from your lips. But he still doesn’t look over.

“Well,” Laura tugs on the handle, “thank you for a lovely evenin’. I’ll hear from ya.”

Joel smiles but puts a hand on the door, like he might slam it shut for her if she tried to backtrack. But she doesn’t. She swings both legs in, pulls it closed, and the engine spurts to life.

As she pulls off, Chevrolet jolting a little, you notice the bright yellow bumper sticker plastered squint beneath the license plate. You walk silently over to Joel, grass prickly under your socks.

“Honk If You Love…Cats,” you murmur, shoulder brushing off his bicep.

He sniffs. Tightens the grip his arms have on his chest. His eyes are fixed on the one red light, slowly shrinking into the distance. “Don’t even.”

“Good date?”

“I said don’t.”

“She talk much about her cats?”

“Goodnight.”

“Did you ask their names, at least?”

He’s backing up, crossing the dark lawn towards his front steps. He looks you up and down, his lips a flat line. Your sweat shorts. Your bare legs. The tight vest top molded around your breasts. His eyes shoot back up. “No more questions. No more pesterin’ me.”

“Nothin’ about the cats? Seriously, dude?” You lift your arms, grinning after his dark figure, swaggering up the porch steps.

Joel ignores you. He disappears through his front door and the light is snuffed. You slink back up to your house, grateful for the blanket of darkness covering the skip in your step.

Eleven hours later, you’re stood in front of your bedroom mirror.

The day melts against your window. Brilliant blue sky, cradling soft puffs of snow-white clouds. Crows on Diane’s roof cawing, slowly yellowing trees rustling. The bright, hot square across your front where the sun forces her way in.

You turn, taking the loose hem of your sleepshirt in your fingers, and pull it over your body, tossing it to the foot of the bed as you examine the pattern of colors hanging from inside your closet.

You take them one by one, tug them free, slot them back in. Eventually you settle for a gray hoodie, cropped and loose. As you haul it from its hanger, there’s a whine from the wooden cabinet. A squeal. The top shelf rips from either side, dropping to the closet floor and taking the pole with it.

“What the f–? You gotta be fucking kidding me,” you growl, stepping forward to run your fingers along the splintered wood where the nails have ripped themselves free. Four black holes, jagged insides of the closet pricking your fingertips.

The crumple of clothes and hangers sulks up at you pathetically. You fall back onto your bed with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. The fan whirs slowly, scooping your gaze and throwing it in lazy circles.

The closet was old, anyways. Was here when you moved. It’s probably about time you had some new ones built. But fuck, that’s gonna cost. Ripping the old ones out, building them from scratch. The fan pulls your eyes back around to twelve o’clock.

Joel’s a contractor. He could do ‘em. Might give you a discounted rate, too, for all the times you move his newspaper from his front lawn to his doorstep for him. Either that, or he’d want something in return. And what handy skills do you have? You once knitted a scarf for you grandma for Christmas. Maybe not Joel’s thing. You can cook mac ‘n cheese – though one lousy meal isn’t payment enough for an entire wall of solid wood, two panes of glass and two days’ labor.

A favor, maybe. An IOU. What the fuck kinda favor does Joel Miller need–?

You’re hopping over the tiny burst of hedge between his yard and yours before the thought is finished, bending to scoop his newspaper up and slotting it under your arm. He answers just as you lift your fist to pound on his door for a second time.

You slap the rolled paper into his chest. “I have an idea.”

He squints at you in the summer light. “Wh–? Didn’t I tell you not to p–?”

“I’ll be your date.”

Joel blinks.

“I’ll be your date,” you repeat. “I got a wardrobe needs replacing. You do it, for free, and I’ll be your date.”

“Your wardrobe?”

“Crapped out on me this mornin’. I don’t want to pay for some stranger who’ll overcharge me ‘n do a half-assed job. Fix it, ‘n you don’t have to take cat lady Laura to Tommy’s wedding. And you can fix my kitchen sink, too.”

“I already fixed your kitchen sink.”

“It’s back at it. Drippin’ all through the damn night. Drip drip drip –”

“Alright.” Joel’s palm is up again. He does that a lot when he’s talking to you. “Alright. Wardrobe ‘n sink.”

“We have a deal?” you ask, extending your hand.

His chest fills with a thoughtful breath. His eyes scan you up and down, lingering somewhere a little lower than your jaw for a second. And then, the heavy weight of his palm against yours. The tightening of his fingers around your wrist. One sure shake.

Deal.

Two weeks before the wedding, you’re at Joel’s door again.

He’s in a black tee, dark sweatpants slung low on his hips. His hair is damp, fringe still dripping onto his forehead. He runs a hand through the gray-singed brown and stares at the tangle of fabric slung over your arm. “The hell is this?”

“Do you know what you’re wearin’?”

His eyes roll up to meet yours. “Do I know what I’m wearin’?”

You nod. “You’re the best man. Guessing Tommy has you covered?”

“Black suit,” he says, after a beat.

“That’s it? He ain’t got no theme?”

Joel’s head cocks. “I don’t do themes.”

You roll your eyes, ducking under his arm fixed against the doorpost. He manages three words of protest and then shuts the door in resignation, turning to watch as you take his stairs two at a time.

“You are so damn annoyin’, you know that?” his voice echoes behind you.

“You want this date or not, Miller?” you call over your shoulder, following the route through the identical house to your own bedroom – thankful when you nudge the door and it opens to reveal his bland, colorless decor. “Very…gray,” you note, feeling the shadow of him over your shoulder.

You throw the dresses down on his bed, satin and lace and pink and green swimming between one another on his sheets.

“I’m not wearin’ a dress.”

You glower at him. “Ha. We have to match.”

He rubs the towel against the back of his head, drying the dark hair. “Match how?”

“Y’know, your suit ‘n my dress. If I’m your date, we have to match.”

“Already told you. I’m wearin’ a black suit.”

“Right. But, like – what color tie? And can it be any of these colors?” You hold your hands out, surfing over the sea of shades. “Maybe,” you lift your eyebrows, eyes darting to the pale teal color, “this one?”

Joel entertains you for all of five seconds, lifting his cheeks in a false grin before they deflate. “No. Black.”

“Joel.”

He slings the towel over his folded arms, and looks at you plainly. “Black,” he says again, in a tone of voice which sounds something like a door being slammed shut.

Your eyes thin, and you gather your dresses up in one swipe. “Can you just –? Will you make sure that you match my corsage, at least?”

“Why the hell are you so hung up on this?”

“I’m not. I’m just tryna make it believable. You turned down cat lady Laura, this is what you get.”

He sighs, tossing the towel over to his laundry basket. “I will make sure I match your corsage. Happy?”

“Happy. Are you ready?”

“Give me five minutes.”

You huff, head rolling back. “You are so prima-donna, Joel Miller.”

With a sarcastic chuckle, he shoves you out of his bedroom to get dressed. You saunter down his stairs, drinking in every detail of his home as though it’s the only chance you’ll get to see it.

It probably is, when you think about it. You don’t imagine he’ll be inviting you over for drinks anytime soon.

Your eyes move along the wall as you slowly thump down his stairs, thrown from framed photo to framed photo – a black and white photo of a man with a tousle-haired boy on his lap, the kid’s tongue sticking from the corner of his mouth as he wraps his small hand around the neck of a guitar; an out-of-focus Christmas photo, a family of four sat in front of a million multicolored orbs dotted along the branches of a tree; a kid with skinned knees crouched by a German shepherd, his lanky arms hooked around the dog’s thick neck.

One brown suede jacket hangs from a coat peg at the bottom, Joel’s boots sat loose and unlaced beneath. A dark blue blanket draped over the back of his couch. A painting of a moose over his fireplace. Shelves lining one entire wall decorated with carved-wood animals, with more photographs of times gone and memories made, with books and DVDs that lend your fingertip with a heap of white dust as you drag it across their spines.

Enough to paint a picture, not quite enough to show you the colors. The tones, the depth. Despite your best efforts, the man remains a mystery. You settle with the fact he will never be fully revealed.

The creak of his stairs turns your attention from the guitar on the wall around to his tall figure, fixing the collar of the loose flannel over his shoulders.

“You ready?” Joel asks, bending with a groan to reach for his boots.

“Yep,” you reply, leaning forward to glance into his kitchen while his head’s down. The most you manage to observe are the light drapes, the sunlight shooting through and bouncing off of a white-topped island.

“’s go,” he says, keys dangling from his finger.

It takes twenty minutes to drive to Home Depot.

You chitter in Joel’s ear the entire time, reading from his handwritten list of measurements and supplies needed for your new closet. ‘n how do you know this is all enough? Because I know. What if you get started and it’s not? I won’t; it’s enough. You sound so sure. That’s ‘cause I’ve done it before, kid. You take many closetless girls out on fake wedding dates, Joel?

“What’s our story, then?” you ask in the store, fiddling with hanging packets of door hinges while Joel reads thrice over his note. Your hand dives into the bag of M&M’s he begrudgingly bought you at a gas station on the way.

“Our story?” he mumbles back, the words slipping under the mental math you can see going on behind his eyes.

“Like, when people ask how we met. What’s our meet-cute? Both reached for the same door hinge, our hands touched and lit aflame? That kinda thing?”

He doesn’t laugh. Your smile dampens instantly. You kick his boot. “Joel.”

“’sec,” he frowns, “I’m focusing.”

You lean close, pushing on your toes to study the folded slip. His scrawled numbers, the pencil lines blunt and smudged in the creases of the paper.

“Twentytwofortysixeightyninetyfivesixhundredelevenfourtwelvenineteen–”

Joel’s lips seep a maddened sigh; he glances down the aisle like a store attendant might separate you from him if he demanded with enough passion, or maybe if he slipped them a twenty.

“Do you mind?” he barks, his expression a brick wall for your giggles to fall flat to the floor against.

“Home Depot’s your stomping ground. Why the hell do I gotta come watch you pick hinges and timber?”

“Because it’s your damn closet I’m fittin’. Just –” he swipes two packets from their peg, tossing them into the shopping cart, “– come on.”

Joel makes off down the muck-colored floor, the overhead lights reflecting harshly in the shiny surface. The front right wheel of the cart trembles as it rolls, nervously leading the two of you down an aisle lined with cylinder tins and pamphlets on Choosing the right finish.

“So, are your parents gonna be at this wedding?” you ask, taking the cart from Joel’s hands when he drifts off to study a shelf of wood varnish.

His jaw turns towards you, and then back to the tin in his hand. “Yeah. Why?”

“Do I get to meet ‘em?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. You’re not gonna introduce your date to your mom and dad?”

He scoffs, stealing a handful of candy. “My fake date?”

“They don’t know that. Let me meet Mr. and Mrs. Miller.”

He holds two tins up, offering them to you like answer to your question. “Matt or gloss? Guess it don’t really matter if I’m painting ‘em after.”

“Stop fuckin’ ignoring me. I hate when you do that.”

He leans in close, lowering the matt varnish into the cart. “You think I’m gonna introduce you ‘n your potty mouth to my mom?”

You smirk, eyes narrow. “Dick.”

“Funny. What color paint you want? You said something about duck egg?”

“Planning on repainting my room that color, yeah. Hey, you could –”

He swats your pointed finger away, taking the cart back. “We shook on new wardrobe. No changin’ the deal,” he mutters, wandering over to the rainbow of paint tins on the opposite side of the aisle.

You follow him over, eyes moving from blue over to green, the tins plastered with the fake smiles of families and fluffy pet dogs on the front. “Where are your mom and dad from?” you ask.

“Austin,” he replies, eyes squinting to read the small print on the back of one vibrant shade. You shake your head and guide his wrist back to the shelf, where he obediently sets the heavy tin back. “Never known anywhere else,” he adds. “What about you? Where’s Mr. and Mrs. Potty Mouth?”

“Uh,” you swipe at your nose awkwardly, “they’re up in Allandale. That’s where I grew up.”

“That so? I got a cousin who used to live that way. Used to take my bike up every Saturday. He lived right by this old car shop, all these old classics they used to fix up ‘n resell.”

“Yeah,” you say, “right next to the cemetery, right?”

“That’s the one,” Joel says, lifting paint tins to the light and setting them down again. “They live nearby?”

Your breathing shifts, starts to claw its way up your throat. Your chest heats, skin lighting with an irritating anxiety. “They’re, um,” you gulp, “they’re in the cemetery.”

Joel pauses, letting the tin slip from his grasp with an echoing thud against the wooden shelf which reverberates in your ears a second too long. “Oh,” he says, set on your expression.

“It’s okay – I don’t mind. It’s – it was a car accident, back when I was eight. I wasn’t in it, or anything. I grew up with my grandma. Really, Joel, I don’t mind,” you add, when his face falls and he begins to apologize.

“I had no idea,” he says, and you break the eye contact before you break a fucking sweat.

“’s all good,” you murmur, lifting paint tins of your own now, focusing on deblurring your glossy vision, “I got to buy a big house with the money they left.”

It thaws him a little. He snorts, and taps the lid of the tin you’re holding. “That one’s nice. You, uh – you okay?”

You finally turn back, the world clearer, colors no longer bleeding into one another through sharp tears. “Yeah. I’m fine. We got everything?”

Joel nods, and wheels the cart around. “You can meet her, if you want. My mom. She’s a little full on, but I reckon you can handle her.”

You smile, following him down the aisle.

A month after he delivered your underwear back to you, you’re back on Joel’s doorstep.

Your hand flicks nervously at your side as you wait for him to answer, petals of your corsage quivering. The clip of his footsteps echoes down the stairs, a deep sound growing louder and louder until the door clinks open and you’re separated only by air.

Joel’s eyes scan down your body at the same time yours scan down his. Black suit, sure enough, just without the jacket, and with his tie slung around his loose collar. You both freeze when your eyes meet again, your lips silently forming the shape of an avalanche of words that refuse to sound until Joel’s do.

“Wow, you –”

“– look great, I –”

“– nice dress, is that –? Sorry –”

“– no, I’m sorry, you were – sorry.” A laugh pushes from your throat. “You look – you look good. Scrub up well, ‘n all that.”

“You too. You – Yeah. That’s a nice color, after all. You suit it.” His eyes linger on your chest, your breasts draped in lustrous silk, decorated with the glint of golden jewelry. You notice.

“Thanks. After all?” You snort, and Joel’s exterior seems to crack a little.

He steps back, ushering you in. “Alright,” he says, taking the tote with your change of clothes from your wrist. He watches across the street as you step over the threshold, his fingertips light on your back as you pass by, like little shocks of lightning up your spine. “You know what I meant.”

Your dress swishes around your ankles, your heels clicking along his varnished floor. Your arms lock around your torso, holding your pashmina in place while Joel totters around, tossing his jacket over his shoulders. His shirt stretches from his tight waistband, fabric flattening against his tummy. Your eyes shoot north again when he speaks.

“You mind doin’ my tie? It’ll end up squint if I do.”

“Sure,” you reply, stepping forward.

He buttons the top of his shirt and lifts his chin, staring at the wall behind you as you tug on the black fabric, the silk slipping through your fingers. You steal glances at the trim of his beard, his pink lips beneath the dark bristles; the slope of his nose, the lines on his worn skin.

He’s rough around the edges, sure, a man in his late forties. But there’s something soft about him, something familiar and…comfortable. The pages of a used sketchbook, the lived-in material of a favorite dress.

You pull the knot higher until it’s sitting in the notch below his Adam’s apple, smoothing it down and giving his chest a light pat before stepping back again.

“Thanks, darlin’,” he mumbles, and a spark lights in your chest. “Oh,” he says, holding a finger up and disappearing into the kitchen. He returns with a little white box, holding it out for you to see.

Your cheeks swell, eyes flitting up to acknowledge the proud look on his face. “Very nice. Good job.”

“You can do the honors,” Joel says, handing you the boutonniere by the stem.

You pin it through his lapel, straightening it with a focused glance. Joel’s eyes are on you, watching the flutter of your eyelashes, the tilt of your head. “There,” you whisper, leaning back.

He extends his elbow, something of a smile on his lips. You don’t see it often. It beckons a mirrored expression.

Arm in arm, Joel leads you out to the truck, where he helps you up and waits for you to scoop your dress into the footwell before closing the door. You watch patiently as he locks the front door, slings both your bags over his shoulder and jogs back to the truck, tossing them in the backseat before joining you in the front.

“How come he didn’t send a limousine? Or a Jag, or somethin’?”

“You think we’re made a’ money?” Joel asks, smirking.

You return the smile, wrapping your shawl over your body. “Can I pick the music?” you ask, earnestly, a tinge of sweetness to your voice.

Joel glances over again, reaches behind your headrest to reverse out of the drive. He runs his tongue along his top teeth. “No,” he says.

Three hours later, Tommy and Maria are married.

The wedding is…big. Joel’s family is big. The venue – a rustic hotel suite, fairy lights draped from the rafters, blooming flowers sprouting from crystal vases, lace tablecloths and tied chair cushions and wax dripping from thick, naked candles – is big.

Joel’s been good about it – that friendly neighbor you see all too little has been kicked into high gear. He delivered you by hand straight to his mom – a small woman with silver hair neatly twisted into an updo at the back of her head – who took your hand and held it tightly all the way to your seats.

Kind and warm, she asked where you were from, how you met Joel, how long you’d been dating. She offered you some tissues before the ceremony started, then winked and nodded in Joel’s direction as the bridesmaids swept down the aisle.

You lingered behind the photographer while he took photos of the wedding party, instructing them to shuffle a little closer, that’s it; ma’am, with the red hair, lower your bouquet a little; alright, now, everyone: big smiles!

You worried that Joel had kept the same placated smile frozen on his face for so long that it might never melt away, might never return to the stoic scowl you’re so used to seeing on him. You didn’t even realize you were staring at him, until he waved you down, flicked his hand, and beckoned you over to the group.

You hesitated. I don’t know if I –

Get over here, girl, Tommy had called, grinning alongside his big brother.

The two Millers slotted you in like a jigsaw piece between their bodies, two arms wrapped around your back – Tommy’s, loose on your shoulders, and Joel’s, tight around your waist. He held you close, squeezing you into his side while the photographer praised the party and snapped photo after photo, the flash burning into your eyes by the time he clapped his hands and thanked you all for your patience.

Drink? Joel had asked, and you’d responded with one thumb up, the other massaging your eyelids. He squeezed your shoulder and disappeared into the crowd of bodies.

He’s still over there – by the bar, a wooden structure draped in ivy and studded by steel bolts. His beer in one hand and your wine in the other. A lean, poised figure stood opposite him – her dress a royal purple, her hair a wave of brown spilling over her bare shoulders.

She’s beautiful – a striking charm which draws your eye to her like an arrow directly through the sea of bodies between here and there. Her languid movements, the slow roll of her neck to sweep the hair from one side of her body to the other.

Her head falls back in laugher, her bejeweled hand falls softly on his arm. Your throat closes sharply. Joel nods, angling as if to make off, but she holds onto him and leans in. He laughs, then, at whatever her full lips whisper into his ear, and he finally breaks off from her and returns to you.

He pushes the glass by its base across the smooth tablecloth. Your fingers brush over one another as you trade, the stem sitting between your index and middle. He’s warm, his knuckles kissing yours.

“How was it, then, talkin’ to my mom?” Joel asks.

You smile, propping your chin on the heel of your palm. “I like her. She’s funny.” And then, when he tosses his head in response, “Who were you talkin’ to?”

Joel follows your eyeline over to the woman in the purple dress. The glint of white crystal on her neck. The drama of dark hair on pale skin. “Uh,” he wanders around your back to his chair, “we used to work together.”

Your nails tap against the glass. “Oh, yeah?”

He sniffs. Doesn’t meet your eye. “Yep.”

“You were talking to her for a long time.”

He watches a blue orb dance over your head on the wall, a spot of light from the disco ball over the dancefloor. “Lotta memories.”

“Why won’t you look at me?”

His eyes plummet. Fall from the string bulbs straight to your face, sparkling in the rainbow lights. “You want me to look at you? There.”

You grin. “’s better. If you stare up there long enough, they might stick.”

“Safer to have ‘em stuck on you, is it?”

“Mhm,” your voice echoes around the curve of your wine glass, “better view. So, who is she?”

Joel shifts uncomfortably. He twirls the bottle in his fingers. “We…we were together for some time. A few years.”

“An ex,” you muse, stain of lipstick left on the rim of your glass. “How many years?”

“Eight.”

You almost choke on your drink. “Eight – eight years?”

Joel nods, waiting for you to catch your breath. Expression never changing. Bottle still twirling. “Haven’t seen her in a while. We were just catchin’ up.”

“Eight fucking years. Why the fuck aren’t you married?”

He scoffs. “That’s a fifth-date question.” He lifts the bottle to his lips, tongue pushes against the glass.

“I don’t need five fuckin’ wardrobes,” you quip, and he laughs. Like, genuinely laughs. His head tips back, his teeth show. Your chest swells, confidence and relief blooming there. She didn’t make him laugh like that – not from where you were watching.

It becomes something of a mission in the back of your mind – tallying up how many times you can make his chest shudder, his shoulders jerk. How many times he leans in closer and repeats whatever you said, eyes closing over and hand hitting his thigh. How many times he looks at you and your stomach flutters, the blood cartwheels through your veins, the bones of your ribcage readjust and make room for the swelling of your heart.

Within four rounds, you’ve lost count.

The thudding beat of the music muffles in your drunken ears, like it’s coming from the next room. Your gaze fixes on the vase in the center of the table, the bouquet spilling over the glass. The wide burst of speckled lilies, the humble blush of tulips between. The colors soften and blur the longer you stare at them.

The jerk of Joel’s shoulders stirs you from your daydream. That’s one more.

“What?” you ask, head rolling to look over to him.

“You still in there?” he asks, one word slurring into the next like waves lapping.

You scoff, looking back to the pink flowers. “You know who has tulips?” you ask him.

He lifts his eyebrows. Who?

“Alice.”

“Brown?”

Your head nods heavily. “One time, she was out getting her mail, and I had just pulled up in my car on the phone to my best friend – he’d just broken up with his girlfriend, it was a whole thing…” You bat your hand. “Anyway. She pretended to tend to her tulips for forty-five minutes while I sat talkin’ to him in the driveway.”

Joel’s head tilts back with a burst of laughter. “She hear every word?”

“Every – damn – word. Stood by the fence listenin’.”

“That woman is som’ else,” Joel says, shaking his head. He stares down at the bottle between his fingers. His thumbs play with the curled corner of the label. “Didn’t I warn you about her?”

“Mhm.” You smile, realizing he has the same memory that you do, locked up somewhere in his mind. The sweat running down his temple, the dark patch between his shoulder blades. His hands gripping the heavier boxes, leaving you to carry the linen, the base of a lamp. Nodding as he wandered back over to his own porch, calling back for you to Holler if you need anythin’.

The high squeal of the Sweet Child O’ Mine intro snaps you back to the wedding reception. Tommy and Maria are playing air guitar on the dancefloor over Joel’s shoulder. You unstick your gaze from his white shirt, unsure how long you’ve been fucking staring.

Joel sits forward, drags his chair across the polished floor closer to you. He fixes the strap on your dress, untwisting it before settling back again. Your eyes follow his fingers as they leave your shoulder and sit back on the curve of his thigh, lifting when his voice breaks through to your eardrums.

“What room number did you say you were, again?”

Your shoulders roll. “Thirty-four, I think.”

Joel nods. Points to himself. “Thirty-six.” And then he glances over his shoulder, watches as Tommy kneels before Maria and rocks his head, his messy mop of hair tossed across his shoulders. The older Miller brother turns back. “Think they’ll miss us if we call it a night?”

“We’re callin’ it a night?”

“Figure if I’m headin’ off then you won’t wanna be sat here by yourself,” Joel says, and he’s right. He stands up, sets the half-empty bottle on the tablecloth and stares down at you. “I’m callin’ it a night,” he tells you. “You comin’?”

The colors in the room spin like the reels of a slot machine. Your fingers sit lightly in his outstretched palm, and you pull yourself up alongside him.

“’s a good girl,” he mutters, looking over your shoulder to the doorway, and your eyes sober up long enough to catch the flicker in his eye.

You totter along the hallway, arm in arm, anchoring yourselves together. Whichever way one sways, the other inevitably follows. You’re laughing, and Joel’s hushing you, warning that there are folks tryna – tryna sleep, we’re in a fancy place, hey, da-rlin’, no – you gotta shhhut up.

“Great party,” you decide, finally docking against your door.

“Yeah,” Joel agrees, leaning a little on the wall. The gentle glow of the hallway lights him perfectly; the strong angle of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbones. The hazel pools that make up his irises, the swollen circles of black in the middle. And the twinkle in them, like the moon reflecting on dark water, every time his gaze lifts to you.

He’s different tonight. Maybe it’s the alcohol. The way it colors everything in a peachy film, all objects softened and rosy and shapeless. But he feels different, too. You suddenly realize, shoulder pressed hard against the cold doorframe, that you’ve never touched one another more than you have today. His elbow in yours, his arm around your waist, his hand through yours as you danced together.

“Are you tired?” you ask, head rolling.

“Tired? No. Drunk, yeah. Not tired.” He laughs again. It’s infectious.

“You wanna come inside?” you ask, words leaping from your giggle.

He takes ten seconds to consider it. Slumps into the wall, steadied only by his forearm pushing him back upright. His watch face catches the light behind him.

“Yeah. Fuck yeah, I do.”

Your hand fumbles in your clutch for the keycard, swiping the handle and pushing down heavily. You spill into the dark room, light sneaking in from the sconce outside your window, and spin back to face him, his hand locked tight with yours.

Joel follows you slowly as you back towards the bed, kicking your heels off and tripping over the skirt of your dress. When your legs hit the plush mattress, his body leans into yours. Your lips ghost across his, your words pushing them apart one by one.

“This ain’t – part of the – agreement,” you murmur, the coarse hair of his beard scratching your chin. You pull apart his tie, loosening the knot.

“Changed my mind,” he replies, collapsing on top of you on the bed.

Your head rolls back when his lips suck into your neck. You wrestle with his belt, with the waist of his suit trousers. “No changin’ the deal, remember?”

“Tell me to stop.”

If you had any intention of answering him, your body overrides it. Words lassoed and dragged back down where they came from, your throat opening only to gasp when Joel’s teeth graze the flesh of your breast. His fingers tug on the straps of your dress, letting them fall from your shoulders until your chest sits exposed.

He drags his tongue along your skin, dipping between your tits while his hands massage them, fingers pinching your nipples. Your back lifts and his hands move beneath, following the curve of your spine to where your dress pools loose around your waist. He pushes down, slinking the smooth fabric from your body.

“You fuckin’…” He clicks his teeth, laughing behind them. Another flush of heat washes over your skin.

You giggle, bending your knees to cover the lace panties he knows all too fucking well. Joel stops you, pushes your legs back down with two heavy hands.

“Don’t get shy now, baby,” he murmurs, opening your body up again. “You were so happy about me seein’ ‘em a few weeks ago, no?”

“’s different,” you reply, tang of alcohol fueling your words, “now I just want you to take them off me.”

He cocks his head, drinking every word you’re handing over like it’s water from an oasis. “Such a dirty girl, ain’t you?”

You pull him closer by the collar and line your mouth against his, the tip of your tongue wetting the inside of his lips. “You got no fucking idea,” you whisper, whipping the shirt from his torso.

Joel growls, flipping you over and pulling you by the shoulders flush against his chest. You hook an arm around his neck, turn to grant him access to your lips. He kisses you like a starved animal, savoring every taste, teeth nipping at your tingling lips.

His hand curves around your hips, pushing beneath your underwear to cup your mound, middle finger pushing on the spongey hood of your clit. Your head falls limp against his collarbone, back arching as Joel holds you steady with an arm around your waist.

“’s alright, baby,” he coos, his tongue licking the shell of your ear. “I’m gonna take good care of ya. Gonna give you what you need, alright?”

A strangled moan unravels across your tongue, echoing into Joel’s mouth. Your hips begin to gyrate, meeting the rhythm of his hand, his finger massaging rough circles into your clit. He smirks, peeling the panties down your thighs.

“Attagirl,” he breathes, “you want it bad, huh? Gettin’ so worked up so fast. Here.”

He removes his hand from between your legs, ignoring your moan of protest and replacing it with two fingers on your bottom lip. “Open,” he instructs, and you obey like a fucking dog. He slips them in, thick and heavy, and waits for you to coat them with your wine-stained tongue.

Joel pushes down, forcing a muffled gag from your throat which lifts the corners of his mouth. He shakes his head lightly, whispering, “You got it, ‘s okay.”

A thread of saliva strings between his fingers and your lips when he lowers his hand again, trailing his fingers through your folds until he’s dancing along the seam of your cunt. You jolt forward; Joel hauls you back.

“Just fucking – do it,” you whimper, your walls clenching around nothing.

He holds his fingers together, curling and inserting them in a painfully slow motion. Your knees widen on the mattress, body sinking down by instinct to meet his fist, to feel his thick fingers and wide knuckles as deep as they’ll go.

You gasp when Joel begins hooking them inside you, nudging against your walls like your heartbeat against your clit. Your hand lowers, slipping beneath his loose waistband, beneath the elastic of his boxers and around his already solid cock.

Joel groans, fucking you harder on his hand. “Fuck, just like that, baby. You feel what you do to me?”

“Uhuh,” you reply, voice wanton and broken.

You squeeze him, your fist moving up and down, his warm skin following the movements of your tight grip. His tip is already soaked, precome staining his underwear, dribbling down your thumb.

Joel uses his free hand to shove his pants down, crumpling on the floor at his feet when they free his cock. You carve your mouth around his, the two of you exchanging breath and flicking your tongues together as you fuck one another’s hands, the room slowly filling with the hot, muggy smell of sex.

Joel’s the first to cave. With a jerk of his hips, he takes you by the wrist and frees himself from your clutches.

“You’re gonna make me come, darlin’,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers from your cunt.

“That’s kinda the point here,” you reply, teeth bumping into his in a grin.

Joel shakes his head, lifting his hand, glistening with your arousal. “Gotta feel this fucking pussy first.”

You smile, parting your lips for him for the second time, suckling on his fingers and licking them clean of your own salty slick. His cock draws sticky trails on the seam of your thigh.

“Yeah,” Joel breathes, eyes fixed on the place where you close around him, “that good, baby? You gonna let me taste you?”

You release his fingers and he pulls you in, tongue slipping against yours with a groan which vibrates against your jaw. When your lips part, you hold your mouth open, your tongue sat on your bottom lip.

Joel reacts instantly, collecting a bead of saliva in front of his teeth and letting it drop into your mouth. You moan and swallow it, a cocktail of beer and whiskey and slick. Joel watches as you lick your lips, the stained-pink coated in a thick, white shine.

“Alright,” he says, letting you fall forward onto the bed. He jacks himself a few times, spitting into his hand and using it to coat his cock.

“Want you to come in it,” you whine, wiggling your ass for him as he lines up at your slit. You can feel the arousal gathered on his tip, dripping down your cunt.

“Yeah, baby,” Joel growls, a smirk on his lips as he watches himself slowly disappear inside you. And then –

You both fall silent, mouths hanging wide open as you each feel the width of his cock and the tightness of your cunt. The way your body opens up to accommodate his size, the direct pain and ethereal pleasure of Joel pushing into you.

“Fuck,” he groans, your pussy drawing him in with a sweet, wet sound. “Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day, baby. So damn gorgeous in that dress.”

You slowly move your hips back to meet him at the base of his cock; dark, trimmed hair bristling against your lips. Joel’s hands lock around your waist, holding you steady with his entirety buried inside, letting you adjust to him.

He’s so fucking big, so wide and deep that your breath tears rugged from your lungs, barreling up your windpipe. Your walls squeeze tight as he pulls out like your body refuses to let him go, like your cells understand better than you do that you were made for this – made for him. Like the only place in the world that he belongs, is somewhere deep inside you.

So big that it hurts, each time he fills you up and stretches you wide open. The pain an eye-rolling, lung-closing, limb-shaking sensation.

Your elbows give, falling chest-first onto the mattress while Joel fucks you hard, his hands gripping your hips. Your cheek and breasts flat against the sheets, your back arched. He slams into you, edging you closer and closer with each meeting of his warm skin against yours, each sopping slap of come and saliva.

The mattress shifts above your head, two valleys where his palms push down heavily, then the weight of his body at the back of your thighs. He towers over you, hips hammering so hard that you’re forced to hook your fingers around his wrists just to stay on the same fucking planet.

“Gonna – fuckin’ – come – baby,” he spits, his jaw locked tight. “You want it in this little pussy? You think she can take it all?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, the edges of your words rounded by the silk sheets. “Joel, I – fuck –”

“Yeah, she can,” he agrees, playing with the hair spilling across your shoulders and taking it in a fistful.

The hazy drunken blur begins to turn over in favor of something sharper, something electric pulsing through your veins. Every part of your body alive, everything rising to meet the same high, the same release. You cling onto him, body beginning to melt beneath his.

Joel’s lips press between your shoulder blades. “Don’t fight it, baby, let go. I got you.”

You moan his name in one last pathetic attempt before the world whitens. You clench around him as a deafening orgasm shocks through your body, curling your back and forcing your nails deep into Joel’s wrists.

“Fuck, baby, fuck me,” Joel gasps. He slams into you one final time before you feel the staggered pump of his come flooding between your walls. “Ahh,” he groans, pushing apart your ass cheeks to watch the trickle seep from your cunt. “Good fucking girl. Take it, baby. That’s my girl.”

He turns you over onto your back and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him against your body as he thrusts into you again, tenderly pushing his spend deeper inside. It draws a strained moan from your throat.

“’s alright,” he coos, hips slowing against yours, “just feel it, baby. You feel how deep I am?”

“Uhuh,” you cry, nails digging into his skin, damp with sweat.

“So fuckin’ full of me,” he says, more to himself, before collapsing alongside you, holding your thigh on his hip, his tip still sheathed inside you.

You lie like that for a while, listening to the distant hum of music from downstairs, the party still raving in the belly of the hotel while you two lay in content bliss somewhere in its ribcage. Tracing one another’s features, learning the lines on Joel’s face, the flecks of gray in his eyebrows – all the parts you’re never close nor brave enough to get to know.

His right hand massages your plush waist, his left arm a pillow to rest your heavy, dizzy, drunk head on.

“I wanna do it again,” you whisper, the words sneaking out between heavy breaths.

Joel nods. His bottom lip sticks with sweat to yours. His hips push a little neater into you. “I wanna do it again, too.”

“I wanna do it all night.”

He hasn’t stopped nodding. He shrugs, tightens his grip around your shoulders, and tilts his head. “Then let’s do it all fucking night,” he says, and his lips slam back into yours.

The morning after the wedding, Joel drives you home. The truck soars down the highway, the two of you an uncomfortable distance apart. The same sobering distance you’ve kept all morning – the unreal aftermath of sex.

The rolling waves of bedsheets between your bodies; the sun sifting her long fingers through his hair as she peered through the curtains. The way you’d silently pushed yourself from the mattress, fragmenting your movements and allowing the spring to dip a fraction at a time so not to wake him. The spongey feel of the hotel carpet under the balls of your feet as you’d tottered to the bathroom. The sharp shot of the lock sliding into place, echoing like a bullet.

He waited until you finished showering to get ready himself. Sat on the edge of the bed patiently and watched your shadow beneath the door, the to-and-fro of your silhouette breaking the sliver of golden light as you dressed your sticky body. When you pulled on the metal lock again, he was sat on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees, pinching the bridge of his nose. His bare shoulders were curved, and tanned. You blinked twice to store the image and turned away as he stood.

He says he feels hungover. You say you do, too. It’s the closest you come to talking about it. You hop out of the truck in his drive, your tote bag hooked on your shoulder. The canvas gnawing at the silk inside. Joel tells you he’ll see his end of the deal through in a couple weeks.

“Real busy with work,” he mutters apologetically, his wrists still balancing on the steering wheel.

“That’s good,” you tell him, nodding. “I ain’t in any rush. I know where you live, so.”

A relieved laugh pushes from his lips. “I will get to it,” he assures you.

You shrug casually. “Whenever, Joel.”

You don’t talk for a few days. A few days bleeds into three weeks. You find yourself stood by his front tires, throwing his newspaper onto the porch and scampering when it lands. The noise like a bomb dropping.

Slowly, as the month draws on, you become braver and braver – daring closer and closer to his front door, until you’re back to marching up the steps like you own the place, depositing the roll on his doormat. Rubbing your thumbs against your fingers to feel the ink like satin.

The door cracks open as you make your way back down his steps one bright morning.

“Hey, kid,” Joel murmurs, reaching down for the paper with a groan.

“Hey.”

“You doin’ okay?” he asks, leaning his forearm against the door.

Your head tilts back and forth, your hand lifting to shield your eyes from the sun. “Think I ate som’ bad, maybe. Weird stomach this mornin’.”

Joel’s chin angles. “Hope it ain’t contagious. Was thinkin’ I could get that closet started for you, maybe tomorrow?”

The offer takes you off guard. You buffer for a few seconds before answering, “Sure. Sure, just, uh – just come over whenever, I guess.”

“Nine work for you?”

You nod. “Nine’s good. See ya then.”

It’s something like nine when you find out.

You wake feeling groggy. Tired, sluggish. A heavy ache pulling on your breasts as you rise from bed, tender and swollen. You stand in the bathroom, milky morning light filtering in through the doorway, and your stomach lurches. Waves of nausea deep in your belly, rocking back and forth, swirling and spiraling.

You’ve a box under your sink. It makes sense. Before Joel was some date from Hinge, who fucked you against the wall of his living room and who snored so loud that you left before the sun came up. Negative. Like always.

But it never hurts to be sure.

The pack tears like it’s liquid in your hands. Peels back to reveal the plastic white test, the bubblegum pink cap – like it’s something fun and sweet to place the direction of your future into this little device. A clinical compass needle.

Three to five minutes. You set it down on the counter and drag yourself back through to your room, lifting your bedsheets, tucking them under the mattress, heaving your pillows back into place against the headboard. An uncomfortable heat boiling under the surface of your skin, a prickle of sweat clinging to the nape of your neck.

A sickly taste harboring on your tongue, you pad back to the bathroom and swipe the test up. Your eyes scan past the result window to the counter as you reach for your toothbrush – and then snap abruptly back to the tiny oval. Your outstretched hand freezes in midair. There’s no fucking w–

Your arm swings back to reach for the light cord. The bulb hesitates – flickers, like it’s unsure whether to reveal the truth to you. It knows something you don’t. It’s seen something it doesn’t want to show you. You stare at the pregnancy test.

Two little pink lines stare back. And Joel knocks at your door.

#forgive me for it not being clm or sof #they're coming very soon i promise #this was too fun an idea not to chase #i have the attention span of my labrador retrievers (nil) #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #the last of us #tlou #macfrog #neighbor!joel miller #neighbor!joel #babydaddy!joel miller

[lacroixwh0r3]

The First Taste

DBF!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: You meet Joel, your dad's best friend, for the first time after your dad begged you to join them at the lake to keep Sarah company. Both you and Joel become fascinated by each other the moment the two of you met.

Warnings: SMUT!!! DUB CON, heavy sexual tension, drug usage (weed only), petnames, age gap (Joel is 36 and reader is 21), masturbation (F and M), fingering, voyerism, daddy kink, dom!Joel, Joel is a perv and an asshole, cursing, swimming??, no outbreak

Song inspo (feel free to read if you want): The First Taste by Fiona Apple

PART 2 PART 3

A/N: This takes place four years before Blow My Load, but can be read as a standalone.

Please share, comment, like, and reblog...enjoy lovies! <33

"Dad, I thought it was supposed to be a "boy's trip," and the last time I checked, I am not a boy." You point at your body as you tell your dad. For some reason, he is begging you to come to the lake with him and his friends the day before they leave. "Why won't you just tell me why you want me to go? And maybe I'll give you an answer."

You finally got him to crack.

Your dad let out a defeated sigh as he scratched the back of his head and avoided eye contact. You mentally prepared yourself for whatever bullshit your dad was about to say. "Well, you see, honey, one of the guys couldn't get a babysitter for his kid, and I offered you to keep her company." He winced.

And there it is. The thing he was holding back from you

You let out a sarcastic chuckle. You really couldn't believe this shit. "Are you serious, dad? I refuse to babysit some random kid because you offered me up without even asking me first!" You exclaimed at him. "I don't even know a damn thing about this kid."

"Look, I know it was wrong for me to do that, sweetheart, but I swear Sarah is a good kid. Most of the time she has her headphones in and minds her business." He tries to reason with you, almost pleading with you. You began to feel bad for blowing up on him like that, but it really did piss you off that you had to watch someone else's kid. "I'll even pay you."

This weekend, you planned on doing nothing but self-care. You wanted to do nothing but stay home, watch movies, get a mani and pedi, go get a massage, drink, and maybe even play with the new toy you just bought yourself at Spencers.

You feel yourself giving into your dad; it wasn't the money that made you say yes, but the fact that he always found a way to make you feel bad, even if he didn't mean to do it. "Ugh, fine!" You scoff as you turn to look away from him. From the corner of your eye, you can see his body perk up.

Your dad lets out a sigh of relief, saying, "Thank you so much, sweetheart! You're such a lifesaver; you know that, right?" He slaps your shoulder playfully, causing you to shrug it off and narrow your eyes at him playfully as well.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. How old is your friend's daughter, anyway?" You asked him, unfazed by it all.

"I think she's around 14?" Your dad said cluelessly. "Not too bad, right? I'm sure that you can find something to talk about with her."

It wasn't that bad, but what the fuck would you, a 21-year-old, have in common with a 14–15-year-old girl?

"I guess. I'm gonna start getting my stuff all packed up," You tell him as you turn around to go up to your room.

"Alright, sweetheart, and thanks again!" He exclaims to you as you make your way farther up the steps.

"Yup!" You yell it out dismissively.

As much as you hated the circumstances, you were happy you were finally able to get away for a little bit.

...

It was the next day, and you were tired as hell after only getting four hours of sleep. You had spent all night packing and stressing about what you were going to wear. It wasn't like you were trying to impress anyone, but this was your first time meeting your dad's friends, and you wanted to look decent.

You had left it up to your dad to pack your things into the car as you were too tired to do anything besides shower, put your clothes on, and lay back down for a little until it was time to go. As you lay face down on the bed, knocked out, you heard your dad knock on the door. "Hey, kiddo, are you ready to head out?" He asked you as he stood at the door.

You slowly sit up on your bed as you yawn and stretch your arms over your head. "Yeah, let me just get up and grab my purse and stuff."

"Got it." Your dad says this before turning around and making his way downstairs.

After moments of sitting on your bed, stairing into space, you got up, grabbed your purse, and began to leave your room. However, on your way to the door, you see the pouch that contained your weed and weed paraphernalia. You hesitantly swiped it from your dresser, dropped it into your bag, and went downstairs.

If the men got to have their fun, why couldn't you?

Once you get to the last step, you hear your dad saying bye to someone on the phone before turning to you. "My buddy, Joel, just got to the lake house, so we should start headin' out." He says this as he grabs his keys and motions for you to follow him to the door.

After making sure the security alarm was set and locking the door, the two of you were finally on your two-hour journey to the lake house.

...

You and your dad finally made it to the lake house. It was a three story house that sat on top of a hill, surrounded by nothing but trees.

You and your dad hop out of the car and start bringing your bags to the front door. All of a sudden, the moment you sat the last bag down and brought your fist up to knock at the door, it swung open, revealing a man who looked to be in his early 30s with short, dark, curly hair.

Beside him was a woman with long locs, smiling warmly at you. Meanwhile, the man looked at you with confusion, trying to piece together who you were. You looked familiar to him, but he couldn't put a name to your face.

"Tommy!" Your dad said loudly behind you. You could hear the excitement in his voice as he greeted him. Tommy's eyes moved to look behind you at your dad, and his eyes lit up.

"Oh man, y'all come on in!" He opened the door wider as he and the unnamed woman moved out of the way to allow you to walk in first, followed by your dad. "I'll grab the rest of the bags out there." Tommy says.

Tommy brought the bags in as your dad greeted the lady. "Hey, Maria!" He asked her as he gave her a side hug. "I didn't know you were gonna be joining us this weekend as well."

So that was her name.

"I didn't think I was going to be joining either. Tommy invited me last minute, so I just decided to take some time off of work," She replies back.

They stood near the entrance as they began to get deeper into the conversation, talking about God knows what, leaving you standing there awkwardly as you watched them. You decided to take that moment to observe the room. Even though the house was spacious, it still had a cozy feel to it.

As you were in your own world, your dad gently slapped his hand on your shoulder unexpectedly. "And this young lady right here is my daughter." He smiles at the two as Maria and Tommy turn their attention to you.

"Nice to meet you, kid," He says as he offers his hand to shake yours, which you accept. You shake hands with him before dropping them to your side. Tommy then points to Maria. "This is my wife, Maria."

You shake hands with her as well while you tell them your name. "It's so great to meet you two!" You beam at the couple.

They begin to ask you a series of questions about yourself, such as what university you attended, what your major was, and so on, to which you gladly answer.

However, in the midst of your conversation, your words are abruptly interrupted by the sound of the sliding door opening, followed by heavy footsteps. "And here comes my asshole brother, Joel, and my niece, Sarah," Tommy says to you, prompting both you and your dad to look behind you. You can hear Maria let out a loud laugh at Tommy's words.

Your eyes immediately focused on him as he got closer to you, not even paying attention to the fact that his daughter was right behind him as well.

The man named Joel had short, dark, curly hair like Tommy’s; the only difference is that he is a lot shorter, and the roots of his hair were slightly gray at his temples. Joel also had a patchy beard with a thick mustache. He has this rugged and mysterious look to him that completely enraptures you.

He and your dad greet each other, giving a quick bro hug and pulling away. Joel then turns to you, and you feel your hands quiver. His dark, dominant eyes intensify the intimidating aura that surrounds him, yet it still makes him even more interesting to you.

Holy hell, you think to yourself. This man is so fucking fine.

You continued to stare at Joel, saying absolutely nothing, until you realized that he was giving you a confused look as if he were waiting for something. Your eyes darted down, and you realized that he had his hand out, waiting for you to shake it. You felt your face heat up with embarrassment as you went to shake his hand.

"Joel," was all he said as the two of you shook hands before he let go and discreetly rubbed his hands into his shirt. You could feel yourself shrink with embarrassment as he did this. Not only did he not even give you a chance to introduce yourself, but he wiped his hands after shaking yours.

What a fucking jerk! Tommy was right; he is an asshole.

You quickly snapped out of your feelings when you realized that Sarah was now in front of you. She wore a pink crop top and jean shorts, while her curly hair was placed in a low ponytail.

She suddenly brings you in for a hug with a massive smile on her face, catching you off guard. Nonetheless, you still happily return the hug.

"I'm Sarah. It's nice to meet you!" Unlike Joel, Sarah was a lot more friendly with you. She had this radiant energy to her that made you wonder where she got it from because it definitely wasn't from Joel's grumpy ass. You tell her your name.

"It's nice to meet you as well, Sarah!" I return a smile back to her. She seems like the sweetest 14-year-old you've ever met. "I think we're gonna get along just fine this weekend."

"We sure are!"" She agrees.

"Sarah, sweetheart, how've you been?" Your dad asked her.

As your dad began to talk to Sarah, you decided to check Joel out while he listened to the conversation, occasionally putting in his two cents. Unlike the rest of the group, Joel wore a dark gray shirt, jeans, and some boots.

How is he not hot?

I mean, he is hot, but I meant temperature-wise, you think, causing yourself to let out a low chuckle.

You guess you said that out loud because Joel’s head, along with Maria's, Sarah's, and Tommy's, suddenly snapped over to you with eyes wide and eyebrows raised. Your dad's voice slowly began to fade when he saw the mortified expression on Sarah's face.

"Wait, what happened?" Your dad asked cluelessly as he looked around the group. He was so in his own world that he didn't hear what you said. Thank-fucking-goodness. "Everyone just stopped talking all of a sudden."

"Nothing!" You quickly tell him as you give him a disengenious smile before looking at everyone else. Sarah looked embarrassed for you, as Tommy and Maria still looked shocked. You get a glimpse of Joel as you wince in embarrassment and close your eyes; he had this smug look on his face.

You gathered that Tommy obviously loves to fuck around with people because he let out a stifled laugh, causing his wife to slap his arm and tell him to shut up.

You just wanted to die right then and there. This is now the second time today you've embarrassed yourself in front of this sexy ass man.

Your dad, being the clueless person he is, continues on with whatever he is talking about, not even realizing that no one is paying attention to him. Maria interrupts your dad as she clears her throat to catch your attention. She had a sympathetic look on her face. "Sweetie, your room is on the second floor next to, uh, Joel's, if you wanna get settled in," She offered to you. "We're going to head out to the lake and start putting some things on the grill around 2 or so." You just nodded your head because you were too afraid to speak.

"Hey, Joel?" Tommy looked at his brother with a teasing look on his face. "Why don't you go show her to her room, yeah?" He nods his head in the direction of the staircase.

You wished that you could just punch Tommy across the face at this very moment.

"Umm yeah..." Joel agrees slowly as he gives Tommy a dirty look before glancing at you. "Follow me," You nodded your head and grabbed your purse and other bags. As you followed Joel, the group quietly picked up their conversation again.

Without saying a word to each other, you and Joel arrive in the room. He steps aside, allowing you to enter, and turns around to make his way down the hallway to go back downstairs, but you quickly stopped him before he could get any further. "Hey, I'm sorry about what happened down there." You apologized to him. "I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable or anything."

Joel just turns around and gives you a small smirk. "Oh, darlin', I'm far from uncomfortable. I'm actually flattered...more than flattered as a matter of fact." He winks at you before departing down the hallway, leaving you shocked.

You were somewhat relieved that Joel wasn't disgusted by you, but it still didn't help with your embarrassment as much as you hoped it would.

You scanned the room, taking in the room that you were going to be spending your weekend sleeping in. The walls were painted a light gray. There was a queen-sized bed that looked really comfortable and had bedside tables on each side as well as a TV, which was mounted onto the wall opposite the bed. There was a door that led to a balcony. You could see an overview of the calm lake and the tall trees. It was a beautiful view.

...

It's been a while since you went downstairs with everyone. You were still so embarrassed by the incident this morning that you decided to spend most of your time scrolling through social media and catching up with your college friends. The only time you came out of the room was to go to the bathroom.

You eventually rolled out of bed and worked up the courage to join everyone.

After changing your clothes that you had on earlier and putting on your swim suit, you slipped on your oversized shirt, put on some waterproof mascara, and put on some lip gloss.

You made sure to grab your sunglasses, put on your flip-flops, and jogged down the steps.

Once you got down there, you realized that Maria was in the kitchen. You headed towards her, quickly greeting her. "Hi, Maria," You say while positioning yourself behind the chairs on the island. She was gathering something that she needed to put outside.

"Hey, sweetheart!" Maria happily greets you back with a smile as she turns her attention to you. "How're you feeling?" She asked you gingerly as she looked at you with sympathy. Her goal wasn't to embarrass you; she truly wanted to know if you were okay after earlier.

You felt yourself begin to get flustered. "I'm fine. Thanks for asking." You sheepishly replied. You avoided her eyes, beginning to feel awkward.

"Of course. They're out in the back; you should join them." She points to the sliding door. You just nodded your head and made your way to the door. Before you went out there, you stood there looking outside. You could see Joel's tall figure standing over the grill as he flipped the meat and sipped on his beer.

You felt yourself getting nervous just looking at him.

You then looked and saw your dad helping Joel take the food off the grill and start to place it on the table. Meanwhile, Sarah and Tommy sat at the table, talking to each other. Whatever Tommy had said made them let out loud laughs, causing Joel quickly turned around, let out a chuckle, and shook his head. He then went back to putting things on the rest of the food on the serving platter.

His smile is so gorgeous, it almost takes your breath away.

"Are you going out, sweetheart?" Maria asked behind you, startling you. You had forgotten that she was still here.

You turned to her as you began to stammer over your words and realized that her hands were full with plasticware and plates. "Do you need me to help you take those?" You asked her without even answering her question.

"I do actually," She just looked at you with a questionable look before speaking up again. "Can you just grab the forks and spoons from the top and place them on the table out there, please?" She asked. You grabbed the utensils before turning back around and opening the door.

They didn't notice you at first until Sarah caught sight of you and loudly called out your name as you got closer, causing Joel to look over at you as he closed the grill's top.

"Sarah!" You exclaimed dramatically. Once you reached the table, you sat the plasticware down and went over to sit next to her.

You noticed that her hair was wet and that she was wrapped in a towel. "What've you been up to, girlfriend?" You asked her as you sat down in the seat.

"Nothing much; I just took a quick dip in the lake, and now I am starving," Sarah whined out as she looked over at her dad, who was coming over with the food.

You can hear the sound of Joel's heavy feet approaching behind you and stopping at the free seat at the end of the table, which was next to you. He first put the food in the middle of the table, then plopped himself down. We all began to put things on our plates and begin eating.

Tommy grumbled something about starving, causing Sarah to make a joke about how he was always starving. In reply, Tommy stuck his tongue out at the young girl in a teasing manner.

As Joel ate, he was manspreading under the table. You could feel his hairy, bare leg graze against yours, making you move your leg away. Joel wiped his mouth with the napkin, took a sip of his beer, and looked at you with a blank stare, not saying anything.

You decided to speak up and compliment him on the food. "Joel, this is really good," You smile. Everyone hummed in agreement as they ate.

"Why thank you, darlin'?" Joel says, going back to eating.

...

After eating, we all sat there with our tummies full as we sat around talking about whatever came to mind. That was until Sarah ran into the house without saying a word.

"Oh goodness, that girl." He sat back as he watched his daughter running around the house through the sliding door before running back outside with a box of Uno cards.

"Who wants to play?" She asked the whole table as she ran to her seat and plopped down.

We all agreed. She began to shuffle the cards, dealt them out to everyone, and then set up the game. It first started with you, Joel, Maria, Tommy, then your dad, and lastly Sarah.

Sarah was the first one to get Uno, even though she had the most cards at one point. We all accused her of cheating, which she was quick to deny. No one at the table believed her, especially Tommy and Maria. She just rolled her eyes and helped your dad while he was stuck figuring out which cards to play next.

While the two silently argued about which card was the best, you looked over at Joel and saw that all his cards were showing. You looked around and noticed that no one was paying attention to his cards. Tommy and Maria were sitting there watching your dad and Sarah.

"You're bleedin', Joel," you whisper to him as you point to his card. His face scrunched up with confusion as to what you meant. He looked down at himself and saw no blood.

"What, sugar? I ain't bleedin' anywhere," He said as he tried to recall if he had maybe scraped himself anywhere, but it wasn't coming to him. You couldn't help, but laugh at his confusion.

"It means your cards are showing, Joel." You giggled at him as he chuckled a bit and put his cards up so that he wasn't "bleeding" anymore.

"That's so stupid, who taught you that?" You just shrugged your shoulders at his question and looked back over to see if your dad had finally picked up his card yet.

"Oh my gosh, this isn't rocket science, dad! Just pick a card already!" You exclaimed it, causing everyone to laugh.

"I'm tryin', I'm tryin'!" Your dad waved you off as he went back to silently arguing with Sarah about which card to choose.

The game got drawn out longer than it was supposed to because every other minute someone (usually Tommy) would start arguing about another person cheating. And in the end, Tommy lost the game.

We put the cards away as everyone except for Maria decided to hang out by the dock and take a swim. She said something about having to get on the phone with a client of hers, but she would come join us when she was done and would bring popsicles.

You and Sarah walked in front of your dad, Joel, and Tommy until you yelled out, "Beat you there!" to Sarah as you both haphazardly ran down the steps to get to the dock.

"You girls, be careful down those stairs now! Don't want y'all gettin' hurt," Joel yells out from behind. The two of you don't respond or slow down; you just keep giggling and running. Joel had to suppress a smile from appearing on his face. It brought him joy to hear how much fun Sarah was having with you.

Once you make it to the dock, Sarah flings off her towel and jumps into the lake with a squiel before she goes under water and floates back up. You quickly kick off your flip flops, throw your sunglasses down, and take off your shirt. Unlike Sarah, you didn't jump into the water, you sat down on the dock and scooched into the water.

Oh, come on! You should've jumped in!" She says this to you as she splashes you with water. You splashed her back.

"I'm too afraid, Sar-bear!" You yelled out to her, and she gasped. The men appeared from the concrete steps just as she did so. Joel dropped the towels in his arms before walking over in front of us, while your dad and Tommy moved to the other side of the dock with their beers and their folding chairs.

"Dad, can you believe that she's too afraid to jump into the water?" Sarah yells out to her dad.

He looked down at you from the dock with his hands on his hips and cocked his head to the side in confusion. "Really? It's not that scary, sweetheart," He tells you.

"Then how about you get in, Joel?" You say to him without even thinking.

"Yeah, come on, dad. Get in and show her how it's done!" Sarah yells out as she encourages her dad to get in.

You watched Joel as he took off his shoes and shirt, all while keeping his eyes on you. You couldn't help but suck in a breath and bite your bottom lip when he pulled off his shirt. You got a glimpse of his shirtless chest. Joel wasn't the most muscular man, but whatever his job was, it kept him fit, and you loved it. Your eyes quickly scanned over his neck, then his broad shoulders.

Those damn shoulders of his. You wished you could hold onto them as you rode on his co-

Your thoughts were abruptly shattered when Joel took a big leap into the lake, causing a splash of water to hit your face and go up your nose. You tried to make an attempt at turning your head, but it was too late. You coughed as you tried to clear the water from your lungs. As you do so, Joel comes up from beneath the water.

He gasped as he allowed the air back into his lungs and used his big hands to wipe his face. Once he noticed that you were coughing, he quickly swam over to you with a look of concern.

"You okay, sweetheart?" He asked you as you let out one last cough and nodded your head. He brought his hand up to stroke the side of your head and gave you this tender look before pulling away when he noticed that Sarah was coming over.

If it were just you and Joel on the lake, he would've probably pulled you into his body and placed a soft kiss on your lips.

Even though he had just gotten into the lake, Joel decided to get out before he did something that he would regret.

"Alright, girls. I'm gonna get out now." He says more to Sarah than to you. Once again, you just nodded your head at him. You knew that if you spoke, you'd embarrass yourself again.

"Wha-Dad! You literally just got in." She tries to convince him, but he just shook his head and grabbed onto the rails. He pulls himself up with a grunt and walks onto the dock.

"I'll get back in in a little bit." He dismissed her as he went to get a towel.

Sarah began to say something to you as she swam around you, but you were too focused on Joel to listen to what she was saying. She was too busy talking to notice that you weren't listening. Your attention was stuck on Joel, and his wet shorts stuck to his surprisingly nice ass. He then turns around as he dries off. Your eyes drifted down and widening when you saw his bulge. You were taken aback by the sight.

Oh my god, you thought to yourself.

You looked back up at his face to realize that Joel was already staring at you and smirking while he wrapped the towl around his waist.

Oh fuck!

He obviously saw you staring at his cock because he was fucking smirking.

Joel walked over to have a seat with his brother and your dad. You diverted your attention back to Sarah, acting as if you knew what she was talking about. You just nodded your head a couple of times, and she believed it, but again, your mind drifted.

You were thinking about her dad; snap out of it for Christ's sake.

For the rest of your time at the lake, you refused to look at Joel. And just as promised, Maria finally joined you all about an hour later with the popsicles she said she would bring. Once we ate them, Maria convinced the other adults to have a swim in the lake, to which they all agreed after some groans and pressure from her and Sarah.

...

After spending most of the afternoon outside, everyone went off to do their own thing. Sarah decided to take a shower and then go to sleep while your dad, Tommy, and Maria opted to go out to a bar that a local had told them about, and Joel refused to go out tonight because he said that he was beat from the lake. As for you, you took a quick shower and decided to watch the sunset on the balcony that was connected to your room and smoke.

Before slipping onto the balcony, you grabbed a preroll and a lighter from the pouch, your headphones, and a water bottle from the bed.

When you first got here, you didn't notice that there was a door connected to the balcony that led to Joel's room. However, the sheer curtains were closed, so you could only assume that he was asleep, meaning it was safe for you to smoke without him seeing you. You sat down on the lounge chair, put your headphones on, turned on some music, and began your session.

After two hits of the preroll, you felt the effects of the weed. Your body began to relax, and your eyelids felt slightly heavy. As you continued smoking, you couldn't escape the thought of Joel. You know that he is your dad's friend, and you would never think to go after him, but you have to admit that he is an attractive older man. Just your type.

You barely spoke to him throughout the couple of hours you had been there, yet you could tell the type of man he was. He is very reserved, doesn't speak unless spoken to, and likes to observe. Joel is respectful, but he didn't take shit from anyone. It was very visible that he was protective of not only Sarah but also Tommy.

Everything about him drew you in more and more.

With a few more hits of your preroll, you see a figure standing in the corner of your eye just a few feet away from you, causing you to quickly pull off your headphones and flick the preroll from your fingers and off the balcony. You look over to see Joel watching you with his eyebrows frowned and his hands on his hips. Your eyes widen with shock.

"Shit! I mean, hey, Joel..." You smile up at him awkwardly, trying to seem as sober as possible. "What are you doing out here?" You asked him in a sickly sweet voice. He continues to stare at you before answering.

"I just came out here to check on you. Heard you out here, so I decided to see what you were up to." Joel grumbles as he switches his weight to his other foot.

You prayed that Joel didn't know you were out here smoking weed; your dad would kill you if he heard about you doing this. Little did you know that your attempt would be a complete failure. As soon as Joel walked outside, he could smell the smoke and aroma of weed. He could also see your bloodshot eyes.

"Oh, yknow, nothing much really, just out here enjoying the view and listening to music!" You say this while waving your hand, gesturing to the view in front of both of you. You visibly cringe after this sentence because, even though it was the truth, it wasn't the full truth. He seemed to buy it, so you relaxed a bit.

"Mm, you enjoyed yourself today?" he asked.

"Yeah, I had a lot of fun today. Sarah definitely made it fun for me, she's amazing." You admitted to him, and it was true. His daughter was truly a joy to be around.

"Yeah," He laughs out as he looks out at the sunset, his handsome smile threatening to appear on his face. "She's amazing, for sure." He whispers. You can't help but smile at his words. It was refreshing to see that there was someone who was able to crack his hard exterior.

A silence falls over the two of you before he speaks up again. "Y'know, when we were walking back to the car after the lake, she talked about you the whole time. I couldn't shut up about how much cooler you are than Tommy and me." He scoffs as he rolls his eyes playfully and folds his arms to his chest. His confession made you laugh so hard that you couldn't stop, which caused him to laugh as well.

"I mean, she isn't wrong." You teasingly say it to him, causing him to shake his head.

"Yeah-fuckin'-right, darlin'. I can be cool, too."

"Mmhmm.." You reply back to him as you turn your head to look back at the view. However, Joel's eyes remained on you, but you didn't mind too much.

Once again, silence fell over you two. You wanted to look back at Joel, but you knew that if you looked at him in the eyes, your heart would beat out of your chest.

"Did you enjoy yourself, Joel?" You asked him without looking at him.

"What?" Joel asked.

Was he that engrossed in my face that he wasn't even paying attention, or were you not loud enough?

You suppress your laugh as you turn your head to look at him again. "I asked if you enjoyed yourself today." He quickly snaps out of his trance and looks away.

"Oh, yeah, it was enjoyable for the most part, sweetie," Joel sighs out. You said nothing else after this.

You didn't realize it until now, but you were starting to grow tired from the weed. You also wanted a snack.

"Well, I'm going to head back in, maybe fall asleep to a movie or something." You tell him as you grab your belongings, get up from the chair, and walk to the door.

"Alright," He says as he watches every step you take. "And one last thing, darlin'," You stop with your hand on the doorknob and look up at Joel as you wait to hear what he has to say. With a mix of your high and the nervousness you were feeling because of Joel, your heart was pounding out of your chest at this point.

"You don't gotta lie to me, sweet girl. You know that, right?" He says lowly as he motioned to his eyes.

Fuck!

Your body tenses up, and you freeze. You decided to play dumb, even though you were caught. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Joel," You say as you let out a nervous laugh. Your eyes shifted to the ground, avoiding eye contact with Joel like a guilty puppy.

"Oh, no need to play stupid with me, sweet girl; I won't tell your daddy." Something about the way he said these words made you want him so bad; it was almost like he was teasing you.

You felt your walls crumbling, no longer feeling the need to lie to him. "You swear, Joel?" You asked him as you looked at him with pleading eyes.

Joel wished that you would look at him with those pretty eyes while you were on your knees, pleading and begging for him to feed you his cock. In all honesty, he'd give you the world if you asked for it with that look. You made Joel feel something he hasn't felt for a woman in years, and he was willing to do just about anything to have you. However, he could tell you weren't ready for that yet, but he knew in due time he'd have you.

"You have my word, darlin'," He nods his head. "Just don't lie to me again," Joel tells you as he points a finger.

You frantically nod your head in agreement as you bite your lip. "I won't do it again, Joel."

All Joel could think about was how obedient you are, so eager to please him and do as he says. He could feel his cock getting hard in his shorts as he looked at your bare thighs and had these thoughts. Not once did you realize that Joel was checking you out.

Oh, how badly Joel wanted to grab your chin and kiss those lips of yours. He kept reminding himself that he needed to be patient.

"Good." He says before speaking up again. "You should go inside, darlin', maybe get some rest." Joel insisted as he made his way to the door and gave you one last look before walking inside, leaving you outside by yourself.

You stand there dumbfounded for a moment as you think about your interaction with Joel. You weren't sure if it was just you thinking too much into the interaction, but you felt like there was some sexual tension between you and Joel.

Any time you're around him, nervousness takes over, and a sense of yearning aches deep in your bones.

You needed him badly.

"Don't," You say to yourself. "Don't fucking think about it." You say it lowly as you try to shake the thoughts out of your head.

Joel is off limits; he's your dad's best friend.

You realized how crazy you must look standing at the door thinking about Joel, so you went inside.

Once you entered the room, you noticed that it was a little too warm in there for your liking, so you decided to leave the balcony door cracked to get some fresh air.

You put your things away, got into bed, and watched a movie on the TV across the room.

...

You weren't sure when you fell asleep, but you did during the movie without even realizing it. You felt very discombobulated, so you sat in the dark for a few minutes. Your clothes felt disgusting on your body as you sweated through them, and your throat was dry.

You quickly got out of bed, slipped off your clothes, got back into bed, and took a sip of the water bottle that lay next to you. During this, you got a glimpse of the digital clock that sat on the bedside table. It read 12:48.

The house was quiet. You were sure that Maria, Tommy, and your dad were back from the bar by now and asleep. Sarah and Joel were probably sleeping as well.

You laid back down on the bed, pushing away the uncomfortable blanket, leaving your body bare. You should have gotten up to close the door because if Joel were to come to your balcony door, he'd surely get a glimpse of your naked body. However, you were still sleepy and a little high, so you lacked the motivation to get up.

It really didn't matter anyway; he's probably still sleeping.

You had laid restless in the bed, constantly flipping the pillows to get the cool side and changing positions, but you still couldn't sleep. You decided to lay on your stomach; it helped you fall asleep sometimes.

You knew one thing that would definitely make you fall asleep, but with a particular someone lingering in your thoughts, it felt wrong. It is completely wrong to have these thoughts about him.

He's way too old for you, and he's your dad's best friend.

Though you tried your best to resist these thoughts, you couldn't help yourself.

Fuck it, it's not like I'm gonna actually fuck him, you think to yourself.

You were suddenly taken back to earlier, when you first laid eyes on him. Those eyes and the curve of his nose. You wanted nothing more than to feel his beautiful nose rub against your clit while he ate you out.

Or when he shook your hands and you felt those thick, rough fingers against your smooth hands.

You were sure that Joel knew how to use them very well.

Subconsciously, your hips had bucked into the bed, trying to get friction onto your clit causing the headboard to hit against the wall ever-so-slightly.

"Shit!" You cursed out loud, hoping that Joel didn't hear. Your heart was pounding at the thought of being caught by him, but your pussy dripped with your wetness.

You waited a couple seconds until you took your hand from underneath the pillow and slowly moved it between the bed and your body, allowing your finger tips to graze against your pussy. You couldn't help but whimper at the feeling. Your arousal ran down your fingers, to your knuckles, and onto the bed.

What you didn't know was that Joel wasn't even in his room; he was sitting out on the balcony. He had been sitting out there for about an hour or so because he couldn't sleep, not with you on his mind, so he decided to sit out there and bore himself to death until he got some sleep. When he first came outside, he checked on you and saw that you were knocked out. The room was dark, and the only thing that brought some light to the room was the bright moonlight reflecting over the lake.

As Joel got up to check on you one last time before he went back to his room, he heard you let out a whimper. He slowly walked to your balcony door so that he wouldn't scare you in case you were having a nightmare, but that wasn't the case at all. Again, Joel heard you let out another noise.

First, you sharply gasped, then moaned out, "Oh, Fuck!"

Joel became more intrigued with whatever was going on in your room because it became very apparent that you weren't having a nightmare. In fact, it didn't even sound like you were sleeping anymore.

Like a thief in the night, Joel peered through the door that was half open. What he saw before him could've brought him to his knees.

You were lying down on your stomach, fully naked on the bed. He noticed that with your right hand, you were touching yourself. Joel wasn't hard before, but he's definitely hard now. He felt as his cock strained against the fabric of his shorts.

Joel knew it was wrong to watch you masturbate without knowing, but he couldn't take his eyes off of you. It had been nearly two years since the last time he had been sexually active, and quite honestly, it was catching up to him at that very moment. He had been so busy with everything in his life that sex was the last thing on his mind until now.

As Joel watched you hump your hips into your fingers, you were imagining a shirtless Joel sat up on the bed, with you sitting in between his legs. Your legs would be wide open, propped up over his, as you allowed his calloused middle and ring finger to collect your arousal from between your folder and rub it into your clit. With his deep Texas accent, he would be whispering into your ear about how much of a good girl you are and how wet you were for him. Your head would be laid on his sexy, broad shoulders as your eyes rolled with pleasure. You imagined that as he played with your clit, his other hand would touch your breast and quickly tweak your nipples as they continued going up and firmly wrapping around your neck.

You were so caught up in your thoughts and pleasure that you hadn't realized that you were moaning out Joel's name.

"J-Joel, please," You quivered out quietly enough so that you weren't too loud, but loud enough for Joel to hear. "I'll be good, p-please, daddy." You followed up.

Even though you thought that Joel was in the next room over (which he wasn't) and there were other people in the house, you still continued to touch yourself as the headboard faintly knocked against the wall.

Yet you were so blissfully unaware of it all. So unaware of the fact that Joel was standing right outside the door, watching you rubbing yourself completely nude, and unaware that Joel had pulled his cock out while he watched and listened to you.

Joel didn't care that what he was doing was wrong. He didn't care that watching you, this freshly 21-year-old, masturbate without your knowledge was bad.

The sounds of your panting, moans, and dirty talk made him want to walk right into the room and give you the pleasure you needed.

Joel has always been a selfish lover when it came to the bedroom; he liked to be the one who was dominant and always took control. He could tell you needed someone like him to fulfill your desires—not some foolish 20-something year old, but a real man.

As you continued to grind against your fingers, Joel saw how your ass moved back and forth. He wanted to spank you for being such a naughty girl. Touching yourself without asking for his permission. He would remind you that only slutty, bad girls did that.

He jerked his cock at the same speed as your hips moved. "Oh my god, daddy!" You moaned into the pillow, causing it to be muffled. The thrusting of your hips had sped up. You were on the cusp of cumming, but that changed when you suddenly pulled your hands from between your legs and got up to change positions.

You were now lying on your back with your legs bent up to your chest as far as they could go. Using the hand you just used to grind up against, you bring your middle and ring fingers to your mouth. You began to suckle on them intensely, pretending they were Joel's fingers. You could taste yourself as you did so.

A minute later, you pop your fingers out of your mouth and bring them down to your pussy. As you sink your fingers inside yourself, you can feel the wetness, allowing you to slip deeper into your tight hole. You squirmed as you felt a little discomfort due to your fingers. You decided to slowly thrust your fingers in and out, allowing yourself to get used to the feeling. With your free hand, you brought it up to your mouth to muffle your soft whines.

Oh, my baby, she can barely take her own fingers, Joel thought as he watched you.

To Joel's surprise, you still didn't see him standing by the door, hastily jerking himself off at the sight of you. It wasn't like he was being discreet about it either. He was almost fully through the door at that point. Your eyes were closed as you fingered yourself.

Finally, you were able to adjust to your fingers. As you picked up the speed, Joel could hear the wet, slick sounds coming from your pussy all the way across the room. Hearing this only heightens the pleasure for him.

"Joel, I'm-oh my god-I'm gonna cum!" You moaned lowly.

Joel wanted to be the one to make you cry, but he knew he couldn't at that moment.

Your messy wetness had allowed your fingers to go deeper inside, causing you a certain spot. Your legs shuddered as your finger tips grazed the spot. In a 'come here' motion, you continued to hit the spot over and over again. "Fuck! That's it, baby. Keep going just like that." You purred out.

Joel convulsed at the way you said these words. He was ready to cum at any moment, but he wanted to cum with you.

With his hand still rapidly moving up and down his length, he finally heard your release.

"Yes! I'm cumming all over your fingers, Joel!" You moaned a little louder this time. Joel could hear you breathing hard as you continued to ramble about how good it felt.

Instantly, Joel was cumming. He withheld his groans and grunts as the hot cum hit the palm of his other hand. Instead, he was breathing hard through his nose, hoping to God that you couldn't hear him.

Finally, your orgasm began to die down. "Oh my god," You sighed out blissfully, as you pulled your finger from your pussy. Your legs moved from your chest and you dropped down on the bed. You were still trying to catch your breath. With his mind still cloudy from cumming so hard, when Joel saw you move your legs, he thought that you were going to get off the bed, causing him to panic and move away from the door so that you couldn't see him.

You could feel the cum webbing between your two fingers. You decided that you wanted a look, so you opened your eyes and brought your hand close to your face. You could see the bright moonlight illuminate your cum. You'd never come so hard. Not with any of your hookups, let alone when you masturbated.

You felt spent after that, but you needed to get up to clean yourself off. You decided to rest your eyes a bit before getting up, but without even realizing it, you had dozed off into a dreamless sleep.

Less than five minutes later, Joel heard light snores coming from your room, so he decided that it was safe to look again. You were dead to the world. Joel saw your limp hand hanging off the bed—the same one you had used to fuck yourself with. He could see the wetness gleaming on your fingers. He wanted to come over them and suck your cum off of your fingers, but he stopped himself.

The post-nut clarity had hit Joel, and he realized that he must've looked like a creep with his cock out while he watched you sleep. So he closed your balcony door and headed back into the house to wash the cum from his hands.

Joel knew that he would have you one day; it didn't matter how long it took for him to get you. He would get you right where he wanted you eventually.

...

You woke up feeling like a brand new person that morning. Your limbs felt loose, and you felt like you could conquer the world.

You could feel the sun on your naked body as you rose out of bed to stretch. The sounds of people moving around let you know that everyone was awake.

You suddenly realized that the balcony door was now closed. You don't remember getting up to clean yourself, and you definitely don't remember ever getting up to close the door.

Realization had hit you hard, and your heart dropped.

Shit! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

There was no way anyone could have come into your room because you had locked the bedroom door. However, Joel had access to the shared balcony.

He was the only one who could've closed that door.

Whatever, you were going to enjoy yourself this weekend and act like nothing happened.

=============================================

A/N: I had a lot of trouble writing this for some reason, but next one is going to be a lot better. I got so much planned already hehe

#smut #the last of us #joel x reader #joel miller #joel the last of us #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x reader #neighbor!joel #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #dads best friend #dbf!joel #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel miller x reader #dbf!joel x you

[uselesssomebody]

𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕥𝕙 𝕠𝕗 𝕛𝕦𝕝𝕪 (𝕝) - neighbor!joel miller x reader (pre!outbreak)

complete masterlist | joel miller masterlist

"𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕥𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕥𝕙 𝕠𝕗 𝕛𝕦𝕝𝕪 𝕞𝕒𝕝𝕥 𝕝𝕚𝕢𝕦𝕠𝕣 𝕠𝕟 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙, 𝕞𝕪, 𝕞𝕪" - you can be the boss | lana del rey

words || 𝟠.𝟛𝕜

summary || in which the reader gets real friendly with one of her neighbors

next part || fourth of july (II)

a/n || in honor of that one deleted dvcree edit. may it rest in peace ➵ i became ghastly ill when i tried to write so apologies that it took a while. ➵ this is set before the events of the show, back when joel and sarah were still both alive and in austin, texas. i've never been so i dunno how accurate my descriptions are, or my accents, either. don't hate them please ➵ there is an age gap in this story !! if that makes you uncomfortable, i have many other non-age-gap fics you can browse on my page. reader is like 27 and joel is like 36. he's not old, though he is mentioned as such because he's old compared to her. also canonical dilf ➵ thinking of putting out a sister blog but with darker fics? what're we thinking, guys? ➵ send me requests if you have ‘em. enjoy!

warnings || fluff/smut ➵ unprotected sex ➵ piv sex ➵ oral (m receiving) ➵ fingering ➵ overstimulation ➵ facial & cum ig (tell me if i miss anything)

austin was hot.

she was sure that was one of her first thoughts as she’d stepped off the plane, quick to push her suddenly-heavy locks out of her face. lugging luggage and a young teen with her certainly didn’t make it better, but the light gust of fresh air when she stepped out of the airport left her sighing deeply in relief.

flagging down a taxi was simple enough, but getting her sister to help place their suitcases in the trunk was not.

“nicole - please get off your ass and help me!” she said it in such a sweet voice, that her harsh choice of words seemed to both mildly bewilder and amuse the driver.

no one called nicole ‘nicole’, except, of course, her big sister - and even then, only to frighten her. to everyone else she was just nicky and, if they were real close, nick.

swallowing sharply at the implied warning - the use of her full name - she did, indeed, get off her ass and help push the last suitcase into the trunk.

they piled into the backseat, the cool of the a.c. soothing the light flush on the sisters’ skin. she’s quick to give the driver the address, and he nods, setting off.

neither of them had imagined ever moving back to austin, but here they were.

it’d been about 13 years, as far as she remembers, and the scenery had changed significantly. more people bustled around the streets than there had been before, more businesses had seemingly popped up, and everything seemed fancier.

nicky wouldn’t have noticed the change, having moved alongside her family at the ripe age of a year old, but her significantly older sister could.

she still remembers how her parents had sat her down - on a pretty summer evening before her freshman year. they’d mentioned many things - how the family was due for a new start, how austin wasn’t so feasible for them anymore, and so on. the only thing she’d heard was change and loss.

and that's what it was for her. her whole life turned upside on its head, as the family of 4 made the move across the country to the cold state of michigan. and that’s where they’d stayed - for the rest of her childhood, and then her adulthood, too.

her parents had been young when they’d had her. very young, and she sometimes sensed the sadness that she caused them because of it. they never tried to be outward about it, and her life had been as happy as she could have realistically wanted it.

and, though she loved her young sister, she knew that she became less important in the eyes of her parents after nicky’s birth, taking the back-burner to make space for the family’s golden child, conceived with careful planning and meticulous care - as opposed to the case that she’d been.

now, though, being much older, she didn’t let that bother her, though she never felt particularly at home in michigan. in fact, the last place she’d felt at ease had been austin, and when her father had stated that he couldn’t continue to find renters for their old property there, and was thinking of selling it, she was quick to discourage him, swaying him by stating she’d be more than happy to stay there, renting under her parents. they’d been excited at the notion of being able to keep the house, she was happy to get out of there, and nicky was… well, she was, frankly, devastated at the thought of her big sister being several states away.

regardless of the tense family dynamic, the both of them had remained steadfastly bonded, with her providing the role of a caretaker as much as she was a sister to nicky when her parents found themselves unable to relate to or understand their young daughter. nicky’d begged for weeks to travel with her sister, and her parents had been - to put it lightly - hesitant, worried that the big change would affect their daughter’s development.

nicky was outgoing, for sure, and she had her friends and her school - but she knew all those came and went. the only rock she’d truly had in her life was her sister, and the notion of losing her had been too much to bear.

she’d gotten ill after that first week it was announced - it was as much a physical sickness as it was a psychological one - and the wallowing she had done at the advent of the news had only spurred the sickness to be harsher.

her parents had had to reprioritize after that, finally grasping the profound effect the separation might have on the two.

and that’s what led them here - just a few blocks away from her childhood home.

nicky wasn’t sure how exactly she felt about the suburban environment after their last few years in an apartment at the heart of the city, but when she looked over, she could see her sister’s happy - nay, giddy - face. that was definitely a big plus.

she had practically fallen out of the car in her excitement, and she spent just a minute marvelling at the fact that building hasn't changed a bit from when she last saw it.

it had transported her back to her teenage self, and, lost in the moment, the taxi driver wondered if he should remind her of her bags and his fare. nicky, who had been less of a help on the ride here, started unloading them herself, and it took until the second suitcase for him to help her.

“just give her a minute,” she mumbles, making him laugh lightly. hearing the conversation, she snaps her head back, realizing that most of the bags were already on the pavement.

“oh! sorry,” she fished into her wallet, producing his fare, which he accepted with a nod and salute. she smiled, the two sisters thanking him and waving him off, before turning back to their place, “excited?” she mumbles it to nicky.

“incredibly,” she said it with a faux-bored expression, but even she could appreciate the extra space this house would provide them.

she walks up the patio steps, slotting the key she’d so delicately carried the entire journey here into the lock, and hearing the distinct click it made when it opened.

the sound of a new beginning.

it'd been a few weeks, and everything was shockingly alright. the house felt more like home to her than anywhere she'd ever been, and though nicky was still adjusting, she felt infinitely better in a somewhat unfamiliar environment with her sister, as opposed to a familiar one without her. the house had three bedrooms, and nicky’d happened to pick her childhood bedroom out of the two offered to her, and, though nicky hadn't realized yet, she could see the love she’d put into the bedroom when she was younger: chipped wallpaper where she’d put her posters, a faint ring of liquid on the windowsill from where she'd kept her potted plant, the creak of the bed whenever someone would sit on it.

hey, she never said it was perfect, and they'd been quick to make their way to the furniture store closer to the city to find some new things for the place. all she was glad about was that there was no need for renovations in the old house.

they'd found a lot of time to spend together; having moved early into the summer, they'd hoped nicky would get acquainted with the change before going to school. that’d also left her to be a somewhat bored teen, so she did what she, as a younger sibling, did best: annoy her sister.

of course, she didn't mind, simply happy they had a chance to hang out, something that had been harder to do for her between work back in michigan, and her school. currently, she was also taking a break, having left her job, and having a new one lined up in another month.

that left ample time for them to catch up on all the movies and t.v. they'd had to watch, and for the older sister to teach nicky a thing or two about good music. she couldn't have her sister entering high school with a bad taste of music - it'd be blasphemous. she'd been brushing up on her housekeeping abilities as well, so the time also consisted of teaching nicky of how to cook, and keep everything in the house in order to minimize the risk of damage.

that time had begun to dwindle as of recent, with nicky being out of the house more often. she'd come into her sister's room sporadically, in order to ask her permission to meet with a friend. she'd tend to say yes, considering her sister was old enough to handle herself, though she was always a little shocked at the speed at which nicky made friends.

on one fine morning, she finally sat her down.

“so, who's this friend you've been spending all your time with?” it'd been in the middle of breakfast, and nicky'd become frozen, spoonful of cereal sticking out of her mouth. she’s quick to realize the awkward position, pulling the spoon out of her mouth, and hastening her chewing in order to answer the question more quickly.

“you haven't met her? oh my god, you absolutely have to. she's been showing me around the place - apparently she knows all the coolest spots, cause her and her dad - they've been living here for, like, forever, and-” the sudden onslaught of information made the older sister practically recoil, before it was replaced by an amused chuckle.

“well, mom and dad were worried about how well you'd adjust, but it seems like you're doing just fine.” nicky smiled too, though it was a little sheepish, “so, where did you say she stayed?” she was still slightly confused as to how nicky had met her, as she'd never exactly strayed very far from the house.

“oh, she lives next-door. didn't I mention?” the information was jarring for a moment, as it seemed a massive oversight on her part to not even notice her adjacent neighbors, but she suddenly found herself remembering something. there had been a young girl coming out of the house next door with a bag slung over her shoulder, and her hair pulled back and under a visor to protect her from the blinding texan sun. she’d been out to attend to some of the plants she had bought for the porch, and she had looked up when she’d heard the girl’s crunching steps on the somewhat gravelly pavement.

she’d smiled and waved at her, and she’d nodded back, just slightly confused by the encounter. of course, due to the nature of it, she’d promptly forgotten about it by evening, but she was quickly coming to realize that this must be the girl that nicky was talking about.

“wait - she’s the one with the big hair, wears band shirts?” nicky nods enthusiastically, and she smiles approvingly. the young girl seemed sweet enough, and she was more than happy that nicky had already found a friend.

the next week, nicky had been begging that they invite sarah over for dinner. it’d been a chill weekend anyways, so she was definitely not opposed to the idea, but she was quick to extend the invitation.

“okay, okay - invite her over on sunday. tell her to invite her parents too; it’d be nice to meet the neighbors.” nicky was quick to shake her head.

“parent, it’s just her and her dad.” she corrected herself quickly.

“right, ‘f course. invite him over too, then.” nicky nodded excitedly, rushing over to her room to get on the phone with sarah along the street.

that sunday, she did join the sister’s for dinner, but, as she’d been ushered into the house by two friendly smiles, she seemed to putting off a phrase at the tip of her tongue.

“s’everything ‘lright, hun?” she was quick to notice her guest’s guarded appearance, as she’d sat on the couch with nicky.

“hmm? oh, yeah, yeah. it’s just - my dad’s working tonight, so he couldn’t make it.” she waved her off.

“oh, don’t worry about that, we’re just happy you’re here!”

nicky echoed the sentiment, and the two young girls spent their time talking and laughing, a couple miscellaneous snack bowls spread over the coffee table as sarah became more comfortable. they’d migrated to the dining table when they’d been served dinner. she didn’t tend to cook for guests, so she attempted to pull out all her makeshift stops and, considering the end product, she was quite satisfied with the result.

no one was more excited than nicky and sarah, though - the both of them practically scarfing down the delicious meal. the conversation had turned to include all three of them, and sarah was beginning to reacquaint the both of them to austin, while they entertained her with stories of their time in michigan.

though they’d tried their very best, neither girl came all that close to finishing all the food she’d set out, so she was quick to package it up, sending sarah on her way with the food as a nod to her father’s missed opportunity.

“are you sure? i mean, i don’t know if i can take this-”

“yes, you can. unless you don’t think he’ll like it-”

“no! absolutely not, he’ll love it, it’s just-”

“sarah.” the faux-strict tone made sarah’s face crack into a smile, before she nodded, tucking the packet under her arm as she turned to say her goodbyes to nicky.

once she’d left, she pounced on her older sister.

“isn’t she great?” startled, she laughed, before nodding.

“definitely.”

june passed quickly, and, by july, she’d finished the paperwork for the house, for her job, and for nicky’s school. she was glad to know that it was the same one that sarah went to, and, with the added comfort of her sister spending increasing amounts of time exploring austin, she’d sat her cramped joints down in front of the t.v., vying at the chance to enjoy some trashy reality or game show.

though the sun still provided sweltering heat, when she left the kitchen and living room windows slightly ajar, she could feel the hint of a breeze work in place of their energy-consuming a.c. - which she’d turned off for that exact reason.

she turned her head from the t.v., the contestants on the screen continuing to speak with the host, and she let her eyes drift over the sliver of scenery that she could see through the half-obstructed kitchen windows. some of her neighbors had put up american flags. some were old, new, tattered, printed, there was even one that seemed to be homemade. of course, she knew this behavior was really only reserved in this neighborhood during this time of year, as the texans prepared to celebrate the 4th of july.

reminiscing of her own experiences with the holiday: going swimming with friends, eating good meals, and the occasional barbecue at a friend’s place - she was caught off guard when she heard the doorbell ring. it made her jump, but she quickly composed herself, standing up and brushing off her clothes.

she ran her fingers through her hair and, hoping she looked presentable, she opened the door.

it was her neighbor on her other side, a woman by the name of martha. she was a little older - her and her husband - and they were absolute sweethearts. in fact, they were the first to greet the new neighbors, back on their second day here. she was looking up at her with an excited smile.

“martha, hi! what can i do for you!”

“well - i was just wondering if you’d join us: we’re having a little barbecue tomorrow for the 4th, and i’ve invited a few of the neighbors. we’d really love to have you and nicky.”

she was just a bit taken aback by the invitation, but she didn’t hesitate in her response.

“of course, we’d be happy to be there! shall i bring anything?”

“no, of course not, dear. we’re hosting, just bring your little one.” she let out a light laugh, agreeing. martha bid her a quick goodbye, and headed in the next house’s direction - the millers.

perfect, she thought, nicky’ll have some fun too, then.

july the 4th, and a neighborhood barbecue. it’s a nation-wide phenomenon, then.

nicky’d been significantly more excited than her, once again, proving herself to be the more social one. nevertheless, as the younger girl got ready the next morning, her older sister spent her time finishing a tin of muffins. martha’d assured her she didn’t have to bring anything, but it almost hurt her soul to show up empty-handed. if she’d calculated correctly - and she’d hoped she’d done - she’d made just about enough for the whole group.

by 11:30, they were both ready, and she’d placed two boxes of them in nicky’s hand, while she carried the other two. the both of them made their way over, and she noticed the large group mingling in their yard and backyard. she could see martha’s husband, john, commandeering their large grill, a corona in his hand. she looked around for martha, and caught the eye of the woman as she turned away from greeting another guest.

“oh, you two ‘re here, perfect.”

“hey, martha. look, i know what you said, but-” martha gasped in delight at the boxes as she neared and noticed them, lightly taking them off of her.

“they look great; you haven’t stressed making them, have ya?”

“no - no, it’s my pleasure, really.” martha smiled at her, a mix of graciousness and happiness, before turning her attention to nicky.

“hey, nicky. how’re ya holding up?” nicky nodded.

“good, pretty good. thanks for having us.” she waved her hand at the notion, ushering the both of them inside.

for the first hour, she got acquainted with martha’s husband, the smiths from across from them, and marriots from down the road. they were all very curious about michigan and she, in turn, curious about how much exactly austin had changed since she’d last been here. at the same time, nicky was talking to a pair of twins a year younger than her who lived about two houses down. they were pretty cool, and were going to the same school as her, so they were filling her in on some of the school-wide drama: stuff sarah never cared so much about.

speaking of which, by about 12:30, she hears sarah’s voice greeting someone, and she turns her head, waving at her. behind her is her father, two packs of cold ones in his hands, that he sets down as he greets the hosts. sarah’s quick to detach from him, saluting him goodbye, as she instead makes her way over to nicky and the two other girls.

nicky's older sister had been enraptured in a conversation about the new dog the marriots were getting next week, when she felt someone come up to her.

john had brought joel over to the group, and he integrated without interrupting the story, letting mr. marriot express his excitement for the miniature pinscher they were getting. once he was done, he notices the newest member of his audience.

“hey! joel, how’re ya doin’?” his words turned the attention of everyone in the group, and she realized that this was the coveted joel miller: the man she missed for that one dinner. she turned her head to look at him, flashing him a friendly smile, but it almost froze on her face as she drank in his appearance.

good god, was he fine. messy hair that he’d pushed back, a full beard and an intense gaze. jesus, he was piercing straight through her, his eyes boring into hers while his mouth reflected a polite smile. she averted her gaze for a moment, before john is quick to introduce them.

“and this is joel; him and his daughter live right next door to you guys.” she nods, reaching over to shake his outstretched hand.

“nice to meet you; you’re sarah’s dad?” he nods, smiling at the mention of his daughter. she made the mistake of looking up to catch his gaze, and she felt her breath hitch. the moment passed as she released his hand, but, when she looked back up at his face for a half-second, as ms. smith began talking about her daughter, she swore she saw a smirk in the corner of his mouth.

the lunch had been lovely, and the company had been better. she’d heard stories of four neighbor’s dogs, and seven neighbor’s kids, and then stories of john and martha’s holiday the previous winter, and she felt much closer to the entire neighborhood. nicky had been bustling between her and her friends the entire time, as had sarah, but with her father.

speaking of whom - joel was interesting. he seemed just a bit tired, and maybe bit quiet compared to the others, but he had managed to find a keen amusement in making her squirm. and how could she not? this attractive, sweet, hot, funny, hot, gentlemanly, hot single dad was meeting her eyes every few moments with a gaze that made it look like he wanted to make her forget her name.

did she mention he was hot?

as was she, after a few hours of this strange back and forth, where the both of them seemed to be enraptured in the conversations they were in, but couldn’t seem to take their attention off each other.

jesus christ - he’s your neighbor. and he’s 10 years older than you. and he’s got a daughter who is best friends with your sister!

she jumped when nicky had come up to her, shocked by the feeling of practically materializing her sister.

“hey, i was wondering if i could go over to sarah’s place? i’ll be home in the evening.” nicky seemed a little tired of the party, obviously not the absolute best scene for a teenager like her.

“huh? oh, um - is she and her dad okay with that?”

“i’m alright with it,” a deep voice came from behind her, and she whipped her head around. joel had a kind smile on his face, and he was looking over at nicky, nodding.

“oh, thank you mr. miller! i appreciate it.” nicky smiled back up at him, before looking at her sister with practically puppy eyes.

“alright, nicky. be home by 5.”

“by 6, see you!” nicky rushed off before she had a chance to argue, and she opened her mouth, stuck between bemusement and amusement at her gall. joel laughed behind her, a deep, quiet noise. she didn’t realize how close he was to her, feeling the vibrations of his body in her own. she turned to properly face him, taking a half-step back to allow herself a more comfortable angle to look at him.

“nicky’s always so excited to hang out with sarah, and i can see why: she’s really sweet.” he smiled at the compliment for his daughter, his eyes holding a far-away quality that indicated his reminiscing of her.

“yeah - yeah, nicky too. sarah’s always harpin’ me to be able to go out with her.” he took a breath as he snapped back to look at her, “you’re new to the neighborhood then.” she smiled.

“yeah, we just moved in last month.” he nodded, gesturing around.

“it’s not a bad place, when you’re used to it.” there’s a joking twang in his tone.

“it’s not a bad place, even when you aren’t.” a light chuckle fell from him, as he took another swig of his beer. she could feel the proximity heating her up, so she brushed some hair out of her face, “i think i’ll step out for a moment. d’ya wanna join me?” she gestured to the door, and he shrugged.

“why not.”

the yard was more empty now, as people had begun leaving the gathering, or entering the house as the food had dwindled. though, still placed on the table, were a few of the many muffins she had made. she walked over, him in invisible tow, and she took one, handing it over to him.

“do me a favor, tell me what you think.” he seemed a bit confused, but obliged her, eating the muffin with great care. maybe exaggerated, but the expression on his face made her laugh, so she didn’t mind.

“this is great! martha went all out for these.” she nodded at the praise, him oblivious that it should have been directed towards her.

“martha definitely did. those were mine, though.” he looked back at her, in a mixture of impress and awe.

“well - you’re as good a baker as you are a cook, then.” she laughed at the reference to their lost dinner.

“oh, you did get it from sarah. perfect, what’d you think?”

“i thought that i regretted missing the chance to meet you then.”

suddenly, she felt the conversation had veered away from her ability to make food, and more towards - well, her. she went to retort, but heard her phone’s tone go. she snapped her head to her pocket, mumbling an apology as she did so.

it wasn’t anything important, thankfully, but it did give her an opportunity to check the time and, true to belief, it seemed that, very soon, she’d have overstayed her welcome.

“shit, it’s later than i thought.” she looked up at him, almost apologetically.

“you’re heading home?” though she wasn’t a master at reading faces, she could almost swear there was a hint of disappointment on his.

“well, joel, you’re a hard man to get a hold of. so, mind helping me bring these boxes back?” she gestured to the four boxes, and, in her own roundabout manner, made the bold move of inviting him over.

was it even bold? he lived a few meters from the place anyway. he smiled though, and, in his own gentlemanly manner, agreed immediately. he grabbed three of the boxes before she could stop him, and she almost sheepishly took the last box back up the street with him, pausing for only a moment to unlock the door to hers, before ushering him into the place.

he seemed almost hesitant to step too far in, but she waved it off, telling him to make himself comfortable as he set the boxes down.

“want anything? water, beer? something to eat?” he held his hand up, shaking his head, but did indulge in sitting at her dinner table. she ignored his gesture, taking out two cans for the both of them, before sitting in the seat beside him. he didn’t seem to mind, though, taking the cold beverage gratefully. it made her smile: at least the heat was affecting the both of them.

she took a long, almost wincing sip of hers, having almost forgotten how strong the liquid tasted in her mouth.

“sarah mentioned you’re a contractor?” it was a feeble attempt at reigniting their conversation; truly, she just didn’t want him to leave yet. he seemed to notice that notion, as he took a moment to answer, looking up at her between sips.

“yeah, yeah. me and my brother.” it was new info, and she nodded, rubbing at her nose lightly as she concentrated on the tab of the can, “so, how’d you find the place - the people?”

“they’re - uh, they’re really nice, i guess. everyone seems really friendly.” he nods.

“sure, sure. i’m sure it’s a little annoying though - everyone’s a bit older, right?” she looked up at him, and he had an unreadable expression on his face.

“well, i don’t mind older.” she maintained eye contact as she saw his smile twist, lip curling into a smirk, one he tried to hide behind his drink, “in fact, i think it’s better. older guys tend to be more mature - put together, you know?”

“guys?” his face betrayed his shock at her directness, and she suppressed a laugh.

“well, that is what you’re asking, aren’t you?” he held a hand up in surrender.

“and if i was?” she stuck her tongue into the side of her cheek, surveying the space between them.

“well, mr. miller. i’d tell you to stop beating around the bush and just take what you want.” he set his drink down with a light thud, something more desperate swirling in his eyes.

“and what would that be?” he wanted her to iterate exactly what she thought would happen.

“you tell me.” she didn’t give in, hoping the older man would break before she would.

he didn’t need much convincing, though, placing a firm grip on her arm, and pulling her closer to him, leaning forward and taking her cheek in his much larger hand.

“you’re asking too much of me, sweetheart. what’d the neighbors think?” his breath fanned over her face, and the tone of his voice indicated his teasing nature.

“what?” he laughed against her, shaking her body, before he gestured to the window just adjacent to him.

“only been here a few weeks, and already seducing one of your neighbors? it’s bold - i’ll tell you that much.” his cologne - a soft, but distracting smell - was overpowering her, and she couldn’t exactly think clearly as he sat so close to her.

“joel.” it came out as more of a plea than she had maybe wished, and he smiled, his eyes flicking across her face, “should we go upstairs?” she detached from his eyes for just the slightest moment, to look up at the staircase leading to her room.

“if you want to, sweetheart.”

fuck. being called sweetheart? by him? she was done for.

she led him up the stairs, her steps just slightly shaky as she walked up.

what was she doing? him, she supposed.

her bedroom was messier than she’d hoped as they walked in, but she didn’t have time to dwell on that as he pulled her towards him while she shut the door behind her, pressing his lips to her ear as her back hits his thick chest.

“you sure you want to do this?” his voice is huskier than it had been before, and it made her let out a shaky breath.

“please.” he smiles against her soft skin, turning her to face him. she doesn’t waste a moment, leaning closer to his face as he pulled hers closer to him, capturing her lips in his own.

his beard tickled her chin, his breath warm on her face as she closed her eyes against him. he tasted like an interesting mix between the barbecue, her muffins, and the beer he’d been drinking, creating a festive, american aftertaste in her mouth.

the kiss made her moan against him, as her hands finally began exploring the man in front of her. his shirt was flimsy against his torso, and that made her almost more inclined to pull it off of him, as she placed her hands under the thin fabric. he broke the kiss with an amused exhale, pulling her hands out from under it with a smile playing on his lips.

“think you owe me something, first, sweetheart.” she looked back up at him in confusion, but, noticing the fingers at the ends of her own top, she as quick to pull it off of herself. even he seemed a little shocked by her eagerness, but that didn’t stop him, pulling her into him with such force that the both of them fell onto her bed.

he sat back up in a heartbeat, redirecting her thighs so that they straddled his own, pulling her towards him. the angle left her neck at eye level with him, and his nose traced the skin of her collarbone, the ghost of kisses leaving a trail up her neck as she wrapped her fingers in his scruffy hair. she let herself get lost in his touch, the softness of his lips on her chest, the sharp sting of his teeth occasionally grazing her skin, the harshness of his fingers against the skin of her thighs.

before she - or he, for that matter - could get too carried away, she pushed away from him lightly, reaching back down to tug at his shirt.

“you got what you wanted, now come on-” he laughed as he pulled the offending cloth off of him, and she sighed happily at the sight.

god, he was hot. she pushed him further back until he was laying down, and attached herself to his jaw, placing chaste kisses in a similar manner he’d done, tracing the edges on his beard with her lips. he kept his hands firmly on her sides, squeezing gently as she made her way down his body, over his chest, where the hair tickled her nose, making her smile. then, over his stomach, until she’d gotten dangerously close to his rapidly hardening cock.

he gripped her tightly, making her squeak in shock which, surprisingly, did nothing to quell his arousal.

“you’re-”

“let me, c’mon.” she said it as though there was a measure needed to persuade him. that definitely wasn’t the issue; rather he was worried he’d finish far too quickly for the mature older man he’d portrayed himself to be.

but how could he not - this fucking gorgeous woman with her head between his legs looking up at him with those eyes. fuck, those eyes.

“please, joel?” he’d grunted in that moment, releasing his grip, and she had a smug smile on her face as she unbuttoned his jeans. he couldn’t see it though, his head thrown back as he tried to even his breaths.

she wasted not a moment to tease him, tracing the outline of him lightly through the thin fabric of his boxers. he’d groaned her name - almost in warning, and she smiled as she relented, pulling him out from the confines of the cloth.

she hadn’t exactly been proud of her expression in that moment - akin to an actress on a certain screen, if you caught her drift - except hers wasn’t a fake one. older men had always been a hit or miss for her in terms of dick size, but this one seemed to be the fucking hit.

he’d recovered in time to catch that look, leaning on his forearm to be able to reach his hand over and push her hair out of your face.

“shocked, sweetheart?” she didn’t take her eyes off him.

“excited, more like.” she pulled her hand lightly up and down his cock, spitting in her hand before continuing. the added lubrication made him moan through his teeth, and she didn’t give him a moment of reprieve, readjusting so she was at the perfect angle to lightly lick his tip.

he practically shuddered at the contact of the wet muscle on him, a hand going to weave the hair falling over her face away, and gripping her head maybe tightly than he intended to, as she placed feather-light, open-mouthed kisses from the top to the bottom of his cock. he didn’t say anything, his appreciation for the act moreso communicated through the squeezing and releasing of her hair, and his shuddered breaths and quiet, almost broken moans.

deciding she didn’t want to wait any longer, she wrapped her lips completely around him, taking him deeper and practically feeling him twitch as she sunk lower on him. he guided her movements slightly with his grip on her, pushing her down as he let loose to the feeling, and pulling her up lightly as she came too close to unraveling him.

breathing in deeply through her nose, she pushed down further on him, swallowing to suppress her gag as she felt her nose being tickled by the hair at his base.

“fuck, sweetheart.” the curse left his mouth almost aggressively, as he twitched behind her lips. her throat constricted around him, and she resurfaced, breathing heavily to make up for the lost air. he looks down at her, taking in her cock-drunk appearance as she sighed between his thighs. she lazily pulled her hand up and down his cock, as she caught her breath, “come up here, baby.” through both of their pants, she made out his request, getting up so that she was sitting on her knees, as he also rose to rest better against the headboard. he gestured her to some closer, and she placed a knee of either side of him, practically crawling up his legs.

the shorts she was wearing were his biggest obstacle at the moment, and he was quick to pull her up by the front of them, unbuttoning them in the process. a squeak emitted from her, shocked by the manhandling, and he was quick to pull them down her legs. her hands cover his, the both of them almost desperately taking them off and, once he’d finally done so, he focused his eyes to hers, his fingers sliding up her thigh and to her cunt. he traced her lower lips lightly, and she could feel her thighs tense, her breathing hitching.

noticing her reaction, he smiles, pulling her lips to his, and kissing her as he traced up and down her slit, placing the ghost of pressure on her clit. she almost jumps at the sensation, but the firm grip his other hand keeps on her hip stops her.

“don’t run away now, sweetheart.” it’s a whisper into the space between them, and she wordlessly nods, her hand going to his biceps and gripping as he applied more pressure, “tell me what you want.” she looked up at him, a mix of disappointment and frustration at the request.

“i…”

“you?” she cleared her throat, averting her gaze, and he used his free hand to direct her chin to look at him, “what d’you want?”

“i want you to fuck me.” she felt almost ashamed saying it, but he smiled in pride - a smug smile.

“we’ll have to get you ready, first; don’t ya think?” he dips the tip of his finger into her and she shudders again, her hips jumping lightly, causing him to squeeze her. she nods, humming, too focused on the movements of him fingers to properly answer. taking pity on her, he obliges, pushing a finger into her, and curling it up.

“oh, god.” the sensation makes every muscle in her tense, the sexual frustration piquing at the feeling, and simultaneous lack thereof. her head falls into the space between them, and he places an almost comforting kiss to the top of her head, before beginning to move his finger.

initially, he moved it in and out of her almost exploratively, as if he was trying to determine what exactly made her tick. it resulted in soft moans and cut-off breaths, before he heard something akin to a whimper when he’d found a particular spot inside her.

he pushed another finger in, making her noises only grow, gripping him tighter. he started moving in and out of her at a more rapid rate, his fingers curling, to the point where she was moaning so loudly that he was worried the neighbors would hear regardless of their relocation.

he took his lips to hers again, hoping to muffle her noises, and it worked, her mouth focused on feverishly returning his passion that she managed to swallow the majority of her moans. though, it didn’t help when she felt the knot inside her begin to tighten, her hips grinding against his fingers.

“y’gonna cum, sweetheart?” she couldn’t speak, worried she’d be too loud if she opened her mouth, so she nodded frantically, pushing more quickly against him as she chased her high, “that’s it, baby, cum for me, cum for me-” his encouragement almost made it easier, and she did cum, in something akin to a burst: her body fully stilled, as did his movements, and her eyes rolled into the back of her head, the hint of a squeal leaving her parched mouth. her voice sounded almost broken because of the intensity of it, and she practically leaped off of his fingers, unable to take the overstimulation as he had begun to move again.

“sorry - fuck, it’s too much, sorry-” he shook his head, assuring her immediately.

“it’s fine, sweetheart, you’re fine. ‘re ya ‘kay?” his accent came out more aggressively as he checked on her. she’d placed her hands over her face in an attempt to cool its warm flush, trying to catch her breath, as she nodded shakily.

“i’m - i’m, fuck, yeah, i’m fine.” she practically stuttered through her gasps, and he found it endearing, giving her a moment to compose herself. he adjusted the way she sat on him for her to be more comfortable, him fingers kneading the flesh of her thigh gently, hoping the contact would ground her.

it worked, with her taking her hands off her face after a few moments. her eyes had a far-away look to them, but she had a sheepish smile on her face.

“that was - uh, it was really good.” he smiled at her reaction, but it dropped after a moment.

“we can - we can stop, if ya want, sweetheart. if it’s too much-”

“no!” her response was so aggressive that it made him look at her in light amusement, “i mean, no. i don’t want to stop.” he surveyed her with an analytical eye.

“are ya sure?”

“joel, please?” she’d moved closer so her cunt sat inches from his cock, her warmth radiating onto him.

“i-” he went to say something, but seeing her flushed skin, her lust-blown eyes and the plea to fuck him, he seceded.

he pulled her up by her thighs, so she hovered over his cock. she used her hand to hold it steady, before he helped her lower onto him. it took a try or two, with his cock bumping against her clit and making her jolt. his tip caught her entrance in just another moment, though, and she took in a deep breath as she sunk onto him.

“fuck-” his response made up for her wordless one, her face contorting in pleasure as she tried to handle the size of him in her.

“joel-” she needed a moment to adjust, and it seemed as though he’d realized even before her.

“take your time, sweetheart.” she took a deep breath, sinking into joel’s arms further as she felt his thumb over her clit, trying to make the process easier for her.

finally, she mustered the strength to grip onto his shoulders, his hand finding a firm place on her waist, as she strained the muscles in her thighs to lift herself up. she felt a moment of aching emptiness, before she sunk back down on him, his cock catching practically every sensitive spot inside of her, making her moan.

it was a bit laborious, but along with his own effort, they came to a working rhythm seamlessly, and her moans began to be matched by his grunts at the feeling of her warm cunt, enveloping and twitching around him. she felt fucking amazing, and the warm breath of her gasps spurred him to push against her with just that bit more force. her eyes widened, her moans breaking as her breath caught in her throat. she felt her muscles turn to jelly with each thrust, practically being held up just by his hands. her head falls against his shoulder, her breath stuttering. his pace didn’t relent, though, with him readjusting just slightly to do the brunt of the work, fucking up into her as she tried not to let the pleasure consume her.

“joel - joel, you’re, oh, fuck-” she became a mess of mumbles as she attempted to just take it, but she felt her second orgasm oncoming, and way too quickly.

“c’mon, c’mon-” even joel wasn’t really registering what he was saying, focusing on feeling her cunt pulse again, like it had around his fingers. she didn’t make him wait too long, as her mouth fell open and her body tensed, clamming up as her orgasm crashed over her. his name came out in a squeak, and he resisted the urge to moan too loudly by attaching his lips to her neck, taking in the feeling of her pulsating cunt.

she slumped against him, desperately trying to catch her breath, before she was reminded her was still inside her. he helped her off of him and, before he could do anything else, she kneeled back in front of him, positioning her face right in front of his cock and stroking him to completion, his warm cum falling over her face in ropes.

“jesus christ, sweetheart.” he had to physically turn away from her, worried he’d get hard again at the sight, and she let out a tired laugh at his reaction. she rose from the bed after a moment of catching her breath, turning into her bathroom in order to clean herself up. it only took a minute or two, and by the time she’d walked back, joel had managed to pull his jeans back over him, and was desperately searching for his shirt. it was just by her feet, and she could give it to him.

but did she want to?

both of their heads snapped up when they heard the sound of the front door opening.

nicky - she’d come back at her sister’s previously preferred time, 5, and that had become increasingly problematic.

“shit-” she threw his shirt at him, and he caught it with one hand, trying to adjust the button of his pants with the other, “what do we-?” she questioned, as she pulled her shorts over her legs and shirt over her own head.

“just say ya were showing me around?” he suggested, and, through a shaky breath, she nodded.

“smart - smart, uh, do we-?” she gestured to herself, hoping she looked presentable, and the both of them gave each other a once over in approval that neither looked too disheveled, before they opened the door.

of course, those post-orgasm should never be told to rationally judge anything, as nicky and sarah could tell something was off from practically the moment their family members stepped out of the room.

“nicky? you didn’t have to be back so early, you know.” she said it quickly, without thinking, and, upon seeing joel’s what the fuck? expression, she realized how bad it sounded. nicky had, too, her brows furrowing as she turned to sarah, who simply shrugged in similar confusion.

“i’m sorry?” she watched as her sister - and then, to her surprise, mr. miller - came down the stairs.

“that’s not what i meant.” her sister mumbled, a sheepish smile on her face.

“dad, what’re you doing here?” sarah looks at her father quizzically, and he opens his mouth to speak, as she does at the same time.

“just - showing me around-”

“i’m giving him a tour!” they spoke over each other, and she glanced to look at him in slight embarrassment. he was trying his absolute hardest to keep from chuckling.

“anyways, sarah, we should get going. you two have fun?” sarah still looked between the both of them inquisitively, as nicky bore a glare at her sister, as if asking a question telepathically.

“lots of fun, dad.” it’s got an awkward delivery, so he coughs in an attempt to dissuade the tension, turning to her once more.

“it was nice meeting you, then - the both of you.” he smiled at nicky as well, before reuniting with his daughter.

“of course! it was great to see you again, too, sarah.” she mentioned, as she opened the front door for the both of them.

“see you around, sarah. good evening, mr. miller.” nicky spoke from behind her, and the millers nodded in goodbye. the front door shut with a click behind them.

there was a moment of silence between her and nicky, as she leaned against the door, before nicky broke into a big smile.

“i can’t believe you did that.” panic flashed over her face, and she whipped her head to face nicky.

“huh?”

“he’s so much older than you. and my friend’s dad, c’mon!” she sounded annoyed, but the exaggerated nature indicated that it was fake. she immediately tried to deny her sister’s completely true assertion, but the younger girl practically laughed in her face. she rolled her eyes at the reaction, brushing her off.

“shut up, nicky. he’s not even that much older than me.”

only a few meters away, sarah was trying very hard to suppress her own laugh.

“she’s really nice, right, dad?” joel, who had a faraway look in his eyes, hummed in response, prompting her to continue, “nicky’s sister. she’s really nice.”

“yeah - yeah, she is.” joel shrugged, unsure of how exactly to respond to his daughter. he looked down at her, and she had this glint of mischievousness in her eyes.

it worried him.

as he ushered her in when he’d unlocked the door, she’d made a beeline for her room. though, before she made her way up the stairs, she turned back for a moment, looking at him.

“and dad? you’re shirt’s on backwards.” she doesn’t wait for his response, walking up the stairs. shocked, joel looks down at his shirt, where the tag was practically looking him in the face. he sighed, closing the door behind him.

“shit.”

#joel miller #joel miller oneshot #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #neighbor!joel #the last of us hbo #the last of us #pre-outbreak!joel #fourth of july #pedro pascal #lana del rey #you can be the boss

[that-struggling-writer-lh]

A Flower For Every Secret Ch. 3 - Basket Flowers

Buckle up my friends because I was giggling and kicking my feet writing this.

WORD COUNT : 1885

WARNINGS: Extreme fluff, mutual pining. MINORS DNI. These guys are sickly in love I can feel it in my bones.

Pair the dancing scene with the song J's Lullaby by Delaney Bailey. ALL THE FEELS.

“You going to Colleen’s wedding tomorrow?” a voice piped from behind the glass window.

“Good morning to you, too. I’m not sure. I feel like it was a tentative invite because I’ve only been here like a month.” I looked up at Agent Carrillo through my lashes, phone on hold between my neck and ear. 

Joel hadn’t been home hardly all week. His truck always leaving at dawn and not back until late, Sarah begrudgingly following close behind him. Both of their clothes had been covered in sawdust several of those days.

He hadn’t acknowledged me much since the dinner he had invited me to, the only conversation being passing hello, how was your day? He didn’t have time to play in the streets with the neighborhood kids, much to the dismay of many parents who had to pay extra attention without Joel keeping watch of the street. He had mentioned a big job in the city, renovating an old shop front into a high-end bakery.

“Still nice to get to know people better, you’re kind of in your own world over here.” he shrugged, leaning past the barrier to peek at my desk space.

I covered the note I was writing, waiting to get it sent out to a patrol unit. A welfare check on an elderly woman, I hung up the line when I was confident my message went through, and sighed. “I don’t have a date. So I won’t know anyone, and I’ll be alone. You have a wife, Carrillo. You have a buffer.”

He seemed to consider, “Find one. I mean this in the most platonic way. You’re pretty. Someone would want to go with you, even if it’s some shitty blind date.”

I chewed the end of my pen gently, the only person that came to mind being the neighbor I’d been pining over for the last week, “I think there’s someone I can ask.”

Joel’s truck was surprisingly in the driveway when I pulled into the cul-de-sac, Sarah in the front yard with one of her friends, laying in the grass with a neatly folded fortune teller. They played the game with smiles on their faces, even from across the street I could hear the flip, flop, flap of the paper with the swish of their hands.

I tentatively walked across the street, “Hey, Sarah. Your dad home?” I questioned.

“In his office, just walk inside and let him know I said it's okay.” She looked away from me and smiled at her friend again, “Pick a number one through four.”

“Joel?” I called into the silent house, “Joel, it’s me, Sarah said to come in. I have to ask you something.”

A shuffling noise and a door opening came from down the hallway and Joel appeared, phone pressed to his ear, he motioned for me to follow, using his spare hand to silently shush me, “Again, it’s not possible with the current price of lumber, tools and extras. I gotta pay my guys, I gotta feed my kid. I’d love to continue offering the labor rate I had five years ago when I previously did work at your home, but I am a small business.” he was rolling his eyes, rolling up his long sleeved shirt to his elbows.

I watched him as he sat at an l-shaped desk, stuffed into a corner of the small room, a window directly in front of his chair. A few photos of him and Sarah framed, dusted. A tiny cactus potted, and neat stacks of binders with printed labels. Money In, Money Out, Project Portfolio, Current Client List and Job Sites, Employee Records/Handbook.

He pinched his brow, exhaling slowly so as not to let the person on the other end hear his frustration, “I offer very competitive rates, you won’t find someone cheaper than me right now, I don’t think. I’ve held off on raising prices again… I understand your frustration, times are changing for everyone. Yes, just let me know. I’d love to be of help to you, have a great weekend Bob.” he put the phone into its cradle and groaned aloud, “Sorry, Sweetheart.” he drawled as he spun on squeaky wheels to face me.

“Sarah let me in, I wanted to ask something pretty big of you this weekend. I understand if it's a no, I just have nobody else I’d like to ask.”

He pressed his elbow into the desk, resting his chin in his palm, “I’m all ears.” 

“There’s this… Thing.” I started, looking up at the ceiling.

He waited for me to continue, “Gosh, I’m nervous.” I huffed a laugh.

“Don’t be nervous, just ask.” he had started grinning at this point.

“The chief’s secretary is getting married tomorrow. I was a last minute invite, I wasn’t planning on going, but was given the option of taking a plus one and-” I froze, trying not to stammer over my words, “I was hoping that maybe you’d like to come. With me. As a favor. It doesn't have to be like…” I trailed off.

His ears turned a soft shade of pink and he looked out the window, now to the side of him, “Let me make a call.” he turned back to the phone and in moments, “Maria.” a pause, entirely too long as he stared directly in my eyes with the phone to his ear. I began wringing my hands together in anticipation. My heart thrumming wildly in my throat, “Nothing serious, just a favor.” he started, “I have uh… A date tomorrow… Need someone to feed Sarah dinner, make sure she’s okay.” he was chewing his lower lip nervously, that eye contact still unbreaking, “Of course,” he was grinning now, the pink in his ears flushing through his cheeks, “I really appreciate you guys. Thank you.”

The phone clicked back into its home on the desk, and Joel stood from his chair, “It’s a date.”

Joel promised to wear his best. Based on what I’d seen I’d hoped it was a little more than a blazer and nice pants. But he could show up in anything and I’d be happy just to hear his laugh again.

I wasn’t sure exactly what to label my feelings for my neighbor as, other than when I look at him it feels like the breath has been taken from my lungs for a moment. I spent all evening laying everything out, he promised to pick me up by three p.m for the four o’clock ceremony in the gardens of the event center. The reception would follow in a large barn. From what I had heard, Colleen’s family spared no expense. I opted to wear a lilac, solid colored dress that ended at my ankles, off shoulder sleeves and tulle underneath the skirts to plump up the whole thing, paired with silver heels. My hair in a french twist with pieces left out to frame my face, my makeup bright, blushy and glossy.

The knock at the door as I put an extra coat of lipgloss on and stuffed touchup stuff into my clutch almost sent me into a panic. I rushed to answer the door, careful not to trip over myself before opening the door. I was not prepared to see him look so- 

“Wow.” we said in unison, wide-eyed.

“You look-” we both started, 

“Handsome.”

“Perfect”

Joel really pulled it off. Hair neatly parted and slicked, facial hair trimmed. He sported a full tux, perfectly tailored. He offered me his arm and I graciously accepted, the cul-de-sac was bustling with life, but it was as if he was the only one there with me. Drowning out everything else in a haze of warm, woodsy cologne and perfect smiles. The warmth made each vein in his large, rough hand rise. It was nearly impossible to keep my eyes trained on any single spot of him. He cleaned up good.

He led me to his truck, opening the door and helping me up.

The ride was near silent, only the radio covering the thrumming of my chest. The nerves electrifying my every fiber.

He kept his hands off of me through the entirety of the ceremony, though our eyes often drifted to each other through the vows. The soft music.

The reception was dimly lit, candles gracing every surface they made sense on, baskets overflowing with blooms of every shade to mark doorways, placed on tables as centerpieces, a chandelier of candles with wildflower blooms laced in every spare beam. 

Joel was seated firmly beside me at a table full of strangers. Eventually his hand found a spot to rest on top of mine, our fingers tentatively lacing together. Both of us obviously nervous. It was different than last week on the walk back to my house from his. I was keenly aware of his every movement, the feeling of his skin. The flush of my face, and each beat of my hammering heart.

Eventually I heard the slow, soft guitar and words sung so softly it was like a private prayer.

Darling I’d wait for you

Even if you didn’t ask me to.

Tie a lasso around the moon

And bring it on down to you.

His eyes found mine again and he rose from his seat, keeping our fingers laced together, glancing around at the other couples slowly moving along to the beat, “Normally I’d say I have two left feet… But this time… Dance with me?”

It took a moment for the words to leave after the nod of confirmation, “Of course.” I whispered as he took me toward the middle of the room. One hand pressed into my lower back, bringing our waists together, his other holding mine so delicately I was sure I must be dreaming. The candlelight illuminated his face in a golden haze. Surely things like this are only in fairytales

Cause, Baby, when your arms are around me.

I’d swear that I’m holding the sun.

“Joel,” I started, “Thank you - for coming with me.” his eyes were so warm I could have melted in them.

“There isn’t a way I’d have missed something like this.” he squeezed his hand at my back, bunching up tulle and soft fabric.

You could have the stars and the trees.

When dividing up the universe.

My breath hitched as words failed me entirely; and my hand, pressed firmly onto his shoulder, loosened, slipping further up and around to the back of his neck, burying in the soft hair at his nape.

His brows furrowed, almost a question. Almost a hope. We studied each other as everything else fell around us. Deeper and deeper. Until all that remained on the crowded dance floor was Joel. Me. And the words of a lullaby.

Darling, I wish that you

Could give me some more time.

To herd the whole sky in my arms,

And release it when you’re mine.

At the same moment he leaned in, so did I. It was hardly even a kiss. More like a tentative brush, testing the waters before making a full swan dive in deep water. He pulled away only to look at me again for confirmation. I nodded and he sealed his lips to mine.

I’d put the beach in your backyard

In hopes to be enough for you to stay.

YOU GUYS PLEASE LET ME KNOW HOW YOU'RE LIKING THIS. If you're enjoying PLEASE comment that you'd like me to continue!

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal characters #tlou fanfiction #joel miller smut #tlou au #joel miller x ofc #neighbor!joel

[toxicanonymity]

all dressed up

standalone or night walks 4

1.3k | dark!Joel x fem!reader | night walks master list

Warnings: nsfw 18+, SA technically, dub-con unsafe PIV, in public, mild degradation? idk, filth. no outbreak, neighbor

As you approach the drink wall of the convenience store, a man catches your eye with a sharp leather jacket over a bare chest.  He’s in the snack aisle which is exactly where he belongs.  You try not to let your eyes linger.  While you're standing there at the cooler, he comes around and seems to be looking at you.  You glance in his direction with a shy little smile and do a double take.  He's wearing PJ pants.  You finally look up past his chest and your face gets hot - it’s Joel Miller, the creepy older neighbor you've been trying not to fuck.  He's not shirtless, but his neckline is crazy low.

"Well, look at us all dressed up," he says.  

You check each other out for a moment before you say, “Nice jacket.”  

“Nice dress,” he responds in a low, horny pitch as he moseys closer.  He’s absolutely railing you with his eyes. 

You’re facing the drink cooler and don’t turn in his direction.  He crowds you from behind and lays a tan, veiny  hand on your hip.  You don't move. 

He drops his snack behind you.  “Uh oh,”  he says ominously, then crouches down to pick it up. 

He stays down there longer than necessary and inhales loudly.  As he stands again, his palm skims your calf all the way up to your inner thigh, lifting the hem of your casual dress just slightly with a short, low whistle.  All your blood rushes to your loins. He cups your ass cheek then gets even closer, stepping one foot in between yours.  His cheek touches your hair.  “Look good in black,” he murmurs into the back of your ear, referring to your panties.  He puts both his hands on your hips, one of them holding his purple snack bag. 

He gently presses his burgeoning arousal into you with a soft "Mm" and further hardens against your ass. You stand frozen, a pool forming in your panties. 

He turns the snack bag over in his hand, still at your hip, and you look down at it. Takis Fuego. He runs two flattened fingers down your stomach, then creeps dangerously low and starts making small circles.  "How 'bout I get somethin' less spicy?"    

He haphazardly discards the Takis on the nearest shelf.  When he gets back in your space, you become aware of a man watching, and you clear your throat. 

"Everything okay over here?" The man asks and you softly elbow Joel to back up, but he doesn't. 

You turn and say, “Uh. . . .Yeah, thanks.” 

“You sure he isn’t bothering you?" 

Your cheeks burn.  

Joel answers, “What’d she say, man?” 

“Thought she might want a little space, that’s all.”  

“Want some space, pumpkin’?”

“Thanks for asking,” you tell the man.  “I should get going,” you say to Joel. 

You step away and grab a cold drink.  What you really need is a cold shower. 

Joel puts his hands in his jacket pockets and splays them out as he says, "if that's what ya want" and walks backward then turns to grab another snack on his way to the checkout. You linger so you don’t have to be behind him in line. 

-

It’s a sketchy parking lot - just the gas station and liquor store.  Unsavory characters loiter in the front near the pumps, so you parked in the back.  It was deserted in your corner, but now Joel’s parked near you, closer than necessary.  You aren't surprised to find him leaning with his side against your driver's side door.  He's taken off the jacket.  Arms crossed, hands jammed under his absurd biceps, a considerable bulge in his PJ pants. God damn, he's hot. Why does he have to be so hot? 

"Knew I wasn't botherin' ya," he says smugly. 

You sigh, unlock your car, and put your bag in the back seat. As soon as you close the back door and step forward, his arm and pecs flex, and in one swift motion, he pushes himself up with his hand planted on your door, pivots over you, and cages you against your car.  He lays his hips into yours and your breath hitches.  He grinds his rock-hard package right into your crotch and arousal shoots through your core to your breasts.  His pants nor your cotton dress leave much unfelt. 

"Bet ya woulda taken it right against the cooler," he says, looking from your mouth to your chest and back. His neck looks so strong.

He lowers his bare chest against you, buries his face in your neck, beard scratching your delicate skin, and sucks thirstily. A massive hand runs up the side of your thigh. He lightly drags his lips from your neck, up your chin, and over your lips, where he hesitates without kissing you.  To your horror, your mouth latches onto his and won't let go.  You accept his tongue hungrily and a soft grunt escapes the back of your throat.  “Mmmm,” he says into your mouth. Your body begs to be filled. 

He wraps an arm under yours and rests his hand between your shoulder blades, then pulls you off your car and into him.    His other hand goes under your dress and engulfs your soaked panties.

- 

"Damn," he says "what're we waitin' for." He takes your keys from your hand and puts them on top of your car. 

Your cheeks burn and you look around. "This is-"

"Shhhh," he says into your cheek.  He covers your lips with his for a few seconds, rubbing your clit just right.   Then says, "We can do whatever we want." 

He manhandles you over to his ride, opens the side door, and bends you over the seat.  He pulls your dress up and your panties down, then pushes two thick fingers inside you and you gasp softly.

"Hell yeah,” he says as he feels you.  “Couldn't be more ready, could ya?"  You hate it when he's right.  He pulls his waistband down, nestles his girthy cock at your entrance, and puts a hand on your lower back.  Then he pushes the tip inside. "Here ya go, baby." 

His stiff girth parts your insides, and with a burst of power, he bottoms out. It takes your breath away.  He whispers, “fuck yeah” and retreats, then slams into you full-force to the hilt with a loud sigh.  

"Know you love this cock," he says as he finds a rhythm. "Take it real good, too."

He slides a hand under your chest and gropes a breast as he pounds you, breathing hard and grunting. The tension builds deep in your gut.  His cock feels so right inside you. You wish it wouldn't, but it does.  You begin to move to meet his hips.  Fuck, he feels good.  You give up trying not to moan. 

"Attagirl,” he says.  “Bad to the bone." 

You push back in rhythm as he rails you with his hands braced on your hips. 

"Love this pussy,” he pants.  Tight ‘n wet. . . starvin’ for me.”

His cockhead hits the right spot one more time, and you begin to unravel and clench around him with a moan you fail to hold in. 

"Let it out baby," he pants as he pummels you through your waves of release.  "loud as you wan-," he cuts himself off with a groan and his strong hands slam your ass into his hips.  Then he pulses enormously inside you, and God, it feels good.  You shouldn't like it, but it's so hot.  You shut your eyes,  afraid to see if anyone's watching.  

“Knew you were bad, but damn,” he says as he catches his breath and you slide forward to let his length fall out.  

As the rush fades, shame sets in. He's so vile. So self-satisfied.   Even a random bystander could see what a menace he was.  How does he prowl around like this doing whatever he wants, and getting away with it?  

He offers you a smoke, but you tell him you have to go.  And you tell yourself you should really stay away from him. 

-

I feel like this relates to a couple of requests.

NW: @tehweeana @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339 @cutesyscreenname

All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione

Holler if I left you odd or you wanna be on (NW or all)

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #night walks!joel #neighbor!joel #creepy!joel #pervy!joel #perv!joel miller #dark!joel miller #dark!joel #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal smut #toxicanonymity ☠️ #nightwalks☠️ #content label

[loliwrites]

The One You Need | two

🎶 I spent most my life thinkin' love was out of reach, so maybe just this once, you could be the one I need, if you let me be the one you need 🎶

pairing: neighbor!joel miller x f!reader  rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni  summary: when you move into town hellbent on keeping everyone at an arm’s length, your neighbor Joel finds his way into your life. warnings/tags: au, neighbor joel, age gap [reader is late 20s/early 30s, Joel is late 40s], hyper-independent reader, a bit of a misandrist mindset, past relationships, men vs boys, sexual tension, dubcon [tagging to be safe] [slight alcohol consumption but neither is drunk], verbal consent received, reader described as female, no other physical description, protective!joel, soft!joel, dare i say ei!joel, no use of y/n. word count: 6.1k part one | joel miller masterlist  a/n: i’ve done my best to tag as thoroughly as possible, but if you think i’ve missed something, let me know. & tagging @hausofobsession because charlie's the best

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It had been three and a half weeks since move in day and a few things had become abundantly clear about your new surroundings.

1. Having your own place rocked. You did what you wanted. You answered to no one. If you wanted to have a one person dance party at two in the morning, you did. No downstairs neighbors hollered and banged on their ceiling – your floor. You could paint the walls whatever color you wanted and tear up the flooring if you had the impulse to. Nothing ever again had to be “renter friendly” .

2. Having your own place was a lot of work. There were any number of things that seemed to break, leak, or hang crooked on any given day and instead of ringing up a landlord and complaining, you could only complain to yourself… And then figure out how to fix the broken, leaky, or wonky thing. And it boggled your mind how dust and grime seemed to manifest out of nothingness. Rooms you don’t even remember stepping foot into had somehow acquired a thin film of dust. You were constantly cleaning something or fixing something, and in the most unfortunate of times, your cleaning of something resulted in you also needing to fix it. If anything, owning a home had reinforced to you that you were indeed the man in your life.

3. Joel Miller was practically the mayor of the neighborhood. Everyone knew him. It was impossible to spend any amount of time in the yard and not be bombarded with Joel Miller, Joel Miller, Joel Miller. While he wasn’t particularly outgoing, he seemed to be there when someone needed help. Whether it was Mrs. Cole with her grocery bags or the young, single mother next door to him who needed someone to put her son’s basketball hoop together. He was an everyman. And though he had helped you in a big way on your first day as part of the neighborhood, you’d spent the past few weeks dodging him as much as possible. 

4. And lastly, you needed his help again. At some point during the week, a foul odor had wafted through the entirety of your home. And short of thinking an animal had crawled up and died within the walls, you began scouring the house with as much disinfectant as your sense of smell would allow. Every inch of every room was scrubbed down, and when that still didn’t get rid of the odor, you figured it was time to call an exterminator. Dehydrated, hungry, and about to snap, you opened the refrigerator and was punched in the face by warm, smelly air that burned your nose more than the disinfectant. Ah, the source. 

How long the fridge hadn’t been working, you didn’t know. What you did know was that all the perishables – namely the dairy products – had certainly perished. And after three hours on the phone with a local handyman you’d found online, his ultimate advice was, “get a new refrigerator”. On a normal day, that was easily said and done. You would’ve ordered one the same day and gotten it delivered the next. Only, you’d spent the week prior throwing an obscene amount of money at new furniture to fill the oodles and oodles of empty space you now found yourself inhabiting.

You had genuinely thought about asking Joel for help that same day. At least to get the fridge out of the house because you were sure the smell wouldn’t leave until the entire appliance did. But when you looked out your window, his truck wasn’t in his driveway. And it didn’t arrive back until late that night. There was no way you were going to burden him so late, so you cracked some windows and told yourself you’d ask him in the morning. But the next morning when you Houdini’d yourself out of bed and made a pot of coffee, his truck was already out of the driveway again. An hour and a half later of throwing everything out and deep cleaning it, the fridge didn’t nearly smell as bad. And after a while, you kind of just let it be.

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Saturday. A day of rest. Except you were standing on Joel’s porch, curling your hand into a fist to rap your knuckles against his door, about to ask him to do a little work. A shred of guilt was growing inside of you. Yes, he had said to reach out if you needed something. He’d been nothing but neighborly. But you knew what you were doing. The thing where you use a boy for your gain but have nothing to offer in return. 

Joel opened his front door, breathing a little heavier than normal with a sheen of sweat over his face and down his neck. He appeared to be completely clothed, but whether or not you’d caught him in a state of undress and he threw this on, you had no idea. From what you’d observed by peeking out your front window, the single mother that lived next door to him seemed to have a little bit of a crush. Perhaps that crush was reciprocated on his end.

“Sorry, am I interrupting something?” You squinted your eyes shut and partially shielded them with your hand.

“What?” He looked down at himself, tugging on his shirt, “no, I just got in from doing yard work out back.” Joel took a deep breath and slowly let it exhale. He remembered when he could be working hard all day and not even feel it. Now there were days when he went up the stairs in his house and got winded. “How ya’ doin?”

“Good, I… I need your help again,”

Joel grinned, something cheeky that you wanted to slap right off his face.

“Don’t look too excited about it. My fridge is on the fritz and it’s too heavy for me to move,”

There was a part of him that wanted to bring to attention that this was the second time in less than a month that you were coming to him for help. Ultimately he thought better of it. The hard line of your lips and narrowness of your eyes clued him in that you were waiting to rebuke anything he might say. Instead he disappeared from the doorway, leaving you utterly confused, only to return a minute later with an old metal toolbox in hand. He stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door shut behind him.

“No, it’s not getting fixed. I’m getting a new one,”

He quirked his eyebrows and looked down at you, “that fridge is only three years old.” He stepped off his porch and started toward your house.

You took a few quick steps to catch up with him, falling in line and then keeping up that pace to stay even with him. It did look like a fairly modern make. “How do you know that?”

“‘Cause I helped Mrs. Wilson get it in her house three years ago. I’d told her to get that fridge because I knew it’d last. Now unless you or Mrs. Wilson did something on it that it’s not meant for, it should still be perfectly fine.”

“What’re you implying?”

Joel shot a wink in your direction, “you have any male suitors over lately? Get a little frisky in the kitchen over dinner?”

Your jaw dropped as you followed Joel up your porch steps. “No! You can see my house from your house. You know I haven’t had anyone over,”

“I don’t spy on my neighbors.” He walked through your door after you’d opened it for him, “are you spyin’ on me?”

“No, I’m not,” you protested, leading him into the kitchen and directing him toward the problem appliance. “But I do know that next-door neighbor of yours, fancies you,”

“Fancies me?”

“Mhm. She twirls her hair every time she talks to you,”

Joel set the toolbox down on the counter and angled his body at the fridge, “does she now?” He wrapped his arms around it, fingers gripping to the sides, and began to shimmy the entire thing out from its little cubbyhole.

The whole display was rather impressive. Despite actively not yearning or searching for a relationship, acts of masculinity did get you going. It was the double-edged sword that lived inside you. Boys – can’t live with them; can’t live without them. Just because you couldn’t rely on men, didn’t mean the desire to sleep with them wasn’t there. But even you knew, that under no circumstances, were you to sleep or have any sort of sexual contact with Joel Miller. Even if he was a rugged display of masculinity. With sinewy muscles that strained beneath his skin when he flexed them. And fingers that surely knew how to wrap around more than just the handle end of a hammer. He was your neighbor. You weren’t going to shit where you ate. But by God if he didn’t look like a delicious meal. 

It’s the reason you picked up so quickly on the tell-tale signs of attraction by Little Miss Next Door Neighbor. She was looking at him the way all women did when they wanted to be swept up by a man. They wanted to be handled, and led, and submissive. Something you could never be. To a man? Absolutely not. 

This argument you were having with no one but yourself was interrupted when Joel called your name with a tone that indicated to you it wasn’t the first or second time he was calling it. You blinked and focused your eyes, finding he was only partially visible – most of him being shrouded by the fridge that he now stood behind.

“S’not working because it’s dirty. Do you have a handheld vacuum?”

Approaching him, you contorted your body around it to sneak a peek at what he was looking at. “It stopped working because it’s dirty?”

“Could be somethin’ faulty inside, but the condenser coils and gasket seals are a mess. My guess is it’s just that,”

“I called some handyman and he told me I needed a brand new fridge,”

Joel peeked his head out to look at you, “why you callin’ some random handyman when you got one ‘cross the street?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, “I was going to but you worked weird hours this week and were never home when I looked out my window.”

“So you are spying on me,” he chuckled. “That’s why you’re jealous of Kelly,”

“Who’s jealous?!” It wasn’t lost on you that your voice rose about an octave or two higher than your normal register. You were sure Joel clocked that, too. “I’m just making sure you know she’s got a big ol’ schoolgirl crush on you,”

“She doesn’t ‘cause we’ve gone out before and it wasn’t a match.”

“Does she know that?” 

“I’d say she does,”

You smirked, having a little fun poking the bear. “How do you know?”

“Because when a woman gets naked and propositions a man for sex, and he says no, it’s usually a pretty definitive sign.”

“Yeah, right,” you laughed incredulously, “no man looks at a woman who’s ready to fuck and says no to her.”

“This man does,” he looked you dead in the eyes and held your gaze. “You got a vacuum?”

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The resoluteness of Joel’s answer had honestly come as a shock. It was something you knew you’d want to circle back on at some point simply because of how insane it seemed. A straight guy turning down sex from a woman? He had to have been the first man in history to do so. The thought kept you busy while your refrigerator kept him busy. Coincidentally, you both became significantly less busy around the same time.

“It works again?”

Joel plugged the fridge back into the wall and stepped out from behind it. He wiped his hands in a rag you’d brought out for him, which just happened to be one of your old, white t-shirts. He didn’t seem to care. Or notice. “Gotta give it a few minutes. See if it’s gettin’ cold,'' he looked up at you, noting how you began to get a little more fidgety, looking around. He wasn’t sure why; perhaps just itching to get him out of your house. “You got any food for dinner?”

“Yeah,” you said half-heartedly, thinking about how you were about to endure yet another day of some sad, canned soup. “I can whip up a can of something,”

He shook his head and waved you off, “come by tonight. I’ll fix you a meal,”

“You just fixed my fridge.”

“Maybe,” he smiled.

“I should be cooking you a meal,”

He shook his head vehemently, “I haven’t eaten chicken noodle soup since I was about nine, and I don’t aim to start up again.” He pulled open the fridge door, set his hands on one of the shelves and decided it was slightly colder than it had been just a couple minutes prior. “It should be good to go now,” he loaded up his toolbox and locked it up. “Swing by around seven. If you stand me up, I’m coming back over here and breaking the damn thing,”

“Joel,”

“Seven.”

With that, he was out before you could protest again. Somehow both of you knew you’d be showing up to his house that night. Annoyance bubbled up at your surface with the realization that not only did you know you weren’t going to disobey him, but he knew it too. The few hours between him leaving and you showing back up on his porch for dinner had been spent sulking. Whatever this was becoming – you weren’t sure what just friendship looked like with a boy because no single, unattached boy you’d ever met only wanted friendship – was getting to be too much. There needed to be a line drawn in the sand. You needed to draw the line in the sand. And more importantly, after the line was drawn, you and Joel needed to be securely on opposite sides of it.

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But curse this man and his ability to put ideas in your head. Horrible, awful, domestic ideas. The sorts of ideas that made you think this image of him: on the back porch with a beer in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other, a dish towel slung over his shoulder for quick access, flipping over and inspecting a couple steaks, chewing on his bottom lip as he pondered how close to medium they were getting… was an image you could get used to seeing.

It was how all boys in the past had gotten you.

They wooed you with their little acts here and there of masculinity. Or their wit. Or just cute looks. They made you believe that they were different. That they were honest, and open, and evolved. And you’d get sucked in and follow the white rabbit down the hole. For a while it’d all be good. You would actually believe that you had found an evolved man that you could coexist with and be happy. But after the momentary bliss, you’d come to realize that the wool had been pulled over your eyes. You’d been deceived and lied to. The boy could not manage his own emotions, let alone understand yours. You’d sit in the anger that you betrayed your sense of self to make room for this boy, and only when you’d talked yourself far enough off the ledge, you’d explode like a time bomb. Afterwards, a tiny piece of you would be the only thing left to go around picking up all the other little fragments of yourself. And you’d put yourself back together with tape and a promise that you wouldn’t ever allow another to break you like that again. That is, until another boy found his way to you and made you think he was different. And thus the cycle continued.

“You have family out here?” Joel looked up from the barbecue and took a sip of his beer while he waited for you to answer.

Taking a step forward and buying some time by swigging down a gulp of your beer, you shook your head. “They’re all in California still. Just had to get away. What about you?”

He nodded and closed the grill, “Sarah’s a few hours away at school and her mom’s ‘bout a half hour away. But my brother’s here. I work with him actually,”

“You must be close with him,”

Joel nodded absently.

“But no wife for Joel Miller,” you smiled, half-hidden by your bottle. “I take it no girlfriend either since apparently you don’t like getting laid,”

He laughed. It was the first real, hearty laugh you’d heard from him. It seemed to shake his whole body and he opened the grill back up and plucked the steaks off it, depositing them on an awaiting plate. “I like getting laid. It might be my favorite thing to do,”

“That’s why I think you’re full of shit. Turning down, what’s her name…”

“Kelly…”

“You’re telling me,” you approached Joel slowly, got right up close to him, and dragged a delicate finger over one of his shoulders and down his bicep to prove a point. “A woman… an attractive woman, I’d say… stripped down in front of you, told you to have your way with her, and you said no thanks,”

Joel watched your finger. His tongue poked out of his mouth quickly to lick his lips before he flashed his eyes back to you, obviously finding great pleasure that his gaze in this close proximity made you avert your own eyes downward. “Exactly,”

You half-smiled and shook your head as you took a step back, “bullshit.”

He shut off the grill and scooped the plate up. “Explain to me why you think that’s bullshit,” he meandered past you and pulled his back door open, allowing you the chance to walk in first before he followed you in.

Instinctively, you progressed into the kitchen, where two stools at the counter were awaiting with place settings. You perched in one while Joel set the steaks down by you and continued to the oven where he pulled out a tray of roasted vegetables. “Because you’re a guy,”

“Man,” he corrected and started placing food on your plate.

“A man,” you mocked. When he finished giving you food and moved onto his, “thank you. And men don’t do that. They chase pleasure. They get their dick wet and they move on down the line, leaving a path of destruction in their wake,”

This time, Joel waited to respond until he was seated next to you. He clinked his bottle against yours, “thanks for coming over.”

“To be honest, I was actually afraid you’d blow up my fridge and I can’t really afford a new one right now,”

“But I’m gonna have to disagree with you,” he focused on his plate and cut into his steak. Seemingly pleased with the degree with which it was cooked, he took a first bite. “Men don’t only care, as you so delicately put, about getting their dick wet.”

“Joel, come on, you know…”

“Boys do. For sure. A boy would look at you, a beautiful woman, and see a direct path to his pleasure. Absolutely. And a boy probably wouldn’t care too much about whether or not you were getting as much out of it as he was. ‘Cause he’s getting his, right?”

You nodded, silently pushing a mixture of steak and veggies into your mouth, enraptured with where he was going to take this conversation. And slightly unable to concentrate past the point of having heard him call you beautiful. 

“Men don’t do that. A man would look at you and see that yes, you’re a beautiful woman. But he’d also see that you’ve got a helluva brain, and you’re witty, and funny, and more than a little stubborn. He’d see that you hold yourself and everyone else to a high standard, and he’d want to meet it. And when he slept with you, he’d want to make sure you were getting more out of it than he was,”

Awe-struck was the only word to describe how you felt. Was a guy actually verbalizing everything you already believed? That there was a difference between boys and men. And that most guys thought they were men simply because of their age, when you knew age meant nothing in defining a man. 

Joel took a deep breath and finished off his beer, “I turned Kelly down because I knew if I slept with her I’d be taking on a lot more than I wanted to with her. And despite whatever your experience with men might be, this one’s not out to leave a path of destruction behind him.”

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What were these complicated feelings inside of you? Someone who prided themselves on being emotionally intelligent and level-headed and yet… you were spinning like a top. On the one hand you wanted to keep everyone a safe arm’s length away, and on the other you wanted Joel to scale the walls you’d constructed and fortified around yourself. For a long time there was an odd sense of accomplishment at how tall and strong you’d managed to build them. Look at how good they were at keeping people out. But now there was someone in front of you that you thought you wanted to let in – only in constructing your walls, you never put in a gate. And that ribbon of apathy, and the moments of enduring loneliness, maybe it was all self-inflicted.

Who knew how to hurt you better than you?

The beer helped dull those thoughts. Finishing off the second as the conversation meandered through Joel’s last relationship. A topic that would’ve given you supreme pause, and yet he recounted it with ease as if he were just a court reporter, tasked with jotting down the facts. He even acknowledged his role in the dissolution of that relationship. His eyes seemed to glaze over and travel to a distant land as he described all the ways he didn’t measure up. How he was never quite what that woman wanted. And how he had no idea how to become what she wanted. On the flip side, he admitted she’d started off as someone that only saw the moon with him. She’d kept some nights from being too cold and lonely. Only when a certain amount of time passed, did she speak up and sort of declare a relationship was there. 

That conversation ended when a third bottle was grabbed for each and moved to the living room. Both on the couch, you with your back pressed up against one of the arm’s of it. Your knees bent with feet planted securely on the cushion. And Joel sitting as close as he could with your legs creating a physical boundary between you. Even his thigh covered your toes, as if seeing how close to the boundary he could get. Despite feeling like this was someone you wanted to let through your walls, however temporarily, your brain still managed to cut off any inkling from your heart – using your body as the vehicle to keep everyone at bay.

“Hmm?” Joel hummed and grabbed your attention back to the present. “‘S’not fair leaving me hanging after I just spilled all my gory relationship details. What about yours?”

You shook your head, trying to appear innocent, “there’s not much to say.”

“Say anything,”

Staring at him, you took a deep breath and a generous sip of your new beer. Then feeling on the good side of buzzed, you stretched forward to move for the coffee table. Seeing your plight and the awkwardness of the angle given that you weren’t inclined to lower your legs to make the action smoother, Joel leaned forward, gently took the bottle from your hands and set it on the table for you.  

“He was nice at the start. A bit older than me. I thought it meant we’d be on the same wavelength for once, y’know? That he’d outgrown the frat boy, tool bag phase and moved into a more evolved one. It got physical quick and it was… awful.” You glanced down at your hands, remembering for the first time in a while about what sleeping with that guy felt like – a trial run with hari-kari, complete and self-inflicted betrayal.

With your pause and sensing obvious discomfort, Joel reached across his body and got a loose grip on your shin. He gave it a soft squeeze that felt like permission to stop if you were so inclined. But it didn’t hurt like it used to; as if you had been able to remove yourself from the equation and were now just recounting the plot of some terrible film you’d seen once.

Shrugging and with a half-smile he couldn’t place, you looked back up at Joel, “he had a good time.”

“Was it ever good for you?” He mumbled as though he didn’t actually want to hear the answer. And because you hadn’t reacted in any way to his hand on your shin, he took a chance and used that grip to lower your leg across his lap.

“No, but I’m a helluva actress.”

He raised his eyebrows and absently took hold of your other leg and lowered that one across his lap, too. Now the literal barrier you’d put between you had been carefully circumvented. “He never stopped to figure it out?”

You shook your head, “he was getting his, Joel. See, it’s hard to figure out when you’re dealing with a boy. They hide it well,”

Joel reached forward and set his half-empty beer next to yours on the coffee table. When he reclined back to his previous position, his hands migrated to your feet and squeezed them with a familiarity of an old married couple who’d been practicing this dance for decades.

“It ended two and a half years ago, so a distant memory,”

He only nodded. You thought he’d have something about that. Something like what’ve you been doing for two years without a man. But maybe he figured you were doing just fine. Probably better. So he only squeezed your feet again before his hands migrated a little further north to your knees, fingers just barely dipping between your thighs that you’d managed to keep pressed together. Finally he asked:

“No fillers in the meantime?”

It made you laugh. Any number of innuendo could be applied to his question. It was also at this point that you felt your resolve fading. The will to keep him at bay becoming less of a conscious effort. “No fillers. Not really my style,”

“Not a one night stand kinda girl?” He smirked and shot a playful glance at you. There was no chance he was unaware that the press of your thighs together had lessened. Any further action of his hand would’ve resulted in him going wherever he wanted, however he wanted. But he didn’t. His hand remained where it was, gaining no further purchase and adding no extra pressure.

“Would you be if sex was never good for you?”

He chuckled and threw his head back against the couch, “fair enough.” He shook his head, absently staring at the ceiling. Only when he’d gathered his thoughts and words did he shift his gaze back to you. “People are simple creatures,” there was a slight pause and though you opened your mouth to refute that, he continued first. “I mean the biology part. It’s not hard to get a woman off,”

“Okay, hotshot. Let me go get a horn for you to toot a little louder,”

He grinned widely, showing off nearly every tooth in his mouth. The look made you smile as well – like a kid getting caught opening presents before Christmas. “There’s a lot of hard tasks in this world,” he pursed his lips and shrugged, “making a woman come isn’t one of them.”

The heat you’d felt rising in your chest and neck after he’d successfully moved your mattress into your bedroom was returning. Only this time, you felt it settle in your cheeks, and you wondered if he was aware of it. Your eyes were glued to him, wide, trying to pick up on as much visual information they could get. What you found was Joel adding the slightest of pressure between your knees to spread your thighs just enough for him to pivot on the couch and face you squarely.

You swallowed down a lump in your throat, eyes flicking over the sight of him: the way graying curls moved across his forehead, or the way his eyes never left yours. Not even for a second. Not even when he was positioning himself closer to you, kneeling back on his shins with his thighs nudging yours upward at an angle. He smiled softly, a gentle thing that instantly put you at greater ease, and leaned in closer to you, planting his hands on the couch on either side of your chest.

“Can I kiss you?” His focus wandered down to your lips when they parted. 

In all your years of life, no one had ever asked that, and it took you aback, scrambling to make sense of the English you believed you were fluent in. But you nodded quickly and assumed that would’ve been the green light. Probably would’ve for most people, but as you were coming to learn, Joel wasn’t quite like most people.

He smiled and bowed his head, taking a breath to gather himself. In the meantime, his hair was close to your nose and the muskiness of his scent was everything you thought and wanted it to be. He raised his head and looked at you again, his eyes practically pleading. “Can we make that verbal?”

“Yes,” you exhaled. But when it didn’t result in his lips meeting yours with haste, you tried again. “Kiss me,”

Like a fire ignited under him, Joel closed the rest of the gap between you. Hands drifting to your cheeks, he cupped your head with the most practiced of ease and pressed his mouth to yours, first with closed lips to test the waters before the next action was the parting of his lips on yours. His tongue searched for entrance into your mouth, finding it when a soft breath was exhaled.

While trying not to talk yourself out of this moment, you also tried to think about the last time you’d been kissed like this. Or kissed at all, period. But like this, with want, and desire, and passion. Like all of Joel was made for this exact moment: to kiss you with the intention of every fiber of his being; to make your brain go foggy and blur out everything that did not add to this need. It was as if he could sense you slipping away from him, focused elsewhere instead of letting yourself buy into this, and he recaptured you with a soft bite to your lower lip. He re-positioned his hands; one at the side of your neck and jaw, and the other gripping onto your hip, adjusting you further until your ass was pressed up against his crotch. 

He forced himself to pull back, slight enough to be able to speak but still close enough to press his forehead against yours. “Stay with me. Don’t go somewhere else,” 

Your instinct was to protest, that you weren’t about to leave, but realized he’d picked up on the thing you were wondering about. The thing no guy had ever picked up on, or cared to, before. The distance your brain was willing to create between itself and your body.

“Joel,” you whispered, sounding slightly more needy than you would’ve hoped. 

“I know,” he murmured back. His hand ditched your hip for a split second and took hold of your wrist. Led it up over his shoulder and to the back of his neck, until the backs of your fingers brushed along the ends of his hair. Without fail, you softly clutched into it. “Stay with me. Right here,” his hand went back to your hip and your lips reconnected. Open-mouthed with his tongue pressing into yours. He tilted his head to the side and groaned into your mouth, sending a vibration down your throat, past your chest, through your stomach, and straight to your core.

You hummed back into his mouth, for once closing your eyes and letting yourself live in the feeling his lips could administer. The heat that had already been living in your cheeks seemed to amplify with the size of him around you. His broad shoulders meeting a wide chest that seemed to dwarf you. Large hands that effortlessly cupped around your hip or engulfed your cheek. He was everywhere at once and when he ducked his head lower to kiss your neck, landing a love bite on your jugular, it took extra measures to keep yourself grounded and there for him.

Your hand slowly released the hair at the nape of his neck, and slid down over his shoulder to his chest, followed the seam at the side of his t-shirt until your fingertips reached the hem at the bottom. With fingers tucking beneath the fabric and meeting the skin at his oblique, you felt him exhale a hot breath against your neck, his hips shifting beneath you. As you ran your hand north, you took stock of the muscles your fingers passed, and how while still present and firm, they’d grown less pronounced with age. A softness to his body that he’d earned the right to after years of hard labor. Or so you assumed by the feeling of calloused hands on you. 

Gauging what you wanted from him as your hands worked their way upward, pushing his shirt up with them, he groaned not wanting to take his lips off your neck, but doing so anyway to sit back. With a swift motion, he tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor unceremoniously. He wiped his hand down over his mouth and shook his head as if in disbelief as he pressed his hands back into the couch on either side of you, “god, you’re fucking gorgeous.”

His eyes danced their way over every feature on your face as if trying to commit them to memory, before they drifted lower, down to where your hips met his. But all this unadulterated looking sparked a flame of timidness inside you, and your instinct to quell the nerves was to grab for him, urging him back to you. If he was busy with his lips on you – any part of you – it’d keep his eyes from boring holes into you. His lips met yours again with fervor, this time forcing his tongue into your mouth. A helpless moan floated out of your throat and Joel responded by laying a hand at your neck. Fingers around it but applying no pressure.

“Bed. Please,” you whispered so low you wondered if you had wanted him to hear it or not. 

But it was like he was attuned to you and your body more than any previous guy had been. And in hearing your request, he moved his lips back to your neck and you felt a smile spread across his face, pressing against your skin.

“Please tell me you’re not drunk,” he mumbled against your skin. So tight that it distorted his words and had you humming for instant clarification. He lifted his head and looked back down at you, as if his eyes alone would be able to figure out the answer. “Drunk?”

You ran your hands up to his chest, “on two and a half beers?”

“That’s not an answer,” he let out a breath and drifted his hand from your neck, down to your chest where he gave one of your breasts a squeeze. You noticed at the same moment, he reached around to your ass but avoided it to simply adjust himself in his jeans.

“I’d have to be drunk to want to sleep with you?”

“I reckon it’d help,” he grinned boyishly and bent in again for another tongue-led kiss as though he couldn’t help himself.

You grabbed either side of his face in your hands and curled your fingers into his beard. “Not drunk, just want you,” there was a lack of movement on his end and you weren’t sure if he was short-circuiting or trying to figure out if someone your size could indeed get drunk on two and a half beers. Either way, you tapped his ribs, “now, if possible.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #almost there in part 3 #the one you need #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #au #neighbor!joel

[chaotic-mystery]

140 Characters Or Less | J.M.

Pairing || Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary || This is part two to this and I’m so excited to share it with you all. Joel asks you to help him sign up for Twitter after that night he called you to get you off like the pervy neighbor he is. It’s just Twitter, right?

Warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY! Minors dni! Reader watches porn, (wxw & wxm) age gap (not specified but Joel is well older than reader.) dirty talk, joel being a perv, reader is a perv, masturbation with an audience of one, pet names (slut, baby doll, good girl, shit like that.) mentions of choking, spanking, joel is made aware of your burner account on twitter you use to watch porn, talking you through it. || Word count: 3.3k

Showing Joel how to use twitter wasn’t on your bingo card for the year but he insisted he should keep up with his favorite football team and players. When you jokingly offered to help set up his account you didn’t think he’d take you up on that offer but here you were sitting at his kitchen table with your laptop, trying to sign him up. “Joel, do you need me to write down your username and password in case you forget?” Your eyes looked up at Joel who had one hand on the back of your seat while he leaned over you, his other hand resting on the table. He was staring hard at the screen as he thought about it before answering, “Yeah, go ahead and write it down sweet pea. Just in case I need it.” Joel looked down at you and caught you staring at him, your face warming with embarrassment. 

He chuckled softly, shaking his head while standing up straight to walk to the kitchen, rummaging through the junk drawer to find paper and a pen for you.

“You have to set your profile picture and header on your own, I can’t do that for you.” You hollered from the other room, looking up your own twitter to follow yourself before following a few of his favorite sports teams.

Joel moseyed his way back to you and his knuckles brushed against your shoulder as he placed the pen and paper in front of you. He knew what he was doing, the subtle touches here and there made your head go back to that night he called you and made you get off to his words. 

“So um- your log-in info is right here and I went ahead and followed some of your favorite teams but I don’t know if I got them all so you can do that later.” Joel looked at the following list and noticed something all the way down at the bottom. “Who’s that pretty lil thing right ‘ere?” His finger pointed to your small picture on the screen and a smirk played on his face. He knew it was you considering he was the one who took the photo that was your profile photo. It was from the barbeque Joel had at his house a few months ago. He came up and had his phone in hand, asking you to give him a smile as he pointed the camera your way. Your cheeks were stuffed with a hotdog and the corner of your mouth painted yellow from the mustard, but you looked happy and that was beautiful. 

“I’ll have you know I’m very funny on twitter, thank you! I may tweet a little too much but it’s fine, you’ll like it when I send you funny tweets.” You teased, getting up from the table as you shut your laptop to put away. Joel wanted so badly to grab your hips and pin you down on the table and kiss you until you couldn’t breathe, but neither one of you had talked about that night since it happened. Partially because you weren’t sure how to bring it up but also what if he was embarrassed and wanted to pretend like it didn’t happen? “Thanks again for doin’ that for me darlin’, couldn’t have done it withoutcha.” His arms lifted for a hug and with one movement you were engulfed by Joel, pressed tightly against his chest. You could smell the faint scent of his cologne that was wearing off by now but it was just enough to make you aware he put some on today, probably because he was seeing you.

“Alright well, if you need anything let me know. I already downloaded the app on your phone so you just have to log in. Call me if you uh-if you need me--er I mean need my help...not in that way I mean-" The words were falling out faster than you could process and shut up for two seconds to think about how to word it.

"Don't worry, I gotcha." Your eyes locked onto his as you pulled away from his hug.

Joel giving you a quick wink before he walked you to the front door, his hand on the small of your back the entire way. On your short walk down the pavement back to your house, you wondered if he was still on the front porch watching, and a tiny part of you hoped he was. By the time you got home you had already gotten three tweets sent to you from him, all stupid dad jokes.

With the sun setting and drowning your room with yellow tones, you crawled out of bed to find some food. All afternoon you and Joel sent tweets back and forth to each other until you fell asleep for a small cat nap which quickly became a two hour sleep. As you rummaged through the pantry for something to eat, your phone buzzed with another notification from Twitter. Joel. Finally you landed on cereal to eat when you grabbed the box and poured yourself a bowl, sitting down at the table to look at what he sent. Of course it was another meme but it made you laugh, something to do with evil kermit and sports. Though you didn't quite get it, you responded with a laughing face.

"Sweetheart you in here?" Your dad hollered from down the hall and you jumped, spilling some of your milk out of the bowl and scurrying to lock your phone so he couldn't see who was on the screen. "Yeah dad I'm in here eating!" You groaned at the mess on the table and went to get a paper towel from the kitchen when your dad strolled in, tossing his work stuff in the chair next to your bowl. "How are you honey?" He asked and pecked the top of your head in passing as you made your way back to the mess. "I'm okay, I uh.." you hesitated about telling him what you did for Joel today, wondering if he'd question why a man well into his adulthood needs a twitter at this point in his life. "I tried mowing the grass today but I couldn't get it to start." Of course it sounded ridiculous but your dad wouldn't question you doing something like that for him.

"Oh that damn piece of shit. I've been needing to get a new one but maybe I'll give Joel a call later and see if I can borrow his, he's got a real nice mower."

"Yeah, I mean you could do that. His lawn looks super nice, keeps up well."

Somewhere in there felt like a entendre and you almost blew it by laughing. "I'll give him a call later tonight. I got called into work so I won't be home 'til tomorrow. You gonna be okay alone?" He asks, getting a glass of water from the faucet. You would invite Joel over if it weren't for the fact your dad could come home at any time, completely unannounced. He was notorious for doing that.

"I'll be okay, just gonna lay low tonight I think." You had to make sure to not sound too eager for him to leave. Maybe you'd call Joel again and this time you'd get to be as loud as you want, show him the set of lungs you have on you.

"Alright, I gotta get going sweetheart. Love ya. Lock the front door and sweet dreams." Your dad walked over to grab his things and hugged you quickly before walking to the front door and out he went. Picking up your phone and going back to twitter, you read a funny joke you thought Joel would appreciate and wanted to send it to him. That's weird...I thought I followed him back? you thought to yourself. You couldn't find his name anywhere as you were trying to share it. Not thinking about it too much, you searched his name and found his twitter once more, clicking follow. You sent the tweet and ran your hands over your face, thinking maybe was the time to take a much needed shower now that you had some peace and quiet. Leaving your phone on the counter, you walked to the bathroom and started your water.

Joel's POV

My phone went off again, she must've sent me somethin' on twitter. It's a message from an account I don't know. Who the hell is this? I clicked the profile to see who it was and it's someone named "NightAngel". They sent me a message of a dad joke and said it sounded like the one from earlier but the only person I've been telling dad jokes to is...oh fuck. Is this her second account or somethin'? I went to the likes of her profile and sweet jesus. Did she know this was public? All of this porn? I keep scrolling to see what else she's liked and it's all filthy. Girls kissing girls, scissoring, girls getting railed from behind, choking, blowjobs, everything. there's even audios of men whimpering? Didn't know that was a thing now. I'd be lyin' if I said my cock didn't get hard just thinkin' about her in her bed getting off to this. I unzip my pants as I sit on the couch and run my thumb over the swollen head...She's such a nasty girl.

While you were showering, you were completely unaware you in fact sent Joel something from your burner account you use for porn. You dried off and got dressed, noticing you had a few missed calls from Joel and some messages. Confused and a little alarmed, you called him as quickly as possible.

The line rang for what felt like forever before he picked up, "Darlin' are you busy? Think you could uh- come help me with somethin' at the house?" He spoke slowly as if he wasn't telling you the whole truth.

You furrowed your brows and looked at yourself in the mirror in front of you for a second as you thought about what he could want you down there for. "Uh yeah I can come down and help jus' give me a second." You swore you could hear the smile on his face when he said goodbye, but there no time to waste. Quickly locking the front door behind you, you closed your jacket tighter around you, the almost gone sun making it a little cooler out. Joel was outside on the porch waiting with a hand on his hip and his knee popped out. That man has such a way of looking sexy no matter what he's doing. Slightly glistening of sweat on his biceps, his face coming into view as you walked up the porch steps. You were looking at him in confusion, waiting for him to start talking. "Is everything okay? You sounded weird on the phone." You asked and followed closely behind him into the living room, his laptop open to Twitter.

"I jus' don't know what this is and I wanna make sure it's not a bot or anything." He trailed off and sat next to you, opening his messages. You were all focused until you seen your burner account, right there on the screen. Blown up and on full brightness. Suddenly your mouth was like the desert and you forgot how to speak. Joel looked over at you from the corner of his eye to see your reaction and went straight to your likes. "They sent me a message earlier about some joke and I guess I'm jus' a little confused because," he said and scooted closer, putting his arm around you on the back of the couch, "the only person who I've been talkin' to on twitter is you." The last part of his sentence rattled throughout your entire body. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This wasn't happening, there was no way this was happening right now. How the fuck did you even get on your burner account- your dad. He scared you so badly you must've switched profiles when he scared you and you locked your phone in a hurry.

"That's um- that's not a bot..Joel." Your voice went soft and you covered your face in embarrassment, completely warm all over with nerves. How could you be so dumb? "Don't be embarrassed bunny, it happens to us all." But it doesn't, does it? "Ya know, when I put the pieces together that it was your account, my cock got so fucking hard. You're a dirty bird, 100%. I got myself off jus' thinkin' about how you touch yourself watching these. Were these the videos you were watching that night I called you, baby doll?" He shifted in his seat and cleared his throat, his warm hand rubbing the back of your arm gingerly. The fire in your tummy was back, the same one from the other night, you knew what was happening. Sheepishly you uncovered your face, "Yeah, these were the ones. I didn't mean to send it from this I- Dad came in and scared me and I spilled my cereal-" Joel cut you off with a chuckle and your head snapped to his direction. "What's funny? I'm so embarrassed Joel oh my fucking god."

He leaned up slowly and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his chest. Joel's lips meet your temple and he kisses your skin in between his words, "Baby it's okay. You can either go and we can pretend like this never happened and I'll never bring it up again, or.." As soon as he said "or" your eyes shot open and your heart began racing. What did he have up his sleeve this time? "Or you can show me how you touch yourself to these. Completely up to you bunny." The last kiss after his sentence was a little rougher and a little longer than the other ones. He was making your panties flood with excitement, hanging on to every single word that came from his mouth.

Without saying anything you looked at Joel in his beautiful coffee colored eyes and grazed your bottom lip with your tongue slowly. "You really wanna see that?" He looked back at you almost like you offended him by questioning him. "Abso-fucking-lutely I do." He whispered and grabbed your face, crashing his lips against yours. It would be completely inappropriate to sit here and touch yourself for him but fuck did you want to. You pulled away from Joel's lips long enough to tell him to pick a video. Joel looked at you with low eyes and groaned lowly while he landed on the first video in your likes. A video of two girls in a bathtub, kissing at first but it quickly moved to more. Shorts hitting the floor and your panties tugged to the side, you leaned back still in Joel's arms with your fingers finding your clit that was coated in your excitement. Your soft whimpers filled his ears over the moans from the video and soon enough his eyes were watching your hand closely, pleasuring yourself watching these two girls scissoring in the bath. His eyes never once went to the screen, only on you. He wanted to see how good this made you feel, how you rubbed delicate circles over your sensitive clit.

"You're so beautiful bunny oh my god. What about this one, hm? This one make your pussy jus' tingle?" He sat up and scrolled to the one of the guy with his hands tied behind his back in a kitchen chair while the girl rides him and chokes him for dear life. "You think about doin' this to me when you watch this, pretty girl?" He stayed sitting up to watch closer and your eyes roll closed at imagining choking him and making him beg to cum. "Yes, sir I think about making you beg me to let you cum inside me. I'd pull your hair and make you hold off on cumming until you couldn't stand it, cum dripping out of me." Your body jolted and felt like you were on fire but in the best way possible. Joel was sat there practically drooling and grunting all over himself and holding back from interfering to do it himself.

The video changes again, this time to one of a POV from a girl getting eaten out in an empty elevator. Joel groaned and his eyes rolled back, covering his mouth when it started playing. You noticed and gave him a smirk. "What's the matter Mr. Miller, not into public sex?" You teased and circled your clit with the two fingers you dipped inside your entrance for slick. Your mouth agape from pleasure when suddenly Joel's tongue was dancing with yours inside your mouth. His hand squeezed your cheeks while holding your face still. "I'm startin' to think you're more of a perv than me." He moaned, clicking to the next video on the laptop, a guy sucking on this girls nipples while he spanks her and fucks her. "That's my favorite one Joel, fuck don't- don't touch it." You grunted and your leg subconsciously folded up, foot dangling in the air just a tad.

He leans back against the arm of the chair just watching in awe. The girl that drives him crazy was here on his couch telling him about her favorite porn videos. Curiosity got the best of him and he couldn't fight the burning question any longer. "Why's this your favorite, baby? Is it the way he's fuckin' her?" He guessed but he was wrong. You smirked and looked him dead in the eye as you rubbed your clit faster, "It's because he looks like you. I found this months ago and that's what I've been getting off to when I think of you- oh fuck Joel." You wailed out and felt the pressure in your tummy. Quickly his head snapped towards the screen and his mouth fell open once he noticed the guy in the video. "You aren't going anywhere, you're mine." His strong hand found your throat as he leaned back and kissed your cheek repeatedly.

"Show me how you cum when you think about me fucking you baby. Let me hear you scream, scream my fuckin' name like the good girl I know you are. Play with your sweet pretty pussy, don't stop slut."

His words mixed with the video was enough to send you well over the edge. Your legs clamped shut as well as your eyes, not a squeak coming from your mouth. It felt like the world was crashing around you, that's how hard this orgasm was hitting you. Joel grunted as he held you against him, letting your body jolt and ride out your high.

"That's a good girl. shh, it's okay, I've got you."

He held you in his arms until you felt strong enough to unfold your body and catch your breath, looking at Joel with tired eyes and a giggle followed.

"What..just happened, Joel?" Your laughs get a little louder and Joel chuckles along with you while he shut the laptop and the video ceased to make noise.

"You, my sweet girl, just showed me how you watch porn and get off." A kiss planted on your forehead as he reaches behind you to tug the blanket off the back of the couch and cover your body with it.

A soft silence filled the air as you laid back into his arms and closed your eyes only for a moment to recover and get some energy back. "You don't want me to follow you back on that account, do you? Feel like that's invadin' your space, darlin'."

"No no, definitely don't want you to follow it back." You giggle a little to make it sound a little less serious. "Just forget it ever came to your attention." Joel hummed in agreeance and said he'd delete the message, but did he?

Or did he save it for later for something bigger?

#joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #the last of us #joel the last of us #joel x reader #joel tlou #neighbor!joel #perv!joel miller #joel miller fic #the last of us hbo #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller imagine #hbo tlou #hbo the last of us #pedro pascal joel miller #joel miller pedro pascal

[pascalsbby]

Hot Single Dad of The Neighborhood

Summary: It used to be benzos to take off the sharp pain of the day, this life- now it’s Joel fucking Miller.

Warnings: mdni, 18+, eventual smut (c’mon…wouldn’t be a celebration without it)

This is satire. Kinda. It’s me laughing at myself & my love for this fictional man. But you’re laughing along, because you get it. Let me know what you think!!

This is a part of my 700 follower’s celebration. Read the detailed description here 🩷

It all started with this:

Let me set the scene:

It’s 9:45pm on a Friday, and this is better than having the house to yourself. This is the time of week where we tuck our children (and husbands) in, and we gather around this shitty glass table as the tales are whispered through. It starts off with your usual: sugar-salted peach margaritas turned to two, a joint, and then the riveting conversation of, “now who would leave that dick?”

We call ourselves ‘Joel Miller’s Neighborhood Wives’. It’s a mouthful. But we like a mouthful. So- sit down, have a smoke, a wee little drink, and listen to the goss.

The neighborhood wives (Kat, Kali, Chloe on the right of you, Kit, Vic, Bug & Angela to the left) are all cuddled around Kat’s patio, enacting a dramatic retelling of ‘who the fuck is Joel Miller?’ Himself, somewhere across the street, wondering why every now and then he hears a chorus of squeals. Then, he smiles to himself and wishes he had the guts to grace y’all with his presence. He’s not invited though.

This is the first time you’ve hung out with them, and maybe the last, tbh. No way this Miller guy is worth all this fuss.

And, action.

It used to be benzos to take off the sharp pain of the day, this life- now it’s Joel fucking Miller. We take whatever we can get from him, between when we hear his truck two streets over, lightly running across the hollow wooden floors to put on our slippers. The low growl from his truck pipes (or yours) grows louder as he turns the corner onto the street. We watch as he drops out of the truck and thuds against the concrete, slamming that damn door closed. Probably how he lets all his ladies know he’s home. Our eyes follow his form, tapping all the way up to his front door before he takes those goddamn cowboy boots off. We stumble out of the front door and check the mail. Well, only for the third time that morning. What? We are all always expecting something, alright? You catch what you can before his shoulders disappear through the blue-chipped front door, right back into his house. We close the mailboxes simultaneously and sadly drip back to our front doors. No hello’s today.

Sometimes later in the night before supper, you’ll see the door shaped hole widen in the darkness, warmth boasting from behind as Joel’s form takes up the light, smiling as he pats Tommy on his way inside. Tommy usually drinks too much and stays the night, so we sit back and tend to the family. We ride our delusions in the meantime. Then, the cycle continues. It’s like… the cycle of life. You know?

He seems like your typical gentleman, Joel. A Southern-raised man, one who would let you be his nuclear-family sweetheart. Cook for him, clean for him, spread *it open for him, let his massive fucking hands feel any part of you they wanted. Especially if that meant they were to explore more under the stiff shirtwaist dresses. Or in. We would all rather him in.

Spread, what, exactly? Oh yeah dude, sorry. I meant: *Cunt, asshole, any part of you he wanted to look down the middle of and split open, really. We aren’t shy about it when it comes to talking to each other. Obviously.

The aforementioned Tommy?

That’s his brother, probably about seven or eight years younger. He is a beau too, but he doesn’t seem the type to really fuck it out of ya. I mean sure, he has done his fair share of fucking around with the moms’ of the neighborhood, too. Bug even whispered a tale of Tommy going after those mom’s college daughters, swooping in to help clean the pool before setting them gently on the concrete and swiping their panties to the side as he buried his face in them. He always made sure they were at least 22. This is only moments after the pretty younger girls make their way back into the pretty, white iron gates afront their parents' houses.

Fair enough, he has the same curls wrapping down the base of his neck, kissing the skin beneath them. He has the ‘Miller Smirk’ - what the town wives call it. The Miller brothers are known throughout the neighborhood for their distinct brand of charm. Both possess an effortless charisma that begs you to get on your knees. But they never let us. Sad. Their shared features aren’t few, but none are as similar and charming as their half-smiles. Grins always slightly tilted, as if they were sharing an inside joke with each other but not the rest of the world.

So of course Tommy is desired to an extent, physically, of course. Emotionally? Probably not. But shit, you’d have both if you could. Paris looks great this time of year. Anyways.

He wasn’t the Miller we all grappled over and wanted so deeply, despite a metal band around our fingers (or not). His competency and willingness. They way he looks at his daughter. Oh yeah…girl dad. The way he looks in the Texas heat. His back, flexed and sweating through his too-tight shirt. “The day that man wears a white shirt and it’s over 90 degrees- I will drop fucking dead. Someone take care of the kid for me,” Kat.

There’s been one story about Joel that is retold over and over like it’s fuckin’ Genesis Chapter 3, creation and all. The story on how, why, we all got here to begin with. No one can agree who first told it. Angela or Bug, shit…was it Chloe? Okay, okay, it really doesn’t matter at the moment. Just listen.

It was late August, three years ago. Hot and dripping with the dead-end heat of summer. Almost as if it was giving all it could before the last of it sputtered out and away, knowing Fall was right around the corner to take its place- happy to finally have a rest. A for sale sign that had been smiling at you for months was suddenly gone, the dirt still fresh from where it had been happily ripped. Joel Miller, Mr. Texas cowboy himself showed up one day as the crickets started singing, he kissed the cicadas goodbye for the season, unloaded the Miller Construction van and then he never left. A few weeks later after he and his brother fixed up the place, a little girl was running up the concrete to the front door. But there was no wife.

When he moved into the neighborhood, a new era dawned. It was one where the wives would rather mow the lawn, take the trash cans out on Wednesday nights, and tend to the long-forgotten garden. No really, all of our gardens are pristine now. Because somewhere not too far away there was a beautiful, muscular man with a mustache you wanted to wet, and God, his nose. A nose that was prominent even a few houses down, sun setting behind as it sat there strong and just uh- you knew a nose like that would be tickling your clit while he used his tongue other places. Or the other way around, whichever way you were sitting. Whatever way he wanted you to sit.

It was something about that deep navy cotton shirt his chest and shoulders grace about once or twice a week. The other is some form of a Lakers’ tee, yellow or purple, love-worn but scrunched up and stretched in the right places. You’ll see. Maybe that in itself, how it wraps around his sun-bathed/loved/kissed skin is the reason for everyone’s fever induced fluster. Maybe it’s the drawl, and the fact he absolutely drips of sex.

Most interactions end with deep breaths leaning against the door, knocking on your chest. Or texting the group message (we’ll add you in a minute, it’s called JMW)((Joel Miller’s Whores)). He always has something to say, something to coo at you while you in turn try not to purr back… at least with your mouth. Although no, because you would purr around him with your mouth if he’d only ask for it.

But you? Metaphorically, denoting us all. No, he would never look down upon you, between his eyelashes and brooding smile, dark, tanned skin smelling of the day- “want you to pull the pretty dress up and get on your knees. I’m tired from the day, workin’ so hard for this family. Leas’ you could do is suck my cock, no?” And he didn’t know it, but he was right. He did work so hard for this family. He was your maladaptive daydreaming, he’s what you giggle at during fake conversations, he was the cock slipping between your hungry folds at night.

Instead, it was half-baked smiles and short waves in the drop off line in the morning. He walks Sarah in, every single day. She’s getting to the age where she seems like she’d deter the sweet action, but she doesn’t- she loves him that much. We never see him in the afternoon, his barely-present wife (he has to have a wife, right? Like Bug says, “I mean look at him”), was probably the one picking up Sarah. Probably taking her to some even bigger house on the richer side of town because it's her turn to watch her. How the hell could you leave someone like Joel?

But regardless, we never see her. Never have the entire time we’ve peeked out of our blinds, running to turn off the lamp so no one can see the strip of light coming from the window.

He has never brought a woman inside of that house, let alone has anyone left it. Once, Tommy brought a girl to their Thanksgiving dinner and Vic told Kit she had come alone, first, and hugged Joel. That “Joel was extra smiley to her.” Moral of the story, we don’t know for sure if he’s still married or he’s just somehow keeping that dick to himself.

Jesus, Kat retold that story for three fucking weeks. But, we don’t really blame her. It was how it all began.

Don’t get me wrong, Joel Miller is available- if that pesky little wasp hive directly atop your living room window is getting out of hand, and you just happen to be a single mom who so desperately needs a man’s touch. Not like that. Well, yeah like that. Then, you could count on Joel Miller to back up his old blue truck bed into your driveway, set up his ladder, and allow you to spend the next hour watching through the window as his shirt pulls up his stomach as he does his diligent work.

His v-lines kissed by veins and tufted black hair towards his middle, peeking up and saying hello every time his jeans got a little too low. Musta forgot his usual belt. Or maybe his work belt was a tad too heavy today. Uh, to take that pressure off of his back for him, and into your hands.

-

But him owing you? That’s a different kind of available. It was a week later, the morning before the mom gathering, and you had only seen Joel once. Yes… peaking through your blinds. Then you heard his voice.

“Hi ma’am,” he waved, turning your attention from where you were setting your bags in the car. “Sarah, ask the pretty lady what you wanted, don’t make her wait any longer in this heat.” He was loading his work tools into the bed of his pickup. Another bed of his you’d like to grace.

Shit. Maybe this Miller was worth the fuss.

-

Part 2 later this week babes <3 It will be an actual fic, hehe.

@justagalwhowrites @cool-iguana @strang3lov3 @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @netherfeildren @chloeangelic

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