august-poppy

[august-poppy]

the right wrong number

pairing: pre/no outbreak!joel miller x soccer coach!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 6k

summary:

When Joel receives a dirty text from an unknown number, he gives into his curiosity and messages back.

He doesn’t expect the number to belong to his daughter’s summer camp soccer coach.

dear reader:

this work is a request and a birthday gift for my sweet baby @mydailyhyperfixations , who’s been one of my biggest supporters since i started posting my work on tumblr. ily, and i hope you love the fic! special thanks to @cutesyscreenname for helping me with some lil details to finish this surprise. support and mdni banners by @saradika

content warnings:

explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), age difference (undefined, but references are made), pre/no outbreak!joel miller, identity porn, wrong number au, sexting, dom/sub dynamics, use of ‘sir’, pet names, praise, thigh riding, semi-public sexual activity, spanking, safe word discussion, dirty talk, p in v. let me know if i’ve missed any!

Unknown Number: I had a really good time at dinner tonight!

Joel stares at his phone in confusion. It’s past midnight and he’s been sitting on the couch nursing a beer and watching Indiana Jones. He’s been in the same spot since Sarah went to bed a couple hours ago. His phone beeps again.

Unknown Number: It’s too bad we didn’t have time to visit Noir.

Joel raises his eyebrows. Noir is a bar in downtown Austin known for its calendar of speciality kink events. He’s seen it come up in his Google searches of local bars and had considered going to an event or two but never worked up the courage. His kinks remain between him and his porn search history.

Unknown Number: Wanna see what you missed out on?

[Photo 01.jpg]

Curiosity gets the better of him and he clicks on the image attachment. He nearly drops his phone when a photo of a woman fills his screen, sweet curves hugged by black lace on white sheets. He should absolutely tell her that she has the wrong number. His fingers type across the screen.

Damn, seems a shame something that gorgeous is going to waste.

Unknown Number: Who says it has to go to waste?

Joel swallows nervously. He’s already hard in his jeans, cock pressing urgently against his pants. He palms himself, trying to collect his thoughts.

Unknown Number: I’m feeling a little needy over here.

[Photo 02.jpg]

Against his better judgment, Joel opens the second photo and has to bite back a groan at the image of the woman’s hand slipped beneath the waistband of the panties, fingers hidden from sight behind lace and silk.

You want me to tell you how to play with that pretty pussy?

Joel squeezes his eyes shut as he presses send. This is a colossally stupid idea. This is a stranger, and he’s not the intended recipient of these messages.

Unknown Number: I’d really like that, sir.

Fuck it, Joel thinks. In for a penny, in for a pound.

Start by circling those fingers over your clit. Nice and slow.

And when you feel like you could cum, I want you to go even slower.

Unknown Number: It’s too slow. I want more.

Be patient, baby. And aren’t you forgetting something?

Unknown Number: Sorry. I want more, SIR.

Joel presses a hand to the bulge in his jeans, the pressure offering little relief.

Now don’t start being a brat, sweetheart. You won’t like the result.

Unknown Number: Oh yeah? What would you even do?

I’d love nothing more than to bend you over the edge of the bed, ass ready to be spanked red.

Unknown Number: Fuck, that would feel so good. Bet your hands would feel amazing marking me up.

You still being a good girl and following my instructions?

Unknown Number: I think I forgot. Could you remind me, sir?

You’ll have to ask more nicely than that.

Unknown Number: Could you *please* remind me, sir?

Joel runs a hand over his beard before reaching for the forgotten beer on the coffee table and taking a swig.

You’re supposed to be teasing yourself for me. Nice and slow.

I want you to pinch your nipples until they’re nice and tight, too.

Unknown Number: Like this?

[Photo 03.jpg]

Joel bites his lip as he opens the third photo. You’ve got your bra pulled down to expose your nipples, hard and perfect and begging for his mouth. He unbuttons his jeans, tossing his phone on the couch only long enough to shimmy the denim down his thighs and free his leaking cock.

Just like that, baby. Such a good girl for me.

Unknown Number: Are you touching yourself, too, sir?

Of course I am, baby.

Unknown Number: Can I see, sir? Please?

Joel’s hand falters as alarm bells blare in his head. He should absolutely not open his camera. And he should definitely not find the perfect angle that doesn’t show his face. And he certainly should not grip his cock around the base, holding it steady as the shutter sounds and a new photo is saved to his camera roll.

No. He shouldn’t do any of that.

[Photo 04.jpg]

Unknown Number: God, your cock would feel so good in me right now.

Joel’s right hand moves at a steady pace up and down his length, left hand fumbling to type a reply.

Why don’t you fuck your little fingers and pretend it’s me, then?

Unknown Number: Won’t fill me up nearly as much, sir.

Be a good girl and follow my directions, baby.

Unknown Number: [Photo 05.jpg]

He opens the photo and his cock pulses in his fist. She has her underwear shoved to the side, two fingers plunged into her glistening pussy. His mind reels with an image of this faceless woman writhing on the bed reading his words, thinking about his cock stretching her open and he has to bite his lip to just keep the responding moan trapped in his throat.

Unknown Number: Can I cum, sir? Please?

Since you asked so nicely, yes. Make yourself cum for me, sweetheart.

Joel sets the phone aside on the couch, closing his eyes as he pumps himself with a tight fist while he imagines your desperate pussy clenching around your fingers. He cups his palm over the head of his cock as his release hits him like a freight train, hips flexing from the couch to chase the lingering sensations of ecstasy from his hand.

He stands, pulling his pants up without bothering to fasten them so that he can wash his hands in the kitchen sink. Guilt settles on his shoulders as he dries his hands with the dish towel while he stares at the couch where his phone is lit up with another message from a stranger he had no business seeing that much of.

He approaches the couch and sits with a sigh, running a hand over his face before picking his phone up to read her message:

Unknown Number: Easily my best orgasm. Hope it was for you, too. Don’t be a stranger xx

Feeling like an asshole, Joel deletes the thread and the wrong number for good, but it’s fine.

It’s not like he’ll ever meet her, anyways.

——————

You’re on the phone with your best friend, telling her about how the last guy you went out with about a week ago, a guy named Jeremy you met on a dating app, still hasn’t reached out to you again despite what you’d thought was a successful date.

“So he just never reached out to you after you sexted him all night?” She asks. “Men are so weird.”

You cradle the phone between your ear and shoulder as you zip up your duffel bag of equipment. It’s the beginning of June and the summer soccer intensive camp for junior league starts today. You’ve got a full registration for the girl’s 13-15 division and you’re excited to get back on the field and help these girls do their best in a sport you love.

“Nope. Maybe I came on too strong? I don’t know,” you reply.

“You did come strongly. At least, that’s what you told me,” she says with a laugh. “Well, that’s too bad. Maybe you’ll meet a hot dad coaching this year.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not fucking someone’s dad.”

“Never say never, babe.”

“I gotta go find my damn cleats. I’ll talk to you later,” you tell her.

“Fine, I expect a full run down of every DILF you meet today.”

You hang up as she laughs, tossing your phone into your personal bag that you keep separate from the gear before you go in search of your cleats from your room.

——————

Joel and an over-excited Sarah sit in the parking lot of the soccer field that her summer camp is being conducted at, ridiculously early at Sarah’s insistence because she didn’t want to be late on the first day. They’re the only car in the parking lot so far, having apparently beat even the coach, and Joel sips at his travel mug of coffee in the hopes that it grants him energy.

Another car pulls up and parks beside his truck, loud music blaring from the open window. Sarah waves excitedly.

“That’s the coach,” she explains.

Joel watches you get out of your car and pop the trunk. You start pulling out bags of soccer balls and stacks of orange cones, bags of agility equipment and strength training aids. He opens the door to his truck and jogs over.

“Hey, you need any help with that?” He asks. You look over at him in surprise, eyes wide.

“Oh, uh, sure. That would be great,” you reply.

“I’m Joel Miller, and this is my daughter, Sarah,” he says, gesturing to the young girl. She gives a little wave and he extends a hand out to you.

You give him your name, shaking his outstretched hand. “Y’all are a little early,” you reply, hefting a bag over your shoulder.

“My dad’s always late but I didn’t want to be late for camp,” Sarah says. Joel narrows his eyes at her.

“Not a problem. You can help me set up the cones,” you tell her. His daughter gives you a bright smile and he almost forgives her for throwing him under the bus. “I’ll grab these two bags, you grab the cones, and Mr. Miller, could you grab the balls, please?”

Joel fights back his childish laughter at your request, grabbing the bags as instructed. “Just Joel, please.”

You smile at him and he feels a bit blindsided by how it makes his heart beat faster, his palms a little sweatier. You’re very pretty, fresh faced and ready for a day of work, wearing one of those quick dry workout shirts that clings to your curves and a pair of shorts that show off your strong legs. Some traitorous part of his brain wonders what it would feel like to have those legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Alright then, Just Joel. Let’s go.”

——————

“Thank you for the help,” you tell Sarah’s dad. You’re trying very hard not to let your eyes linger on the bulge of his biceps or the broad expanse of his back as he sets down the two bags of soccer balls and places his hands on his hips.

He’s a handsome man, older than you by at least a few years, with tan skin and dark hair and kind brown eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles at something Sarah says. His daughter has the same brown eyes and olive skin, her dark curly hair pulled into a bun.

Of course the first parent you meet this summer is a hot dad. It’s like you’ve spoken it into the universe.

“Not a problem. Glad I can be useful if I’m goin’ to be here this early,” he replies with a narrowed glance at Sarah, who is suddenly very interested in the stack of cones she carried to the field. “Anythin’ else you need me for?”

“Let me get you the game schedule and contact sheet.” You open your bag and pull out your folder of materials you like to give to parents, assembling a stack of papers for him. “On top you’ve got the emergency contacts sheet. Fill that out with your contact information and an alternate’s information, too, just in case I can’t reach you or someone else needs to pick Sarah up. You’ll want to have Sarah bring that back tomorrow.”

You flip the page. “The second page is just a welcome letter. It’s got my phone number on it, feel free to text or call if you have any questions or if Sarah can’t make it one day.”

“And then last we’ve got the camp schedule. The girls will have two tournament days where they’ll play against some nearby summer camp leagues. You can sign up to bring a snack by filling out the piece at the bottom. Do you have any questions?”

“I don’t suppose I do. You’re very organized,” he says, taking the packet from you. You can feel your cheeks heating.

“Thanks,” you murmur. “Well, I gotta finish setting up.”

“I won’t get in your way.” He calls out to Sarah and the young girl runs up to give him a hug goodbye. “Be good. I’ll see you later.”

——————

Joel Miller is the first at the field in the mornings helping you set up for the day and last parent to leave at pick-up, after he’s loaded your trunk up with the equipment, wiping the sweat from his brow as he grins at you.

His daughter is a great player, quick on her feet and smart as a whip, picking up the footwork skills you teach like they’re second nature. You’re telling Joel as much Friday afternoon in the second week of camp when Sarah bounds up and asks if you want to get ice cream with them.

“That’s a great idea, baby girl,” Joel says before you can decline. You blink at him and he gives you that lopsided grin that’s been giving you butterflies since the first day on the field. “But if you order mint chocolate chip, you’re buyin’ it yourself.”

“Good news, I’m a plain ol’ chocolate kinda gal,” you tell him with a laugh.

“Me, too!” Sarah says.

“I’ll follow you guys,” you suggest. Joel gives you a quick nod, herding Sarah into his truck and taking off toward town.

You follow them to a little ice cream parlor, the kind that sells old fashioned sundaes and thick milkshakes with red and white striped straws. You park beside them, watching as Sarah hops from the truck with a wide grin on her face and her dad comes around, slinging a strong arm over her shoulder and pulling her close. Your heart feels warm looking at them.

Once inside, Joel and Sarah end up ordering a sundae to split while you get a small cone of chocolate ice cream. You try to tell Joel not to pay for you, but he hits you with a look that has your mouth going dry, any argument disappearing as all your blood rushes south and makes you ache between your legs.

“I’ll go get us a table outside,” you offer, licking at your treat. You don’t miss the way Joel’s eyes track the path of your tongue.

You watch the busy foot traffic while you wait for the Millers to join you, the warm Texas air wrapped around you while you enjoy the slight breeze and your cold dessert.

A deep voice calls your name and you look around, finding a familiar face on the crowded sidewalk.

“Jeremy, hey. How are you?” You ask as the man approaches. It feels like forever ago that you went to dinner together and looking at him now you think he’s handsome but he doesn’t hold a candle to Joel.

“I’m good. Been busy. I gotta say, I was a little bummed I didn’t hear from you after our date. Thought we had a good time,” he says, running a hand through his hair.

“Didn’t…hear from me?” You ask nervously.

He tilts his head. “Yeah. Thought you said you would text me when you got home.”

“Uh…yeah. Sorry. I guess I just forgot.”

The bell dings above the door to the ice cream parlor, Joel and Sarah emerging with a sundae piled with whipped cream. Jeremy looks toward them, then back at you.

“I’m guessing another date is off the table?” He asks, slipping his hands into his pants pockets.

Joel looks between the two of you, brow furrowed as he sets the sundae on the metal table and Sarah takes a seat, digging in immediately.

“Jeremy, this is Joel and his daughter, Sarah. She’s in my soccer camp this summer. Joel, this is my friend Jeremy,” you introduce. Jeremy holds a hand out to Joel, who shakes it briefly, brows still pinched.

“I better get going. Nice seeing you, let me know if you want to get together again,” Jeremy says before turning to leave. When you glance at Joel, his shoulders are drawn up and jaw clenched tight as he stabs his spoon into his ice cream.

“What do you guys have planned this weekend?” You ask to break the silence. Sarah perks up and begins to tell you about how her Uncle Tommy, Joel’s brother, is taking her to a local carnival. You listen and nod along despite the fact that your thoughts are stuck on Jeremy’s words.

If it wasn’t Jeremy on the other end of your conversation that night…who was it?

——————

As the three of you walk back to your vehicles, Joel’s still thinking about that man who’d been talking to you at the ice cream shop and how it made his blood burn hot to hear him mention going on a date with you. His pulse pounded in his ears as he shook the guy’s hand, any information about the guy going right over his head. He didn’t even taste the ice cream or hear the conversation you and Sarah had about the weekend, lost in his thoughts about how between early mornings helping you prep for camp and late afternoons at pick up have all somehow allowed you to burrow into his heart.

A hand wraps around his bicep, halting him in his steps. He glances at your concerned face and suddenly all that tension leaves him in a rush. Sarah says her goodbye, hugging you around your waist before hopping into the truck, leaving the two of you alone.

“You okay?” You ask, taking a step closer.

“I’m great, sweetheart. Get home safe,” he says, eyes dipping briefly to your mouth. Your tongue pokes out, tracing your lower lip. He takes a step back before he’s tempted to lean in and chase the taste of chocolate and you.

“I’ll see you Monday?”

“Bright and early.”

——————

Sarah spikes a fever Sunday night and spends the night curled around the toilet while Joel coaxes some water into her and keeps her hair out of harm's way. When it seems that the worst of her nausea has passed, Joel leaves her to rest in her bed while he goes downstairs and grabs the contact list you’d given him at the beginning of camp.

He starts a text, letting you know that Sarah’s sick and won’t make it to camp, at least for today. When it’s sent, he heads back upstairs, armed with a sleeve of crackers to deliver to his daughter.

Maybe he can squeeze in a little bit of sleep for himself.

——————

Hey, it’s Joel. Sarah’s sick and won’t make it to camp today.

You stare at the text, mind reeling. Not because a parent is texting you, that’s pretty common and you hope Sarah is doing okay, but because you already have a thread with Joel.

One where you’d called him sir and told him his cock would feel so good inside of you because you’d thought you’d been texting Jeremy. Your cheeks feel so hot you worry spontaneous human combustion could actually be a thing.

What are you even supposed to do in this situation? Do you tell him about it?

Hey, Joel. No worries. Thanks for letting me know, hope she feels better soon. Oh, also, you’ve sent me a picture of your dick.

You delete the last line immediately, hitting your phone against your forehead like doing so might make your thoughts make sense.

Hey, Joel. No worries. Thanks for letting me know, hope she feels better soon. Any chance you can make good on that promise and bend me over the bed?

You delete the last line again with a groan.

Hey, Joel. No worries. Thanks for letting me know, hope she feels better soon. There’s something I want to talk to you about. Would you be able to meet with me after practice this week? Or sometime this weekend?

You hit send before you can back out, tossing your phone in your bag as you get ready to head out the door.

——————

Joel wakes later in the morning and reads your text message. His mind races with what you could want to talk to him about. Maybe you noticed how he reacted to your friend and wanted to tell him you’re uncomfortable? Or maybe something to do with Sarah?

Fuck, he thinks, scrubbing a hand over his face. He reads the message a few more times but it doesn’t reveal any additional clues. He types out a message, pressing send before he can overthink the contents.

She seems to be doing better. Should be back to camp tomorrow. I can meet you somewhere for dinner on Friday after camp? My treat.

——————

Joel’s text plays on a loop in your brain for the rest of the week. Unlike the previous weeks of camp, he and Sarah don’t show up early. In fact, he’s been dropping her off almost at the last minute and picking her up promptly when camp ends, always managing to show up when you’re already pulled into conversation with another parent and driving off before you have a chance to talk with him.

On Friday, Joel is at the field early, leaning against his truck as he talks to Sarah. You park beside them, and he helps you unload your car and set up for the day, just as he had the weeks prior, making small talk like he hadn’t just spent the week dodging you after suggesting dinner. When everything is unpacked and Sarah is kicking a ball around, you follow Joel to his truck under the guise of needing one more thing from your car.

“Hey, are we still on for dinner?” You ask him. He runs a hand through his hair and you try not to let yourself zero in on the way his bicep flexes with the motion.

“‘Course. How ‘bout I meet you at that diner downtown? The one with the—“

“All day breakfast?” You finish. Joel grins.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Is six good?”

“Six is great.” You smile back at him, lost in the way his eyes crinkle in the corners and his mouth lifts slightly higher on the right.

“Coach!” Sarah yells, making you jump.

“Guess I better get out there,” you say, shifting nervously.

“Yeah, I’ll uh…I’ll see you later?” He asks.

“Looking forward to it.”

——————

To your surprise, it’s not Joel that picks up Sarah that afternoon, but another man with familiar brown eyes and dark curly hair. You grab your folder from your bag as Sarah greets the man, flipping through the pages until you’ve found her emergency contact form.

“Hey there,” the man says, a grin lighting up his face. “I’m Sarah’s Uncle Tommy.”

You shake the hand he’s held out towards you and introduce yourself. “Nice to meet you. Mind if I check your ID for alternate pick up?”

“Go right ahead,” he replies, pulling a worn brown leather wallet from his jeans and handing you his ID from its contents. “Don’t judge the photo, alright? It’s old.”

A younger version of the man in front of you is pictured on the card, his curly dark hair buzzed short and a grim expression on his face. You note the name THOMAS MILLER beside the picture and check it against Sarah’s emergency contact form.

“Thanks, Tommy,” you tell him, handing back the ID. There’s a brief silence where Tommy seems to be assessing you.

“So…,” he says, rocking on his heels, “you’re the girl that’s got Joel all tangled up, huh?”

You blink. “Uh—“

“Uncle Tommy! Let’s go!” Sarah shouts from the parking lot.

“Hold your horses!” Tommy yells. He gives you one last knowing smirk. “Have fun with Joel tonight!”

You watch him jog over to the truck and get behind the wheel, Sarah waving at you as he pulls out of the parking spot. You wave back, but your mind is stuck on Tommy’s words, the implication of them having your stomach doing backflips.

——————

Joel’s fingers fidget with the straw wrapper, ripping it into small pieces that build in a pile on the laminate table while he waits for you to arrive for dinner. He’s still not sure what this is all about and that uncertainty has had him stuck in his head to the point where Tommy was giving him a hard time at work about it.

“Let me know if you need me to stay with Sarah overnight,” Tommy had said as Joel checked himself in the hall mirror one last time before leaving the house.

“It ain’t like that,” he grumbled back, but there was no changing his brother’s mind.

“Sure, you keep tellin’ yourself that.”

The bell above the diner door rings with a new customer, pulling Joel from his thoughts. You’ve just walked in wearing a dress, a far cry from the soccer shorts and t-shirt he’s seen you in every day this summer. His gaze is pulled to the tantalizing glimpse of your chest he gets from the deep neckline and the way the fabric swishes against your thighs as you approach.

“Hi,” you say, sliding into the booth across from him. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“Sure,” Joel says, giving you what he hopes is a confident smile but he’s almost certain it’s more of a grimace.

A silence settles over the table as you both look at the laminated menus like they hold the secret to the universe. The waitress swings by and takes your orders - chocolate chip waffles for you and a medium rare burger for Joel.

“How’s Sarah doing with the camp?” Joel asks.

“She’s doing great. Easily one of the best players I’ve got this year,” you reply.

“Good that’s…good. You used to play for UT, right?”

“Yep, starting forward until I tore my ACL,” you tell him. “Now I coach because you can take the girl out of soccer but you can’t take the soccer from the girl.”

“That’s impressive,” Joel comments. “Is coaching your full time job?”

“No, I work in marketing for an instrument production company.”

“Really? You play anything?”

“Some guitar, a little piano. Nothing crazy. Do you?”

Joel laughs. “Been a while, but I got a guitar stashed away in a closet somewhere.”

The waitress returns with your food, setting the plates in front of you and asking if either of you need anything else before leaving the two of you to your meals.

Joel is a few bites into his burger when you set your fork down and say, “Look, I’m just gonna come right out and say it. You’ve sent me a picture of your dick.”

Joel nearly chokes, sputtering for air around his burger and grabbing his Coke, desperate for relief. He chugs the beverage, tears in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” You ask, wide eyes full of concern.

“No, I’m not okay, what do you mean I’ve sent you a picture of my dick?” He hisses, looking around the mostly empty diner.

“About a month ago I went on a date with that guy I ran into at the ice cream place, Jeremy? We met on a dating app so we were messaging through there and he gave me his number at the end of the night,” you say quickly. “And I texted the number with some…racy photos. And messages.”

Joel feels the rising panic in his chest. No, there’s absolutely no way that random number could have been you. There’s no way he sexted his daughter’s soccer coach.

“I didn’t find out it was you until you texted me about Sarah being sick. I still had the chat with your number,” you finish, reaching into your bag and pulling out your phone. Joel watches with building dread as you tap on the screen and set the phone on the table, sliding it toward him.

You’ve opened the chat with him, the innocuous messages at the bottom about Sarah missing camp giving way to photo attachments he doesn’t dare click on but remembers vividly. He looks up at you.

“I…I’m so sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have replied, the messages weren’t meant for me.”

“I’m not mad,” you assure him. “A little embarrassed, maybe. But also…can I be completely honest?”

“Of course.”

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about your messages.”

Joel’s mouth drops open in surprise. “You…really?”

“Yeah. And knowing it’s you…,” you say, voice trailing off. Your eyes are dark, a little smirk playing on your lips that has Joel’s cock twitching with interest. “Well, that makes it better.”

“It does?” Joel asks. You nod, picking up a bite of waffle with your fork, a moan of appreciation leaving your lips.

“It does,” you confirm.

Joel turns around in the booth and flags down the waitress.

“Check, please!”

——————

After paying for dinner, Joel walks you to the parking lot, his broad palm on your low back directing you to where his truck is parked.

He’s got you pressed against the passenger door, his chest grazing yours with each breath he takes. He lifts a hand to your cheek, his thumb rubbing across your bottom lip. His gaze grows dark as you dart your tongue out, flicking it against the digit.

“Such a fuckin’ tease,” he says. Gone is the man who was mortified to find out he’d been sexting you and in his place is the man behind the screen. “You wore this little dress because you knew exactly what you wanted, isn’t that right?”

“Maybe,” you murmur. “You don’t like it?”

“Mm,” he hums, “Ain’t a matter of not likin’ it, trust me.”

His hands grip your hips, the fabric bunching in his fists as he moves a thigh between your legs. The sudden friction of his jeans, even through the barrier of your underwear, has you gasping.

“Joel,” you whimper, grinding over the muscle of his thigh. He kisses along the length of your neck, lips right over your racing pulse. “Come on, take me home.”

“You can ask more nicely than that,” he says, hands guiding the movement of your hips, forward and back, across his thigh. You moan, louder than you intended, too loud for the parking lot of a busy diner at dinner rush.

“Please, sir,” you whisper. “Please, take me home.”

“Cum on my thigh and we can leave,” he replies. “Leave a nice little wet spot on my jeans and then I’ll take you home and make you scream my name as loud as you need to.”

Joel’s lips capture your own, swallowing the curse that was ready to spill from them at his demand. His kiss is rough, demanding, his stubble scratching your skin and his tongue tangling with yours as your hips continue to rock over his leg. You dig your fingers into his hair, holding tightly to him while the knot of need in your belly tightens.

“Come on, baby,” he says when he lifts his head, lips still pressed to your neck. “Make a mess, come on.”

You go still in his hands as your orgasm washes over you, your muscles stiff as your pussy pulses desperately over his thigh. Joel pulls you in for another kiss, this one slow and sweet to bring you back to reality.

When you’ve caught your breath, he steps back, adjusting the skirt of your dress back over your thighs. He looks down at his pants and then back at you, a smirk on his handsome face. You look down, face heating with embarrassment as you notice the dark patch of denim.

“Get in the truck, baby.”

——————

You give Joel directions to your apartment, his warm hand on your thigh the whole way there. Your nerves are buzzing beneath your skin again, the effect of your first orgasm wearing off and your desire building rapidly with each mile closer to your apartment.

He parks in the visitor parking and you move to open the door, but a tan arm reaches across and tugs it shut. Confused, you watch Joel jump from the truck and jog around to the passenger side to pull open your door and hold a hand out to you.

You’re laughing as he helps you from the truck and shuts the door behind you, your giggles persisting as you lead him upstairs and his arms circle your waist while you try to unlock your door. He hustles you across the threshold, kicking the door shut behind him and flipping the deadbolt.

“Bedroom?” He asks.

“End of the hall,” you reply.

Joel pulls you along behind him, a man on a mission. Once inside your room, you flip on your bedside lamp and Joel steps in close, framing your face in his hands and giving you another kiss that has the butterflies in your tummy going wild.

His fingers are curling into the hem of your dress, dragging it up your body and breaking the kiss long enough to pull it over your head and toss it to the floor. His lips are back on yours while his hands map your curves, calloused fingers catching on soft skin and making goosebumps erupt in their wake.

“Get on the bed,” he commands. You turn, crawling onto the mattress slowly, a wiggle in your hips. You look over your shoulder at the older man and find his gaze fixed on your ass. He grins. “You remember what I said last time you teased me?”

“No. I think I need a reminder,” you tell him. He huffs, shaking his head.

“Teasin’ me and gettin’ mouthy? Think that might earn you a punishment.”

Joel palms the cheeks of your ass, pulling them apart in a rough grip that has you gasping his name. His fingers dig into the flesh, the ache of them already making your head spin.

“Five ain’t enough, but it’s all I’ve got the patience for right now,” he says. His tone changes as he asks, “You got a safe word? If I need to stop?”

“Apricots,” you say easily. He tilts his head. “It’s from a TV show. New Girl?”

“Never heard of it,” he says. “Alright, apricots it is.”

He pulls your panties down, leaving them around your thighs. His thumbs spread you apart and the vulnerability of this position, your ass in the air and everything spread for him, by him, has you feeling like you’re on fire.

“Pretty little pussy,” he murmurs. “But I already knew that. Because you’re a dirty fuckin’ girl who sent me pictures just because I told you how to cum. Ain’t that right?”

“Mhm.”

An open palm lands on your right ass cheek, hear blossoming on the spot as you gasp, lurching forward. His hands pull you towards him and he presses down between your shoulder blades, your back arching.

“Don’t move,” he commands. “That was one. You count the next one.”

Another smack across your other cheek, more sharp pain that shifts into dull ache as you mumble, “Two.”

He doles out two more in quick succession, each other making your pussy clench with need. You’re drooling into sheets, a whimpering mess as he runs his fingers through your soaked folds and lets out a deep groan.

“Baby, you’re soaked,” he says. “Fuck, one more, okay? One more and then I’ll have you wrapped around my cock.”

You nod your head, bracing for the final blow across your sensitive skin. The sting of his palm as it lands makes your eyes roll back, the line between pleasure and pain so blurry you don’t know which side you stand on.

His hands leave your hips and without the support, you slide flat to your belly. Distantly, you register the opening of your nightstand drawer and the sound of Joel rummaging through the contents, followed by the muted thump of clothes being discarded to the floor.

Joel maneuvers you to your back in the center of the bed, pulling your panties off. “You did so good, sweetheart,” he praises. You smile at him.

“Do I get a reward now, sir?” You ask.

“‘Course, baby. Good girls get what they deserve.”

His hips press between yours, his cock sliding through your wetness and catching on your clit. He positions the thick head at your slick entrance, pressing in the slightest bit. You take in the sight of him, his broad chest held over you by strong arms, the muscles of his neck tense.

Joel slides in slowly, your body accepting him gratefully. The stretch borders on painful but the fullness has you digging your nails into his back, a moan falling from your lips. It feels like ages before his hips as flush to yours and all you can feel is Joel Joel Joel.

“Fuck,” he groans, forehead dropping to yours. “Christ, you feel so fuckin’ good.”

He pulls back slightly, thrusting forward with a sharp snap of his hips. As he starts to set a rhythm, he sits up on his knees, lifting one of your legs up with a hand on the back of your thigh and pressing it to the side. The position opens you up further, letting him get impossibly deeper, and all you can do is allow him to use your body to his liking.

It’s not long before you’re screaming his name, as promised, the knot of pleasure in your core pulling tight and getting ready to snap.

“You gonna cum again for me?” Joel asks, breathing labored as his pace doesn’t falter. “Come on, baby, cum on my cock. You’re such a good fuckin’ girl, I know you can do it.”

“Joel!” You shout, that last thread snapping as your orgasm rushing through you, stars bursting behind your eyelids as they snap shut with the force of it all. Your pussy clenches around him, his hips stuttering and growing sloppy until he’s pressing in deep with a groan of your name.

He collapses on top of you, a heavy weight but not an unwelcome one as you both try to catch your breath, sweat cooling between you. After a moment, his softening cock slips from your body and he rolls to the side, gathering you to his chest.

“Holy shit,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” Joel whispers back. He sits up, leaning over the edge of the bed and grabbing his jeans, pulling his phone free.

He taps on the screen and brings it to his ear, a distant ringing audible through the speaker.

“Tommy? Yeah, everythin’s fine,” Joel says when his call connects. He takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Could you stay with Sarah tonight? Shut up,” he grumbles. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll be back in the mornin’. Thanks, brother.”

Joel hangs up and you raise your eyebrows at him.

“You’re staying?” You ask.

“Yeah, baby. I ain’t finished with you yet,” he replies, pressing a flurry of kisses to your face, neck, and shoulders, sending you into a fit of giggles.

——————

1 Year Later

“Alright, great job, girls! Let’s get your snacks,” you shout as your summer league girls jog towards you from the field following their third tournament game.

The girls crowd around the cooler that Joel’s prepared, grabbing small bottles of Gatorade or water and a bag of orange slices. They lounge around the sidelines and you step up beside Joel, bumping him with your hip.

“Thanks for the snacks,” you say. He grins at you.

“‘Course. Gotta take care of my girls,” he replies. He pulls one last bag of oranges from the cooler. “And one for coach.”

“How’d I get so lucky?” You ask, looping an arm around his waist.

“What can I say? You texted the right wrong number.”

Joel Miller Masterlist

[august-poppy]

no angel

pairing: chiro!dom!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: after your chiropractor, joel miller, goes down on you, you can’t help but come back for more.

*If you want to read your best friend’s experience with Joel, you can find that here by @chloeangelic (we had a little joel universe crossover)

word count: 3.5k

warnings: joel is slutty, this is pure porn (probably the filthiest thing i’ve ever written), sharing is caring in this one, age gap, joel is your doctor, oral sex (f + m receiving), unprotected PIV, choking, hair pulling, slight degradation, come eating, possibly more.

a/n: IM SORRY i’ve been gone for so long. i was feeling insecure abt my writing and so blocked. this is a wild one so i hope you enjoy. also it is my birthday tomorrow hehe so i’m planning to write a lil joel birthday sex one shot. okay, love you.

—

part two

You’re leaning your back against the kitchen counter, a glass of wine in your hand, and your other holding your phone up to your ear. You’re having your daily catch up with your best friend, laughing at stories of her clients she’s had throughout the day. It’s been about five days since you’ve seen Dr. Miller, but for some reason you don’t mention it to her. It feels almost too insane to say out loud that you let your chiropractor eat you out. She’s persisted these past few days because she knows you well enough to know when something’s up. Then you can’t hold it in anymore.

“Just tell me.”

“My chiropractor went down on me.”

There’s silence for a brief moment.

“…Dude, my client fingered me. He overheard me calling him a DILF when we were on the phone that day.”

“Holy shit, seriously?” You laugh, an amused grin on your face.

“Yeah…” Her voice is laced with confusion as she trails off. “He’s a chiro too, come to think of it.” She laughs then. “Maybe they have like a weird club for slutty chiros.”

You chuckle, taking another sip of your wine. “Maybe they’re friends.” You’re both laughing hysterically at this point. “You should ask him if he knows Joel Miller.”

Silence.

“Are you there?” You ask, pulling your phone from your ear with your eyebrows knitted to see if the call dropped. Then your face drops in realization, and you slowly set your glass of wine down.

“I—”

“Are you telling me we’re talking about the same man?” You say monotonously.

“Dude…”

“You think he’d fuck us both?” You ask, face contorted in confusion at this new information.

“We could find out,” she suggests.

After the phone call ends, your fingers hover over the keyboard, trying to think of the perfect excuse to see Joel again. You’re not jealous, no, actually it turns you on when you think about how Joel isn’t as nice as you originally thought. If anything, it makes you wanna fuck him even more.

Hi Joel! Do you think you could fit me in for an appt tonight? It’s just my hips are killing me and I think we got distracted before you could fully adjust them.

J: Of course I can see you tonight.

An hour later, you’re walking up to the front door of the building and entering the waiting room. You notice someone new sitting at the front desk; a young woman, cherry red lips, pretty brown eyes, a shirt that dips a little too low— Fuck, I have to stop. Is being attractive a requirement to work here or something?

“Hi.” You smile. “I have an appointment with Dr. Miller for 7:30.”

She asks for your name, scrolls through her computer for a moment with her eyebrows knitted in concentration. “Hm, I don’t see anything…”

“Last minute appointment,” you add with a smile.

“Oh, yes! I remember he mentioned you. Okay, you’re all checked in then, love.”

You give a polite thank you, taking a few steps away towards the chairs that were lined up against the wall. It’s only a few moments later when Joel is walking through the front door of the office himself, looking quite flustered. You’re amused as he shuts the door behind him, slightly out of breath. Even disheveled, he manages to look fucking good.

“Good evening, Dr. Miller,” you hear the receptionist say. You look up to see her head resting her hand, lip caught between her teeth with a dazed looking smile on her face.

Seriously?

He greets her with a nod, then looks towards you. “You can come back with me.”

You feel the receptionist’s eyes on your back as you follow behind him, heart beginning to race. He holds the door open as you walk into the room, setting your purse down onto the chair. You get on the table carefully as he washes his hands with his back turned to you. Your fingertips press into the cushion, remembering how it felt to be spread wide for him.

“So, your hips are bothering you, huh?” Joel asks, head turning back for a moment to give you a slight smirk.

“Yes, actually,” you tease.

He turns around, drying his hands off and looking at you sympathetically. “Don’t worry, I’ll fix you right up. Lean back, sweetheart,” Joel says, coming to the side of you. He holds his large hand to your lower back, guiding you down until you’re laying against the cushion.

You’re in a comfortable silence as Joel grabs you by the waist, adjusting your weight to your side. Your eyes soften, noticing the small details of his face while he crosses your arms over your chest. He doesn’t explain what he’s doing much this time, just turns your body to the position he needs and adjusts.

He pushes his weight into you, contorting your spine in a way that makes your back pop loudly, pulling a giggle from you. Joel chuckles as well, releasing you. “Oh, that was good,” he teases. He mostly seems relaxed, so you don’t suspect he’s on to you in any way.

You watch him carefully as his concentrated facial expression softens, not bothering to hide the fact that you’re shamelessly staring at him. Despite the extreme physical attraction, you both managed to be on your best behaviors while Joel’s hands work your body magically. It isn’t until he’s setting your leg down gently that he looks up to see you admiring him.

“What?” He taunts, raising his eyebrows at you.

“I was just thinking…” you trail off, sighing innocently. You’re leaning up on your elbows and he reaches his hand to brush the hair off your face, thumb gently stroking your cheek.

“What were you thinking, baby girl?”

You get up, thighs clenched, sitting on the edge of the table with both of his hands on either side of your thighs; his mouth dangerously close to yours now. “That I could finally return that favor,” you say timidly, feeling small under his intense eye contact. “Been thinking about you.”

Joel uses his middle and index finger to tilt your head up to get a better view of your eyes. “You have, huh? You think about me while you play with that pussy?”

You nod, a confident grin on your face as you look up at him. “Been thinking about your cock, too.”

“Fuck, you can’t say things like that, baby,” Joel says, his forehead resting against yours, breath ghosting on your lips. He grabs your inner thigh, pushing your legs further apart in your seated position. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

“I really want you to fuck me,” you nearly whine, watching his cock grow harder in his pants.

He sighs. “Gonna get me in trouble, talking like that, baby,” Joel mutters, grabbing you by your hair and pulling you down to the floor. You’re on your knees, quickly reaching to undo his belt. You can feel yourself getting wet just at the thought of finally seeing it. When he pulls it out, you bite your lip in desire, not at all surprised by how big it is.

“Fuck,” you whimper, watching the tip drip with precum as you wrap your hand around the base.

“Don’t tease,” he warns, already guiding it towards your mouth while your hand pumps up and down. You flick your tongue over the thick head, savoring the salty flavor of him. “Ah, shit, baby.”

You lift up slightly, opening your mouth and allowing yourself to drool on his dick. “Yeah, make it messy,” he sighs, tilting his head back as you rub your spit over him, loud squelching noises echoing in the room as you pump faster. You lean back a bit, finally taking him into your mouth.

Joel’s grip on your hair tightens, his teeth clenched and his eyes screwed shut as he does his best to be quiet. You can’t help but moan into him while you allow him to push further into your mouth. You’re still in control, using your hand to pump at the base while you suck. He glances down at you, taking in the way you look— the spit dripping from your chin down onto your chest.

“You look so goddamn pretty on your knees for me.” He lets out a gush of air while you remove your hand and let his cock hit the back of your throat. You gag around him, tears filling your eyes as he grips you with both hands. You relax your jaw while he thrusts into your mouth, picking up the pace as he gets more comfortable.

“Such a good fucking girl, letting me use your fucking mouth this.” He curses, his thrusts getting stronger. Your hands hold onto the front of his thighs, knees aching as you do your best to stay stabilized.

You love the way he takes control— how fast he could shift from gentle to rough. You can feel your cunt throbbing, your nose hitting his skin while his hips pound into you. He can’t help but groan now, the sound making you want to cry out in bliss.

“Stroke it,” he demands, making you gasp for air as he yanks you off of him. You quickly wrap your small hand around his hard cock, jerking it and rubbing your thumb over the head. You’re out of breath, looking up to meet his eyes. His eyes are dark with his bottom lip between his teeth, watching you with satisfaction.

You take the opportunity to shake your head at him softly and say. “I know what you did.”

His body stiffens at your words, but his cock gets harder in your hand at your admission. “You do, huh? I’m assuming you’re not upset with me, then.” Joel chuckles breathlessly, stroking your hair as your hand moves at a steady pace.

“Maybe a little jealous.” You sigh, watching him shiver as you rub the head with your thumb. “I saw the way that the receptionist looked at you earlier, too.”

Joel shrugs his shoulders, a cocky expression written over his face. “Don’t be jealous, baby. Got enough of me for everyone.”

“Aren’t you gonna fuck me too?” you pout.

“Oh, fuck,” Joel grunts, reaching forward to rub the spit over your lips. “You want me to fuck you the way I fucked your best friend? The way I fucked that pretty girl at the front desk?”

You lean into his touch, eyes fluttering shut at the contact. “Please, I can’t take it,” you whine, the heat in your belly growing.

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you need,” Joel promises. “So dirty for me, baby.” He can’t give you any more of a break, letting the tip of his cock hit against your lips. You let out a whine, tilting your head back and sticking your tongue forward with your jaw dropped. He hums, pushing himself in until you’re gagging again.

He holds you there, your eyes screwed shut as you try to breathe with his dick down your throat. As soon as he pulls out, he’s hitting your throat again at a rapid pace. You’re so turned on, the ache between your legs becoming too intense at the way he relentlessly fucks your mouth.

“Good girl,” Joel moans, eyes rolling back as he jerks his hips forward. You can’t stop whining, doing your best to breathe, to stay open for him. He’s still watching you closely, making sure he’s not hurting you as he rocks forward. “So good, just a little bit more.”

After a few more hard thrusts inside your mouth, he backs off, fisting his cock over your face. You open your mouth for him, whimpering as you feel his cum shoot out on your tongue and over your face. “Yeah, fucking swallow it,” he groans, watching you lick your lips.

“Tastes so good.” You breathe, sitting back on your heels and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. He smirks, grabbing your arm and pulling you to your feet. Joel’s dropping to his knees in front of you, dragging down your shorts and panties. He uses a hand to push your legs apart and you grip onto his shoulders to steady yourself. Joel uses both thumbs to spread your lips apart, cursing under his breath when he sees how wet you are.

His cock is semi hard again and he’s dragging two thick fingers to your needy hole. “You’re so fucking wet,” he says and pushes both of them in, sighing in relief at the feeling of your wet and warm pussy. You’re breathing heavily, watching him fuck his fingers into you, curling up in all the right places. Your legs feel weak, your heart is pounding, and you feel like you could cum right there on him.

“Is all this just for me, baby girl?” He teases, his fingers scissoring inside you.

“Yes, Joel, fuck,” you cry out as he stretches you, opening you up and getting you ready for his cock. He’s fully hard again and he pulls out, rubbing your arousal over the head of his cock and then pushing his fingers back in. “Please, I need you to fuck me now, please.”

“Yeah, you need it?” He chuckles breathlessly, looking up at your expression as he slides his fingers out to rub your clit. “Want me to fuck you like the little slut you are?”

“Fuck,” you groan, his fingers pinching at your clit.

His hand pulls away and then slaps against your pussy, making you jolt. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” you whimper. “Please, Joel.”

Your brain can barely register it when he gets up and grabs you harshly by the arm. You’re whining as he bends you over the table, his large hand rubbing over the small of your back while the other rests on your ass. You hear him hum behind you, taking in the way you look in this position— bent over in his fucking office.

He guides his throbbing cock to your entrance, nudging the tip over your slick heat. “Oh, fuck, this pussy’s fucking wet, baby.”

“For you,” you tell him, looking over your shoulder at him innocently.

“Fuck, yeah, it’s for me,” Joel gloats, pushing his cock into you. You’re gasping, hands gripping the table as he fits more of himself inside you. “So fucking tight.”

“So big,” you moan, your eyes rolling back as you feel him splitting your pussy open, welcoming the ache of his large cock.

“Can’t take it?” He pulls out a little only to push further into you. “Your best friend took it pretty well. Do I have to call her up so she can show you how it’s done?”

“I can take it, fuck,” you mutter, feeling him finally push all the way in and his tip hit against your cervix. “She could barely walk when you were done with her.”

His hips snap against your ass, cock filling you so deeply, the wall in front of you starts to blur. He leans forward to wrap his hand around your mouth, muffling the sound of your cries as he wrecks you. You can’t think of anything better than being used by him.

“And that’s exactly what you want, isn’t it?” He mocks.

You nod rapidly, huffing as he uses both hands now to grab your ass and spread your cheeks apart, watching himself slide in and out of you. You hear him grunt, the sound of spitting, and then his saliva hitting your pussy, the slick sound of his cock getting louder.

“I— fuck, Joel. So fucking good.”

“Yeah, you fucking love this cock,” he chuckles behind you, slapping your ass harshly while he thrusts. “Tell me, baby.”

“Love your cock, Joel,” you manage to say breathlessly, feeling your belly tightening up again. “Want it all for myself.”

“Too fucking bad.”

“So mean,” you whine, a complete fucked out mess.

“Oh, you haven’t seen mean yet. I can feel that pussy squeezing me, baby girl, fuck.” Joel can’t keep still, his hands knead your ass, slapping against the soft skin. “You’re about to cum, aren’t you?”

“Fuck, yes,” you moan obscenely, head tilted back in pleasure while your body jerks against the table.

“Cum on my dick like the little slut you are,” Joel spits, and you can’t hold it in anymore. You feel your orgasm release with a gush, drenching his cock and the cushion beneath you. Your eyes are rolled back, body pulsing with pleasure as he slides in and out with long, deep strokes.

“Fuck, I’m fucking cumming,” you choke out in a sob, the feeling overtaking you as your body slumps against the table. He doesn’t stop, his pace doesn’t slow down in the slightest.

“Yeah, that’s so good, baby,” He says, finally pulling out of you. You’re trying to catch your breath when he pulls you up by your hair and then turns your body around. “I’m not fucking done with you,” Joel speaks sternly, positioning you so you’re laying on your back. He pulls your hips close to him, putting your legs over either side of his shoulders and slapping his cock over your cunt. “I’ll tell you when you’ve had enough.”

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, looking to watch him push himself into your tight, wet hole again. Your pussy is already sore, so stretched out as his cock drags against your aching walls. “It’s so much, Joel.”

“I know you can take it, baby,” he sighs, grabbing you by the hips. The angle makes his cock fuck into you a bit deeper than it was before, and the feeling makes you almost want to scoot away from him.

“Stop fucking moving,” Joel says, glaring at you as he watches you squirm. “Breathe for me, let me make you cum again.”

You’re so overwhelmed by him, his hands on your body and his thick cock filling you up. The table creaks underneath you with how hard he’s pounding you, his grunts getting louder above you. Joel wraps one hand around your neck to keep you steady, restricting your airflow slightly. He takes the other hand up to your mouth and shoves his fingers in until you’re gagging.

“Get ‘em nice and wet, baby girl, come on,” he coaxes as you suck on his fingers, making them slick. When he slips his fingers down to your clit and begins to rub gentle circles, your entire body relaxes into the cushion as the pleasure overcomes you. “That’s it, let me give it to you.”

“Oh, god, I’m gonna cum,” you sob, holding onto his bicep as your body jolts with every thrust that pushes you closer to your orgasm.

“Why don’t you ask me politely?”

“Please,” you drag out the word, your voice wavering as he pummels you. “Please, doctor, let me cum.”

His fingers tighten around your throat and his eyes shut as your pussy begins to throb uncontrollably, clenching around his cock and making it hard for him to hold back. His thumb pushes into your clit with a bit more pressure, and you feel your orgasm burn in your core, spreading throughout your entire body.

“This is my pussy, you hear me?” He tells you, continuing to fuck you through it. You nod, lip caught between your teeth. “Repeat it.”

“Yes, sir, all yours,” you manage.

“Gonna fuck this pussy full of my cum, baby,” his voice shakes, grip on you even tighter once he stills inside of you. He’s breathing heavily, holding his cock as deep in you as it’ll go while his hot cum shoots inside you. “Oh, fuck, baby, that’s good.”

He pulls out and you whimper at how empty you feel. Joel gets on his knees in front of you once more and spreads your swollen lips apart, humming as he takes in your current state.

“Fucking wrecked this cunt,” he mutters, pushing his fingers into you and gathering his cum before reaching his hand up to your mouth. You suck willingly, holding onto his wrist and moaning at the taste of him. “Such a good girl, aren’t you?”

You nod. “For you.”

“Hold on, let me clean you up,” Joel says, reaching for some wipes. “Can’t have you leaving like this.” He wipes softly over your skin, cleaning up all the cum that dripped out of you before reaching for your panties. You’re both quiet as he helps you get dressed again.

“So…um,” Joel clears his throat as he adjusts his belt. “I’m sorry about… I didn’t know you guys knew each other… and I’m sorry about the receptionist.”

You chuckle awkwardly, pulling a piece of hair behind your ear. “It’s fine, Joel, really. I get it— you’re an attractive man. Can’t blame you.”

He shakes his head, his lips forming a smirk. “Well, I’d like to see you again… if you’d like.”

“I would like that,” you affirm. “Maybe you could come over next time?”

You swear you see his face turn a light shade of pink as he nods happily. “We could arrange that.”

“Okay, well… I’ll text you then.” You smile, doing your best to push down that giddy feeling.

“Looking forward to it… Send your friend my regards.”

“Joel.”

“Too soon?”

[august-poppy]

III ║ Edgestitch

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Part II: Threads | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: M

Summary: You wear those jeans for Joel when you see him again at the baby shower at Tommy and Maria's - like he asked you to.

Warnings: Spicy thoughts but not explicit, sexual tension, sexual innuendos, flirting, mention of food and drink, some language, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 7k

Notes: It's here! This one was a long and winding road as I mentioned in Behind the Seams, I'm so relieved and excited when it all finally clicked and fell into place! I'm absolutely blown away by the love you guys have shown Joel and Pin so far, thank you, there's no greater motivation for a writer ❤️ I hope you guys enjoy the chapter!

‘Damnit, Lucy,’ you mutter under your breath, this close to stamping your foot and pouting at the door that refuses to lock up. 

Lucy may be your best friend, but you’re not blind to the fact that she literally cannot be trusted to get anything done around the shop. It’s been two weeks since she promised to get the locksmith to come in, but here you are on Friday evening, wrestling with the key that refuses to turn the last quarter of an inch in the faulty lock.

‘Hey, Pin!’

Glancing over your shoulder, you force a wane smile at Tommy, who has his hands full with a cardboard box at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Need some help?’

‘Yes, please,’ you reply sheepishly.

You nod at the bottles of wine that clink delicately against one another as he sets them down. ‘Getting ready for the party on Sunday?’

Tommy steps up to the door and wriggles the key left and right experimentally. ‘Yeah, you comin’, right?’

‘Yes, with Lucy.’

‘Good, the more the merrier!’ He makes a face at the door lock, which is not cooperating with him either. ‘You should get someone to look at it. Probably time for a new one.’

‘Lucy was supposed to get Andrew to fix it, but you know Luce.’

Tommy yanks the door knob backwards hard as he twists the key. There’s a grunt of metal, and a triumphant aha! when it finally turns, the internal mechanisms of the lock sliding into place with a satisfying click. 

You nearly fall onto your knees in relief. ‘Thank you so much, Tommy. You’re a lifesaver.’

He grins and deposits the key in your waiting palm. ‘You can ask Joel for help, you know. He’s handy with this kind of stuff.’

You blink, blindsided by the seemingly random mention of his brother - but his dimpled smile tells you otherwise.

His brother, who was so solid and broad under you on the studio floor, just a few days ago. His brother, who you can still feel pressed between your thighs, in your bed in the dead of night. His brother, who has taken up residence in your mind, waking or otherwise, since he sauntered out of your shop with that infuriatingly attractive confidence when he asked you to to wear those jeans for him again on Sunday.

Joel has existed solely and safely in the parameters of your workspace for the past fortnight and a half, with only Lucy bearing witness to whatever it is between the two of you. Having to suddenly deal with any mention of him outside of it, especially with that knowing arch of Tommy’s eyebrow, has you completely flustered. It doesn’t help that his eyes are uncannily like Joel’s, a gorgeous deep brown, expressive and sharp, though the mischief sits a lot closer to the surface in the former’s.

Mercifully, your brain unscrambles long enough for you to reach the conclusion that of course, Joel must have told Tommy that he invited you and Lucy. It’s their party, after all. Surely, he doesn’t know anything else -

Or does he?

You’ve been quiet for too long to say anything about it now, so you clumsily change the subject, stumbling over your words. ‘I, uh - I was just wondering what I could bring on Sunday?’

Tommy graciously lets you off the hook. ‘We’re a bit short on sweets, actually, if you bake.’

You latch on to that gratefully. ‘I do - what kind of cake were you thinking?’

‘Do you make a carrot cake?’

You perk up. ‘It’s my favourite!’

He flashes you a cheeky grin. ‘What a funny coincidence, it’s Joel’s as well - the only way to get carrots in him.’

Your pulse spikes with adrenaline at the unexpected tidbit Tommy drops in your lap, and you greedily squirrel that little fact away, slowly colouring in the Joel-shaped space in your head.

With a wink, Tommy bends down to pick up the wine. ‘See you in a couple of days, Pin!’

At least you have the decency to wait until he turns the corner - once he does, you sprint across the road to the Jackson Grocer’s and clear out their stock of carrots for the day.

There are many things about Jackson that throw Joel. 

The plentitude after years of rations. The safety, which comes off more jarring than comforting.

But most of all, it’s the sounds. The kettle on the boil and the pop of the toaster in the morning when Ellie gets ready for school. Friendly chatter on the high street. Laughter. It still makes him jump when he hears playful shrieks in the neighbourhood playground, blood rushing in his ears and sending him halfway across the house for his rifle before he remembers where he is.

Where he is not.

It was always loud in the QZ. Loudspeakers blaring, alarms wailing, the indistinct hum of conversation and radio through paper thin walls in the slums at all hours of the day. And he was always listening - for danger, for trouble, and everything in between.

And then all that noise had blown up, literally, with the State House. With Tess.

Joel finds it hard to remember those first few days after leaving Boston behind. Mostly the raw cuts on his knuckles that wouldn’t heal and the ring in his right ear from the explosion, lingering like a pesky fly. 

But he knows it was Ellie who broke that silence first. And once that door was kicked down - 

‘Fuck no, dude!’

His face snaps up and he scowls across the lawn, the stern reprimand rolling off his tongue like second nature. ‘Ellie!’

She’s sitting with her friends, crowded around her most prized possession of the moment, a boombox she found in the thrift shop a couple of months ago and begged him to buy and fix up for her. 

Not that she needed to do much begging, he caved far too easily. It plays a bit wonky - the bass too heavy - still, it does the trick.

The teenagers around her cower immediately, but she defiantly stands her ground. ‘What?’

‘Watch your language,’ he barks, no real bite behind it.

She rolls her eyes so hard her head falls back, and he has to press his lips together to not smile.

It helps him sleep better at night seeing Ellie fit right in - at least one of them has. She doesn’t hate going to school half as much as she pretends to, the routine of homework and chores anchoring her to small town life. She’s even volunteered to help out at the farm, spending most afternoons in the stables with the horses.

There are times when he wonders to which extent all this is a coping mechanism. But well, at least she’s coping.

And while Joel still hasn’t made up his mind about Jackson, its townsfolk seem to have unilaterally made theirs up about him. The wary whispers and watchful stares have given way to cautious gestures of acknowledgement, some even bold enough to throw a good morning in his general direction as he walks down the street. 

They nod at him now as they file into the garden party, still keeping their distance, but not as much as he would’ve liked.

The expectant parents have gone all out for the occasion. Several tables are lined up end to end in the middle of the garden, filling up with potluck dishes as guests arrive. Tommy lords over the barbeque, the brisket having been smoking since dawn, with chicken, bacon and homemade sausages sizzling on the grill. Maria is in her element, flitting from well wisher to well wisher with a protective hand over her rounded belly, making sure everyone has a drink and a loaded plate in hand.

Joel hovers in no man’s land, dodging the crowds and sipping on beer that has long gone flat, trying to remember the last time he celebrated anything. 

Well, he supposes dinner parties at Bill and Frank’s count, as far and few in between as they were. Not that they ever celebrated anything specific, per se - they didn’t need a reason beyond the fact that they were all still alive and kicking. Bill, bless his soul, did make a mean roast, and Frank used to host with enough flair for forty instead of four. Tess had a black dress she stowed away at the back of her closet for these parties, and a red one that she saved for the really special occasions -

A strong hand on his back jolts him forward and out of his thoughts, spilling lukewarm beer over his fingers.

‘Havin’ a good time, brother?’ asks Tommy jovially, cheeks stretched with joy.

‘I was just now,’ he grunts pointedly.

Tommy grins. ‘Lighten up, man. Get drunk, be merry! You’re gonna be an uncle.’

‘Don’t try to butter me up. I ain’t babysittin’ for you.’

Thumping his chest in mock hurt, he asks, ‘What about all those times I babysat Sarah, man?’

Joel gives him a long-suffering side stare. ‘Please. You used to hire that college chick ‘cross the street to babysit whenever you were supposed to. Then you’d hit on her all night long.’

Tommy chuckles. ‘Damn, your mind’s in better shape than I give you credit for, old man.’

He can’t help a smile. ‘But for all your devious plans to get into her babysitter’s pants, Sarah did love her Uncle Tommy.’

He goes quiet for a beat and takes a sip of his beer, his eyes softening. ‘I think about that girl every single day, y’know.’ 

Joel nods, staring into his own beer, and it suddenly strikes him that he’s missed the shape of her name on his lips. ‘I know.’

Tommy nudges him on the shoulder. ‘I can only hope my kid will love their Uncle Joel just as much.’

Eventually, he harrumphs, ‘If they do - I’ll think about the babysittin’.’

Tommy chortles just as the backdoor to the porch swings open with a loud creak.

Joel spots you easily, trailing one step behind Lucy. You’re holding onto a cake on a round wooden board like a security blanket, shoulders tense and eyes wide at the noise of the festivities. Spotting Maria, Lucy bounds down the stairs, leaving you hesitating at the landing, and -

You’re wearing the jeans he asked you to.

Something primal swells in the cavity of his chest, between his ribs - a pride that is distinctly male.

Tommy shouts, ‘Pin! Over here!’

Joel shifts on his feet, swallowing thickly as you approach. If your shy smile is anything to go by, he’s not the only one feeling the nerves.

His brother gives you a careful hug around the cake and plants a kiss on your cheek. When he steps aside, Joel hesitates, uneasy with having an audience, his palms suddenly clammy with indecision.

Does he… hug you? He can count on three fingers who he’s hugged for the past twenty years, and he’s sorely out of practice. A kiss is an option, but the way his eyes dart to your mouth, it’s dangerous even entertaining that thought - 

Tommy elbows him in the ribs and puts him out of his misery. ‘Why don’t you kids catch up, I think the brisket’s burnin’. Have fun tonight!’

Joel can feel the tip of his ears turning red as he stands there with his drink, one hand shoved in his back pocket, not knowing how to do this. How to entertain. Clearing his throat, he stammers, ‘Uh - can I get you a drink or somethin’?’

You give him a small smile, lips moving in an answer too quiet to reach him over the music. Rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, he admits, ‘Sorry, I can’t hear you. I’m uh - a bit deaf in my right ear.’

You look apologetic, speaking up, ‘I’m sorry - I didn’t know.’

With a shrug, he jokes, ‘It’s ok, I’m a bit broken all over.’

You pinch your lips, and he recoginses that face - he knows that you want to disagree with him. But you hold your tongue, skirting around him to his good ear, and he stoops to close the distance, even though he doesn’t need to.

Your breath brushes his ear. ‘I’d love a drink, but I want to put this cake away first.’

‘Yes, of course - sorry, don’t know where my manners went.’ He puts his unfinished beer away and takes the cake from you despite your protests. The potluck table is packed to the brim, so he gestures towards the house. ‘It might have to go into the kitchen for now.’

You follow him, side by side with one polite body width between you, past bands of neighbours and friends catching up, the fairy lights catching your eyes and the well-kept lawn crunching beneath your soles. Unsurprisingly, you feel the weight of curious stares on your back as you go - Joel is still very much a novelty around town. Neither of you speak until he holds open the backdoor for you to slip inside.

It’s quiet in the kitchen, the muted conversation outside a low hum through the double-glazed windows. The free-standing island is already chock full of all kinds of baked goods and pudding, and Joel has to move an actual jelly castle (which wriggles precariously) to free up space for your contribution.

Dusting his hands, Joel turns to you. ‘That carrot cake?’

You nod, keeping mum.

‘It’s my favourite.’

‘I know - Tommy told me,’ you confess with a bashful half-shrug.

His warm eyes crinkle at the corners. ‘Talkin’ about me behind my back, sweetheart?’

Your breath quickens at the sweetheart, and you wonder if the thrill of the nickname will ever wear thin. Emboldened, you tilt your head to one side and tease, ‘Why? You like the attention?’

A smirk on his lips, he steps into your space, the very proximity of him stealing the air from your lungs. ‘I might if you’re not careful.’

And there you are again - with nothing more than a dozen words exchanged and even more unsaid - on the brink of something, right where you left off on the workshop floor.

‘Wanna grab a bite to eat?’

Tucked away in an intimate corner of the back porch in a wicker chair, Joel surveys the party with a seriousness that is borderline comical. 

The strategist in him clearly favours the higher ground the porch affords him so he can keep an eye on everyone and spot whoever approaches from a distance. His seat is an easy three steps to the door, an escape plan in his back pocket. For all his stillness, the intensity is unmistakable, if slightly out of place in a baby shower.

Two dirty plates licked clean are stacked on the coffee table between you, piled high with bones and leftover gravy, the delicious food sitting warm in your stomach.

‘They’re comin’ closer,’ Joel complains, taking a long gulp of his beer.

‘I guess they figure if I’m talking to you, it means that you don’t actually bite,’ you quip.

‘Will they back off if I make you cry?’

Your shoulders quake with a chuckle. ‘I think you’re too much of a gentleman to do that, Joel Miller.’

You’re taken aback by the flash of heat in his answering glance, as if there’s something he wants to say. But then, he changes his mind and leans back in his chair, one palm resting on his spread thighs, and he nods towards a couple standing close to the barbeque.

‘Who’s that over there? He lives on my street.’

‘That’s Andrew. He owns the only hot tub in Jackson.’

Joel splutters, ‘A hot tub?’

‘To be fair, it came with his house, but he managed to connect it to the water a few months ago.’

He snorts. ‘Not very communist of him to divert public resources for a private hot tub.’

‘Let’s just say Jackson is a commune with American characteristics,’ you say diplomatically.

He arches an eyebrow at you. ‘A cynic, sweetheart?’

You reply matter-of-factly, ‘We all know how communism ended.’

Fuck. He takes a swig of his beer and swallows hard. A woman after his own heart.

‘You want to keep him on your good side though. He’s really handy with electrics and the like.’

He shrugs. ‘So am I.’

You turn to him, surprised. ‘Oh?’

‘I was a contractor in another life.’

He notices your attention flicker to his hands, before you catch yourself and look away bashfully. ‘That’s good to know.’

‘You need things fixed?’ he asks, and promptly wants to kick himself for sounding so hopeful to be of service.

‘Here and there,’ you say with a dismissive wave. ‘It’s not important. It’ll hold up.’

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip thoughtfully. You have to work on asking for things, but it’s ok - he doesn’t push you. He files that away for later.

Glancing across the yard, he catches Ellie’s eye, who’s arching an inquisitive eyebrow and pointing straight at you with all the subtlety of a flying brick. He knows he should probably introduce you at some point, but he’s not ready to share your attention with someone else just yet, let alone the nosy teenage loudmouth.

Joel gives her a firm shake of the head, to which she responds with a disgruntled I’m watching you gesture.

Ignoring her for now - and knowing that he’ll pay for it later - he asks you, ‘And who’s that in the red dress?’

You crane your neck until you spot her. ‘Ah, that’s Patricia. She’s the dance teacher down at the school.’

‘Why’s she starin’ at me?’ he mutters.

You shoot him an amused grin. ‘Why, it looks like you’ve caught the fancy of our local femme fatale.’

He scoffs. ‘Should I be worried?’

‘Well, she’s been married and divorced three times since she arrived,’ you answer with a straight face. ‘The last one just disappeared. Never found his body.’

Joel stares at you in stunned silence, until you let out a poorly contained giggle. He grumbles, ‘Havin’ fun pullin’ my leg, sweetheart?’

‘Just a bit,’ you tease.

‘I liked you better when you were shy,’ he ribs.

You shrug. ‘Too late. You don’t scare me anymore.’

Glancing the other way, Joel sits up in alarm at the flutter of crimson fabric. ‘Shit, I think she’s comin’ this way.’

‘Time for carrot cake?’ you prompt.

He’s out of his chair quicker than you’d expect his knees would allow him to. ‘Let’s go, sweetheart.’

The state of the kitchen island stops you in your tracks, while Joel lets out a low whistle behind you. ‘Jackson really turned out for this party, huh?’

‘Well, your brother and sister-in-law are pretty popular around town,’ you quip.

You didn’t think it was possible, but every square inch of the kitchen island is now jam-packed with sugary confections, stacked on top of one another.

‘I can’t even find the bloody cake,’ you laugh, literally searching high and low as you skirt the parameter.

On the other side of the island, Joel tosses a dry good luck in your direction and puts the dirty plates and cutlery that he brought in into the sink with a clatter, turning on the hot water. You stutter to a stop opposite him, gawking at how his broad shoulders fill the frame of the window that sits in front of the sink, before your gaze inadvertently trails south - over the nip of his waist and the hem of his shirt skirting the back pockets of his jeans. You find yourself wishing he’d tucked the tails in.

Rooted to the spot, you watch him unbutton the cuffs on his flannel shirt and push up the sleeves to the crease of his elbows, baring his strong forearms. Your mouth goes dry despite the wine you’ve been sipping on all evening, peering at the sinewy muscles flexing and straining as he lathers the plates with an offhand familiarity, his thick fingers dwarfing the sponge in as he works the grease stains. 

Making quick but thorough work of the washing up, Joel dries the plates and then runs the tea towel over his big hands and wrists, catching you staring as he turns around. If he knows you’ve been watching all along, he lets it slide. Tossing the towel to one side, heat prickles under your cheeks when he sidles up to you with the clean plates.

The sight of this man doing something as mundane as dishes really shouldn’t get you this hot and bothered.

‘Is that cream cheese?’ he asks conversationally with a nod at your cake, which you have found sitting on top of a tall plastic caddy, a chocolate cake inside.

Having to consciously unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, you’re surprised your voice doesn’t shake. ‘It’s not carrot cake without it.’

‘Where did you get the cream cheese? Never seen any ‘round town.’

Almost bashful, you admit, ‘I made it.’

His eyebrows shoot up. ‘You made cream cheese? How?’

‘It’s not that big a deal. It’s just milk, lemon and salt,’ you say, trying to downplay it. Your arms are definitely not aching from the hours of straining and beating and whipping.

‘And the walnuts?’ he asks.

‘Someone I know grows it,’ you say vaguely.

Joel hums doubtfully. ‘Ain’t seen any walnut trees in town.’

Biting your bottom lip, you can pinpoint the exact moment he figures it out, brows drawing together in a frown. ‘The only ones I’ve seen are outside the walls, ‘round the north side of the gates.’

Knowing for a fact that you’re a terrible liar, you don’t even try. You choose to ignore him, idly smoothing the frosting on top with a clean knife, trying not to flinch at the weight of his gaze on you.

‘Sweetheart, please tell me you didn’t go outside just to get walnuts for me.’

‘Not for you,’ you shoot back unconvincingly, flustered. ‘I made the cake for Tommy and Maria.’

Lies. You know it. He knows it.

His shoulders stiffen, the fabric of his shirt bunching with the movement. ‘You can’t just go outside like that, y’know, there could be infected ‘round -’

‘Joel, I’ve been living here for years, I know what I’m doing,’ you argue huffily, not expecting a lecture, of all things. ‘I’m not stupid.’

He shakes his head. ‘Ain’t what I’m sayin’, Pin -’

‘Just leave it, ok?’ you reply sharply and, signalling an end to the conversation, you slice into the cake with an aggressive stab - not noticing that it is hanging over the edge of the caddy below. 

You squeak when it flips unceremoniously, and on pure impulse, you pitch forward to stop its upward trajectory, meeting it mid-air with an ominous splat.

‘Fuck!’

To his credit, Joel barely skips a beat, quickly but calmly grabbing hold of the cake board and pulling it off you, setting it down on the counter, while you gape in dismay at the damage done. 

The side of the cake that made contact with you is smushed in, most of the thick frosting now painted all over your front, from your neck down to the lovely, thin cashmere top that Lucy picked out for you for the party.

You really hope there’s a big guy up there watching, because someone might as well enjoy this mortifying brand of comedy you keep dishing out around this man.

Two seconds more, and you’re pretty sure you would’ve burst into tears for lack of knowing what else to do - but without another word, Joel takes the lead, wrapping a firm hand around your wrist and pulling you out of the kitchen. 

You gratefully let him.

It’s none of your business really, but it comforts you that Joel’s obviously here often enough to know his way around the house.

You glance around the dimly lit room where he deposited you on the edge of a neatly made bed, water trickling in the adjoining ensuite. When he returns, he has a small, wet towel in his hands. Towering over you, the low lights don’t quite reach his face, but you can see the way his gaze slips downwards, carefully, as if he’s afraid to startle you.

But he doesn’t - not even when he slides the crook of his fingers under your chin, tilting your face up and opening up your throat.

His lips twitch wryly. ‘What a waste of perfectly good cream cheese.’

Despite yourself, a laugh escapes you at the absurdity of the situation. ‘Must something always go wrong whenever we’re in the same room?’

The corner of his mouth teases a smile. ‘Never a dull moment with you, sweetheart.’

You smile back, but it falters when his eyes burn in a quiet but unmistakable smoulder. 

‘May I?’

You’re not even sure what he’s asking. But he can ask you anything in that raspy, low baritone, and there will always only be one answer.

At your nod, Joel drags the tip of his index finger down the column of your neck, and your lips part when it glides over your windpipe - pressing just hard enough for you to feel the pressure - collecting the velvety frosting as it goes. 

Then, holding your eyes, he sucks the cream cheese off his fingertip, a hum deep in his throat. ‘Delicious, sweetheart.’

You’re sitting down, but somehow, you still feel your knees give way at how he smacks his lips at the sugary aftertaste.

He looms closer, bending at the waist and for one moment of madness, you think he might lean down and lick your neck clean. 

At the prospect of those plush lips and the burn of his silvered, patchy beard on your skin, your head tilts further back invitingly. His pupils dilate and his nostrils flare, like he’s picking up on what you’re thinking, and his eyes dip to your mouth.

But he doesn’t.

You don’t even have time to be disappointed before Joel carefully gets down on one knee in front of you, one palm landing on the mattress next to your hip for balance. Knowing the state of his joints, you want to ask if he needs a pillow, but instead of your mouth, it’s your thighs that part to make room for him. His chest keeps them splayed open, and you can feel the steady rise and fall of his ribcage with each breath through the denim. 

You try to focus on your own breathing as Joel presses the wet towel to your skin and mops up the sticky mess, his face set seriously as he cleans you up inch by inch. But all you can think about is how you can feel the imprint of his fingers through the thin fabric, and how the span of his hand can easily fit over the column of your throat -

You don’t realise you’re leaning into him until he draws back when he’s done, and you tip forward, chasing his touch. His knee groans as he stands up to his full height, and he nods towards the bathroom with a wait here in his eyes.

The water is scalding as Joel washes out the frosting from the towel, but he keeps his hands under the tap, longer than he needs to. Wringing it dry, he takes a moment, wet palms gripping the cold porcelain edge of the bathroom sink, shoulders hunched over as he tells himself to calm the fuck down.

Except, he is calm. He’s held back, even when you looked at him with such straightforward, honest want that has him grinding his teeth.

Thing is, he knows you would’ve let him nudge you backwards into the mattress and crowd you between his arms, switching places the two of you were in under your sewing desk in the workshop.

He knows you would’ve let him wrap your legs around his hips, sliding his palms up the back of your thighs in those skin tight jeans - the sight of which is enough to make his head spin - and he knows you would’ve let him nip, suck, lick the tangy buttercream off your very neck. 

Not only would you have let him - you would’ve trusted him to do all those things to you.

That last realisation awakens something he’s not so sure he has a handle on. But he knows for a fact that with the whole of Jackson milling about downstairs, in the middle of his brother’s baby shower, is neither the place nor the time.

You’re where he left you when he steps back into the bedroom, your palms planted on the bed, your shoulders relaxed. The neckline of your blouse gapes loosely, teasing the soft skin of your cleavage.

Joel breaks the loaded silence with a bit of common sense. ‘You best get that top off and soak it in the bath before the stains really set in, sweetheart.’

You bite your lip hesitantly. ‘I - I don’t have anything to change into.’

‘You can have my shirt,’ he offers.

You sit up, attention piqued, when his hands move to the top of his flannel, thick fingers sliding each button out of the holes one by one. You know he’s just taking off his shirt, but you can’t help the way your jaw goes slack, watching shamelessly, the comforter twisting in your grip as you scrabble for something to hold onto. 

Joel doesn’t understand why you’re looking at him like that, but it’s so flattering to watch you watch him, eyes hooded and your tongue darting out to wet your bottom lip, like he’s giving you a fucking strip tease or something. 

Goddamn if it doesn’t go straight to his head.

A white undervest comes into view, inch by inch, as the shirt falls open, the thin fabric pulled taut at the seams over the broad stretch of his chest. When the last button is undone, he shrugs the shirt off with a smooth roll of his arms, and your jaw drops.

The undervest barely contains the bulk of him, and you’ll be damned if you know where to look first - the lean, solid line of his arms, or the effortless ripple of muscle in his shoulders - but it’s lower where your attention makes landing, and it takes you a second to realise why.

He’s not sucking in his tummy.

The swell of his abdomen sits above the top of his jeans, where the vest is neatly tucked in. You remember too well the brush of that soft strip of skin against the back of your hands when you were on your knees, cutting him out of his jeans; and then beneath you, straddling him under the sewing table. 

While there’s an undercurrent of self-consciousness in the way he holds himself, conspicuously missing is the self-deprecation that drew your ire the day he walked into your shop with a broken zipper. A tentative confidence has taken its place, which is at the same time so endearingly vulnerable, as if your reaction to the little show he gave you just now isn’t enough to assure him of what you’re thinking.

Your fingers twitch, yearning to reach out and tug him in by the front of his jeans, to untuck that vest and push it up and off. You want to snake your hands around his waist, hold him to you by the small of his back, and starting with his tummy, kiss your way across the soft belly - maybe with a cheeky scrape of teeth - up to his firm chest, his strong neck and to his lips. 

Or maybe, the calling southwards will win out. You’ll push him back to make room for yourself at his feet, nudging your way down his front with your nose, breathe him in, your hands finding his belt buckle and tugging it out of the loops instead. Never mind you've lost count of how many years it's been since you've wanted to do that, or if you remember how at all -

‘Pin.’

Your whole body jolts backwards when his voice pierces through your addled haze, low and raspy, snapping out of your sordid stupor almost grumpily - how rude of him to interrupt? - only to find him peering down at you with a lopsided smile. 

‘Get changed, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.’

Leaving your top to soak in the sink, you pad back into the bedroom in just your bra, and you stare down at his shirt laid out neatly on top of the bed.

You press your palm over where his heart would be, the flannel still warm. For one indulgent moment, you pick up the shirt and hug it to you. It smells like him - the outdoors, a crisp spring day, with a whiff of the barbeque smoke from downstairs. You bury your nose into the soft fabric, eyes closed, imagining the weight and shape of him in it. 

Even as you put your arms through the sleeves to button it up, you already know it will be hard giving it back. You leave the last three buttons undone and you’ve just tied up the too-long ends in a double knot when there’s a polite but firm knock on the door. 

‘You decent?’

‘Yes.’

You hope your face doesn’t fall too obviously at the sight of Joel wearing a shirt again, probably one borrowed from Tommy. He leaves it unbuttoned though, which is small consolation. The air hums between you with stolen glances and words unsaid.

‘You wore those jeans for me,’ he says suddenly.

The for me rolls off his tongue coated in his delectable Southern drawl and a heady satisfaction.

You decide to be brave and shrug one shoulder in a show of attitude. ‘It was the only thing I didn’t have in the wash.’

His grin makes your heart swell. Stepping out of the open doorway, his eyes trailing heat where they linger over you, he says, ‘You look good in my shirt, sweetheart. Real good.’

You bite your lower lip at the compliment, replying shyly, ‘I like this look on you too.’

‘Used to be Tommy’s uniform during our contractor days,’ he reminiscences. ‘I’m just missing the utility belt.’

Oh. You actually find it offensive that the fleeting mention of something as banal as a utility belt should get you going like this. You try to palm off a non-committal hum, but your body betrays you with a strangled choking sound that gives you away.

Joel arches an eyebrow and closes the gap between you with three long, deliberate steps, one finger skimming where his shirt meets the waistband of your jeans. He teases with a smirk, ‘What’s that, sweetheart? This contractor look doin’ somethin’ for you?’

Your cheeks grow hot as both his palms latch boldly onto your hips, and you swear you can feel the burn of his fingertips through the denim, a moan gargling in your throat as your ability to form words abandons you.

‘That a yes?’ he prompts, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops in your jeans and tugging your body flush against his, his stubbled chin brushing the sensitive crook of your neck as he speaks into your ear.

‘Joel,’ you whine, which is the best you can do right now, grabbing onto the open flaps of his shirt just to stay upright.

You feel the rumble that goes through his chest under your palms when he purrs, smiling down at you, head cocked to one side with a playful condescension that’s going to be the end of you. ‘Yes, Pin?’

Your mouth opens, but you’ll never get to find out what you intended to say, because you hear it first - his right ear is to the door - the thunder of rubber soles on the stairs, and you're lucky you manage to stumble two steps back before a deafening (no pun intended), drawn-out call of his name follows.

‘JOOOOOOELLLL!’

Ellie crashes into the doorway with all the grace of a bull in a china shop, slightly out of breath like she’s been running all over the place searching for him, already in the middle of a sentence, as usual. 

‘- also Maria says they’re doing a speech now and you’re not getting out of -’ she breaks off abruptly when she spots you, eyes wide and brows - all one and a half of them - reaching for her hairline. ‘Oh shiiiiiit.’

Running a tired hand down his face, Joel’s sigh sounds a lot like surrender. ‘Ellie, this is Pin. Pin, I’m sorry.’

You bite your lip to hold back a laugh at the resignation in his tone as the teenager wrinkles her nose. ‘Pin? That’s a weird name.’

‘Ellie!’

You smile. ‘It’s ok. Pin's just my nickname. I’m a seamstress at the Main Street Outfitters.’

Her face lights up excitedly, an open book if you’ve ever seen one. ‘No shit! I’ve been bugging Joel for a leather jacket for ages. Can I get one?’

‘Please,’ he interjects.

Ellie tucks in her chin and juts out her bottom lip at you. ‘Please?’

You demur. ‘Well, it depends on what you can trade in for it.’

‘My boombox!’ she volunteers without skipping a beat. 

Joel scoffs. ‘Good to know those three weeks fixing that piece of junk for you was time well spent.'

‘Sorry, man, but I can’t wear a boombox can I?’ she argues.

Giving Joel an amused look, you come to his rescue. ‘I’m sorry, Ellie, but we only take clothes in exchange.’ At the way she deflates, you counteroffer, ‘Or, you can come work at the shop on Saturdays for the next couple of months. Lucy always needs help out front, and you get a staff discount.’

He turns to you, protesting, ‘That’s very kind, but it ain’t necessary -’

Ellie cuts in, rushing up to you to shake your hand before you can take it back. ‘Deal! When can I start?’

‘There’s no rush,’ you reply with a chuckle. ‘I’ll get back to you next week.’

Stepping back, Ellie winks, ‘So - let’s put a pin in it for now?’

Joel groans at the terrible pun. ‘Get outta here!’

She cackles, firing triumphant finger guns at you as she retreats. ‘What? Pin liked it, she laughed! You’re no fun old man!’ 

She then pauses by the door, her eyes narrowing as she zeroes in on something smeared on your jeans. ‘Wait - what’s that white stuff on your leg?’

‘It’s cream cheese, you little shit!’ Joel snaps as your ears burn in embarrassment. ‘Out!’

She scampers out of sight, but then reverses into view, sneakers squeaking. ‘ - Are you wearing Joel’s shirt?’

‘ELLIE!’

She throws her hands up. ‘Alright, I’m gone, I’m gone! See ya Pin!’

Joel is the very picture of an embarrassed dad, rubbing the back of his neck with a wince. ‘Sorry, she’s a handful.’

You grin, ‘She’s just a teenager.’

‘You can say that again.’

The quiet seems louder after Ellie, and you restlessly pick at the sleeves. Lifting your eyes shyly, it seems the moment has passed - but Joel has other ideas.

‘C’mere,’ he hums, drawing you close again with one hand on your waist, peering down at you through his lashes. ‘This ok?’

At your nod, he brushes his thumb on your bottom lip, catching the soft plump skin, and your tongue darts out to taste him, his eyes darkening.

‘Can I kiss you, sweetheart?’ he asks, voice hoarse.

It’s been years. Years since anyone has cared enough to kiss you, let alone cared enough to ask if they could. And it’s as if he knows - you don’t know if you’ve somehow given it away, or maybe it’s just him. 

‘Yes, Joel.’

He coaxes you closer so that you’re pressed along the whole length of him. His big palms are warm and solid on the small of your back, holding you to him like he intends for you to have trouble standing after he’s done with you. 

The tip of his nose bumps into your cheek, nudging its way across and down, and your eyes slide shut when his shaky exhale grazes your gently parted mouth. Your breath hitches at the sweet burn of his beard on your jaw, fingers grabbing onto the scruff of his neck when he finally, finally brushes his lips against yours.

For a man as hardened as Joel Miller, he sure kisses soft. He steals a whimper straight from your throat with nothing more than the clever angling of his lips, the slow drag of tongue on tongue, and a growl deep in his windpipe that you answer with your own moan.

You don’t even have the presence of mind to be embarrassed when your shins knock into his, breaking the kiss with a laugh as Joel hauls you up into his chest, looking very much pleased that he’s literally made your knees buckle.

‘Sorry,’ you squeak, beaming despite yourself.

‘You really know how to flatter a guy, sweetheart,’ he answers, his voice warming you like a smokey campfire, steadying by his hands on your hips.

‘We should probably go before Ellie comes back for us,’ you say reluctantly.

Joel huffs, ‘Ain’t gonna hear the end of it if she does.’

‘Something tells me you won’t be hearing the end of it tonight anyway,’ you tease.

He chucks you gently under the chin, his eyes soft. ‘Let’s go, sweetheart.’

‘You’ve made yourself scarce,’ remarks Lucy as she ambles up to you with a glass of wine running low. ‘Where you been, hon?’

‘Had some trouble with the cake,’ you answer vaguely.

‘Sure,’ she winks at you, unconvinced. ‘If we’re calling him that.’

Right on cue, Joel strides across the lawn with three plates to join you. ‘Thought you might want some of Pin’s carrot cake.’

‘Such a gentleman, Joel Miller,’ chirps Lucy, making what can only be described as a 'thirst face' at you when his back is turned to her.

‘Thanks, Joel,’ you smile at him, letting your fingers graze his deliberately when you take the plate from him.

Saluting you with a forkful of cake, he says, ‘Thank you for bakin’, sweetheart.’

You watch as his lips close around the fork, dragging the cake clean off the slots, cream cheese smearing the corner of his mouth. He frowns, as if in deep pain as he chews, Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows.

‘Okay?’ you ask nervously, your slice still untouched.

‘Perfect,’ he declares, already having a second, bigger bite. Knowing he doesn’t have a superfluous bone in his body, your chest warms at his words.

‘Wait a second,’ Lucy interrupts, bringing up her plate to inspect it closely. ‘Why does the cake look all wonky?’

‘Don’t know what you’re talking about, Luce,’ you answer coolly, taking a bite yourself.

Humming around a mouthful of moist crumb, the sweet carrot balanced out by the tangy frosting, you meet Joel’s eyes in the soft glow of fairy lights, and he flashes you a conspiratorial smile that makes you grin.

More notes: On Ellie - I was so so nervous about writing our resident teenage badass. I hope I've done her justice, I certainly had a lot of fun writing her introduction to Pin! If you're interested in a detailed deep dive into my process writing this chapter, I do recommend you read the Behind the Seams for this part ❤️

I also went back and forth on the tone and style of this chapter a lot. I wasn’t happy with the way it read, probably still not 100% happy. I like the way Seams and Threads were written better, but the fact is that this chapter is a very different setting and narrative compared to the first two, so I’m trying to be too hard on myself.

So, I have some ideas for where the story will go from here, but nothing concrete. As I've mentioned, I see this fic as more of a loose-fit series, so there's no overarching plot per se, but there's definitely a lot of room for future episodes of these two - I mean, they haven't even done the deed yet 😉

Comments, asks and reblogs are greatly appreciated as always! Thank you so much for reading, I'm so excited to hear what you guys thought of this chapter 😘

[august-poppy]

Pleasers & baked ziti presents: 2 baked 2 ziti

Pleasure dom!Bouncer!Joel (ooop!) x stripper!reader

Summary: Bouncer Joel takes reader on a date, and she learns what being with a gifted ;) and talented ;) pleasure dom means. Reader has the time of her life, basically.

Warnings: Sopranos finale spoilers in the first paragraph, smut, fluff, pleasure dom!Joel, overstimulation, Joel talks reader through it AF, multiple orgasms, squirting, size kink, size difference, big dick fetish, lube, flirting, reader had shitty past partners, insecurity, more Sopranos references, praise kink, reference to phone sex and masturbation, pet names, Joel is hung AF and he knows it, oral sex (f receiving),

Word count: 3k

🍝🍝🍝🍝

The Sopranos finale is playing on her TV, and she watches intently as mob boss Tony looks up for just a moment before the screen suddenly cuts to black. She’s confused for a few seconds and her phone rings, with “Joel bouncer” popping up as the caller ID, and she picks up immediately as she hits her remote control on the arm of the couch. “What happened?” she hears Joel frantically asking, “My cable cut out and the screen just turned off”. “Mine too” she says and takes a step forward to slap the TV before she sees the credits roll and they’re both silent. “Fuuuck, dude,” she says in disbelief, “He got whacked”. “Madone” he sighs, “Sad when they go young like that”. “When they go?!” she asks in her best Johnny Sack impression, and they both laugh a little. 

“Been meanin’ to ask you somethin’ actually” he says after a brief period of silence from the both of them. “Oh?” she asks tentatively, her eyes darting around as her cellphone digs into the cartilage of her ear. “Umm,” he hears Joel mumble and clear his throat, “I was wonderin’ if I could take you out.. On a date”. She squeezes her eyes closed and grins, realizing her long time work crush was totally reciprocated. “Yes!” she says, and realizes she sounds way too excited. He chuckles a little, a low rumble on the other end making her heart flutter, “Wednesday? Pick you up at six?”. 

He’s seen her without heels plenty of times, on the way into the parking garage under the club, but he’s never seen her in anything other than lingerie and loungewear, so he can't help but smile when he sees her pop out of her house. She slams her front door shut and runs out to the truck at precisely six, wearing a yellow sundress and sneakers, flinging the door open and jumping in. “Where are we eating?” she asks immediately, eyes stuck on his, with no attempt at hiding her excitement. “You’ll see” Joel says and starts the engine, cracking up a little at her eagerness and feeling a little nervous all of a sudden. 

Despite sitting across from each other at a restaurant, in the daylight, on a Wednesday, it still, in many ways, feels like the break room on Friday night at the strip club. They talk like they always do, but instead of snacks, there’s actual dinner, and instead of glancing over at each other here and there, they’re looking straight at each other and talking, unable to get their eyes off one another, barely remembering to eat until Joel reminds both her and himself that their food is gonna get cold. She steals Joel’s fries repeatedly but refuses to order her own, shushing him when he attempts to get a hold of a waiter to put in an order for more.

She puts her hand out on the table and he grabs it, flipping it over so her hand is in his, rubbing her wrist with his thumb as he watches her blush and dart her eyes around the room. The check arrives and he slams his hand down on it before she even gets to look at it, stopping her when she attempts to offer to pay. “Fine” she rolls her eyes and giggles, insisting she’ll get it next time. He agrees, knowing he won’t let her get it next time, or any time in the future, and he’ll blame southern hospitality every time. 

“Wanna go to the beach and watch the sunset?” he asks as they walk out, “It’s a short walk from here”. He interlocks his fingers with her as they walk down the street, and her hand is completely swallowed by his, overwhelmingly big and calloused, but warm and gentle at the same time. She squeezes his hand a little as she walks, looking down and suddenly feeling a pull from behind her, realizing Joel has stopped and she’s a step ahead. 

“What are you looking at?” she asks with a giggle as she steps back to him, and he smiles as he slips his other hand around her waist and pulls her close to him before leaning down to kiss her. “Just you” he answers when he pulls back for just a second, then goes back for another kiss, a little too much tongue for being in public but exactly as much as she likes. “Okay, come on” she says as she pulls at his hand and keeps walking, “I wanna see the rest of the sunset”. 

All the benches are taken but there's a patch of grass open, and she sits down in front of him between his legs, feeling his big arms wrap around her. She looks back at him and he kisses her again, carefully grabbing the back of her head as their tongues slip around each other, and they try to keep it PG but know it’s only a matter of time before they end up at her house. 

He breaks the kiss when he realizes he’s going to get arrested for public indecency if it goes on any longer and he has to stand up, so she leans back into his chest, completely engulfed by his arms and shoulders. “I don’t know what to do with my life” she says as she looks at the sunset, and he furrows his brows a little, unsure of what to say before she continues, “Now that Sopranos is done.. What am I supposed to watch?”. “Start season one again, I g-” he starts to say before he feels her perking up. 

“Ducks!” she exclaims, interrupting him and pointing at a small group of ducks a little ways down from where they’re sitting. “It’s totally a sign” she says, turning back to him. “Sign of what?” he says, trying not to laugh. Her face suddenly turns serious, “I’m not sure.. Wanna go to my place and watch the first episode? I have the DVDs”

---

They only get five minutes into the episode before she’s in his lap, making out with heavy breaths, and she's grinding his hard bulge, feeling it rub against her just right as his hands anchor her onto his hips. She feels a bit embarrassed being so horny just from making out, but it’s been too long since she had sex with anyone and something about Joel’s touch is winding her up like crazy. She can feel that he’s big, even through his jeans, turning her on even more. 

He hears her trying to stifle her moans when he pulls her down onto his crotch, noticing that she’s tensing up. “You seem nervous, what's going on?” he says as he pulls back for a second. “Been a while” she laughs nervously. “Relax, let me take care of you” he coos and slips her dress over her head, unhooking her bra and letting her sit on his lap in only her panties, “No rushin’, baby”. She smiles and nods, runs her fingers through his hair and watches him as he traces the outside of her panties with the backs of his fingers. “May I?” he asks, and she bites her lip as she says yes. 

He throws her over his shoulder and walks to her bedroom, throwing her down onto the bed while he takes off his pants and shirt, then kneeling onto the bed, hooking his fingers into the straps of her panties, pulling them off in one motion and spreading her legs wide before inserting two fingers into her dripping heat. “You're so tight, fuck” he whispers as he sees her pussy suffocating his two thick fingers, “Need to stretch you out real well so you can take me, sweetheart”. “Why?” she asks with a perplexed expression, almost laughing while trying to reassure him, “I can take it, I've had sex before”. “Uhh..” he laughs nervously and looks down, “You'll see”. 

He withdraws his fingers and positions himself between her legs, inching backwards until his face is hovering right above her pussy, and he looks up at her for just a second before he starts licking at her clit, building up his pace gradually as she arches her back and starts tugging at his hair. She’s perplexed as she lays there, used to men just giving her a few licks before moving on, thinking it's sufficient, but now watching Joel lap her up like it’s his last meal on earth. She only lasts a few minutes before she comes, gripping her sheets as tightly as she can and moaning his name. 

“Want me to return the favor?” she asks when he lifts his face and wipes it with the back of his hand. “It’s okay,” he says with a smile, shaking his head, “Next time”. He kisses her inner thighs as she looks down at him, “Just wanna see you come, baby, makes me feel good”. She throws her head back and covers her face with her hands, hearing his low chuckle, but quickly raises her upper body and starts pulling at his waistband as he sits up, “Are you gonna fuck me now?”. He can’t help but laugh at how excited she looks, and nods with a smile before he pulls down his boxers, freeing his colossal dick from the fabric.

Her eyes widen at the sight of his size, and one glance assures her there’s no way her hand can fit around his girth. It’s by far the biggest she’s ever seen, stunningly long and so thick, reminiscent of the can of shaving cream she has in her shower, with thick veins running up to the wide, bulbous tip, already glistening with precome from going down on her. Holy fuck.

She has to have frozen completely for a while, just staring at the ridiculously large cock in front of her, as she’s startled by Joel's voice, tinged with concern. “Everythin’ alright?” he asks as he tilts her chin up with his finger and tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Joel, you're joking right?” she asks as she looks up at him in disbelief, “You’re huge, how’s that gonna fit?”.

“I know what I’m doin’, don’t worry” he says with a chuckle, “We can use lube if that makes you less nervous? I don’t wanna hurt you, darlin'”. She reaches over to her nightstand, opening the little door and knocking down bottles of hand lotion and massage oil as she grabs the lube and hands it to him. He squirts out a little on his tip and strokes himself a few times to spread it evenly, the sight making her clench in arousal. “You ready for me, sweetheart?” he asks as he leans over and teases her opening, and she nods before laying down on her back. 

He gently nudges into her entrance and she immediately tenses up. “I’ll go real slow for you, baby” he soothes, “Tell me if anything’s uncomfortable and I’ll stop”. She takes a deep breath and tries to relax her entire body as she feels Joel stretch her out while he runs his warm hand over her thighs, not breaking eye contact other than blinking slowly or glancing down to see if she’s less tense. "I don't know if I can take all of-", she stutters as she looks up at him, so unbearably horny she’s struggling to lay still. "Yes, you can" he coos, "Just relax, I’m gonna make you feel good".

He starts kissing down her neck all the way down to her collarbone while he slides deeper and deeper with every thrust. “You okay? Want more?” he asks carefully, and she hums in response. She’s teetering on the edge between pain and pleasure, spilling onto either side intermittently as she aches for him to get deeper. He bottoms out and she tenses up, feeling him pushing her cervix and her opening still burning a little. "Need a second?", he looks up and down her face with a look of slight concern as his hands slide down from her waist and start massaging her hips, “Take your time, baby”. A soft “Mhm” is all she manages to utter while she looks into his eyes through blown out pupils, feeling his heat radiate through her skin as he soothes her, his thumbs digging into her soft hips and his palms squeezing her just enough to relieve the tension. 

Her moans get louder as he picks up the pace a little, still fucking her at a slow pace, watching her breath hitch a little every time he bottoms out. “It feels so good, Joel, I-”, she gasps as he fills her up,  “You feel so goo- fuck, you’re so big”. She’s never experienced something like this before, rarely even having an orgasm before penetration most of the time, not to mention one brought on by someone patiently going down on her, followed by getting filled so well she feels it in her entire pelvis. “Your pussy feels so fucking good on my cock, so tight” he groans as he pulls his dick out enough to where only the tip is still inside her, before pushing back in and feeling her slick walls sucking him in, “That feel good for you, baby?”.

Nodding and moaning, he can tell she enjoys hearing him talk and keeps cooing at her as he thrusts a little harder. “So wet for me, takin' me so well” he murmurs and holds her hips in place, “Such a beautiful girl, you look so pretty with my cock inside you”. Her eyes roll back as she lays there, the pain completely subsided and replaced by overwhelming pleasure. “You gonna let me feel you come again, baby?” he asks and smoothes his hands down her hips. “I’m not sure I can” she says shyly. He looks genuinely confused, brows furrowed as he strokes her thighs and slows down, “Why not?”. 

“I’ve never been able to come more than once in one night, and I always have to do it myself, except right now”, she shrugs and tries to laugh a little to lighten the reality of what she’s telling him about her experiences, “People are selfish in bed.. Not you, I just-”. 

“Can I try?” he asks, and even though she’s sure it’ll be another miss, she nods. “Get on your knees and spread your legs for me, honey”, he says gently, and she hisses as he enters her again, his cock still slick from the lube, making it a little easier. He slowly starts thrusting, waiting until he hears a few whimpers before he reaches around and starts rubbing her clit. “Gonna be real intense for you at first, honey,”, he soothes her with his hand running up and down the swell of her ass, “But you can take it, I know you can”. 

“S-so intense, I ca-”, her sentence turns into a gasp as she forces it out, his finger nudging her exposed clit making her shake. “Does it feel good?” he asks, and feels her gently shaking in his hands. “Y-yeah” she squeaks. “Then just keep goin’, I'll stop if you tell me to stop”, his thrusts are steady and his free hand massages her flesh as it travels along her back and behind.  “It's so good but it's t-too much, Joel, I get these waves of- oh!”, she’s interrupted by her core tightening, walls clenching around his thickness. 

“There it is,” he coos as he feels her convulsing under him, “Just let go, it’s okay”. She whimpers and moans under him as he nudges her soft spot and fills her, his fingers still rubbing her clit firmly, “Ride it out, baby, I got you”. She nods in acknowledgement and tries to stay steady on her forearms, focusing on making sure her legs don’t give out. “S-so sensitive” she whines when the wave of intensity passes and she feels the pressure building right where he’s inside her. “That means you're close, baby, just relax”, he says and presses kisses along her upper back and spine, “You’ll come, don’t worry”. Mhmm is all she can muster. 

“You're so close, sweetheart, I can feel it,”, she hears him cooing, “Just a little more”. She moans his name breathlessly, noticing the waves becoming less intense and her orgasm starting to creep up her spine. “You can do it,” he whispers and feels her tightening around him, “Just breathe”. She comes with a shattering moan, collapsing under him and panting he fucks her through her climax. “Good girl” he praises and retracts his hand, stilling on her hips so he can pull her back onto his cock and start thrusting harder. 

“So, so good for me, so beautiful” he coos as he pounds her and listens to her moaning, barely able to say his full name. Still sensitive from her second orgasm, every nudge at her cervix builds the pressure in her stomach until she gasps and she can’t stop the stream of liquid pouring out of her and down Joel’s thighs. “Did so well,” he says with a smile, “Doesn’t that feel good, baby?”. Her walls stay clenched tightly as she comes, squeezing him as he slides in and out. “So tight around my cock, honey, you’re gonna make me come” he groans, and he can’t stop his spend from spurting out of him, filling her insides with an animalistic growl. 

“Does everyone you have sex with come repeatedly like that?” she carefully asks as he cleans her up. “Uhh,” he responds with a noncommittal laugh, “Most of the time, yeah”. “How?”. “I take my time with ‘em, find out what makes ‘em feel good, and do that until they can't handle anymore”, he throws the towel in her laundry hamper and lays down, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in close, “‘S not rocket science, angel, just bein’ attentive”. “Why do you like it?” she asks and traces her finger along his chest and shoulders, pushing a little on the bulging muscle under his tan skin. “Turns me on to know you feel good, ‘s all that matters to me, that you’re enjoyin’ yourself” he says, making her look away and giggle. 

“Call me next time you touch yourself,” he pushes her hair behind her ear as his eyes trail up and down her face, “Let me hear you again”. She blushes a little at the thought, knowing the next time will be tomorrow with this experience fresh in her mind, “Oh?”. “Mhm,” he cradles her jaw and kisses her softly, “Won't let you off the phone till you've come three times though, now that you know how”. “Shut up” she says and paws at his chest, making him pull her closer. “I’ll tell you what to do, baby, don't worry” he murmurs in her ear.

@pascalisbaby @silkiers

[august-poppy]

need to get off? call this number now! (18+)

sequel to: hot single dilfs in your area want to chat!

joel miller x afab reader

summary: after a particularly great anonymous sex chat session with a man named Joel, you've been continuing to "get to know each other better," culminating in the hottest phone sex of your life

word count: 3.3k

a/n: I was more than happy to write this sequel--let it get a little long, sorry about that! some of it may be build up for part 3/3 🤪 oh and thank god HBO gave us at least one scene with Joel on the phone for that gif

tags: explicit sexual content (18+), dom!joel and sub!reader, heavy dirty talk, degrading language, joel is a little mean but like in a sexy way, talk of p in v penetration, mutual masturbation, sex toys, sending nudes

“You know I’ve never done this before either, right?”

The first time you heard Joel’s voice over the phone, you felt a wave of relief wash over you; it was just as insanely hot as you imagined it to be. His Texan accent complemented his low and gravelly voice perfectly.

“Talked on a phone?”

“Funny.” Joel responded in a deadpan tone, before letting out a small chuckle that eased your nerves.

After your initial meeting on some anonymous sex chat site, you had hesitantly exchanged numbers. The next morning you’d woken up full of anxiety, scared that you’d given your number to some murderous creep. The fear quickly didn’t last for long, though; it was quickly replaced by the ache between your legs as you remembered just how hot your conversation with Joel was.

It wasn’t until a few nights later that you finally received a text from him again, in which he began respectfully like the last time. He offered a polite greeting and asked you how you had been doing.

You didn’t know how familiar to act with him at first, second guessing every message you wrote out. But soon enough the conversation flowed naturally, and, of course, every chat ended with both of you getting yourself off.

The dynamic between you two was clear and quite simple; Joel told you what to do, and you did it. You had taken a moment, though, between one of your sext sessions, to outline your limits (better late than never you had told him). As you had written out your (admittedly short) list, you realized that even the things that didn’t interest you before didn’t sound so bad if it was Joel encouraging it, if it was him guiding you through it. 

It was then that Joel had mentioned that he would be comfortable talking to you over the phone—more than comfortable, he had clarified.

“Nice to finally hear your voice,” Joel said, his own voice low and husky, almost a whisper.

“I hope it doesn’t disappoint.”

You heard him chuckle softly again over the line. “Not at all. Your voice is… pretty. And sexy. Can’t believe such nasty stuff came from someone with such a sweet voice.”

You didn’t expect Joel to be able to make you blush, but you felt your face get warm as you listened to his compliments. “Well, I can’t wait to hear you give me orders in your actual voice. Because, fuck… it’s very hot.”

You listened to silence on the other end, waiting for Joel’s response. You had grown accustomed to his moments of longer response times; he was always careful to speak deliberately and with purpose.

“Tell me about your day.”

You smiled at his order, the most wholesome he’s ever had for you. You complied, briefly telling him about your day, avoiding any information that might give away your identity.

He listened, humming along at moments.

“Can I ask you how your day was?”

“Not much to say, really,” Joel mumbled. “Went to work like usual. Was distracted all day, though… thinking about you.”

You couldn’t stop the smile forming on your face. “Oh yeah? And what did you think about me doing?”

“Anything I told you to do.”

Joel clearly knew that he had you wrapped around his finger. His gorgeous, thick finger that you had only ever seen before in the picture he sent you of his hand wrapped around his cock.

He learned that when he was texting you one night.

Been back on that site, chatting with other lonely men?

You had been happy to tell him that no, you weren’t. Truthfully, when he hadn’t texted you right away after your initial conversation, you had tried to shake the dirty memory of him off by finding someone new to chat with. But everyone felt wrong after the amazing conversation you had with Joel.

No one knew how to talk to you the way Joel did, how to make you come. Things that would have sounded sexy coming from Joel just sounded creepy (and not in the hot way) or lame when it came from other men.

been back on that site yourself? chatting with other girls?

No. Just been trying to wait a respectable amount of time before messaging you again.

there’s nothing respectable about what we do <3

“You haven’t touched yourself since we last spoke, right?”

“No. Just like you told me.”

“Good girl.”

You let out an involuntary sigh at hearing him say those words out loud for the first time. It sounded even better in real life than how it did in your head when you read the phrase in his texts.

“I’ve been aching all week waiting for this,” you murmured in the phone, trying not to sound too much like you were whining. “You have no idea how hard it is to not get myself off when I think about you.”

Joel made a soft noise on the other end of the line, and you wondered if he had started jerking off yet. Though, he would usually tell you when he first started touching himself, and it was always after a fair deal of textual build-up.

“Sorry, darling, can’t help myself,” he muttered, voice breathy.

It was like he could read your mind.

“I gotta start early this time. Been half hard all day just thinking about this call.”

You didn’t mind at all, beginning to run your hand over your neck and collarbone, trying to touch yourself in any way you could before Joel gave you permission to reach the spots you actually needed to be touched in.

“I’ll take it as a compliment. Especially if it means you’re going to let me get off fast, too?”

Joel made a breathy little laugh. “What’re you wearing?”

You grinned at the quintessential phone sex question.

“Something special, for you,” you whispered into the phone, waiting for him to give you the command that you knew was coming.

“Send me a photo, baby.”

You had already taken a few perfect shots as you waited for his call, and quickly selected your favorite to send. You were in a special piece of lingerie you’d bought recently at some store downtown.

You usually didn’t like lingerie, as it tended to just get in the way of what mattered most to you during sex. But you couldn’t resist it after imagining just how beautiful the white lace teddy would look in a picture, and you were motivated by your unyielding desire to turn on Joel.

And he gave you exactly the response you were hoping for.

A deep, labored sigh, then, “Fuck, baby… you’re really wearing that just for me?”

“Of course.”

“You’re a goddamn masterpiece, you know that, right?”

You smiled as you rubbed your hands over your thighs, desperate for friction between them.

“I was hoping you’d like it,” you whispered.

“You have no idea just how much I like it,” he muttered before letting out a slight groan.

The groan that you had been itching to hear ever since you first chatted with him online.

“Please,” you whined, too needy to care about Joel’s rule against begging (it’s only allowed if he orders you to beg for it). “I need to touch myself so bad.”

You heard the bastard chuckle. “Since you’ve been such a good girl, I’ll let you go straight to that sweet little cunt.”

He typically made you start by groping your breasts with closed eyes, imagining it was his big, strong hands grasping at you. It was always a sexy way to start one of your text sessions, but the sound of his voice had gotten you wet enough already.

You spread your legs, but before your hand could even reach between them, Joel added a caveat.

“Only over all that lace, though. Can’t touch yourself directly just yet.”

You wanted to whine, but your need to be good for Joel outweighed how annoyed you were at his demand.

“I’ve already got it all wet,” you whimpered as you began to rub yourself over the lace. “Not even like it’s covering much anyways.”

“Jesus,” Joel groaned. “Finally get to hear the pretty little sounds you make. Was missing out on this the whole time.”

“Wait ‘til you hear how I sound when you make me come.”

You could finally hear the sound of his fist as it moved up and down the length of his cock.

“Wish I could see you jerking yourself off,” you muttered into the phone, beginning to love the way the wet lace felt as you rubbed it into your clit.

“You don’t remember that little video I sent ya?”

You smiled, absolutely remembering his “little video.”

He had sent it during an earlier text session of yours when he was making you tell him about all the little things that turned you on. You had gone through the lengthy list, starting with the broad categories and then moving on to the random specific things that drove you crazy.

watching people get themselves off. got this thing for when people use oil. just completely focused on making themselves feel good

Like massage oil?

lol yeah. lube works, too, I guess, but massage oil is the hottest

You had been stuck for a minute waiting for a reply, wishing he had given you permission to touch yourself after already being completely wet from going through the list of your kinks and fantasies.

Finally, he replied with a video attachment. You physically sat up in bed when you saw it come through, eagerly clicking.

He held is phone in one hand and his cock in the other, rubbing the red and swollen tip for a moment before grabbing a tube of massage oil. Just the thought of him having that casually around his house turned you on, but the video sent you beyond.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t make any noise beyond a bit of heavy breathing as he rubbed the oil up and down his cock, even taking a moment to grab at his balls.

It ended far too soon, but you had no problem turning it on a loop.

“Of course I remember that fucking video,” you said, beginning to move your hips into your hand at the memory. “Just too short.”

“I don’t hear that often,” Joel said with a laugh.

You rolled your eyes, even if he wasn’t there to see it.

“Alright, hands off yourself now.”

You let out a small, desperate whine, forcing your hand to move off your body.

“Don’t be a brat tonight,” Joel ordered. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

You were sure he would, so you waited for his command.

“Get up and grab that special toy I got ya, then sit down in front of a mirror. You got a mirror you can sit in front of?”

“Yes, let me grab this first,” you answered, already on your feet and reaching for your nightstand drawer.

“What did I say about mumblin’?”

You giggled, walking over to your full-length mirror and sitting down. “That I oughta speak clearly unless there’s a dick in my mouth.”

“Well, it seems you can still remember things. Haven’t had all those brain cells fucked outta you just yet?”

Joel’s descent into degrading and gruff domination was always so sexy to you, and hearing it come straight from his mouth was even better.

“Not yet,” you replied with a smirk.

 You heard the hint of a laugh on the other line, and waited for further instructions. The “special toy” was a dildo that he had sent to a private PO box for you, after telling you that you needed something closer to his actual size, something that could stretch you out closer to the way his cock would. 

You never thought you’d have a stranger sending you sex toys over the internet, but any concern you had about the situation quickly dissipated when you first worked the toy inside of you. You loved the slight pain the girth caused–something which you made sure to message to Joel, who had been waiting at his computer to read your thoughts.

“Start rubbing it against your cunt.” After a moment, he added, “You can push the tip in, but that’s it. No more than that. Just yet.”

You did as you were told, rubbing the firm length into your clit then slipping it down through your folds, pressing the tip inside and rocking your hips into it softly. 

“Wish it was you.”

At the beginning, you did your best to stop yourself from being that honest, scared that he’d expect you to agree to meet up with him for real. The more you chatted with him, though, the more comfortable you felt with telling him that. He didn’t seem to be in a rush to meet up, either, but he sure did love to talk about it like you did.

“If that was me teasing you, don’t think I’d be able to stop myself at just the tip. Couldn’t control myself if I–fuck– if I had that sweet pussy of yours right in front of me.”

His words spurred you on to rub the toy against you even harder, loving the soft noises as it slipped through your wet folds. 

“Another reason to wish you were here,” you said with a giggle. 

“You’re so fucking needy, you know that?”

You knew he couldn’t see you, but you still nodded as you watched yourself in the mirror, just the tip of the toy sliding into you. 

“Needy fucking whore,” he muttered, letting out another soft groan. “So desperate you gotta find pervs online to let use you.”

You moaned, loving the way he spoke to you. “Yeah, thank god you were there–needed you to put me in my place, tell me what to do.”

“Want you to suck on it now,” Joel ordered. “Suck on it like you’d suck the head of my cock.”

You were sad to pull it away from your clit, but you did as you were told. You closed your eyes at first, trying to better imagine that it was Joel himself.

But that changed. “Want you to watch yourself taste your own cunt, and remember that you’re doing it because I told you to.”

You whimpered around the toy, desperately clenching around nothing as you tried to rock yourself against the floor for some kind of pressure. 

“Now I want you to put the rest in, suck on it as far down as you can take it, baby.”

You did as you were told and pushed it down further inside your mouth, beginning to gag on it.

Joel’s grunt could be heard loud and clear. “May be a whore but you’re a good fucking girl, you know that.”

The toy popped out of your mouth, along with plenty of saliva, and you let out a desperate–pathetic–moan for him.

“Please,” you whimpered. “I need to get off so fucking bad, Joel.”

You heard him let out a heavy sigh, and you were sure that he was close, too. “Don’t know if you want it enough,” he mumbled. “Gotta hear you beg for it.”

Any remnants of your dignity and pride were long gone when it came to Joel.

“Please, please, please, Joel! Let me get off,” you said, rubbing your thighs together. “I need it so fucking bad. Let me be a good girl for you and come all over this cock.”

You heard a small chuckle from Joel before he said, “Alright, alright, pull that little piece of fabric aside and fuck yourself.”

You were following his order before he could even finish saying it, pushing the wet lace out of the way to gain full access to your aching pussy. It slipped in so perfectly with all the lubrication your body provided, while still giving you the sensation of being stretched open.

You placed the bottom against the ground, holding the base down while you began to ride on it.

“Watch yourself in the mirror, baby,” Joel said through bated breath. “Watch it slip in and out of that slutty little hole of yours, imagine it’s my cock stretching you open like that.”

Joel liked to bring you to orgasm first, but he didn’t seem able to stop himself. You heard him grunt, repeating ‘fuck’ several times, moaning your name for you. That moment made you regret all the times you’d ever come before him, because the sounds he made were enough to get you off immediately. You felt an odd pressure as you pulled the toy out of you just as you hit your orgasm, and a gush of liquid came out of you, too.

“Jesus christ, Joel,” you said, bleary-eyed and completely out of breath. “You made me squirt all over that thing.”

You couldn’t quite describe the noise Joel made at that.

“Goddamnit, baby. Send me a picture.” 

After a few more calls, you two had gotten used to scheduling your “sessions.” So you were certainly taken by surprise one evening when you got a call from Joel while you were out with your friends at a local bar.

“Who is Joelllll?” Your friends gleefully teased you after catching the incoming call screen on your phone.

You had just rolled your eyes at them as you clicked the ‘x’ on your phone, planning to text him later to him that you were busy. They kept asking questions, though, trying to figure out if he was someone serious.

Finally, they wore you down, and you decided to give them a fake response. “Best fuck of my life,” you said with a big smirk as you left the table, headed for the bathrooms.

As far as shitty little bar bathrooms go, it wasn’t that bad. You leaned against the sink and called Joel back. You felt like a Pavlovian dog, practically drooling just at the sound of the ring.

He didn’t answer with a “hi” or a “hello,” but rather just by saying your name in a low, breathy voice that gave you chills.

“Sorry I missed your call,” you began, turning around to face the mirror as you spoke. “I’m out with my friends. We didn’t have something scheduled, right?”

Joel took a moment to respond. “No, I just had the sudden urge to hear your voice. Where are you right now?”

“The bathroom. At some little bar downtown.”

Joel made a noise that you couldn’t quite decipher. “Bet lots of boys are buying you drinks.”

You smiled, loving how jealous Joel seemed to get when you were sure he knew that you were oddly loyal to him, a man you’d never even met before.

“A few offers, but I wouldn’t accept them even if I could. My turn as the designated driver. Only got to have a little bit of wine.”

“Hm,” Joel grumbled. “You should get to have a little fun too, though, huh?”

“Then I guess you better show me a good time.”

Joel made a little ‘tsk’ sound into the phone. “Careful, baby. I call the shots here, remember?”

You held back a giggle; it was too much fun to test him. Without fully realizing it, you began rubbing your body against the curved edge of the sink, which was just low enough to meet your cunt, hidden behind a little party dress. 

“Wonder if you’ve ever been to this bar before. I feel like it would totally be your kind of place,” you mumbled. “Maybe you’ve seen me here before.”

“Maybe.”

You heard noise from outside the bathroom. There must’ve been a line forming, and you knew you didn’t have enough time in there to get Joel off, much less yourself. The idea came to you all at once, and you knew it was bad.

But, true to form, you had no control when it came to Joel, even over yourself.

You pulled your phone away from your ear for a moment and clicked the messaging app, sending him your location. You said one last thing before ending the call.

“If you wanna get off so bad, come and find me.”

a/n: I know we’re all adults here (we better be!!), but just a disclaimer that I do not recommend giving personal information to random people online like this. it’s okay for the purposes of fantasy, but please have more caution in real life!!

tags: (tagging people who commented on the first one too--just let me know if you want it removed though):

@nakedmoondiaries @pedropascalissofine @milla-frenchy @ashhlsstuf @paradisedixon @jasminedragoon @veevsterz

@mishala005 @i-likemygymteacher @imonmykneessir @marleyybluu @elthreetimes @eggnox @imagines-of-the-fandom @tinygarbage @staywildmoonx @elissaaa @Oldsoul1518225

[august-poppy]

hot single dilfs in your area want to chat! (18+)

joel miller x afab reader

summary: hot single dilfs in your area want to chat, and you're more than willing to comply (anonymous sex chatting with joel)

word count: 2.2k

a/n: got distracted thinking about sexting with joel and then the idea accidentally morphed into this. sorry!

tags: explicit sexual content (18+), dom!joel and sub!reader, heavy dirty talk, degrading language, joel is a little mean but like in a sexy way, use of 'daddy' like twice, talk of p in v penetration, mutual masturbation, fingering, pillow humping

Joel46: Hi there. You having a good evening?

You stared at the message, trying to decide whether it was worth moving forward with. The username and opening message didn’t exactly help tell you what this guy was looking for, but you always appreciated when men treated you with a bit of humanity before the sex chat part really started.

hiii. great evening over here. you?

You added a second message, with your age, sex, and location. The online anonymous  sex-chatting standard.

Joel46: Wow. That’s crazy. I’m in Texas too. Outside of Austin.

You narrowed your eyes as you read his message, deciding not to tell this stranger—a horny man, at that—that you were also located just outside of Austin, too. The few other times that you had tried this out before, you ended up with men from Australia or something. Never another Texan.

it’s a big state.

Joel46: That’s true.

You waited for a new message, but soon realized that he was likely waiting for you to do the same. Or he found someone else that was keeping his attention better than you.

Then, a new message finally came through. Like an afterthought.

Joel46: Oh, and I’m having an alright evening, darling. Thanks for asking.

You don’t know why, but you smiled at the message.

i've got a few ways I could make your evening better

The chat box showed that he was typing for a moment, but that he must’ve stopped. Then, it showed he was typing again.

Joel46: Oh really?

His first message idea must’ve been longer, and you realized he was holding back.

first time on here?

Joel46: Am I that bad at this?

Joel46: But yes.

You smiled to yourself.

that’s okay. i can help you get started, if you want?

let me tell you a little about myself.

You sent him a brief description of your physical appearance, hoping that he understood that you wanted him to reciprocate.

Joel46: You sound gorgeous, darling. Why’re you wasting your time on here?

Joel46: I’m about 6 ft, brown eyes, dark brown hair, mustache and beard. I’m a contractor, so I’ve got a decent build.

Joel46: Hope that doesn’t sound conceited or anything.

He was adorable, but now you were stuck imagining how sexy he must’ve been based on his little description.

you probably shouldn’t give too many details of yourself, though, by the way.

Joel46: Lots of creeps on here? Then why are you here?

i'm here to find the creeps.

Joel46: I’m not a creep

bet I can change that.

Joel46: Jesus, darling. You’re forward

For a second, you feared you offended him, turned him off completely. It didn’t take long for a second message to come through to soothe your mind, though.

Joel46: it’s very sexy

tell me what you like

You watched the screen show that he was typing, then watched it disappear. He did the same dance a few more times before finally replying.

Joel46: Ladies first

You shook your head at the screen, but you smiled and began to write out your interests nevertheless. There was no point in being coy.

i'm into most things, really. but I especially love anything rough/BDSM adjacent. love being degraded by older men on here. love when they give me orders.

You stared at the screen, waiting for a response. You wondered if this was too far for him. That would’ve been disappointing, though; you had only just scratched the surface of what you liked.

Joel46: fuck

Joel46: haven’t fucked like that in years

Joel46: always had a damn good time, though

You smirked at the screen. Got him.

what about you?

Joel46: Well, never been on here before, but I’m pretty sure I’m gonna like giving orders to a little slut like you.

Your mouth fell open slightly as you read the message, and you felt a pang of arousal fill your body. The old man had some bite to him.

you never gave any details on your cock earlier

You waited a minute, and, to your surprise, watched an image come through. You eagerly clicked to find that Joel had sent you a picture of his cock, nice and hard and swollen in his grasp. The lowlighting wherever he was hit it at just the right angle, highlighting the prominent vein and his hefty balls.

fuckk. wish you were here with me. be gagging on that right now.

Joel46: you’d be doing whatever I fucking told you to do

You felt your hips shift instinctively as you read his message, mouth going dry.

Yes, daddy

Joel46: that’s cute. What’re you wearing right now, baby?

Nothing.

Joel46: should’ve assumed as much. Why would a little whore like you bother with clothing?

Joel46: I’m assuming you’ve got a dildo you use while you talk to old, nasty pervs on here?

This fucker had practically hustled you. Pretending to be some clueless middle-aged man who didn’t know what he was doing on the internet. You smirked with glee as you reached over to your bedside table and pulled out your trusty dildo. About seven inches, never girthy enough.

yes. not as big as your cock, tho : (

Joel46: damn. It’ll have to do

Joel46: for now.

Joel46: get on your knees, now, and start sucking on it like it’s my cock

You wasted no time in following his order, feeling just how wet you’d gotten when your thighs moved as you made your way to the ground. You moved your laptop along with you, eager to tell him that you were doing exactly as he said.

You popped the dildo in your mouth, and began to suck, imagining it was the big, swollen cock from Joel’s picture.

I’m doing it exactly like you said.

Joel46: bet your cunt’s dripping all over the floor?

He wasn’t far off. You squeezed your thighs together, trying to get some relief.

Yes. Can I touch myself?

Joel46: Not yet. Be a good girl and keep sucking.

You knew that there was no way for him to verify that you were actually following his orders, but you did as he said regardless. It was all part of what turned you on.

Joel46: Bet you love being on your knees for men. Bet you have a pretty little mouth just made for sucking cock.

You breathed out heavily as you read the message, pushing the dildo further down your throat. You wished you could hear him saying these things. You imagined he had a deep and commanding voice, that he would grunt and groan for you.

men have told me it’s all I’m good for.

Joel46: aww, no, sweetie. I can think of something else you’re good for. Speaking of, you can start rubbing it now. I’m sure you need to.

You let out a needy whimper around the dildo as your finger reached your clit, spreading your knees to give you a better angle.

thank you, daddy

Joel46: think you’d be able to take my cock down your throat?

too big, but you can fuck my face and see how far down you can get it, let me gag all over it.

Joel46: Jesus. Lucky for you I like that. I’ll hold your head down and you can show me just how good of a girl you are.

It was like he knew exactly what you wanted.

Joel46: you in your bedroom, baby? Grab a pillow and fold it up beneath you, and start rubbing your cunt against it.

Joel46: make sure to make lots of pretty noises so anyone nearby knows just how bad your little cunt needs to get fucked

Before you could even read the second message, you were leaning across your bed and grabbing a big, fluffy pillow, following his orders happily. It took a bit of maneuvering, but you finally found the perfect spot. You popped the dildo out of your mouth and set it on your bedspread, so that you could moan loud just like he told you.

feels so fuckign good, joel. wish it was your lap I was humping, tho

Joel46: imagine how quick you’d cum with this cock pressed up against your needy little cunt

You whimpered at his words, bringing your fingers up to pinch at your nipples. He didn’t say you could do that, but you weren’t afraid to break a rule or two.

imagine how quick I’d cum with your cock splitting me open.

Joel46: god you’re a slut, saying such filthy shit to a total stranger on the internet.

Joel46: Can’t even imagine what you’re like in real life

Joel46: neighborhood cumrag?

“Fuck,” you muttered out loud.

would be if you told me to.

Joel46: I don’t know what’s better. Keeping a sweet little thing like you to myself or sharing you with all my friends. Could be fucking hot to watch you take all their cocks, knowing that you only follow my orders.

Joel46: and I’m the only one who gets to cum inside that pretty cunt. Bet you’d be so fucking cute covered in all of their cum, tho

You weren’t sure how much longer you’d be able to last, your fingers were already shaky as you tried to write your reply.

are you jerking off right now?

Joel46: Wouldn’t be able to stop myself even if I tried.

Joel46: wish I could see you, darling

As a rule, you never sent photos of yourself online. Something was different with Joel, though. It wasn’t necessarily that you trusted him, but more that you just wanted to give in to his every desire. You had a vested interest in making this random man get off.

Without much more thought you tore off the sticky note you used to cover your webcam and clicked on the picture icon on the chatbot. You angled it carefully to avoid capturing your whole face or any other identifying features while also trying to find the best angle for your body.

 You settled on a pose, with the camera angled low enough to only capture your mouth—with the dildo hanging out, of course—while also including the pillow on the ground that he had told you to hump. The hand that wasn’t on the computer was on one of your breasts, squeezing at the nipple.

It was filthy, and you hoped he would love it.

Joel46: jesus fucking christ, baby. A girl like you belongs in playboy, not on some skeevy chat site

Joel46: fuck, really

Joel46: Such a good girl, too. Doing exactly as I said.

As much as you loved it when he called you mean, nasty names, your cunt ached at his praise, too. He loved your photo, and you tried to imagine him stroking his cock to it. You hoped he was leaking a bit of precome, toying with his balls while he tried to stop himself from coming too early.

You humped the pillow harder at the thought of it.

Joel46: and a pretty fucking mouth, just like I knew it was

Joel46: you’d make the perfect little fucktoy

You had to force your hips to stop moving, or else you would have come right then.

I’d be such a good toy for you. You could fuck me whenever you needed.

Joel46: wouldn’t be able to keep my dick out of you, sweetie

Joel46: but I’m not gonna last much longer. Not after that fucking picture of you

You smiled with pride as you began to rub your cunt against the pillow slowly. In all the times that you had messaged with men on here, you had never gotten this turned on. Joel was something special, you knew that.

The unabashedly horny side of your brain took over completely, and you couldn’t stop yourself from what you typed next.

I’m outside of Austin, too, you know. Bet you’re so close you could come over and fuck me right now.

Joel46: fuck, baby, really?

Joel46: Goddamn.

Joel46: Let me come over some time, I’ll use that cunt till you’re fucking swollen and sore.

You believed him.

I can’t help myself I need to come

Joel46: I’m sure you do, pretty girl

Joel46: stick your fingers in your cunt first

Joel46: gotta stretch yourself out for me

You’d barely started fucking yourself on your fingers before you came, your orgasm causing your body to convulse over the pillow. You tried to imagine it was his fingers, but you knew from the photograph he sent that his were bigger than yours and slightly calloused.

As you rode out your orgasm, you couldn’t stop yourself from moaning his name.

When you finally opened your eyes again, you saw that you had missed a few messages.

Joel46: fuck baby, I’m about to cum too

Joel46: hope we’re getting off at the same time

Joel46: so fucking good

You smiled to yourself, happy to have accomplished your goal.

Joel46: you still there?

sorry, was busy coming all over my fingers

Joel46: haha, same here.

Joel46: seriously baby, you oughta be charging men for this.

I don’t mind being a charitable slut

Joel46: are you actually located in Austin?

You considered, only for a moment, telling him no, that you had just said it to feed into the fantasy. But, once again, the horny part of your brain prevailed, even after your orgasm.

yep.

The screen told you he was typing, but then it disappeared. After a few more moments, he must have finally figured out what to send.

Joel46: do you think I could give you my number… we could talk again some time?

part 2

[august-poppy]

moth to flame

part 2 to familiar face

pairing: porn star!joel miller x f!reader

summary: you're pining over wicked fantasies or who you recently discovered to be mr. miller, even when it's indubitably wrong.

word count: 3.9k

warnings: explicit (18+), pre-apocalypse, accidental voyeurism, masturbation, age gap (joel's in his mid 30's and reader is in her early 20's), reader is an exchange student but nationality is not mentioned

notes: set in 2013. do reblog or comment if u enjoyed it!

Turbulent wind pushed on the pickup truck to no avail. That, paired with the soothing rhythmic grunt of the ignition created a perfect moody atmosphere. It was the peak of summer; yet somehow, for whatever reason, Austin was looking awfully somber. Gray and bland like the taste of soaked cereals. Sarah was bound to return to school despite the hefty weekends she’s spent with the newest addition to the Millers, and she didn’t like it at all. She’s making it real obvious too for everyone. Cheeks puffed up like she is five and always a loud thump following her every move.

She landed her dad’s coffee on the table with a loud thump. She stormed back into her room with a louder thump. She swung the pickup truck’s door with the loudest thump you’ve ever had, before making her way over to the school’s gate. Her small pout remained on her face despite your cheerful wave and words of encouragement from behind the rolled window.

She’s a cute kid, you decided. 

You’re sure things would link perfectly between you and your host family if it weren’t for the fact that you practically avoided Mr. Miller like he’s the goddamn plague. Everytime you slipped out of your room, you had to make sure he wasn’t in a five meter proximity. You’d rather be dehydrated and starved than to meet him after his day-time job (which you’ve recently learned was a contracting gig), lingering around the kitchen with a stale sandwich up his mouth. Similarly, you treated Sarah as a trusty messenger for every message you had for her dad. Whether it’s a leaky sink or a hefty request to drop you off at your college.

It’s a genuine miracle Sarah never questioned you on your abnormal behavior, nor did Mr. Miller. Was this your streak of luck?

You tucked your phone back in your pocket after a quick run through your texts, eyes focused back towards what laid ahead of you. Mr. Miller’s broad shoulders stretched across the length of the car’s cushioned seat, moving with a steady pulse at every breath of air he claimed. Your careful eyes watched over the seams of his shirt; the correct side up after Sarah’s clever remark earlier that morning. Slowly, you traced along the nape of his neck with your bare eyes. Further and further, right until you could finally  spot the dark brown strands tangled in with hints of gray. It looked soft.. much like how it appeared to be on his videos. You wondered how it’d feel like to run your hands over it, feel it through the ridges of your knuckles, and pull on‒

“Hey, you listenin’ to me?”

The man’s baritone voice penetrated the thick silence and you were left aghast. Soul sucked out of your body as your eyes flickered towards the rearview mirror, eventually catching the small smile playing on his dangerously charming face. He’d be the end of you that’s for sure. This was a bad idea, asking him to drive you to college just because taxi rates are crazy high this time of the year, leaving the two of you alone. Alone and hidden under the privacy of his truck, you were fucked through and through. You just hoped he wasn’t clever enough to somehow figure out your utterly shameful thoughts.

“Sorry.. um.. I was thinking of something. What were you saying, Mr. Miller?”

Yeah, that’s right. You were thinking of how nice his hair would feel when you’re gripping on it for dear life, but he didn’t have to know that.

“No worries, kiddo. Just.. I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Did I do something to make you uncomfortable?”

At the last syllable he uttered, you were already rigid. Parched, feeling like your tongue magically turned into sandpaper; you’d always consider yourself to be an excellent debater at all parts of life, but his lone question left you high and dry. Your eyes darted back onto the rearview mirror and instead of his candid expression, you were met with his scintillating gaze. Curious and prodding into the deepest part of your head. It enthralled you, encouraged you to say the truth.

“You’re always scurrying off when I’m around,” he gave a thought to what he’s about to say. “I get that Sarah is friendlier and a lot more relatable to talk to. Talkin’ to an old man isn’t exactly preferable, is it?”

He let out a polite set of laughter, which was met by a deafening silence. You crumpled under the tension. Awkward and wanting nothing more than to escape the car like some fugitive in handcuffs. Killing Me Softly With His Song by Fugees continued to play faintly in the background, once again becoming a fitting ringtone for your impending response.

“No,” you denied slowly. Effectively lying, but it was as obvious as a kid trying to pocket candies from the cash register. “It’s not you. It’s me.”

His expression eventually twisted into one of mirth; brows quirked with interest, a tight smile edged to unfold. He’s probably finding the telenovela-inspired reply hilarious, but the man’s polite enough to store all his witty comments in the back of his head.

“What I mean is,” you paused to inhale deeply. What were you even supposed to say? You used to watch all his explicit videos and therefore you couldn't look him in the eye without getting reminded of every single scene? Lying has never been your forte, but the other option was far too humiliating. Even for you. “I’m naturally awkward, Mr. Miller. I.. I feel embarrassed when approaching you. Feels like I’m bothering you or something.”

That was half a lie. A white lie, you’d conclude.

“Oh sweetheart, you never bother me.”

The way he said that nickname had you sweating buckets. Seconds away from throwing up your entire breakfast menu out of sheer nervousness. You knew he meant it in a platonic familial-bond type of way, but God did it remind you of what he calls all his pretty co-stars.

“You and Sarah are my number one priority now. You know that, right?”

“Right. Thanks, Mr. Miller.”

“I’m home.”

Exhaustion trailed after your every step as you made your way through the empty hallway, a result of caffeine-induced studying paired with the buzzing busyness of commuting in peak-hour. This was all easily avoidable. You should’ve accepted Mr. Miller’s offer in picking you up after his gig up West, but the fear of making a slip up is overriding your desire for convenience. You wouldn't want to make things even more weird than it already is. Your most prized possession, the laptop you’ve owned since the beginning of time, weighed your shoulder down exceptionally as you trudged through. A loud grunt passed your lips as you stumbled across; appearing exactly like the hunchback of Notre Dame.

“Oh! You’re here!”

You took a step back to meet the feminine voice, bubbly and hearty from the girl sitting in a criss-cross manner in front of the TV. Sarah was smiling. A big toothy smile that was too hard to resist, despite the fatigue weighing your shoulders down. You’re just soft when it comes to the little girl.

“Dad’s giving me a massage. Do you want one too?”

You must’ve been dog-tired, because you foolishly didn’t notice the large figure looming over her from the sunken couch. It was admittedly dim in the living room, but he was as obvious as an elephant, big and rigged with muscles out of a need for his profession. Both his contracting gig and his other.. scandalous endeavors. Breathing was all that you needed to focus on for now, and perhaps schooling your expression. You’re almost entirely sure you wouldn’t be able to speak no matter how hard you try.

A small unsure quirk of your head was what you settled with and Sarah, being the nicest girl you’ve ever known, quickly ushered you to sit by her side. On the wooden floor. For a damned massage from Mr. Miller.

You complied, of course. Even when you look mildly petrified by the idea.

“What’re you up to all evening?” 

His voice grazed your eardrums, alike to a powerful gust of wind, as you seated yourself on the foot of the couch. Sarah by your side, looking fondly in your direction, giving you all the more pressure to appear put together when you could simply falter at the bare sound of his voice. You needed to get your shit together. Mr. Miller’s an actual man, for fucks sake, it’s horribly immoral to think of him as the Wicked Fantasies in these kinds of setting.

“Studying.”

“Is that why you’re so pent-up?”

No. You’re pent-up because you’ve spent the entire week trying to be in your best behavior, trying to act like you’re not openly thirsting over this sweet girl’s father, trying to act like you’re not tipping into insanity from merely being placed in the same room as he is, but he didn’t have to know that.

“Think so,” you hummed softly.

“Poor thing.”

Anticipation almost killed you right there and then. You knew he was going to place his calloused fingers over your shoulders, knew that it was the basic requirement to give someone a shoulder massage, but you couldn’t help but develop butterflies in your belly at the thought. It wasn’t beautiful nor poetic, instead, it was an absolute nuisance to conceal your thoughts. When he began to place his hands on your upper back, you flinched.

A hitch in your breathing, then a throaty groan.

You were sensitive, touch-starved, and his touch practically confirmed that.

Mr. Miller’s touch was expertly firm yet gentle, the way you imagined it for a long time, his calloused fingers glided along your trapeze muscles with finesse. Fluid and seamless, as if he’s a master to the human body. Your eyes fluttered shut as he focused on the tension points. The nook between your bones which was constantly weighed down by your bag didn’t go unnoticed. His skilled fingers kneaded away every knot and tightness, making you surrender to his ministrations.

You didn’t want him to stop.

You wanted him to touch you more.

To have each one of his rough fingers stroke every soft bend of your body, like how he treated May and Sadie as if they were his own personal ragdoll.

To feel him under the constraints of your thin t-shirt, without a veil separating the two of you.

You craved him so bad, even when it’s wrong.

“You feel better?”

When he spoke, his raspy voice was magnetic to the core of who you were, as if he's able to resonate with all of you when others can barely achieve a fraction of it. It sounded sincere, like he truly cared about your well-being and not to simply feed into your secret desires. He meant well and you’re here acting like a starved pervert. The thought made you cringe ever so slightly.

“Yeah. Much better.”

“Good then, kiddo.”

The nickname turned you sour. You're more than willing to debate him on it, unlike last time.

“I’m not a kid.”

“No?”

He was so smug about it too. Even when you're looking all pissy.

“No. I’m a fully grown adult, Mr. Miller. Do note that I’m in my twenties,” you schooled him persistently.

“Twenties? Wow, you’re truly ancient.”

“Yeah and you’re a dinosaur, Mr. Miller.”

The silly quarrel you’ve gotten into with the older man made Sarah burst into laughter, breaking your tenacity and effectively making you laugh along with her.

It was the first time in forever that the Millers laughed that hard together.

As the evening sun painted the kitchen in sepia hues, you stood before the cutting board; a bunch of onions staring right back at you, waiting to be transformed. You have always been passionate about cooking as you viewed it a stress-relieving activity, similar to those medley of coloring books marketed for adults. With a polished kitchen knife in hand and earphones stuffed in, you began your culinary adventure. Your hands moved swiftly, guided by blind confidence. The rhythmic sound of knife to wood began to echo all around the room.

“What are you cookin’ up?”

You could hear him as clear as day, timbre vibrating through your ear canals. Only then did you notice that he had indeed pulled one of your neatly stuffed earphones away, leaving you exposed to the world. To him who you’ve been avoiding despite your little chat in the truck. You looked dumbstruck. Lost in your own thoughts, your eyes wandered up the pools of honey in his eyes. The subtle movements of his eyes, his thoughtful expression, all seemed to weave a tapestry of intrigue in your mind.

“I’m just chopping up onions here. Nothing exciting, really.”

It took all of you to tear yourself away from his gaze. Even so, the sensation lasted, leaving an anchor of trepidation in your chest.

“You’re back early,” you remarked matter-of-factly.

“Construction guys finished cementing early. Why? You miss me?”

You chuckled fondly. Only to shake your head as you mouthed a brief ‘no’. It’s hard not to entertain the cheeky older man despite your best effort. He was better than you could ever imagine from the confines of your laptop. He had a personality, one that easily made anyone hooked, and a kind heart, therefore it’s terribly hard to keep your burning feelings at bay. It’s wrong. Terribly wrong to view him as such when you’re almost entirely sure he viewed you as his kin, as someone to protect and show guidance to. You were drawn to him like a moth to flame, but he didn’t need to know that.

A sudden lapse in concentration caused your knife to slip, nicking your finger in the process.

A sharp sting shot through your hand.

Then a bead of crimson appeared, mingled with the pungent scent of onions.

“Shit..”

Momentarily stunned, you sucked in a sharp breath, your eyes widened with surprise. It didn’t hurt that bad yet, but it’s still a sight that made you frantic and out of your element. You instinctively brought your injured finger close to your tightly pressed lips, intending to investigate how deep the knife went. Droplets of blood seeped its way through the slim cut as you pressed on the soft pads of your pointer finger. You need to get the wound clean and so tap water was your first option.

However, fate had other plans in store.

“Oh no.. does it hurt, sweetheart?”

You grimaced at the nickname. This wasn’t a good time to get all desperate, but his voice did nothing but burn you with need. Without hesitation, Mr. Miller took hold of your nicked finger, his touch tender and reassuring. He guided your finger closer to his lips and in the many years you've lived, this was the most sensual scene you’ve ever witnessed. Your eyebrows quivered, a mixture of confusion and anticipation swirled within you. 

He was your drug.

One touch and the intoxication was fatal. Whatever he wants to do is what you’ll do and there isn't a thing you can do to stop him - not that you’d want to.

With gentle care, he leaned in. He had to crouch ever so slightly to get to your level and never once did his velvety brown eyes leave yours. You’re starting to think that he was doing it on purpose. That this entire scene you’re trying to make sense of was just a part of his orchestrated show, that he indeed felt the same way you do and was just as afraid in confronting it. Though you’re never really sure; the sheer attention he gave you made your brain turn into mush.

His warm breath ghosted over the wound, and before you knew it, he pressed a soft, delicate kiss on where crimson was pooling. Your breath caught in your throat. You wanted to choke. The sting that had plagued you a moment ago now seemed to dissipate into thin air, replaced by a warmth that spread from your hand to every inch of your aching body. His mouth was a furnace. Plush at all sides as his slick tongue stuck flat against the nick.

The concentration in his face, the emphasized crows feet, the stray strands of brown dappled on his sweaty forehead. 

“It’s a little old-fashioned, I know,” he whispered, his eyes locked with yours, “but sometimes a little love can make the pain go away.”

“Love?” you mumbled foolishly, still in a trance.

“You’re a part of the Millers, remember?”

What he said stung you more than the nick. It pushed you off the ledge of delusions. Your gaze slowly grew somber despite your best efforts to stay nonchalant.

“Of course, Mr. Miller.”

The steady patter of rain upon his window stirred Joel awake, droplets yet to scatter the nascent rays of the settling moon. A strange occurrence for late summer. Though, the gentle sound brought a certain calmness to his mind; a soothing melody, one that stripped him of fear and incompetence. He looked around, blurry vision still intact while he scrambled to find the time. His alarm clock flashed back the time in big bold numbers. Barely past midnight, he noted internally. Joel wasn’t so sure on why his throat felt incredibly parched, dry to the bone, in need of refreshment even when it’s only been a few hours since he tucked himself in. Was it the one beer he had at dinner?

With an irritated sigh, he groggily stumbled out of bed. His knees creaked at its rusty hinge everytime he took a step down the dimly lit staircase of his home. He felt like a nutcracker. An old worn-out one at that. He wondered if he’s gotten too old for this, too old for construction and his side job - has he developed arthritis? His worries came to a halt when a soft glow caught his attention, emanating from a partially open door. 

If he remembered correctly, it was the small room by the garage he’s gifted to you. 

Curiosity piqued, he hesitated for a moment.

Would he be an absolute prick if he took a short peak? Probably. But you interest him. You’ve always been interesting to him, in ways that confuses him more often than he’d like.

He neared the door. One step at a time, praying to whatever God up there that’d be kind enough not to let the wooden boards ahead of him creak at his heavy steps. In that solitary moment, he felt a mixture of emotions welling up within him. It was as if he knew that he was about to stumble upon a secret, a private moment that’d be permanently embedded in his mind. He contemplated once again when he’s just a step away from getting a clear view. Respect for you tugged at his conscience, yet an overwhelming ugly curiosity pushed him to stay, to try to understand the significance of your nocturnal act.

His brown eyes peered through the small gap left.

He could see you now, but you couldn’t see him.

In the dappled moonlight, he carefully mapped out each and every one of your soft curves. How you were bathed in gentle light, sat comfortably on top of your stacked comforter as you typed away at your laptop with lightning-like speed. How you slowly leaned forward to get a closer look at the blaring screen, hair left relaxed and rear-end clearly emphasized by your inept sleeping shorts. How you eagerly repositioned yourself, straddling two rolled pillows as if you were to ride a horse. Joel didn’t mean to look. He didn’t mean to stare in such a perverted, disgusting manner. You were just too captivating and he was one weak-willed man.

With bated breath, he continued to observe.

Joel found himself captivated, his thirst momentarily forgotten, as he marveled at the scene unfolding in front of him.

This was wrong, he reminded himself. This was you he was looking at, not anyone else. You who he always viewed as a wide-eyed young girl still trying her best to navigate around her life. You who’s naive enough to believe his lies that the pink condom packets in his pick-up truck were single-packet wet tissues. You who’s sweet enough to cook his entire family a good dinner for once; turkey, mash, and green beans. He shouldn’t be looking at you like this. He shouldn’t crave for you, because you’re you and he’s him.

His dilemma fell short when you clumsily tugged both your thin shorts and cotton panties off your legs, shin planted deeply into the pristine comforter. Your cunt gleamed under the thick moonlight, arousal formed in globs of clear stickiness right around where your tiny hole appeared. The visage caused him to stiffen in his sweatpants, twitching uncontrollably as he watched you rub yourself along the soft material.

Joel had a first-class view on how you cautiously ground down against it and he was.. shamefully thrilled. A moan bubbled up, before you did it again, and again, and again, each time the pillow appeared more and more damp.

“Fuck,” you hissed to yourself and it drove Joel insane. He pushed his pants down embarrassingly as if he’s some teenage boy catching a coincidental sight of a strip tease, before he cupped himself through his briefs. You’re putting on such a good show, even when it’s not for him, or for anyone on that matter. He watched with anticipation as you leaned back on both hands, edging yourself, before you grinded against it desperately.

Your hole throbbed, contracting and loosening everytime the soft material made contact with your sensitive nub. It’s all that you focus on now. Which was working wonders, considering your quiet gasps and labored breaths were starting to turn into much vulgar noises. Loud moans and whimpers that made Joel’s cock grew with interest, dribbling with pre-cum and desire.

“Please, please, please,” you begged breathlessly.

Both of your hands disappeared for a split second. He wondered silently where it went, but the dappled shadow on your wall told him more to the story. You were cupping both your breasts, massaging it kindly before going over to pinch and roll your nipples to harden. You seemed to be sensitive there. Would you enjoy his thick fingers around them?

“More!” you begged helplessly.

He wished to come and help you, to stick a finger into that tight hole of yours, to circle your clit with his thumb, flicking indulgently until you gave up. But it’s all a part of his far-fetched fantasy. Watching is more than enough for now. Joel couldn’t even see your face, but this entire thing got him off better than all the pornos he’s personally made.

“I’m gonna- oh, oh, God.”

Your cries echoed around the room, He could see how you quivered, thighs clamping shut around the drenched pillow as you reached your final ecstasy. Everytime you rolled back, he salivated over the sight of your sopping cunt. Untouched and sensitive even from just humping. Your thrusts never falter, not even when you’re making a mess on top of the once pristine, white pillow. What a dirty girl.

Joel watched you until the very end. Right until you collapsed forward, flat on your stomach after exerting such work on your body.

Cock sore and in need of relieving.

Though, something else caught his interest. A revelation that he found to be more important to comprehend than the state of his throbbing cock. 

The video you're watching to get yourself off.

They were his.

[august-poppy]

Sunshine

— n. person, condition, or influence that radiates warmth, cheer, or happiness.

Summary: You're pregnant, but it's so easy to live in the sunshine of your life.

Pairing: no outbreak!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~3.6k

Warnings: fluff mostly, some insecurity, cute teasing, mentions of past relationships, Joel is a bit anxious, domestic overly cautious Joel, some body issues (body changes with pregnancy mentions)

A/N: No prior reading is required to understand this! Sequel to Waffle House confessions, where you tell Joel you're pregnant! And you can read the angsty, outbreak version of that here! Tbh, I wanted an excuse to write Joel with a baby. Thanks to everyone who voted for the baby's name! Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think!

“I think you’re starting to show,” Sarah says when she takes off her headphones and turns to look at you. 

She’s studying your belly from her place on the floor. 

Despite your protests, she’d insisted on doing her homework cross legged at the coffee table to keep you company while you lie on the couch and attempt to keep your nausea under control. 

You glance down at your torso, not convinced. “Think so?” You ask before shrugging. “Maybe it's just a food baby from all these crazy cravings.” 

She laughs, then presses a button on her mp3 player and the music still trilling from her headphones stops. “Dad was worried about you this morning,” she informs. 

“Was he?” You ask, reaching out to tuck some of her hair behind her ear. “‘Bout what exactly?” 

Sarah leans into the couch cushions, folding her arms along the side of the sofa and closing her eyes as you carefully play with the edges of her hair. “The morning sickness. You know he bought a pregnancy book? He’s hiding it in his bedside table.” 

You snort and tug at a strand of her hair. “Is that so?” 

For a moment, you imagine Joel reading a pregnancy book in secret, squinting at the page because he refuses to get glasses. 

You smile. The mental image is sweet. One that you tuck neatly away. 

“He was saying this morning that my mom never had any so he’s not sure what it means,” she opens her eyes to dramatically roll them at you.

There’s just the faintest note of anxiety in her voice, though she hides it well with a shrug. “He doesn’t have cause to worry,” you offer. “It’s normal. And if it wasn’t I woulda told him by now.” 

“I know,” she says. “That’s what me and Uncle Tommy told him. I was just wondering if you think you’ll still be able to make it to my soccer game tomorrow,” she continues nonchalantly. “If you think you’ll feel good enough.” 

You smile, “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for anything. Your dad worries way too much for his own good anyway.” 

“He so does,” Sarah grins back at you and then turns back to her homework. 

You keep one hand on her back, running your nails along the tops of her shoulders as she works and tell you about her day. 

The headphones stay off. 

When Joel gets home, Sarah is upstairs in the shower and you’re starting on dinner. He presses a kiss to the side of your head, hands anchoring on your hips for just a moment, squeezing tightly. “Y’okay? How’s the nausea?” His hands slide over the curve of your hips to your thighs and back again, warm and broad and familiar. 

“Gone for now,” you lean back against his chest, the heat of him soaking into you as you adjust the heat of the stove. He smells good, familiar. Like sweat and sun, like his cologne and highway dust. “So better.” 

Joel nods against the side of your head, presses a kiss there, and moves away to pull a beer out of the fridge. 

You turn to watch him, leaning back into the counter instead. “You gotta stop that, you know.” You smile and cross your arms over your chest. 

“What?” He squints at you.  

“You’re worrying Sarah,” you say when he sits at the breakfast table. “She told me you’re worried about my morning sickness.” Joel closes his eyes and tips his head back, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Said you bought a book…” You trail off, prompting him, but also teasing him a little. 

Joel lowers his hands and levels his gaze at you. “I did.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek. “That’s cute,” you coo. “You’re cute.” 

“You’re just awful, you know that?” He grumbles. 

You laugh and start towards him, “You know it's normal right? The morning sickness?” He nods, watching you cross to his place at the table. 

“I’m very appreciative of your efforts though, buying that book and all.” Joel just hooks his fingers in the loops of your jeans and tugs you closer. “She says I’m starting to show.” 

“Are ya?” He asks, raising a brow, like he doesn't pay attention to everything about you. Like he wouldn’t have already noticed a baby bump. “Let’s see it, sunshine.” 

You turn to the side and lift your shirt. “Little bit, maybe,” he says, running a hand over your belly, his roughened fingers making you shiver as they pass over your skin. 

“Liar.” 

He laughs and hooks his arm around your hips to tug you down into his lap. “Yeah, I don’t see anything yet.”

You cup your hands against his jaw and kiss him. “Hi,” you say. “How was your day?” 

“Shit. But ‘m here now.” 

You laugh and kiss him again. “There’s nothing to worry on yet, Joel.” 

Joel likes to pretend he doesn’t, but he worries over every little thing. You’ve seen it for years, the anxiety that he wasn’t measuring up to some ideal in his mind. 

You saw it a lot more when Sarah was still little. Every bump and bruise, every normal childhood injury and drama, was some little tally against him. You’d seen him do the same with you sometimes, when he was working too hard and forgot something small or didn’t have time for something he desperately wanted the time for. 

“I know it,” he answers softly, settling his forehead against yours, not moving. 

When the water on the stove starts to boil over, you pull away reluctantly.

You don’t get very far. Joel hooks his arm around your waist and drags you back. He stands and guides you into his chair. “Joel,” you protest. “You’ve been working all day—” 

“You shouldn’t be on your feet,” he says simply. “I got it.” 

“Joel—”

But he’s already at the stove, fixing to dump the macaroni into the boiling water while he pretends not to hear you. 

You huff out a sigh and fidget with the label on his beer bottle instead, accepting that you are no longer the one making dinner. “Tommy joining us?” 

“Reckon he’s on his way now,” Joel rolls his eyes, looking for all the world just like his daughter as he does. 

“Joel?” You call, carrying your shoes in your hands as you pad through the living room. “We’re gonna be late.” 

You feel…huge. 

And you’re only halfway through your pregnancy. You aren’t sure how you’re supposed to get through the rest of it. You hadn’t expected the little things to be so hard. 

Your feet are swollen and your back hurts and you think you might cry if you don’t sit down soon. Standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom to get ready had been more than enough to wear you out. 

The house is eerily silent, none of the usual commotion coming from the living room or the kitchen. The TV or radio is nearly always on. If nothing else, you could usually hear Sarah playing music in her room. 

You head toward the back door, fiddling with the laces of your sneakers as you go. Joel might be with Sarah might be in the backyard helping her practice her shot in the soccer goal he’d set up for her. 

You’re nearly there when you hear a shuffle of activity from the garage — the sound of a quieter powertool being switched off, the hum of two voices, something clattering to the ground and soft laughter.  

“Joel?” you call again, confused. You turn down the short hall instead, trundling toward the door that leads to the garage. 

When you twist the knob, the door doesn’t immediately open. You frown and rattle it. “Joel?” 

It doesn’t lock from the other side. 

There’s clearly something shoved in front of it that’s keeping you from opening it. Something to keep you out.  

“Joel?” You ask, louder this time, more panicked. 

Why isn’t he answering you? 

Why is he keeping you out of the garage? 

“Hold on, shine. Just a minute,” Joel finally answers through the door, his voice closer. Then, quieter and moving away again, “Baby girl, grab the end of that and help me—”

Joel and Sarah are clearly up to something in the garage. The telltale sound of a tarp being hastily draped over something reaches your ears. 

You give the door one last good shake before your hormones take over. 

Frustration and exhaustion weigh on you, tears springing to your eyes. “Jesus,” you mutter to yourself, swiping the tears away before they can fall. “I’m losing it.”

You know whatever is going on in the garage has nothing to do with you, that they aren’t hiding anything from you or leaving you out on purpose. But that doesn’t stop you from feeling hurt. You wonder when you got so damn sensitive about everything. 

You cradle your belly with one hand, trying to relieve some of the pressure on your back and feeling more unlike yourself than ever. Joel has always let you watch him watch him work in the garage — on home projects and his little woodworking hobby. 

The urge to kick at the door runs up your spine but you manage to suppress it, picking at the laces of your shoes instead. When you drop your hand away from your belly, the pressure returns to your back and makes your eyes water with emotion. 

“Sunshine?” Joel is saying through the door. “Stay there a minute, we’re all most—”

You decide not to listen to him. 

You turn and shuffle back toward the living room instead, shoes still in your hands instead of on your feet. Joel doesn’t know you can’t get your stupid shoes on and that’s why you’d been looking for him. He doesn’t know that you’re worried about running late.  

He doesn’t know that you haven’t been able to put your sneakers on by yourself in a few days and that you’re too embarrassed to say anything about it. 

You lower yourself onto the sofa and attempt getting your shoes on yourself, but you just can’t manage it. The laces won’t cooperate in your swollen hands, and your arms feel too short around the roundness of your belly. You throw them down and lean back into the pillows instead. 

You hear the door to the garage open and close and then Joel’s soft voice asking Sarah to head upstairs to get her shoes and jacket before he finds you on the couch. 

“Hey,” he says softly. “You need help?” 

Inexplicably, your bottom lip wobbles. You stare up at him and try not to pout. “No,” you grouse. “I don’t need help.”  

“Yes, you do,” he kneels by your feet without being asked, his hands massaging your calves and ankles gently. His thumb digs into the hinge of your knee, warm and firm. 

“We’re gonna be late Joel. We can’t be late. We’re supposed to find out what we’re having today.” 

He shakes his head, “We got plenty of time, shine. Just lemme help you for a minute.” His voice is calm and steady. Joel has always been your safe place to land, your calm in any storm. 

Anything feels possible when Joel is by your side. 

You stay quiet and watch him. His hands are strong and worn, the nails blunt, green veins straining against golden skin. Joel’s shoulders are thick with muscle but his belly is soft. His hair curls in tiny little waves, the cast of his eyes are dark and focused. 

And you love him so much a lump forms in the back of your throat. 

Because his hands feel nice and you think it might actually be helping with the swelling. It’s helping the pain, at the very least. 

He could be irritated with you, but he’s not. 

“I can’t get my shoes on,” you admit quietly when his hands slide to your ankles, and then rub into the bottom of your socked feet. “Not these ones, at least, because of the laces and I’m tired of wearing those sandals and—” 

“Well, that ain’t a problem, sunshine,” he says. “I can help you get ‘em on.” His hands continue massaging before he reaches for your shoes and works the laces loose. He slips your shoes onto your feet with an ease that makes your bottom lip wobble. 

“You need to quit standin’ so much. You stand at work and then you won’t sit down here because you’re so hardheaded,” he grumbles to himself as he ties your shoes carefully. Joel glances up at you and pats your thigh. “See? Ain’t so bad. Shoes are on.” 

You stare at him for a long moment. His forehead creases when you don’t say anything and curl your fingers over his instead. “Are you building a crib? Is that what you’re doing in the garage?” You ask quietly.  

Joel blinks at you, eyes squinting in that way that you love. “Now how in the world could you have guessed that?” 

You press your lips together to avoid smiling, glad you can still surprise him sometimes, glad you can prove to yourself that you know him as well as you think you do. 

“It’s just something you would do,” you say softly with a smile. “Saw the wood when you brought it home and, well, you usually let me see what you’re up to.” 

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” he sighs. “Sarah’s been helpin’. She’s gonna paint it.” 

You lean forward and take Joel’s hands between yours. “Sorry.” 

“Tha’s alright, sunshine,” he murmurs. “You ready to go find out what kind we’re havin’?” 

You wriggle to the edge of the sofa and Joel’s knees crack when he stands and offers you a hand up. “Mhm,” you lean into his arm, only all too willing to accept his assistance now. “Can we go to Waffle House after?” 

“You’re the only person that actually craves that food, you know that, don’t ya?” He guides you to the front door. Your shoes don’t seem like such a huge deal anymore. Joel will help you put them on. 

Joel calls for Sarah who comes bounding down the stairs, backpack slung over her shoulders, wide smile on her face. 

She flits out the door ahead of you. 

“We have to celebrate,” you roll your eyes at him. Joel grabs your bag from the hook and slides it over his arm before grabbing his keys. “And Sarah never gets to come with us.” 

“Fine,” he agrees, like he wouldn’t take you no matter what. “What do ya think we’re havin’? Boy, girl?” He asks, guiding you to the passenger side door of the truck with a hand against your back, his fingers curled around your other wrist. 

“Miller, it should be so obvious to you.” 

“How’s that?” He grasps your elbow to help you into the seat, overly cautious. 

He hands you your bag and then leans against the door. Sarah is humming in the backseat, headphones in her ears. 

You press a hand to his cheek and draw your nails over his patchy facial hair. “You’re just a man destined to be surrounded by women and girls, y’know? All you Millers are.” 

Joel grasps your hand and kisses your palm. “You might be right.” 

Sunlight spears through a crack in the blinds of your hospital room. 

You peel your eyes open, confused for a moment about where you are before your eyes settle on Joel in the corner of the room. 

Memory settles around you, like sand around shell — the pain of the birth, Joel’s hand firm and comforting in yours; the overwhelming dopamine rush in the aftermath; your baby against your chest, Joel’s face blurry through your tears when you looked from her to him.

You aren’t sure when you fell asleep. 

You were awake for the skin to skin contact, staring down at her tiny face, telling yourself that she looked exactly like Joel despite having no real distinctive features seconds after being born. Joel had been perched next to you, looking down at the pair of you as you fed her. When he murmured her name out loud for the first time after she was born, you nearly sobbed. 

Her name, first spoken by Joel. 

Something about it was special in a way you couldn’t describe.

“Evie,” he’d said, voice soft and sleepy, his finger large against her cheek as you held her. 

Then she was taken away for a while, Joel’s hand in yours, his voice in your ear amusedly telling you yes, they would bring her back, and that he was so, so, so proud of you. He said you did good, wonderful, that everything was alright. 

Then Sarah and Tommy had arrived. You remember Sarah holding her, the proud look on Joel’s face and Tommy’s too. You remember the wide smile on Sarah’s face as she held Eva for the first time, the careful way Joel showed Sarah how to correctly hold her, the way Sarah rolled her eyes at his fretting. Then —

Then…you must have fallen asleep. 

And hours seem to have passed. 

It was dark outside, before you fell asleep. 

Eva was born in the evening, night just starting to encroach on the day.

The bassinet next to your bed is empty and your baby is in Joel’s arms where he sits in a ray of morning sun, his head tilted to keep the sunshine off of her. 

Eva is wrapped in a tiny lavender blanket, and Joel’s expression is one of total peace, like that is the exact place he was always meant to be. 

You shift quietly, your body one aching wound. You don’t want to disturb them, don’t want to disturb Joel. 

He’s rocking her gently, humming under his breath. The pitch of his voice tells you he’s very close to all out singing to her. 

Evie looks so tiny, cradled in his thick arms. 

It reminds you of a younger version of Joel. One that cradled Sarah in exactly the same way, looked on in such awe in exactly the same way. His face was less lined then, but his eyes had been heavier with worry and sleeplessness. 

He looks just as beautiful now, despite the years he wore on his shoulders and around his eyes.

“Joel,” you say quietly, so you don’t startle him. 

He glances up and smiles. It’s an easy thing, a gentle thing. “Hey, mama,” he answers. “How ya feelin’?” 

“Tired,” you answer. “But okay.” You’re tender and uncomfortable, really, but for the moment it’s manageable. “Why don’t you sing for her?” 

“And have my little girl judgin’ me already? No, no. Can’t have that just yet.” He jokes, glancing back down at her. You don’t respond, watching them. “Looks just like you,” he says, still looking at the baby in his arms. “Just like Sarah looked just like her mom. Good thing, huh?” He coos at Eva. “You don’t wanna look nothin’ like your old man, do you?” 

You laugh, “I think she looks just like you.” 

“Shine,” he groans, faking exasperation as he glances back up at you. “There’s just no way you can believe that.” 

You scoff, “Her nose is exactly the same as yours.”

“You sure we’re lookin’ at the same kid?” He glances down at her again. “Your mama can’t see sense sometimes,” he tells her.  

You roll your eyes, noting for the first time that you and Joel are alone. “Where’s Tommy? And Sarah? Who, by the way, looks like you as much as her mom.” You inform him with a huff, shifting your hips into a more comfortable position.  

Joel doesn’t bother arguing with you. “Tommy took her home a while ago,” he looks up at you. “Sarah was fallin’ asleep where she stood.” 

You and Joel look at each other for a moment, his eyes softened in a way you’ve never seen before. “Have you put her down yet?” 

“No,” he glances down at the bundle in his arms. “I don’t know if I can. Been here like this all night. She ain’t a fussy baby.” 

You hold out a hand. “Come sit over here, please. So I can look at you.” 

Joel gently eases out of the chair and walks across the room to transfer the baby to your arms. He pauses, hands hovering over you. His eyes flick to yours. “You look real pretty like this, sunshine.” 

You hum and stroke a thumb over your baby’s cheek. “But you’re gonna ask for her back, huh?” 

“Yeah,” he leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead and then your lips. “I am gonna ask for her back.”  

“Figures, you were just the same with Sarah.” 

Joel huffs and moves away from you to drag the chair across the room to your bedside. “You should be restin’ anyhow. You did the hard work the last couple months. It’s my turn.” 

You smile, still stroking her cheek, marveling at the softness of it. Joel settles in the chair again and watches you closely. “She’s the littlest thing in the world. I didn’t—wasn’t around when Sarah was this little.” 

Joel just hums, tilting forward so he can watch her tiny features scrunch up. “Uh oh,” you say when she starts to squirm, eyes blinking open. “She already has a favorite.” 

“Nah,” he drawls. “That just ain’t possible.” Joel covers your hand, his palm large and calloused over yours. 

You laugh when she starts to cry in earnest. “Told you!”  

“She’s probably hungry again,” he disagrees. “It’s been awhile.”  

“Well you would know best, wouldn’t you?” You glance up into his dark eyes. “Having done it all before?” 

Joel blinks slowly at you, then down at Evie, “We have. You just didn’t get the very start.”  

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. “There’ll be two of us this time to make sure there are enough cans of formula.”  

💞 Thank you for reading! Comments and feedback are so appreciated. 💞

[august-poppy]

ii. the revving of engines.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

synopsis. joel miller’s not made it this far in the age of the apocalypse just to die at the hands of some adrenaline-crazed, no-brain-having fool who barely knows where to place her hands on the steering wheel. hind-sight fully intact and ever-so eye opening, he should have said no before frank could even finish his question: can you teach the girl to drive?read part one, the likeability paradox, here !!

warnings. panic attacks, perv!joel, slightly dark!joel, soft!joel ( for like a second ), a smidge of fluff, gun violence, murder, smut ( unprotected piv sex- don’t be silly, wrap that willy-, public sex, car sex but also not, exhibitionism, possessiveness, murder kink [ kinda but not really, joel just gets… more enthusiatic at the thought of protecting the reader], mentions/implications of panty stealing, male masturbation, sex as a form of payment, glory-holes, dubcon. joel has a massive c*ck because i said so <3 )

word count. 16.7k ( my dumbass really thought this would be shorter than part one- )

hyde’s input. this took criminally too long to write but i did warn you that i’m a slow writer, so hopefully this makes up for the wait. think i may be a little in over my head with this one because, woof, there’s a lot going on. i’m still trying to wrap my head around how many people enjoyed the first part, i’m speechless. thank you for every like, comment, reblog, ask that has given me the motivation to not just write a second part but to turn this into a whole series. i’m really looking forward to sharing joel and his sol’s story, and i hope i’ll be able to write it in a way that not only conveys the love i have for these two idiots in love but will also make you guys fall in love and root for them too. more to come of these two soon ( soon = whenever hyde feels like it ) <3

taglist. @kayleezra , @newavenger , @luthienaliceisilra​ , @str84pedro , @baebee35 , @aheartgonewild ( if you’re crossed out, i couldn’t tag you for whatever reason )

read on ao3. (capitalisation available )

Keep reading

[august-poppy]

sweetheart | joel miller x fem! reader

pairing: joel miller x fem! reader

summary: you're home from college for summer '99 to visit your parents, when your eye wanders upon their next-door neighbor, joel miller.

a/n: basically just porn with some plot that started at 2k and ended up becoming 13k. enjoy these 13k of unhinged depravity :)

warnings: (18+) SMUT (extended warning are under the cut), age gap (reader is 22, Joel is 32), swearing, mentions and consumption of alcohol, use of petnames (mostly sweetheart and one darling), probably inaccurate descriptions of the southern US, reader's mom is kind of annoying, reader kind of seduces joel (ish), neighbor!joel (is this a warning?) single dad! joel (what about this one?), reader babysits Sarah a few times

extended warnings: smut, fingering, p in v unprotected sex (pls in the name of the lord practice safe sex people), some (relatively tame) dry humping, couch sex, definitely some praise kink (we're moving on), for sure some soft!dom!joel, but also a pinch of dom!reader (👀), a lil cockwarming, maybe like a bit of a breeding kink if you really, really squint and i think that's it! please let me know if i've missed any. no use of y/n in this fic.

"Is this really how you're going to be spending your entire holiday?"

You bite back a groan as you look at your mom from where you'd been laying down on the lounge chair in the garden, book dropping from in front of your face so you can peer at her from behind your sunglasses.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you ask her, and she shrugs as she continues to water her rhododendrons.

"You've been home a week now," she tells you pointedly, "And you've sat more in that chair than I have all year,"

"I'm on break," you say matter of factly, "That's kind of the point," Your mum lets out a hum as she continues watering her flowers, which you ignore as you bring your book back up in front of your face. 

It's hot out in the Texas sun, almost too hot, but having come from the constant cold and rain in Seattle, you find yourself not caring too much as you bask in the sunlight. You're not wearing much, dressed only in a bikini top and pair of old shorts, that are maybe a touch too snug, but survived your parents' move from Galveston. They'd moved to Austin at the end of last summer for your father's new job. You hadn't been to the new house over Christmas, your parents having come up to visit Seattle for the holidays, instead. Austin and Galveston weren't such different cities, it was all still Texas, but the one thing you found yourself desperately missing, especially now in the heat, was the ocean.

Somewhere in one of the neighbouring gardens, the sound of a lawnmower being turned on fills the air. You ignore it, putting down your book for a second instead and watching as your mother shuffles over to the flowers lining the wooden fence which separates your neighbour's garden from yours.

"I'm getting a drink," you declare, swinging your legs over the side of the sun lounger, "Can I get you anything, Mom?"

"I'm alright," your mom says with a wave of your hand, and you nod, before turning on your heel and going inside to get your drink, pushing your sunglasses to the top of your head. The house is delightfully cool as you open the screen door. On your way to the kitchen you pass the living room, finding your dad passed out on the couch, fan on full blast and TV displaying the U.S. Golf Open.

You bite back a chuckle as you step into the kitchen, filling up a glass of water before chugging it down, wiping the rest off your chin, before filling it up again. You spend a couple of minutes leaning against your counter taking small sips, before your ears perk up at the sound of your mom's voice from the garden. It's faint, like she's talking to someone, and you frown slightly as you think about who she could be talking to, considering your dad is in no state to have conversation with anybody, right now. 

You shrug it off, taking a few more sips before you go back through the house the way you came, your mother's voice becoming clearer as her laugh floats through the screen door. The sun bears down on your face once more as you step back into the garden, your eyes taking a second to adjust to the bright light as you close the screen door behind you.

"–there you are, peanut! I was just telling Joel about you, come and say hi. . ."

"Goody," you mutter to yourself as the screen door clicks shut.

"­–you remember I told you about Joel, don't you, honey? He lives next door with his daughter, Sarah,"

You bite back a sigh, before plastering a smile over your face as you turn to the garden to meet another undoubtedly middle-aged, pot-bellied man.

Either way, you're not expecting the man standing by the wooden fence; he's pretty young, maybe early thirties, with dark, scruffy hair and an equally half-kept scruffy beard and mustache. He's a handsome man, with dark, warm eyes that scan your face and an angular jaw and nose.

"Sure, I remember" you let out, smiling at him sweetly, "Pleased to meet you,"

"Hello," he returns your greeting with a slight nod, and his voice is deep and gravelly, tinged with that telltale Texan accent, "Nice to finally meet you, your mom sure does talk about you a lot,"

You give him a dry, sarcastic smile, raising your brows slightly. "She sure does like to talk,"

Joel lets out a chuckling breath, corners of his mouth twitching in amusement as your Mom rolls her eyes.

"Always so dry, that one," she comments, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes as you sit back down on the sun lounger.

"Your mom said you were home from college for the summer. . . How long you visiting for?" Joel says with a clear of his throat.

You go to open your mouth as Joel waits patiently for your answer, but your mom beats you to it. "Until about mid-August. . . good to have her home, she hadn't been down here at the new house since we moved, you see. . ."

Joel's gaze lingers on you for a second before his eyes turn back to your mother, whose animated conversation you tune out, as you pull your sunglasses back down onto your nose, and pick your book back up, stretching your bare legs over the lounger. 

Your mind is anywhere but the book, however, and you make sure to hold it at such an angle that you can still peer over the spine, eyes shamelessly rolling over Joel's form from behind your sunglasses. He's wearing an old, dark green t-shirt that's covered in white paint splatters and looks like it's several sizes too small, but you don't find yourself complaining as your eyes linger over the bulge of his biceps under the shirt, broad chest stretching out the faded logo on the front. Your eyes travel down his torso to the shorts he's wearing, and you're pretty grateful for your sunglasses because you find your gaze lingering down from his belt to his zipper, material bulging slightly outwards­–

"­–Peanut can do it, can't you darling? She's real good with kids,"

Your mom's voice startles you out of your philandering thoughts, and eyes, and you pretend to look up from your book, heart skipping in your chest for a second as the idea that you'd just been checking out your parents' ridiculously attractive neighbor .

"Huh?" you let out, rather dumbly, lowering the book, and your mom makes an impatient noise.

"Joel's sitter called in sick and we've gotta be at the Council meeting after dinner," she explains, "You can watch Sarah for a couple of hours, can't you?"

"Uh–" you struggle to find your words for a second as Joel looks at you, before he puts up his hand in a reassuring gesture.

"Don't worry," he ensures you, shaking his head, "I ain't going to interrupt your evening plans, they don't need me at the council meeting, anyway–"

"Plans!" your mom says through a surprised chuckle, shaking her head "She doesn't have any, don't you worry," 

"Thanks, mom," you grumble under your breath, and again you watch as the corners of Joel's mouth twitch in held back amusement at your comment, before you clear your throat and nod, offering him a tentative smile, "Sure, I'm happy to help,"

"You sure?" he asks, and you nod, "It's just a couple hours, I'll be back before ten,"

"No worries, I can do that. . . uh–. . . how old is Sarah?" you ask, cringing slightly at the fact that you don't know, but Joel doesn't seem offended.

"She's eight," he informs you, and you nod again, "But don't worry, it won't be much work. . . she usually only stays up a couple of hours after dinner and then crashes,"

"Yeah, no problem," you reassure him, smiling slightly, and Joel gives you a grateful look. 

"Perfect! She'll be over after dinner, then," your mom beams, and he nods, clearing his throat.

"Thanks a lot, you're doing me a real favor," he comments, but something in Joel's tone tells you he would've rather stayed home with his daughter than attended a 3-hour long community council meeting chaired mostly by the middle-aged ladies of the neighborhood,

"No worries," you tell him with another sweet smile, and Joel's eyes linger on your face for a second, before he clears his throat, wiping his hands on his shorts and looking back at your mom. "Right. . . gotta get back to this lawn, but I'll see you both later, then,"

"See you later, Joel," your mom beams, and you give one more saccharine 'bye' in his direction before he disappears back into his garden. The minute she hears the lawn mower turn back on, your Mum comes to sit on the edge of your sun lounger.

"He's nice, isn't he?" she says, and you give an affirmative hum as you continue reading, "Handsome, too. . .been living out here 5 years,"

"Interesting," you say, and your voice sounds far from interested, but your mom doesn't pay it any attention as she continues.

"No wife, though. . . Betty said he's just raising Sarah on his own, has been his whole life. . . she thinks the wife ran away, or something, one of these nutjobs that abandons their own child–"

"Mom," you interrupt, putting your book down as you tip your glasses down your nose and give her a look, "You shouldn't be gossiping about this,"

You mom looks guilty for a second, before she purses her lips haughtily, getting back to her feet. "You're right, I suppose. . . well, either way, we gotta do what we can to help him out, don't we? Can't imagine it's easy being a single parent,"

"I'm sure it isn't," you comment, before you close your book with a small smack, deciding that reading in the vicinity of your mother is going to be impossible, "I'm gonna head back in. . . grab a shower, before dinner,"

"Sure, peanut," your mom says with a nod, before she redirects herself back to pruning the rosebush.

You make your way back inside the house, past your dad in the living room and up the carpeted stairs to your bedroom. It's not decorated exactly the way your old one in Galveston used to be, but it still has your old bed and dresser, and your mom has hung a couple of paintings you did when you were in middle school on the walls. You drop your book on the dresser, letting out a sigh as you walk over to the window to open it and let some air in.

Your room is on the left side of the house, closest to the neighbor's garden, and as your fingers grip the edge of the window to pull it up, they stall as your eye falls on Joel as he mows his lawn. Your eyes widen slightly as you see that Joel's isn't wearing the olive-green shirt anymore, having instead discarded it in a heap on one of his faded deck chairs, leaving him in nothing but those shorts. You watch as the sun glistens on his sweat-drenched skin, accentuating every contour of the muscular physique that had been hidden away by his t-shirt earlier.His strong arms flexing as he grips the lawnmower's handle, his movements deliberate and confident. The rhythmic sound of the engine fills the air, blending with the gentle breeze and the sounds of the kids three houses up playing in their pool. He moves with a surprising grace, a sensuality even in such a mundane task as his forehead creases with effort and focus.

You're almost mesmerised as you lean in closer, breath fogging against the glass of your window. He stops for a second, hand coming up to wipe some sweat from his brow, and in that split second he looks up, hand shielding his eyes from the sunlight, almost directly at you. You fumble slightly with the windowsill, eyes quickly moving away as you push the window up and open, pretending not to see him and fussing with your curtains, instead. Your eyes move back down for a split second, heart pounding in your chest at the idea he may have caught you staring at him, but Joel is already focusing on his lawn mower again, continuing on his way across his garden. 

"It's open, come on in!" comes a shout from inside the Miller house as you stand in front of their screen door, and you push it open gingerly.

Stepping across the threshold, the first thing that catches your eye is the haphazard mix of shoes strewn under the coat hook, ranging from Size 9 boots crusted with mud to a pair of bright pink trainers with glitter laces. The house isn't much different from yours. The stairs to the second floor are in the same place as your parents to the right of the hallway which you assume continues into the living room and kitchen. The wall is decorated with a mix of children's drawings, a few faded posters and various pictures of Joel and a young girl with curly black hair and a beaming smile.

"Sarah, where's my watch?" Joel's voice echoes from upstairs through the hall, and there's hurried steps on the landing upstairs, "I told you to stop playing with that thing!"

"I didn't take it. . . It's in your dresser drawer," comes another voice, a young girl's, from upstairs. There's the sound of thundering steps as someone hurries down the stairs, and you look up from where you'd been taking off your shoes to be faced with the young girl from the photos. She's older, but the smile is unmistakable as she stops three steps short of the ground, grinning brightly at you.

"Hi!" she lets out, and you give her a cautious smile.

"Hey there," you return, trying to keep your tone from being awkward, "I live next door,"

"Dad told me," she says with a nod, "He's almost ready, he gets really scatterbrained when he's in a hurry is all,"

"It's no problem. . . so do I," you say with a chuckle, and her smile widens as she contemplates you.

"You're really pretty," Sarah blurts suddenly, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Sarah," comes Joel's voice from the top of the stairs before you can open your mouth and respond, "That doesn't sound like it's any of your business, now does it?"

Joel cleans up nice. Gone are the faded t-shirt and frayed shorts, and they've been replaced with a pair of dark jeans and a plaid blue short-sleeved button down, albeit still wrinkled in some places. His hair still looks damp, and either Joel forgot to run a comb through it or he just doesn't care enough, because his curls are an unruly mess on his head, but it suits him. He's fastening a watch on his wrist as he comes down, and it takes a decent amount of willpower not to let your eyes run across the length of his muscular arm as it flexes with effort.

"It's alright, Mr. Miller, I don't mind," you say with a slight laugh as Joel hurries down the stairs, Sarah jumping the last few steps ahead of him. At your use of his last name, his head snaps up suddenly, eyes boring into yours.

"Joel," he corrects almost immediately, his voice soft but with a sharp undertone, before he grimaces, "Please. . . Mr. Miller makes me feel. . . old,"

"You are old," Sarah teases, before she turns back to you, "So do you?"

"Have a boyfriend?" you ask her, and she sighs, rolling her eyes.

"Duh,"

"I don't right now, no," you say, chuckling slightly.

"Oh," Sarah sounds put out, her eyebrows knitting into a frown, "Why not?"

Joel lets out a tutting sound as he stops a few steps away from you, slipping his feet into a pair of shoes hastily.

"Sarah, enough," he chides her, giving his daughter a look, "Go and do something else rather than harass your babysitter,"

"I'm eight," she grumbles, "Don't even need a babysitter. . . you're just grouchy because you have to go to the community meeting and hang around all the old biddies,"

"Sa-rah," Joel hisses pointedly at his daughter, giving her a glare, but you laugh, shaking your head.

"I don't blame him, I'm not a huge fan of the old biddies myself," you tell Sarah jokingly, wiggling your eyebrows at her, "Besides, a handsome man like your dad? I'm sure they stick to him like flies in a honey trap,"

Sarah lets out a giggle, her nose scrunching. "Oh, they love him,"

"Okay, alright," Joel says with a roll of his eyes as he grabs his keys off the small table in the entrance hall, "You're both being very funny. . . Sarah, why don't you go do the dishes in the sink you were supposed to do half an hour ago instead of standing here talking smack,"

You chuckle slightly as Sarah giggles again, before she darts off down the hallway to what you assume in the kitchen.

"Right, okay. . . she's had dinner already, there's some ravioli in the fridge if you get hungry, there's beer if you want–" Joel stops midway through his sentence, his brows knitting together as he regards you, "Hold on, can you even have beer?"

"I'm twenty-two, Joel," you say with a half-sarcastic, half-reassuring smile, nodding, "I can have beer,"

Joel's face doesn't change for a split-second as he seems to process this, before mouth opens into a nervous chuckle as he stuffs his keys in his back pocket. "Right, makes sense, sorry. . . uh–. . . that's it, right? My number's on the landline speed dial if anything happens, and I'll be home before 10,"

"Got it," you say with a nod, "Enjoy what I'm sure will be an absolutely riveting meeting about the neighborhood lawn maintenance standards,"

Joel grimaces, before chuckling dryly. "I'm sure I won't,"

You give a giggle as he steps towards the screen door, opening it up.

"See you later," he says, and you nod. 

"Bye," you say in a honeyed tone, and you watch him walk down the walkway towards his truck. Your eyes follow him as he gets in the car, feeling something pool in your lower belly just at the sight of him. Then, Sarah's voice pulls you out of your thoughts.

"You coming?"

Turns out, Joel's babysitter ends up being sick for a lot longer than he'd anticipated, which means you end up spending a lot more of your days and evenings in the Miller household than you anticipated doing this summer.

It does nothing but encourage your growing attraction to Joel, like adding kindling to an ever-growing fire with every second you spend in his presence, and after two weeks of babysitting Sarah a few nights and a few afternoons, you feel yourself start to get bolder.

You're braver with your touches, the occasional light brush of your fingers against his arm becoming more deliberate, hands lingering during a conversation or shared moment of laughter. You've noticed that Joel reacts to you, as well, albeit in a much more restrained way, but it does nothing to deter you.If anything, his restraint only encourages you to push further, a little more each time. It's like a challenge, and shit, do you enjoy a challenge.

It's Wednesday evening, and you're in the entrance house of the Miller house again, kicking off your shoes as you hear Joel move around upstairs.

"Hello!" you shout into the house, and almost immediately you hear Sarah's footsteps race through the corridor, before she comes tearing around the corner. When she catches sight of you, more specifically what you're wearing, she lets loose a screech of excitement.

"You look so good!" she lets out in a squeal, her feet stomping on the spot as she looks at you, "He isn’t going to know what to do with himself,”

“Yes, thank you, if you could keep your voice down about it that would be great,” you tell her as you take off your coat, giving her a look, and she giggles. 

“He’s too busy running around the house getting ready to eavesdrop,” she says with a roll of her eyes, “When are you going to meet him?” 

“Don’t know yet,” you return in a mockery of her dreamy tone, before rolling your eyes, “I’m here watching you first, he’ll come pick me up after,”

Sarah’s eyes shine with excitement. “You mean I get to see him?” 

“You better be in bed snoring when that happens missy,” you tell her, your hands coming to your hips as you give her a stern look. 

“Who better be in bed when what happens?” comes Joel’s voice as he appears at the top of the stairs, before hurrying down like he always does. This time, however, as he’s fastening his watch strap, his eyes momentarily move expectantly onto Sarah. 

“Nothing, Dad,” Sarah lies surprisingly well, “Just that I’d better be in bed by the time you get home,” 

“Which won’t be very late, by the way, probably around te–” Joel’s voice stalls in his throat as his gaze falls on you, and his eyebrows fly up his forehead, “What are you all dolled up for?”

He’s not wrong that you’d gotten dolled up for the evening, but it wasn’t for babysitting; you were having drinks with someone you knew through a friend later, after babysitting. 

“It’s part of my very elaborate plan to seduce you,” you say simply, shrugging innocently but corners of your mouth pulled into the beginnings of a smile. 

There’s a split second of silence where Joel’s eyes widen slightly, before Sarah bursts into laughter, and a full smile starts spreading over your features. 

“Well I gotta say you’re failing pretty desperately, then,” Joel counters, and Sarah breaks into another round of laughter as your jaw falls open in shock and almost theoretical offense.

“You jacka–” you stop yourself, suddenly very aware of Sarah’s younger ears as you hold in your swear, pressing your lips together into a grudging smile, and it makes Joel chuckle slightly as he gets to the bottom of the stairs. 

“Careful. . . little ears are listening,” he says the last part in an airy voice as he passes you by, and you scoff, shaking your head. 

“Sarah, please go away so I can call your dad a name,” you tell her after a second of silence, and Joel lets out a sound of protest as he puts on his shoes, Sarah laughing again before she dutifully turns on her heel and runs back down the hall. 

When she’s gone, you turn to Joel, leaning slightly towards him to ensure he hears you. 

“Jack–ass,” you enunciate, and he nods with a smirk. 

“You started it,” 

“Sarah told me you have a date,” you say, smiling, “You sure it’s only going to be 10?” 

“Once again, my eight-year-old shares my business with the entire world,” 

“I’m not the entire world, I’m me,” you chime in, and Joel snorts. 

“It’s not that kind of date,” 

“Oh,” you let out, making a small grimace of disappointment, “Boring,” 

“Thanks,” Joel says with a dry smile, and you make another face, this one apologetic. 

"How do I look?" he asks you, holding his arms out semi-nervously, and you bite back a smile.

"Very pretty," you say half-seriously, and he rolls his eyes at you.

"You're funny," he tells you, pointing a finger at you and shaking his head, "Alright, I think I'm off then,"

With that, Joel goes to turn on his heel, but suddenly he feels your fingers wrap around his wrist, pulling gently.

"Joel, wait," you let out through a breathy laugh, taking a few steps forward so you're standing in front of him suddenly, your fingers releasing his wrist. Joel goes stiff, but you don't notice as you bring your hands up, one falling on his shoulder gently and the other moving towards his face, before he feels your thumb swipe over the edge of his jaw, "You've got­ shaving cream–. . . there you go,"

Joel's eyes watch your face as you chuckle slightly, before you tut as your eyes fall to his shirt, corners on your mouth twitching upwards into the beginning of a smile.

"–and your collar's crooked," you say, your hands moving to straighten out the lapels of his shirt, letting out a chuckle, your voice a little lower and a little deeper than Joel's ever noticed before, ". . jesus Joel,"

When you're satisfied with the correct shape of his shirt collar, your eyes move from his jaw to find him staring down at you. You're suddenly very aware of Joel; how close he's standing, the way his eyes are trained on yours, lingering, the way he smells. He smells really good, a mix of sandalwood aftershave and ––

You can't help yourself as you sniff the air, before your eyebrows crease slightly, eyes full of sudden question. "Do. . . do you smell like strawberry?"

You watch as Joel's cheeks color a slight pink, lips pursing with an expression as if he's been made, "I ran out of shower gel. . . had to use Sarah's,"

Your lips press together and Joel can tell you're trying desperately not to smile, but he can see the laughter in your eyes as you look up at him, twinkling with amusement.

"Very manly," you manage to bring out, giving him a teasingly reassuring smile, and for the first time that evening Joel's shoulders deflate of tension as he lets out a laughing scoff, shaking his head and looking away, smirk growing on his lips as he hears you start to laugh.

"You are a mean woman, you know that?" he tells you, and for the first time, you hear something in Joel's tone, something. . . friendlier. It’s teasing, almost flirty.  

"I was joking," you let out with a chuckle on your own as he turns back to laugh at you, raising a single eyebrow as his eyes meet yours.

"Didn't sound like you were joking, sweetheart," he says, and you feel something in your stomach at the sound of the nickname rolling over his lips. 

“I’m sure you’ll survive,” you tell him, sarcastically, and when you find yourself looking into his eyes a split second longer than you should, you swallow, pulling your hands away from his face, and taking a step back. 

"Thanks," he says, clearing his throat as he steps towards the screen door.

"Anytime," you say, giving him a smooth, playful smile, covering up the moment of tension that passed between you just now, "You look great, Joel. . . she's a lucky woman,"

He gives a little scoff, raising his brows slightly. "I'll be back by ten,"  

“I believe you,” you tell him sarcastically as he steps over the threshold, “Bye, Joel,”

Joel is late. 

Only by half an hour. You’d already texted the guy you were meeting to tell him it would be later and that you’d keep him in the loop, but that doesn’t stop you making sure all your things are ready to go already an hour before Joel even gets home. It’s 22:34 when his keys sound in the front door, 20 minutes after he’d sent a one-word text that he was on his way back, and you’re sitting on the couch watching a rerun of the Wire. 

You look up as Joel walks in.

“Hi,” you let out in a softer voice as you sit, pulling your denim jacket off the couch armrest, “How was it?” 

You don’t miss the way Joel’s eyes run over the exposed skin of your shoulders and chest in your thin-strapped dress for a small moment before he looks back up at you and gives a nod. 

“Nice,” he tells you, and you nod with a smile, pulling the jacket on and getting up off the couch, “Did Sara behave?” 

“No complaints,” you say with a laugh, “Kid’s an angel,” 

Joel smiles slightly as he nods, before he watches you grab your bag, which had been lying by the couch and sling it over your shoulder, “You headed home?” 

You stifle a small yawn, before smiling with a shake of your head. “No, I’m headed into downtown. . . meeting someone for drinks,” 

“You should’ve told me!” Joel lets out in surprise, eyes widening slightly, and you chuckle softly, waving him off. 

“It’s really fine, he can wait a half hour,” 

“How are you getting downtown? Do you need a ride?” he offers, but you shake your head, before you pull your phone out of your back pocket to look at the plastic display. 

“I’ve got one,” you say, and your voice is almost a little timid, as though being picked up by your date from Joel’s was somehow more embarrassing than at your own house. 

“He picking you up?” Joel asks, and you nod. 

As if on cue, a set of headlights flash through the living room window as a car pulls up on the side of the curb on the opposite side of the street. 

“Do you need me again this week?” you ask, looking back at Joel from where you’d watched the car pull up. Joel shakes his head. 

“Don’t think so,” he comments, before his brow creases for a split second, “But try not to get abducted on your date, I’d like to keep the option open,” 

“I’ll try not to,” you reply through a knowing chuckle, before walking past him towards the front door, hand on the knob. 

“If I suddenly stop answering texts, call the police,” you say half-jokingly, and Joel turns to give you a look and points his finger at you as you open the door. 

“That isn’t funny,” he tells you in a half-serious tone, and you snicker once more before you step over the threshold. 

“Goodnight, Joel,” 

Joel watches you walk down the front path, denim jacket pulled tightly over your shoulders against the evening chill, legs bare under your dress. He watches you get in the car parked on the curb, greeting whoever is driving with the same blinding smile you sometimes give him, and Joel feels something rear up slightly in his chest. It’s like a shock through his body, and he averts his eyes as the car drives off, shuffling back into his living room with a mild frown on his face as he pulls out his mobile. It's a cheap, battered Nokia model that Joel doesn't use enough to replace.

You’ve barely turned the curb when your own phone buzzes, and you pull it out of the pocket of your jacket. 

from: joel. 10:39 PM  

pls call if getting murdered 

You can’t stop the slight chuckle that falls over your lips, and it makes the guy driving you look over, giving a tentative grin. “What’s funny?” 

“Sorry,” you say, shaking your head with a smile as you type a reply, “Just something stupid,” 

to: joel 10:40 PM

i’ll try my best

You don't see Joel for the rest of the week, which is really only a few days if you think about it.

You hear his truck, the sound of his deep voice floating through the Miller's open back doors and windows as he hollers through the house for Sarah or Tommy, you can even hear them come up their front driveway if you're in the living room, but you don't see him.

You haven't seen Joel, and yet you think you're going a little crazy, because you're still thinking about him.   

You don't know what's consuming you, but every time you hear him around the neighborhood, your thoughts redirect to him, to your interactions. . . and then your mind starts to wander. . . you think about how his hands might feel running over your body, gripping the dips of your hips, how it would feel to kiss him, trace your lips over the curves of the muscles in his chest–

"Kiddo, you still with me?"

Your dad's voice interrupts your train of thought, and your mind returns to the present situation, which is you putting the plates your dad is handing you in the dishwasher.

"Hm?" you return, and your Dad chuckles.

"What's got you so deep in thought, hm? You've been absent all day,"

You give a shrug, taking the plate he's handing you and leaning over to slot it into the dishwasher. "It's nothing Dad. . . just thinking about my book,"

"Since when is book code for boys?" your dad chuckles, and your eyes widen as you look at him, thinking you've been made.

But how the hell could he know what you'd been thinking?

"What?" you bring out, and your dad smiles knowingly.

"You've been like this ever since you went out for those drinks," he tells you, raising an eyebrow, "You may be older, but you're still my little girl. . . I can read you like a book,"

You make a note of how happy you are that your dad can't actually read your thoughts like a book, because you're pretty sure if he could he'd be shipping you off to a convent right about now.

You give a small smile. "You got me,"

You figure it's easier to explain you've been thinking about some guy you'd had three drinks with and never plan on calling again instead of confessing to your dad that last night you'd had the possibly dirtiest dream about the very man he likes to invite over for monthly poker nights.

"You seein’ him again tonight?" your dad asks, and you shake your head with a chuckle.

"No," you say pointedly, "Tonight it's just me and some friends,"

"Alright," your dad says with a nonchalant raise of his hands, before your eyes fall on the clock hanging on the wall.

"I should be going soon, actually," you say, and your dad nods, "Laura said she'd be by around eight thirty–"

At that precise moment, you hear a honking noise from the street, and as you peer through the window, you see Laura's fern green Toyota Corolla parked on the curb in front of your house. 

"That's my cue," you say with a smile, before grabbing your purse from the dining table and leaning in to kiss your dad on the cheek, "See you later, dad,"

"Have fun honey," your dad says, and as you walk to the door of the kitchen, he adds, "If you need a ride home, call me, alright?"

"I will," you holler over your shoulder, before you step through the corridor and swing the door open.

It's somewhere after 8:30 PM, and the sun has only just started setting in the sky. It's mid-July, so it's still warm out, but you find that the evening heat and humidity is a little less oppressive than during the day. Nevertheless, you're not wearing anything but the silk slip dress you'd had on all day, deciding not to bring a cardigan at the last minute, guessing you’d be fine.

Laura honks again as you step out of the door, and as you make your way towards her car, she leans out the driver's seat and whistles. "Well hello there, hot stuff!"

You let out a laugh, shaking your head and your cheeks burning slightly as you wave her off. You'd met Laura at college in Seattle; you'd been in the same statistics class, and it had been pure chance when you'd become friends after you'd pointed out her Texas Longhorns shirt, which had led to you telling her your parents had just moved to Austin from Galveston, which happened to be where Laura was from.

"Shut up," you tell her jokingly as you pull open the car door, before getting in, "How are you doing?"

Laura is a short girl, with fair, freckle dotted skin and hair the color of rust. Her usual chartreuse green eyes are hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, and she gives you a smirk as she tilts her head down, giving you a look over them.

"All good here, doll," she says, before pushing her sunglasses up her forehead into her hair, "How was your day?"

"Good," you say with a nod, before you watch as Laura's eyes shift to something over your shoulder, eyebrows creeping up her forehead.

"Is that your neighbor?" she asks, and you turn in your seat to look at where she's staring, "You never told me he looked like that!"

True enough, Joel is standing in his driveway talking to Tommy, who's leaning out of the window of his truck, cigarette between his lips. He's wearing those same ratty beige shorts you've come to know so well, and a grimy grey t-shirt covered in black grease marks, undoubtedly from working in the garage all day. He still looks good, despite the sweat and the grime, shirt hugging his biceps and chest in just the right way and hair mussed on his head.

"It's criminal," you mutter, and Laura laughs, before you watch as the Miller's front door flies open and Sarah bounds down the path, purple backpack slung over shoulder.

"That his daughter? The one you babysit?" Laura asks, and you hum in agreement, "Jesus. . .who knew they made daddies so yummy, these days,"

"Maybe we shouldn't be staring," you realize suddenly, very aware of the fact that Joel could move his head any minute and spot you ogling him. He's probably already noticed you when Laura had honked at you from the front door.

"Hey, it is my human right to stare at your hot neighbor," Laura defends, before giving you a look, "You tried anything with him yet?"

"Laura!" you let out, trying to act as though you hadn't been flirting with Joel for the better part of two weeks, but she doesn't buy your tone, and lets out a full laugh.

"I knew it!" she says, shaking her head again with a smirk, "I can't blame you, doll. . .anything?"

"No," you say pointedly, "I mean, maybe. . . probably not,"

At that precise moment, you hear a call of your name, and your eyes widen to watch Sarah giving you an enthusiastic wave from where she's half-way into the passenger seat of Tommy's truck. You try not to look too guilty as you wave back at her, eyes shifting to Joel for a second only to find him looking at you with a half-amused smile. Laura gives another short honk and waves herself as your eyes shift quickly back to Sarah, before chuckling to herself, polite smile plastered on her face, "He's looking at you,"

"Drive, please," you mutter back through your smile, and she snorts as you turn back to her.

"You ready to have some fun?" she asks, wiggling her eyebrows, and you giggle, humming.

"As long as it involves a significant amount of drinking, I'm happy," you tell her, and she laughs loudly.

"Trust me," Laura says with a chuckle, before turning back to front and shifting the gear, foot stepping on the gas, "I know just the place,"

To give Laura credit, the bar is fun.

It isn't too busy, nor too empty, and the music is good, at just the right volume to have a conversation without having to yell.

You're about three beers in, one of which was paid for by one of the two guys that had sidled up to you and Laura about half an hour ago. They were cute enough, and Laura seemed pretty taken with the one she was talking with, but your conversation was not nearly as riveting and you quickly felt your mind drifting.

Joel had been floating through your thoughts for the past few days, and seeing him earlier had lit something electric in you; he seemed to occupy your brain like a parasite, thoughts never straying far from his face, his lips, his arms–

Joel (?!)

You feel something like a jolt pass through you as your eyes register his familiar face, and you blink a few times to assure yourself it's him. But he is there, it isn't a figment of your imagination, he's standing on the other end of the bar by one of the tall tables, and he's looking at you.

You feel your cheeks start to burn as a bashful smile overtakes your features, and you look away from him with laughter in your eyes as you turn back to the guy talking sitting opposite you.

"I'll be right back," you tell him, your smile changing slightly but your voice staying honeyed and soft, "I'm getting another beer,"

"Okay," he says, looking almost a little relieved, and you bite back a smile at the fact that the poor dude is probably just as bored as you are wing manning his friend, and jumping at a chance to disrupt the semi-awkward silence.

You get up from your seat, grabbing your almost empty glass and making a beeline for the bar. From the corner of your eyes, you think you see Joel moving as well, but you don't look his way as you give the bartender a smile, setting your glass down.

"Can I have another, please?" you ask him, and he nods as he takes your empty glass from you.

Then, to your left, someone clears their throat, and you turn to find Joel standing there, giving an amused smile.

"Hello," he tells you with a chuckle, and you press your lips together in a bashful smile as you nod.

"Hi, Joel," you tell him, chuckling slightly, "Long time no see,"

"I know," Joel muses, setting his own glass down, "Was wondering when I'd run into you like this,"

When, not if.

"Didn't think you were much of a bar person," you comment, and Joel's brows raise slightly.

"You makin' assumptions?" he asks you, and you shrug, making a joking grimace.

"Just sayin', Joel," you reply, and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards into the beginning of a smirk. 

Your conversation interrupts for a second as the barman sets down your drink, and you pay for it. Then, you turn to Joel, beer in hand.

“Well, I'm going to enjoy my beer, which I can have," you say, your tone a joking reference to earlier.

"Yeah, yeah. . . what gets me is that you only think you've been made now," Joel says with a subtle raise of his brow.

"Oh?" you let out, and the corners of Joel's mouth twitch upwards into that smirk again.

"Sweetheart, I've been watching you all evening,"

Oh.

The moments his words reach your ears you feel something sending a small shockwave through your system, and your thighs involuntarily clench, which you try to cover it up with a small scoff.

"Guess I'm not as subtle as I initially thought," you mutter, and Joel lets loose a soft chuckle as he shakes his head.

"I've seen you throw back like 4 beers already, aren't you starting to feel it a little?" he jokes, and you scoff.

"This is my fourth, so no,” you say pointedly, before you press your lips together in a second of silence, "Okay I may be starting to feel it,"

"Alright," he says with a laugh and a raise of his eyebrows, before he finishes the beer at the bottom of his glass, setting it down on the bar next to you when he's done.

"You let me know when you want to go home," he informs you, and your brow creases into a frown as you stand up a little straighter.

"What?” you ask him, and Joel gives you a look, "Joel, no–. . . I'm a big girl. I came here on my own just fine, I can find my way home,"

"I'd still feel better if it were me taking you home," Joel replies in a tone that makes it clear he isn’t going to argue about it, and you suppress a sigh as you feel a shiver run down the back of your neck at his words.

Christ, this man had you in his grip. 

"This is sort of ridiculous. . . I'm an adult, you know," you tell him eventually, and he gives you a dry smile.

"Indulge me, sweetheart,"

He's been a lot more liberal with the nickname lately than you think he's ever been, and it does something to you; every time it falls over his lips, your heart skips and your breath falters, leaving you scrambling to act completely normal about it.

"Fine," you give in, shaking your head with an eye roll, before you push off of the bar, your fourth drink in hand, "But I wouldn't wait around, Joel,"

Joel does wait around, and rightly so, because after another two hours, you've had enough.

You're not quite drunk, but you find that the alcohol you have drunk is not combining well with the exhaustion of a bad nights' sleep. Laura's been talking to the same guy who'd been by your table for about two hours, and even though his friend had tried chatting you up again, you'd been too distracted by Joel standing on the other side of the bar to be even remotely interested in what he was saying. Finally, you decide to bite the bullet.

"I'm sorry," you tell the guy with a small smile, before putting a hand on Laura's arm, who is deep in conversation with the other guy, "I think I'm headed home,"

"You all right?" she asks immediately, and you nod with a small smile.

"Yeah, just exhausted. . . lack of sleep catching up to me a little," you tell her, and she nods.

"Alright, I'll take you home," she says with a nod, reaching for her purse but you shake your head, giving her arm a squeeze.

"No, no! You stay here and have fun. . . Joel offered me a ride home," you tell her, and you watch as she bites back a smile, raising an eyebrow as her eyes quickly flick over to the bar to look for him.

"Okay," she says knowingly as she looks back at you, before she tries to cover up her smirk, "Get home safe, doll,"

“You too,” 

You excuse yourself, and spot Joel leaning across the bar slightly, saying something to the bartender over the music, not immediately noticing as you walk to him. He only turns to look at you as he feels your fingers graze his arm lightly to get his attention.

"So," you say, your tone joking, "You still want to get out of here?"

To your surprise, Joel's mouth twitches into an amused smile at the double-entendre, which makes you smile slightly, and nods.

"Sure," he says with a knowing look, before he finishes off the rest of his beer, setting it down and saying goodbye to the bartender. He turns to you, pushing off the bar and motioning wordlessly for you to walk ahead, which you do. As you step through the thinning crowd of people in the bar, you swear you can feel Joel's fingers graze the small of your back, but the minute you notice, they're gone again.

The minute you step outside, you shiver slightly, and Joel frowns at you as you walk towards his car. 

"Didn't you bring a sweater?"

You shake your head. "It wasn't this cold when I left. . . besides, I left my usual cardigan on your couch, I think,"   

Joel had only noticed it the next morning, when he'd been sitting in front of the TV with his coffee and suddenly his nose had filled with the smell of you, which had startled him, until he'd spotted your cream cardigan stuffed unceremoniously in the corner of the couch.

Joel gives a hum as you reach the car, and you waste no time getting in the passenger seat, the car offering little extra warmth. Joel gets in, and for a second there's silence as he fastens his seatbelt and puts the key in the ignition, starting the car.

"Sarah at Tommy's tonight?" you ask him, and he hums as he puts the car in reverse, arm coming against the side of your headrest as he turns to look behind him. You feel something flutter in you as your gaze falls on the side of his face, but his eyes remain focused on behind him, oblivious to his effect on you.

"She's at a sleepover," he tells you, "Tommy just took her there,"

You nod in understanding, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you process this information, and finally Joel turns back to the wheel as he pulls out onto the road, eyes crossing yours furtively.

"Thanks for taking me, by the way," you say, and Joel nods, "Didn't mean to put an end to your night,"

"No problem, sweetheart. . . it was getting kind of stuffy in there, anyway," he tells you, and you chuckle lightly, before you turn to look out of the window.

"Spoken like a true old man," you say, under your breath, but Joel obviously still hears it, because he snorts.

"At least I'm not drunk after 4 beers," he counters, and your head snaps to look at him as you frown jokingly.

"I'm not drunk," you defend, and Joel chuckles.

"Really? Is that why you sat through an hour and a half of almost silence?"

You feel your breath stall in your throat for a second as you register that Joel had been watching you, and at least for the majority of the night for him to know this.

You purse your lips, shaking your head with a grudging smile. "He was boring. . . besides, I didn't do it for me, thank you very much, my friend was having a great time with his buddy!"

Joel nods with a hum. "You’re a good friend, then,”

His tone has a hint of teasing sarcasm to it, and it makes you raise your eyebrows in challenge. 

"Well what about you, then?" you counter, and Joel raises an eyebrow as he glances at you from the road for a second.

"What about me, sweetheart?" he inquires, and you snort, shaking your head as you look out of the window.

"I saw you turn down, like, four women," you say pointedly, before giving a sarcastic chuckle, "Not good enough for you?"

Joel just shrugs. "Nobody special,"

You let out a bark of laughter, looking back at him. "Joel Miller is picky, is he?"

Joel doesn't look at you, but you watch as he pursues his lips, corners of his mouth twitching into a smile as he shakes his head.

"Not picky," he says simply, and his eyes cross yours for another split second, before they go back to the road, "Just had my eye on something better,"

It feels like something kickstarts inside you at his words, and you try your best to keep your smile from growing as your eyes drift back to the road with a hum and a sarcastic nod.

Finally.

In no time, Joel is pulling into your familiar street, and your heart is beating a million miles per hour as he turns into his driveway, headlights illuminating his garage door. Your hands feel sweaty as he switches off the engine, and when the lights die and plunge you back into the darkness of the evening, you start to feel nervous. What if you'd been reading it wrong? What if you were about to try something that would end in a decidedly awkward situation and forever taint your trips home?

You watch as Joel starts to speak, and you panic.

"Do you mind if I come in for a sec?" you ask, and Joel's words die in his throat as you hastily add, "To get my cardigan. . . I kinda need it tomorrow,"

Joel closes his mouth, and you can't quite decipher his expression in the dark of the car, but you hear him let out a measured breath. "Sure,"

Before you know it you're standing on Joel's porch as he unlocks the door, and he motions for you to go first as the door swings inwards. The house is dark but still recognizable, and you don't even think twice as you take off your shoes, not quite decided on whether you do it out of pure habit or because you’re finding an excuse to stay. If Joel notices, he doesn't say anything about it, and as you walk deeper into the hallway, he points at the kitchen.

"Put your cardigan on the kitchen table," he lets you know, "Thought it would remind me to come over and drop it off, but uh–. . .  I ran out of time today,"

"That's okay," you say with a chuckle as you walk in the direction he's pointing, before stepping sideways into the kitchen. As you flick on the light, you hear Joel’s heavy footsteps in the hall before you hear the unmistakable creak of the couch as you assume he sits down, followed by a slight groan.

"You all right?" you call as you locate your cardigan, and you hear him hum.

"Glad to be home," he returns, "That bar gave me a headache,"

You stall in the kitchen door for a second, before you turn back on your heel and reach for a glass in the cabinet, filling it up at the tap with water. You take a deep breath, steeling the nerves bubbling in your stomach as your mind races with the thought of Joel sitting on the couch just past this room, legs undoubtedly spread and back leaning against the couch.

"The bar?" you ask, your voice humorous, "Or the beers?"

"Not usually a drinker," Joel says after a second as you switch off the tap, and make your way out of the kitchen with the glass in hand, your cardigan forgotten in the kitchen, "But Jerry kept buying em', and hell, saying no would just be bad manners, wouldn't it?"

You chuckle as you step past the threshold of the living room. Joel is sitting exactly as you imagined him, except his head is thrown back and his hand is pressed against his forehead as he lets out another heavy breath. You can just about see the rise of his bulge through his jeans when he's sitting like this, and the desire that overcomes you makes the nerves you'd felt earlier in your stomach disappear into a puff of smoke.

"And yet this is your first glass of water…getting behind the wheel after more than 3 beers?" you say in an almost chastising tone as you come around the couch. "How irresponsible of you, Mr. Miller,"

Hook.

From the corner of your eye you notice Joel's thigh clench under his jeans, foot digging into the carpet but not moving from the way he's sitting on the couch as his head moves, hand coming back down to rest on his thigh as his back straightens slightly. His eyes have moved to you, and you can feel them watching you as you put down the glass on the coffee table in front of the couch, standing straight. His gaze tracks you, so that when you're standing, Joel's eyes meet with yours, expression unreadable as you raise your eyebrows expectantly for an answer.

"Don't do that,"

His tone isn't easy to discern; the timber of his voice is a little deeper than it was a second ago, but you can hear the conflict between desire and restraint in his tone, which makes you bite back a smirk.

"Do what?" you return with a shrug, playing dumb, and you swear you see the color of Joel's eyes darken, and he clears his throat, pursing his lips.

"It's playing with fire," he warns you, and you let out a small breath of laughter as you take a step towards him, sitting on the couch, so that his head angles slightly to look at you as you get closer.

"Playing with fire," you muse jokingly, before you bend down ever so slowly, fingers going to close over an empty mug that had been left out on the small table destined for the lamp and remote. You have to bend slightly over Joel to do so, and your knee grazes his as you reach, Joel's eyes leaving your face for a second as they move over the curve of your back, and the rise of your ass, "What does that even mean?"

Line–

"It means you have to behave around me," he tells you, and for a minute you hear his usual stern tone bleed through the low and heavy pitch of his voice.

"I have to behave?" you ask, fingers leaving the mug on the table as your head moves to look at him with a raised eyebrow. Then, you move, leaning slightly over him, and Joel feels your leg move, knee coming to rest on the couch beside his thigh as your eyes never leave his, "I don't have to do anything, Joel. . . 'can do whatever I want,"

With that, you move again, leaning slightly on your knee and putting a gentle hand on Joel's shoulder in order to bring your other leg up onto the couch, so that you're straddling him, thighs over his and hands on his shoulders. It's risky, you know that, and at any moment you're half-expecting Joel to push you off of him, but he doesn't. He stays still, his eyes fixed on you.

"And what is it you want?" Joel asks, and his voice is raspy, almost breathless as he stays stiff beneath you, but you think you feel the tips of his fingers graze over your knee slightly. Your hand moves from his shoulder down his chest, nails digging slightly into the material of his shirt as you drag them down.

"I want you to touch me," you breathe, and your tone teeters on desperate, the pent-up frustration from all of this week coursing through your veins, "Please touch me, Joel,"  

–and sinker.

You can see it in the darkening of his eyes, the clench of his jaw; you know you've got him right where you want him.

"Sweetheart," Joel's voice is low, a barely controlled grumble that comes from deep down in his chest, teetering between warning and wanting as he feels your palm move over his chest lightly, "This is wrong,"

You look at him, eyes low and searching his as your nails dig into the material of his shirt. His words and the tone of his voice fuel a fire in your belly.

"I know," you whisper, and Joel can feel your breath tickle his lips, before you lean forward, lips brushing past his cheek as you lean down to whisper in his ear, "Tell me to stop. . . tell me you don't want me and I'll stop,"

Stop.

Joel wants to say it, but somehow, the words refuse to cross his lips as you take it a step further and rock your hips against him, and then he's had enough. His hands move suddenly, planting themselves on your hips firmly, fingers digging into your exposed skin as he holds you in place, stopping your movements suddenly. You pull back slightly, so that you're looking at him again, and for a second you can read it all in his eyes. They flash between lust and guilt, and for a minute there's nothing but silence filled with Joel's measured breaths.

And then, at last, Joel Miller gives in.

His lips are on yours in a second, hand moving to the back of your head to pull you in, his other arm snaking around your waist as he sits straighter and pulls you flush to him. It makes your hips move against the hardening bulge in his jeans, the sudden movement of your panties against him making you let out a small moan of surprise into his mouth as he pulls you impossibly close. Your sound is swallowed by his mouth, moving with a desperate fervor against yours, taking advantage of the parting of your lips to let his tongue explore your mouth. He practically devours you as his palm covers almost the entirety of your lower back, the heat of his skin seeming to come through your dress. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, fingers tangled in the curls of his hair as you try and grab as much of him as you can. 

It's messy, desperate, all clashing tongues and teeth as nearly two weeks' worth of tension comes to a head. You roll your hips again, this time slowly, and as you feel Joel's bulge grow underneath you, he pulls away from your lips to draw in a sharp, throaty breath.

"Fuck," he groans, eyes pressed shut for a second, before he tangles his fingers in your hair and uses them to pull your head back slightly, exposing your neck to him. Joel wastes no time running his lips over the edge of your jaw, kissing down into the crook of your neck and the column of your throat as his hand moves from your back to your shoulder, pulling down the flimsy strap of your dress. His hand moves with it, before tugging on the neckline of your dress. You let loose another moan at the action, his mouth kissing over your collarbone and moving to the side down the top of your now exposed breath.

You let out a strangled moan as Joel's lips close over your nipple, teeth grazing over the tip as he bears down on it, his hand cupping under your breast, fingers kneading into your skin.

"J–Joel," you stutter out as pleasure courses through your chest, your fingers tightening in his hair as his tongue draws illicit shapes over your nipple, before his mouth moves in hastened kisses back across the center of your chest, up your collar bone, until finally you feel his lips brush the bottom of your chin. The grip in your hair loosens, your head angled back down enough for his lips to meet yours in another searing kiss.

It's even more intense than the last, and it steals your breath, every move against his body like a shock, skin igniting with his wandering touches.

You mentally take note of how happy you are that you wore a dress tonight, because there’s nothing more than the thin material of your panties separating you, and you can feel Joel's bulge through his jeans. As Joel kisses you, his mouth slowly tracing kisses back down your jaw line, you reach for the button on his jeans, popping it, before your fingers move to the hem of his shirt. You tug, and Joel pulls away from you for a second to help you pull his shirt over his head, before he's kissing you again, your fingers undoing his fly.

It's one big rush, almost frantic, but for some reason, you can't wait any longer. Your fingers run under the hem of his underwear, while Joel's hand moves down between the two of you. Your body freezes suddenly as you feel the pads of Joel's fingers graze over your entrance. You had been so busy trying to get his pants off you hadn't even noticed him moving your panties to the side, but you can feel him as he pushes the tip of his thick, calloused middle finger inside of you.

You let out a stuttering gasp at the feeling, and you feel Joel smirk against your lips.

"Needy little thing, aren’t ya?" he whispers as he sinks the first knuckle between your folds.

Your only response is a whimpering sound as Joel pushes on, until finally his entire finger is buried in your pussy. Your eyes widen slightly at the feeling as your lips part in a breathy gasp.

"Fuck," you whisper out, and your eyes press shut and hands finding purchase on his broad shoulders as your feel Joel's finger curl inside of you, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

"Feel good, baby?" he asks, his voice deep and velvety, his tone like music to your ears as you feel his other hand press firmly against the small of your back, keeping you close to him.

Joel clearly knows what he's doing, because in a mere manner of minutes he has you keening against him, a combination of expletives and his name falling over your lips in pleasured breaths. The heel of his palm grinds against your clit with every stroke of his finger, and the combination of the friction and the feeling of the pad of his index pushing inside of you as well almost sends you over the edge.

"Ah–. . . oh god, Joel," you stutter out, and you feel him smirk against your skin as he kisses down your neck back towards your breasts, recognizing the way your back stiffens and your thighs clench around his, your hips rolling over his hand desperately as he curls his fingers inside you again, working you open.

"Come on, sweetheart, I got you," he breathes against your chest, trailing your collarbone with his tongue, before his head dips, "Be a good girl and come all over these fingers, hm?"

With that, you feel Joel's mouth close over your nipple again, and your orgasm crashes through you. Joel does nothing to silence your sounds of pleasure as they echo through his living room, eyes pressed shut and brow furrowed as your head tips back slightly. Your chest heaves for breath as pleasure consumes you, your hips stuttering against his hand, and his head moves, eyes watching your face with a victorious expression, enjoying the sight of your blissed-out features. Eventually your moans become pants as your heartbeat starts to slow down, and you feel Joel kiss you again, your mouth opening to let him in willingly as you feel his fingers pull out of you, making you gasp slightly against his lips.

It takes a second for you to catch your breath, but not much longer, the weeks of lingering touches having filled you with so much anticipation neither of you can wait any longer to feel the other. You move off him for a split second to allow him to lift his hips so you can drag the waistline of his jeans down, Joel's lips leaving hungry kisses against yours. Neither of you bother pulling his pants down all the way, and as your hand wraps around the length of him, Joel lets out a stuttered gasp, fingers ghosting over the hem on your panties before moving them to the side again.  

You slowly lower yourself until you feel the tip of him press up against you, before your hips stall at the feeling, your mind seemingly registering only for the first time tonight how big Joel might be. He definitely feels bigger than you'd anticipated, and your hips freeze for a second at the thought. When you look back at Joel, his eyes are already on your face, analyzing every frown, every twitch of your features to gauge a change in your mood.

"You all right there, sweetheart?" he asks you, and his tone is so different from a second ago when he'd been talking you through your climax, so gentle, it throws you a little off guard, "You still want to keep going?"

You feel your chest warm at the question and the feel of his hands placed gently on your hips, dress bunched up to your waist as his hands caress the skin underneath with gentle strokes. A smile creeps up on your lips as you lean forward to press a kiss to his lips.

"Yes," you let out a whisper, before you move your hips down and the head of his cock pushes past your folds.

Your mouth parts as you sink down onto Joel, his fingers digging into your skin as you watch his eyes close and a frown furrow itself deep in his brow. He doesn't push you down, and lets you control the pace as you work yourself down his length, which feels impossibly thick, but you find yourself enjoying the slight burn of stretching around him.

Finally, with a final push down of your hips he's buried to the hilt. The guttural groan Joel lets out, as he throws his head back slightly against the couch, mingles with your own moan as you dig your nails into his shoulders.

"Holy shit," Joel rasps out, "S'tight, baby,"

You just let out a whimpering hum, barely coherent as you feel Joel's hips press against your ass, skin igniting where it touches against his. 

He brings his head back to look at you.You're a sight to behold like this, sitting in his lap, dress hiked up to your hips and flimsy straps halfway down your arm, exposing the tops of your breasts. Your eyes are shut, brow creased in effort and concentration, full lips parted in pleasure.

"There you go," Joel goads as you try and adjust to the feeling of being impossibly full, teeth biting down into your lip, "Knew you could do it,"

"Jesus, fuck, Joel," you stutter out, closing your eyes slightly as you feel him press his forehead against yours, perfectly still as he's buried into you as far as he can go, "You're so deep,"

"I know, sweetheart, I know" he coos, and you feel his hand run soothingly over the skin of your hip, "Is that what you've been thinking about every time you're over here, hm? How deep I'd feel inside of you?"

"Y–ye–. . . oh fuck, yes, Joel," you bring out as his hands gently roll your hips, making you whimper as you throw your head back slightly, eyes pressed shut, "Not just when I'm here. . . been thinking about it all week, Joel,"

"That so?" he hums, and you feel his lips leave open-mouthed kisses down your neck, "You been touching yourself thinking about me?"

The question makes your cheeks burn, and you open your eyes looking down at Joel. His eyes shift to yours as he looks up from where he's kissing your neck, a smirk spreading across his face as he catches sight of your embarrassed expression.

"Don't go shy on me now, baby," he tells you with a deep chuckle, before you feel him move your hips upwards slightly, pulling out halfway and waiting, "Been rather bold, haven't you. . . ? Bein' all flirty, pushin' up against me when you know I can't do anything about it. . . now, answer me,"

"Y­–yes," you bring out, and with that, Joel pushes down on your hips suddenly, burying himself to the hilt once more, eyes never leaving yours. You can't stop the loud, desperate moan that falls over your lips and echoes through the living room as he does, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure courses through your body, and Joel watches with a satisfied smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

"That's bad, sweetheart," he says in a mockingly chastising, shaking his head, "Maybe you don't deserve it, then, hm? Maybe I'll just teach you a lesson instead,"

Joel's head dips again, one hand firmly on your hips, keeping you in place in his lap, the other moving up to cup your breast. His lips close over the sensitive skin of your nipple, you gasp slightly, before a moan builds in your chest. You try to move your hips, desperate to release some of the friction, to feel him thrust into you again, but Joel's hand is like a vice.

"No, baby," he rasps against your skin, before you feel his teeth nip at your nipple slightly, "You sit tight. . . don't get to move yet. . . not until I say so,"

You let out a plaintive whimper as you feel him flex inside of you, your walls fluttering around him desperately in anticipation.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you're squeezing me so tight," he groans, but still he doesn't move his hips, or let you move yours, lips resuming the onslaught on your breasts.

"Joel," you let out in a whine, and you feel him smirk against your skin.

"What is it darlin'?" he asks you, fingers digging into the skin of your hip, "Want me to move, hm? Why don't you beg for it?" 

Joel watches as your eyes open, and you use your hand, tangling it in his hair to move him off your breasts, angling his head slightly upwards, looking down into his eyes.

"I don't beg," you tell him, your voice hinting at authoritative, and you can see in his eyes that Joel likes that you're challenging him.

You feel his hand move from your chest down between you again, and you can't stop the sudden gasp that escapes you as you feel the pad of his thumb press down on your clit, rolling over it slowly.

"You do now," Joel says, raising a single eyebrow as he smirks at you, your eyes widening at the feeling of his finger drawing steady circles over your sensitive bud.

Fuck this, you think to yourself. You need Joel to move.

"P–please," you stutter out as Joel's finger speeds up, and his chest rumbles as he chuckles deeply.

"Please what, sweetheart?" Joel hums, and you give him a look, eyes flashing with slight frustration at his insistence, which makes him smirk wider, eyes knowing as he waits for you.

"Please move, Joel," you let out in a breath, "Please just fuck me,"

"Atta girl," he says finally, and then, Joel releases his grip on your hips.

It isn't gentle, and it isn't slow; your hips stutter, and he thrusts up to meet them as he pulls you down on him over and over again at a fast pace. Your brow creases as your eyes shut, arms wrapped around Joel's shoulders as you push yourself up and down his cock desperately, the feeling of him filling you repeatedly almost too good for words. Joel isn't holding back anymore, either, and both of his hands are on your hips, pulling you down onto him just as hard and as desperate as your own movements.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you let out in small breaths, "God, Joel,"  

The noises Joel is making under you are downright sinful. Deep throaty grunts with every thrust, like music to your ears, as his arms wrap tightly around your waist, keeping you close to him as you move in a rhythm.

"Shit, baby. . . that's right," he mutters, before moving one of his hands to run over your cheek, fingers burying into the hair at the nape of your neck, face so close to yours he's practically grunting into your mouth, "Feels so fucking good. . . pussy s'made for me,"

"It's all for you, Joel," you bring out between moans as he pushes up into you, "Fuck, oh god,"

The feeling of Joel is beyond words; you feel every vein, every ridge as he slides in and out of you, tip repeatedly hitting a spot deep inside you, that makes your vision spotty. You're almost ashamed to say it doesn't take long before you feel yourself getting close, and when Joel's thumb presses over your clit again, rolling in slow circles, you find yourself tipping over the edge again.

"That's right," Joel whispers against your lips and you moan into his mouth, legs shaking from your orgasm.

You know he isn't far behind you, either, by the way his thrusts are caught between speeding up and slowing down. His breath becomes shallower as his fingers dig into the flesh of your waist. As your walls flutter around him, you lean down, lips grazing from the corner of his mouth across his jaw and towards his ear.

"Come on, baby," you let out, your tone between breathy and sultry as you use the nickname he'd been using all night on you, "Want to feel you coming inside me, Joel,"

"Fuck, yeah?" Joel groans as he hears you let out another moan in his ear, your orgasm only just subsiding, "Fuck, shit. . . I'm coming,"

Your name falls over Joel's lips in a faltering breath as his hips stutter. His brow creases suddenly as his eyes press shut, before he buries his mouth against your shoulder, teeth nudging against your skin. His arms tightens around your naked chest as you feel him twitch against you, Joel's hips suddenly pressing against you so desperately he nudges something inside you that makes you whimper.

"Fuck–ah!" Joel lets out, followed by a whimpering groan against your ear as his teeth sink further into your shoulder, "Shit. . . sweetheart, ooh, fuck!"

He comes hard inside of you, no sounds filling your ears but his blissed out, whimpering moans for a second, which gradually turn into pants as his forehead comes down to rest on your shoulder, his breath against your skin.

Trying to compose yourself, you take your own regular breaths as your heart rate slows down. 

"Jesus," Joel whispers to himself as he looks up from your shoulder. Then he's facing you again, looking into your eyes as you chuckle slightly, still trying to catch your own breath.

"Good enough for you?" you joke as you raise an eyebrow, and Joel gives you a look, before his forehead falls against yours. 

"Sweetheart," he grumbles jokingly, his arms tightening around you as his eyes close and he lets out a contented breath, "I'm going to need you to do that like, 10 more times,"

You can't stop the small laugh that crosses your lips as you lean forwards and kiss him. When you pull away, you trap Joel's bottom lip between your teeth, which makes him groan deep in his chest as you pull away with a smirk pulling at the corners of your mouth.

"I think I can do that," 

writing this took it out of me, so reactions are sooo appreciated and feedback is more than welcome ღ k

a special shoutout is owed to @cutetomholland for her incredible help proofreading, so say thank you otherwise ya'll would be reading some straight shit teehee

[august-poppy]

LATE NIGHT SMOKE

pairing: dbf!joel miller x f!reader

summary: while your parents are asleep, you sneak out into the garden to have a smoke. little do you know, your dad's best friend joel is staying the night.

warnings: pre!outbreak, smut, weed, dom!joel, dbf!joel, rough sex, p in v, fingering, degrading (slut, whore), sir kink, unprotected sex, creampie

note: im BAAACK, i know i say that after every fic but im fr this time i promise. anyway, here's a joel fic because i have loved pedro for so fkin long and him as joel is just perfect

You smiled to yourself when you finally heard your parents' footsteps climbing up the stairs and heading towards their bedroom. It felt like you'd been waiting years to go into the garden and spark up a joint.

Being as quiet as you could, you climbed out of bed and grabbed your dressing gown, wrapping it around you since it was a cold night and you were only wearing a pair of shorts and an oversized t-shirt. You were smart enough to preroll a joint, the tapping of your metal grinder would have probably alerted your parents.

After double checking you had a lighter in your pocket, you slowly opened your bedroom door and made your way downstairs, being as silent as possible. Once you had finally made it to the kitchen, you slipped on a pair of slippers you had near the back door and entered the garden.

The night sky was beautiful. It was clear, stars speckled the darkness like freckles and the moon shone bright. The air was crisp and cold, you were thankful you'd decided to bring your dressing gown. After sitting down on the wicker patio furniture, you placed the joint between your lips and lit the end, breathing back the smoke and fluttering your eyes closed as a calm feeling washed over you.

"You shouldn't be smoking that," a voice from the back door startled you, making your heart race as you whipped your head towards the voice. Your dad's best friend, Joel, was leant against the door, his arms crossed and a smirk playing at his lips, "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you,"

"I didn't realise you were staying the night," you spoke, your heart rate settling when you realised it wasn't some crazed murderer, "Don't tell my dad about the joint,"

Joel laughed, "Don't worry, we were all your age once,"

You smiled and motioned your head towards the seat next to you, "Care to join?" you took another hit of your joint, "Since your up anyway,"

"Might as well," he shrugged, stepping out from the doorway and taking a seat next to you, "Do you mind if i have some?"

You nodded, putting the joint between your lips and taking another drag before passing it to him. You couldn't help but watch as Joel smoked it, your cheeks heating up as he blew the smoke out. As wrong as it was, you had always had somewhat of a crush on Joel, but could anybody blame you?

Saying Joel was handsome was an understatement, the man was plain drop-dead gorgeous. There was something about his rugged, working-man look that made you so fucking turned on every time you saw him.

"You see something you like?"

Fuck, he had caught you staring. Heat rose to your cheeks and you stammered, "I- uh, sorry-"

"It's alright, darling, nobody here but us," he took another hit of the joint, "No need to act so shy,"

He passed the joint back to you so you chose to smoke instead of answering, making Joel raise an eyebrow, "It's rude to ignore somebody, y'know,"

You don't know what came over you, maybe it was the THC in your system, but you turned to look at him, "Maybe I do see something I like, what would you do?"

Joel let out a soft chuckle and shook his head slightly, "What would you want me to do, sweetheart?"

Heat rushed down to your core and you squoze your thighs together, taking another drag before leaning towards him. You mustered up every inch of courage before whispering, "This," and crashing your lips against his.

Joel immediately kissed back, he tastes of cigarettes and whiskey with a bit of weed and you couldn't get enough of it. Whimpering into the kiss, you deepened it, placing the joint on the patio table before wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Fuck, darling," Joel broke the kiss for a second, "You're gonna drive me crazy if you make noises like that,"

"What if that's what I want?" you chuckled before kissing him again, this time shifting so you were sat on his lap. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer to him, letting you feel his hard bulge against your clothed cunt.

Slowly, he moved one arm from around you and started to snake it up your thigh, the feeling of his calloused fingers against your bare skin making you even wetter. When his hand was centimeters away from your core, he stopped, pulling away from the kiss so he could speak, "Can I?"

"Please.." you whispered, giving Joel the go ahead to dip his fingers into your shorts. As soon as he made contact with your dripping cunt, you let out a soft moan, making sure to stay quiet as to not alert your parents.

"No panties?" he raised an eyebrow and moved the tip of one finger to rub at your clit slowly, "And you're already fucking soaked, such a slut for me aren't you?"

You bit you lip and nodded, your hands falling from around his neck and moving to grab at his shirt, "Y-yes,"

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir, such a slut for you," you whined, rutting your hips against his hand slowly.

"Atta girl," Joel grunted as he moved his hand down to slip two fingers inside you without warning, making you let out a loud gasp-like moan, "Fuck, Joel.."

"Gotta stay quiet, darling, I know it feels good but your parents are inside," he reminded you, his thumb planted on your clit. Biting your lip again, you nodded, screwing your eyes shut as Joel began to curl his fingers inside you.

"Look at you," he chuckled as he set a brutal pace, his thumb rubbing at your clit as his fingers pumped in and out of you, "Little whore, letting her dad's best friend finger her while he's asleep upstairs,"

You tried your best to stay quiet but Joel's filthy words alongside the heavenly feeling of his hand were just too much. You moaned loudly once again and Joel rolled his eyes, "So fucking dumb, stay quiet," he spoke through gritted teeth, "What would your mom and dad say if they caught us, hm?"

"It feels too good, sir," you whined, your hips rocking in time with him. A familiar heat began to bubble in your abdomen and you knew you were approaching your orgasm, "I-I'm close," you moaned as quietly as you could, your head falling against his shoulder, "Please, can I?"

Joel's pace got impossibly faster and you cried out, thankful the fabric of his shirt was able to muffle you. "Go ahead, princess, let me see you fall apart on my fingers,"

The older man was smart enough to cover your mouth with his hand as you came undone around him, a whoreish moan rolling off your tongue as your hips bucked uncontrollably, "Sir!" you cried out into his palm.

Sloshing sounds could be heard as he worked you through your orgasm, making you blush. "Good girl, fuck," Joel groaned as your release coated his hand, "Can you hear the fucking mess you've made, gonna have to throw these jeans out,"

He pulled his hand away and you looked down, blushing hard when you saw the wet patch on his blue jeans, "Sorry," you mumbled, slightly out of breath from your orgasm. Joel chuckled, placing a kiss just below your ear, "It's alright, you're gonna make it up to me, aren't you?"

You nodded eagerly, a quiet whimper leaving your mouth as he rocked his hips up. Not wasting any time, Joel grabbed your hips and lifted you off him, placing you on the seat before standing up, "You gonna be a good slut and let me fuck that tight little pussy, hm?"

Nodding once again, you wrapped your fingers around the hem of your shorts and pulled them down as he worked on his belt; feeling yourself somehow get wetter as you watched him pull down his pants to mid-thigh, giving himself just enough room to free his leaking cock, "Words, darling,"

"Yeah, gonna let you fuck me so hard, sir," your eyes widened when you saw how big his dick truly was. Joel had always radiated big dick energy, but this was insane. You were slightly worried that it wouldn't fit.

"You sure you can fit?" you gulped, your eyes flicking from his length to his eyes. Joel smirked, placing a hand on your knee and spreading your legs wide for him, "I'll make it fit, don't worry your pretty little head about it,"

A shaky breath rolled off your lips as he placed himself between your thighs, the tip of his cock resting on your clit, “So wet for your dad’s best friend,” Joel chuckled, moving slightly so his cock moved down to prod at your entrance, “What would he say if he saw us right now, hm?”

You looked down and shook your head, trying not the think about it. Another soft chuckle was heard from Joel before he placed a hand on your chin and forced you to look up at him, “He probably thinks your so innocent, he’s absolutely fucking clueless about the fact you’re a dirty slut for older men,”

“Joel..” you whined, wiggling your hips as you began to grow inpatient, “Please just fuck me already,”

“As you wish, princess,” The older man smirked and slowly began to sheath himself inside you, the slight burn of the stretch making you gasp and throw your head back. Joel grunted as your pussy sucked him in, the feeling of your tight walls against his cock just heavenly.

“Fuck, baby..” He breathed as he bottomed out, “This pussy is just perfect, can’t believe I waited this long to claim it,”

“So big,” you moaned softly, your hands flying up to tangle in his brown locks and pull you both closer together, “Wanted this for so long, sir,”

Joel placed one hand on your hip to help you wrap a leg around his waist and the other on the side of your face; his palm resting against your cheek and his thumb just under your pouting bottom lip, “You look so pretty stuffed full of my cock, babygirl,”

“Please move,” you spoke, your cheeks and chest flushed, “Don’t be gentle, fuck me with everything you’ve got,”

“You’re gonna regret saying that,” Joel smirked cockily before pulling out and slamming his hips forward, making you gasp and throw your head back.

Joel forced your head back so you could look at him, his thumb now pushing past your lips and into your mouth, “Eyes on me, I wanna see your face while I fuck you dumb,”

As you began to suck hungrily on his thumb, Joel set a brutal pace with his hips, angled perfectly so the tip of his cock was kissing your cervix with every thrust.

“F-fuck, so fucking good,” you mewled around his thumb, arching your back and grinding your hips slightly against his, the coarse patch of hair on his pubic bone stimulating your neglected clit perfectly.

“Look at you,” he cooed, moving his hand so it was wrapped around your neck, “Taking my cock so well like a good little slut,”

The name went straight to your cunt, a feeing starting to bubble in your lower belly, “Sir, I-I’m close,” you managed to say quietly, speaking being quite hard due to the hand wrapped around your throat.

“G’won, baby,” Joel groaned as he felt his own release begin to build up, “Cum for me like the little fucking whore you are,”

As soon as he moved the hand that was holding your waist and started to rub soft but fast circles on your clit, you saw white, a whoreish moan rolling off your tongue as you came hard around his cock.

“Gonna fill you up, fuck- have it dripping out of you and running down your legs,” Joel cried out as he felt your cunt squeeze him, his thrusts beginning to get sloppy as he approached his high, “Everyone’s gonna know who this fucking pussy belongs to,”

As soon as he finished speaking, Joel thrust his hips forward roughly, burying his entire length inside you as he came with a loud moan. You hummed in content as you felt his load full you up, “Fuck..”

Moving his hand from around your throat, Joel stroked your cheek softly before pulling out, a whimper leaving your lips from the loss of feeling full. You both looked down, a blush forming on your cheeks when you saw his cum dripping out of you.

“You better be on the pill,” Joel chuckled, running a hand up your thigh, “Or we’ll be in real trouble,”

[august-poppy]

Pleasers & baked ziti

Bouncer!Joel x stripper!reader

A self indulgent drabble about pole dancing and Sopranos while I work on Brat tamer Joel ch 4

Summary: Joel is everyone's favorite bouncer, who always spends his break with his favorite dancer

Warnings: Fluff, flirting, set in 2007, takes place in a strip club, Sopranos references and spoilers, no outbreak, no use of y/n, sarcasm, banter, Joel gets a pole dancing lesson lmao

Word count: 1.4k

🍝🍝🍝🍝

Upon realizing that being a single dad who wants to put his teenage daughter through college is expensive, Joel took a second job as a bouncer at a strip club nearly two years ago, Thursday to Sunday, letting his brother live with him in exchange for babysitting. He’s very professional about the whole gig, and he’s the first person the girls always go to when a patron creates problems or they have a bad night. They all love and trust him, but there's one dancer who knows him a little better than the rest, one who’s always on break at the same time as him, sitting in the staff room, eating snacks and watching The Sopranos reruns when he comes in. 

“That’s Karen’s last ziti”, he exclaims at the same time as Bobby Baccala says it on screen, walking towards her on the couch, “He’s not ready to eat that yet”. Neither of them look at each other before he's next to the couch, but she giggles at his delivery of the lines. “Janice is such a grifter, right?” she asks and scoots over to give him space to sit down on the small couch. “Want popcorn?” she asks without waiting for an answer, dumps the half-empty bowl in his lap, and keeps watching the episode. “Slow night?” Joel asks, and she sighs in response. “Just drunk morons I can tell aren’t gonna tip”, she says and rolls her eyes, “The ones who tell me they can “save me” and then ask what my real name is”. 

Joel puts his hand over his mouth and his eyes widen, acting stunned, “You tryna tell me your name ain’t actually Amethyst?”. She puts her hand on his leg and shakes her head, looking at him with a sympathetic expression, trying not to smile. “I was trying to find the right time to tell you, I was thinking maybe on your two year work anniversary?” she says, “We could get you a cake that says ‘these aren't our real names sorry Joel we thought you knew’, with no punctuation or decorative flowers, just the writing”. He cracks up a little and looks at her, “You’re bringin’ the baked ziti to the party, or what, no fuckin’ ziti?”. “Idiot” she giggles and pushes his leg before retracting her hand. 

“As far as I'm concerned, your name is Buffalo Ray” he says, shrugging and throwing popcorn up in the air to catch them with his mouth. “The hell?”, she acts insulted and blinks at him impatiently, “Why am I Buffalo Ray? He died snitching, man”. He laughs a little before he answers her, looking at her fake-irritated face about to burst into laughter, “Cause you're a rat”. “Fuck off” she says and nudges him, earning her a rumbling laugh from the man. “You watch last night?” he asks, “It’s goin’ downhill fast for these gavones”. “Duh, I ev-” she says before she’s interrupted by the manager giving an announcement in the other room, and everything is drowned out by the noise from the TV except for something about the club closing early tonight. 

She looks at Joel with an excited expression, jumping up on her knees before sitting back on her platform heels and putting both hands on his arm, “Wanna give me a private show?”. “Who are you talkin’ to?” he asks and looks around the room. “You, big boy, come on” she says and slaps him gently on his shoulder. He snorts a little and looks down, trying to hide that he’s blushing, “You might have to teach me some moves”. 

50 Cent is playing on the speakers and the lights are flashing when she pulls Joel up on stage, still wearing her lingerie and heels. She’s about as tall as him in her nine inch Pleaser heels, black and sparkly with a worn down sole. He's broad and muscular, with a scruffy face and hair that’s surprisingly fluffy considering it doesn't look like he makes much of an effort with it. They’ve only ever seen each other in their work outfits despite hanging out regularly for almost two years, talking about anything and everything, becoming relatively close despite never taking the step out of the club and meeting in a different setting. 

“This is a body wave” she says as she holds onto the pole and demonstrates, pointing at her body at different parts of the movement, “Chest, stomach, hips, chest, stomach, hips”. He looks at her with a concentrated expression, whispering chest, stomach, hips back to himself. He’s been desensitized to the sight of girls in lingerie, semi nude and fully nude for a while now, and has no issues focusing when she breaks down the moves she does every night. “Okay, now you do it” she says and takes a step back, watching him grab the pole and whisper the instructions while he stiffly moves his upper body in an S-shape. 

“Great, now take a step around” she says and points in a circular motion around the pole, watching him step out to the right, “Shift your weight, Joel, left hip”. She pokes his hip with her finger and waits for him to lean onto his left leg, applauding when he steps around in a somewhat more slinky fashion. “Last move,” she says and holds up her index finger before waving at him so he steps away while she demonstrates. 

“This is a figure eight,” she slides her hands down and sticks her ass out, shifting her weight between her hips to rotate side to side, looking Joel directly in the eyes on the other side of the pole. He clears his throat and glances away for a second before refocusing, grabbing the pole and looking back to see if he’s doing it right. “Loosen your hips, baby, let me see some more ass” she says and smacks him playfully on his lower back. “I see you ladies do this four nights a week,” he groans, “I should really have figured this out by now”. She clicks her tongue and raises an eyebrow in response. 

“Okay, now put it all together and give me a show” she says and jumps off the platform, taking a seat right in front of the stage. They both take a deep breath, looking away from each other to prevent from bursting out in laughter, and he steps close to the pole, running the little routine from the top. “I'm breakin' a sweat here” he mutters as he tries to replicate her smooth movements, realizing construction work and lifting weights haven't prepared him for such specific types of strength training. 

“Ay, ay, ayyyy” she calls out and whistles, “You should take off your shirt”. He can’t hold it in anymore, and chuckles as he steps around the pole and tries to bend over like she did, realizing how stiff he is and how flexible she must be to comfortably do this, especially in those heels. He sees the excitement in her eyes at how well he’s replicating the moves she taught him, and she claps enthusiastically while he pants from just a thirty second long stage set. 

“Let me drive you home” he says as she puts on her jacket and they walk out of the door, “Don’t want you standin’ around outside alone at this hour”. “Won’t say no to that” she says excitedly and flings the truck door open, throwing her bag into the back and jumping into the passenger seat. He laughs a little as he climbs in and starts the engine, turning the radio down to a low volume and navigating out of the parking garage. 

Only a few minutes go by before he glances to his right and sees that she’s asleep against the window, faintly snoring. He smiles to himself a little and continues watching the road, easily finding her house after driving her home countless times. He parks the truck and waits a second before carefully nudging her shoulder, and she wakes up disoriented. “Thanks Joel,” she says as she leans over the console and grabs her bag, “Say hi to Sarah from me, see you tomorrow”. He says goodnight and watches her close the truck door and run inside, staying in her driveway until she's gotten into her house and turned on a light before he drives away.

[august-poppy]

♡ in my hometown part iii sneak peak ♡

coming soon! the conclusion of in my hometown | immediately follows the events of come back, be here 

warnings: sad

A/N: I have finally begun chipping away at this finale! Here is just a very small teaser for everyone who has been waiting so patiently <3

I bet she told a million people that she’d stay in touch, But all the little promises that don’t mean much, When there’s memories to be made

Keep reading

[august-poppy]

joel pressing down on your tummy so you. an feel his bulge + breeding kink😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

hhhhh stopped Everything 2 write this :(

warnings : smut, unprotected p in v, bulge kink, breeding kink. MINORS DNI !!

thick fingers push you into the mattress, his lips barely grazing your neck as he bends down to whisper sweet nothings next to your ear with every painfully slow thrust. joel's surprisingly vocal tonight, not just the filthiest words– but the groans that leave his mouth right after, it's all so stirring. goosebumps cover your skin every time his beard brushes over your jaw.

he didn't even bother to undress himself completely– not that surprising provided he'd ripped your own clothes apart with next to no effort. his pants were pushed to his ankles, rustling against the sheets every time he pushed into you. none of those sounds could come close to the sounds your body was making for joel, walls stretching around his cock as he took his time pushing into you.

"yeah, you fuckin' clench around me." he grunts. "so tight, all mine."

you hum in agreement but it isn't enough, his fingers squeeze your cheeks with a raise of his eyebrows.

"yours, joel. 's all yours."

he audibly sucks in the air, nostrils flaring as he pushes all the way in and your head hits the pillows. he doesn't take notice, rutting into you impatiently. your eyes gloss with tears of pleasure and pain alike, thighs spreading wider to accommodate him. that doesn't seem enough, joel grips a thigh and throws it over his shoulder before fucking you harder– it was somehow possible.

it drove you crazy how he was aware exactly how to make you feel good, even on days when he mentions prior to the act that it's about him. it makes you want to hold him close for a moment, but you're too taken aback by the push of his palm on your lower abdomen to do anything sensible.

"feel that right here? 's like you're made for this cock." he brushes his fingers over the bulge, thrusting all the way in to still for a moment. "god– damn it, gonna fill you. yeah? you'd like that?"

your moans state the obvious, quick nods urging him to keep going. the bed squeaks as his thrusts turn hasty. he presses his palm over that bulge every time he fucks into you. he looks down to where your body meets his, chuckling before his thumb reaches out to flick over your clit.

"so perfect, baby." joel cups your face, planting a kiss over your forehead. "gonna stuff you full now. better take it. every–" thrust. "fuckin'–" thrust. "drop."

so you do. squeezing every last drop out of him, crying into the pillow as your back arches to pull him in further. you're breathless as he stills, falling on top of you without bothering to get up. he must've meant his words, if he's going to stick around buried inside you for a while. but who are you to complain?

[august-poppy]

Hiiii I just had this idea I know I submit requests all the time but…ok.

I just love that Joel is a natural protector. He wants to keep the people closest to him safe. However, reader is kind of proud and horrible at accepting help and favors from him. One day she’s cooking and accidentally slices herself with a knife and Joel’s trying to help her and she’s just not letting it happen. She’s trying to tend to her injury herself but she’s getting dizzy and failing miserably and Joel is like “Jesus Christ. Sit down, shut up, and let me fix you for fuck’s sake. If you don’t swallow your pride I’m gonna make you swallow it myself”

And like. Wow. Watching Joel be so skilled at wrapping her injury and be so commanding is kind of a turn on! So she still keeps up her proud attitude until he’s fucking her lol

I can just picture Joel fucking her while saying “you’re gonna let me take care of you from now. Got it?”

i’m in a state | joel miller x f!reader

an in my hometown story (prequel) | series playlist

pairing: pre-outbreak!dbf!neighbour!joel miller x afab!fem!actor(ish)!reader rating: 18+ minors dni word count: 2.1k summary: the moment that sends you over the edge with your neighbour, joel. warnings etc: metaphorical smut, blood, hurt/comfort, stubborn!reader, sexual tension, fantasizing about joel miller’s hands, sex dreams (p in v sex + surprise sir kink WHAT), masturbation, pet names (sweetheart, darlin’), 10 year age gap (reader is 20 here, joel is 30), mentions of food. NO USE OF Y/N.

A/N: oh what’s this? yeah sooooo i couldn’t get it out of my head how much this was joel x superstar (aka in my hometown coded). so here’s a little prequel story for them, my two favourite babies. i missed being inside her head tbh. for those following the story, this takes place pre-part one (1997), and can be enjoyed as a stand-alone.

Summer. 1997.

You've known for a while that you're in love with Joel Miller. But that means something a little different when you're fifteen compared to when you're twenty.

When you were younger, it had meant carving his initials into your dresser, planning your imaginary wedding, reading catalogs and fantasizing over what dress you'd wear on your first date or what dining set you'd buy to furnish your shared home with his Big(?) Contractor's Salary.

Now, you're in college. Third year at the University of Texas at Austin. That Barbie-dream-life with Joel doesn't exist, and that's okay. Because now Joel's just...hot. Your hot thirty-year-old neighbour who's got the thickest arms you've ever seen, a patchy beard you'd love to sink your teeth into, chapped lips you've been thinking about kissing for years, big hands you want wrapped around your -

Okay, relax.

It's July Fourth weekend, and your dad's hosting his annual backyard barbeque party. He's loved throwing little get-togethers like this ever since your mom left, loves surrounding himself with friends and good times after being deprived of them for so long. You get it.

You're in the kitchen chopping celery for the potato salad when Joel finds you, ducking into the fridge for a beer.

"Hey, kid," he greets you in that familiar grumbly timbre of his. You look up from your work for one second to respond and -

Shit shit shit.

The knife slips, slicing a deep, clean line into the skin of your palm.

"Ouch - fuck," you mutter, immediately sticking your hand under the kitchen tap and hissing through your teeth when the water pressure hits the open wound.

"You okay?" Joel asks, having witnessed the entire incident happen, too fast for him to stop it. He leaves the beer in the fridge to come to your side, reaching his hands out helplessly to offer some assistance.

"I'm fine," you insist. "I got it."

You can't even look at him, it's fucking embarrassing, hurt and hapless in front of the smoldering hot Joel.

"You don't got it, you're bleedin' all over the fuckin' potatoes."

Oh, fuck.

You look down into the sink only to find you'd completely missed the fact that, yep, there had definitely been a colander full of Yukon Golds in there.

Well, so much for the potato salad.

"It's not even that bad," you snap, shutting the tap off and grabbing the nearest rag off the counter to wrap it around your hand.

"Would ya just let me see?" Joel presses, his fingers grazing your arms to try to hold you still while you turn away from him towards the pantry.

"No - it's - it's - fuck! "

You bump your injured hand into the kitchen island on your way to the pantry, kind of putting a damper on your attempts to prove that you're not in any pain.

"Stop movin' - " Joel tries to follow you as you make it to the cupboard, reaching out in vain as you strain with one hand towards the top shelf, trying desperately to find what you're looking for, to demonstrate how much you don't need his help.

"There's a first aid kit right here..." you murmur to yourself.

"Hey, kid, stop, will ya?”

His voice is firm now, and so are his hands on your shoulders, spinning you around to face him. You protectively clutch your cut hand to your chest, still wrapped tightly in the rag.

Joel holds you there, while you look back at him indignantly.

"Would y’just sit down and let me fix it?”

Your nostrils flare and you consider arguing it further, but the pain is really starting to settle in now and it’s feeling more and more futile to keep fighting with Joel, especially when he’s this close to you, gripping your arms with such…paternal authority.

"Fine,” you concede. “Okay."

Joel nods approvingly.

"Now where's the first aid kit?" he asks, eyebrows raised.

You cock your head towards the top shelf of the pantry, where you'd been fruitlessly rummaging just a moment ago. Joel's gaze follows your eye line and then he guides you down into one of the kitchen chairs, turning back to the pantry to fish out the white box tucked behind the sewing kit, a leftover from your mom.

"Right..." he hums to himself as he sets the plastic box with the big red "+" on the table and begins sifting through it. You watch as he digs around its contents, competently setting out some band-aids, a few cotton pads, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, a tube of Neosporin and a roll of gauze. He’s clearly done this before.

“Let me see,” he says softly then, kneeling down to grip your arm in one of his big hands while your eyes widen at his touch. Joel carefully unfurls the rag, now soaked in your blood, to reveal the grisly cut beneath.

"Shit,” Joel curses quietly. “It’s still bleedin'..."

He rises with a low grunt, pushing off you with an absent hand on your thigh. Your skin sears where he touches. Back on his feet, Joel glances awkwardly around your dad’s little kitchen.

“Cloth? Clean cloth?” he clarifies.

"Under the sink," you inform him while bright red blood begins to pool in your palm again. You bite your lip to stop from crying because it really does fucking hurt and all that blood has got to be cause for concern. But crying's the last thing you need to be doing right now.

Joel finds what he’s looking for and returns to situate himself on his knees in front of you again. He wraps the fresh rag around your wound just as the blood’s about to drip down onto the linoleum. Joel encases your bleeding palm in his two big hands as he compresses the cloth into your skin.

"We'll just hold that there for a minute,” he mutters, fixing his eyes on yours as he squeezes your hand between his.

You work to control your breathing, but it’s not because of the cut, more the way his massive palms engulf your entire hand, sending your imagination running wild as you consider how big they’d look other places…over your ass, maybe…across your stomach…on your tits…

"Does it hurt?" Joel interrupts your fantasizing, and you shake your head slightly as you come back to reality.

"No," you lie.

He rolls his eyes.

"Just gonna check it again..."

You visibly wince when he unravels the cloth, grimacing as the fabric drags over your open wound.

"Might wanna work on your acting there, superstar,” Joel smirks.

“Ew, shut up, only Tommy calls me that,” you reply grumpily as Joel assesses your palm, turning your hand over in his to see the extent of the damage.

"It's pretty deep, kid. Stopped bleedin' at least."

"It's nothing."

Joel scoffs then, shaking his head in disbelief and you think he almost seems a little angry. Think it’s kind of a sexy look on him.

“Christ, you're proud, huh?” he gripes, letting your hand go. “You can just say it hurts, you know."

You sigh and finally let the truth slip, agony coating your voice as you give in.

“Fine, okay - fuck - it hurts.”

“Was’at so hard?” he smirks, eyebrows cocking. Asshole. Stupid, hot, perfect asshole.

You roll your eyes dramatically. How’s that’s for acting, Miller?

But Joel's not paying attention - now he gets to work. You watch as, with tender care, he clutches your wrist to hold your hand steady, starting first by cleaning the wound with a cotton pad he soaks in rubbing alcohol.

While he tends to your wound, your mind wanders, head fuzzy from blood loss and Joel’s meticulous touch. He’s so precise with it, his thick fingers managing the delicate task with ease. You wonder what else his fingers are precise with, your eyes glazing over as that thought invades your brain and -

Oh, god. Fuck. Fuck. You want him. You want him so much it’s making you squirm in your chair, Joel reminding you to, “Sit still” while he presses the gauze into your skin. But the pain mingled with that commanding edge in his voice only makes you want him more - and you didn’t even know that was a thing for you.

Joel seems blissfully unaware of your spiralling, cooing gentle, “Shhh, it’s okay”s at you when you flinch at the sting of the alcohol, a soft, sweet sound that only makes things worse, goosebumps rising on your skin as his quiet hum vibrates through you. Finally, he applies a thin layer of the Neosporin over the cut, dabbing it over your skin with his calloused fingers.

"So...theatre college. How’s it goin’?” he says as he applies a bandage over the wound.

“Um...yeah, you know, it’s going,” you reply, still feeling very much dazed and distant, Joel still very much on his knees in front of you in an extremely distracting way.

"Surprised you didn't just head straight out to California," he murmurs, wrapping more gauze over your bandaged palm for good measure.

It's an interesting idea, and one you'd considered. At the time, you'd still been dreaming of your Barbie-dream-life with Joel. Staying at home meant it might still happen. Now, of course, you can’t wait to get out.

"Well, UT has a great program," you shrug simply.

"Maybe one day, though, right?" Joel grins up at you and you smile back.

"Maybe," you nod.

"All done," he declares then.

You're not expecting it and you don't know why he does it (maybe some kind of fatherly instinct), but as Joel finishes wrapping the gauze around your hand, he tentatively leans in to plant a quick kiss to the bandage and shit, fuck.

Electricity flows from the place his lips touch and all of a sudden you think you see it in him too, that attraction, that want. His brown eyes peak up at you when his lips make contact with your covered skin and he must know what he's doing, there's no fucking way he would just do that if he wasn't trying to drive you crazy -

"What happened in here?"

Your dad, suddenly appearing in the kitchen doorway, easily cutting through the tension as he walks in on your little moment. Your head snaps up to see him taking in the scene, bloody potatoes in the sink and the first aid kit torn open on the table. Joel gives you your hand back and stands hastily, taking several steps away from you as he does.

"Just had a little accident - uh, it's alright now," Joel grumbles, voice thick, and then he's ducking out of the room in a rush, beerless. You and your father stare at each other, both dumbfounded but...for different reasons.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

"Christ, you're proud, huh?" Joel grunts as he presses you against the kitchen island, those big hands of his trailing up your sides and landing over your naked breasts. "F'you don't swallow that pride, darlin', I'm gonna make you swallow it."

He punctuates the tantalizing threat with a hard squeeze of your nipples, and you groan as his mouth collides with yours, tongue licking into your mouth feverishly as he grinds his hips into you.

"Make me, Joel," you beg, reaching between your bodies to stroke his cock, as you tear your mouth from his and nip at his strong jaw, eliciting a delicious groan from him that reverberates into the hollow of your neck.

Joel wastes no time, hoisting you up onto the island so your legs wrap around his waist, his cock sliding inside you with ease, as if you were made to take him. You cling to him with your hands behind his neck as he rocks his hips into you, making you whine and keen and moan with each thrust of his length into your wet heat.

"You're gonna let me take care of you from now on, you got that, sweetheart?" he whispers raggedly in your ear as he fucks you, his strong arms braced over your thighs and holding you steady as he pounds into you with all the force and intensity you'd always imagined he'd use.

"Yes, sir…” you promise him, and Joel growls at the word as it slips from your mouth, the memory of his voice from earlier seeping into your reverie -

Shhh, it's okay...Sit still...Stop movin'....

The echoes of his drawl begin to fade as the vision sinks to black and...shit. All too soon it hits you as you wake with a stir.

It's not real. Just a dream. The party ended hours ago. You’re alone in bed after dark.

Also…sir? What the fuck? Your subconscious clearly has some interesting ideas it wants to make known to you so that’s…cool. He just had to get all commanding and bossy earlier. Fucker.

Tragically, the wet spot in your sleep shorts definitely is real. You sigh, letting your measly fingers finish what your dream-Joel had started. You come quietly in the confines of your bedroom, the image of Joel on his knees in front of you the last thing you see before sleep takes you again.

Well - you're off the deep end now.

One way or another, you've got to get your hands on Joel fucking Miller.

I'm in a state, I'm in a state Nothing can touch us, my love I'm in a state, I'm in a state Nothing can touch us, my love

in my hometown taglist <3

@blkcali @erikelovesdin @luvrking @ barbellpedro @bellath @readz4u @casserole20 @sexygaypalpatine @poopeshites @amelie-712 @livinxdeadxgrl @honeymarvel @azurapphire @wroetospidey @freeobservationtale

@tieronecrush @illgowithyoufren @shehads-world @atremises @gabywho @detectivedaughter @wroetospidey @baddiesforcorpse @grippingbeskar @halseyhoodjpg @soph55 @pedritosdarling @obsessedwithjustaboutanything @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @pedgito @evyiione @rogersbarnesxx @mo0nfleur @slut-4-multifandoms @stevie75 @b-y-3-n @joelscruff @sl-ut @tinygarbage @pedropascll @denialismysanctuary @nightdreamss @notpetewentz @bigboiseason123 @witheldclouds @xxmr-potato-headxx @harryhubba @cyberfa1ryar1 @pedrosballsack @thevelvetrevivall @somesaltycorner @marysheperdith @midnightswithdearkatytspb @kaeferandplaza @life-in-the-city @cowgirl---bebop @zhxw @averagedilfenjoyerr @pointlessandfutile @iso-la-ti-on

[august-poppy]

cinephile

6k (got carried away...again) / dbf!joel x f!reader

warnings: 18+, minors dni. smut smut smut. this is filthy. age gap (reader is 23, joel is in his late 40s), semi-public fingering, jealousy, unprotected p in v, dbf!joel, dom!joel, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (angel, baby, sweetheart, etc)

follow-up to fourth of july (pt 1), put it into words (pt 2), and poolside (pt 3), but this can be read separately. masterlist here. reblogs & comments always appreciated, love y'all. 🖤

“’S a seat right here.” He releases his grip on your ankle and pats the spot beside him. Then he leans back on his elbows, sprawled out on the grass. “‘F you want.” 

Your heart nudges at your throat. You cast a wary glance behind you — up the makeshift aisle in the yard, where your neighbors are spread picnic-style — and try to spot your dad. Or Sarah. Neither notices you. 

“Okay,” you say, softly. You step over his legs and sit beside him. 

He smiles. Small; Joel, but genuine. He grabs a blanket and tosses it across both of your laps. 

It’s dark by the time the movie starts. You’re pretty sure it’s E.T., but you can’t really be sure, because the second the opening credits play Joel’s hand is on your thigh. 

And then you can’t think about anything else. 

You barely sleep after your late-night swim with Joel. You spend most of the night — what’s left of it, anyway — thinking about him. His lips. His hands. His head between your thighs. 

You make yourself cum twice with his name on your mouth. Your vibrator remains untouched, tucked away in the top shelf of your nightstand. You doubt you’ll need it anytime soon. 

So it’s understandable you’re tired — exhausted, even — when movie night rolls around the next evening. You’re half-asleep on the couch when your dad comes bouncing down the steps with a beer in his hand. 

He walks up to the couch. Jabs your leg with his shoe. 

“What are you, eighty?” he teases. “Can’t even make it to seven o’clock?” 

You make a noncommittal sound. Your eyes flicker open and you yawn. 

“Late night?” he asks, eyeing you. He’d been asleep by the time you’d come home last night. He hadn’t seen you unlatch the door with trembling hands and scale the stairs in Joel’s shirt. “You and Sarah have fun?” 

“Uh—” You shake your head, clearing the cobwebs. It’s an innocent question, but your heart still pounds. “Yeah. We went swimming.” 

He nods. “Was Joel there?” 

Now you’re awake. Your head whips to him. You straighten on the couch, nails biting at the cushions. 

“I don’t — um. What — why?” 

Your dad shrugs. He looks at you, a little perplexed, and lifts his hands in mock surrender. 

“Just a question. Jeez. Been tryin’ to get ahold of him since the Fourth of July. I think he’s avoidin’ me.” 

“Oh.” You pick at a nail. “Yeah. I don’t know. Maybe he has work, or something. You said he had that big client.” 

“Maybe.” He shrugs again. “But you didn’t see him. While you were with Sarah.” 

“Um.” You hesitate. “No. I mean, he might’ve come in later. I dont know. We were watching a movie.” 

You’re not sure why you lie. It would be just as easy to admit that you’d seen him. But then there’d be the follow-up: How’d he seem? You talk to him? — and the thought of discussing Joel Miller right here, now, on the couch with your dad — is enough to make you squirm. 

For what it’s worth, your dad seems unfazed. 

“Ah, well. Guess I’ll see him tonight, anyway. I’ll find out what’s up.” 

Your breath stumbles. You nod, avoiding his gaze when a blush creeps in. You mumble something about getting ready and shove off of the couch, slipping past him before he can notice the marks on your skin. The blurred almost-bruises where Joel’s teeth scraped your neck. 

You do your best to cover them up before you come back downstairs. But the concealer you’re using is mediocre, at best, and the angry red seeps through. You settle for wearing your hair down, around your neck, and hope to god it gets the job done. 

Your dad is waiting by the door when you return. He gives you a cursory glance — 

“New dress?” 

—and your skin flushes. 

“Um, yeah.” 

“Looks nice, kid.” 

“Thanks.” You manage a smile. You sure as hell don’t tell him who it’s for. 

You follow him out the door and down the street. It’s warm out again — Texas summers — and there’s the gentle, persistent buzz of a thousand cicadas. A lone black cloud drips over the road. 

Your dad points it out while you walk. “Better hope it doesn’t rain,” he says. “Alicia’s been plannin’ to host for a month now. She’ll be pissed.” 

You’re only half-listening. But your ears perk up at the name. 

Alicia Simmons. Ms. Simmons to you. The same Ms. Simmons who’d had her manicured claws in Joel just last week at his barbecue. 

“You didn’t tell me she was hosting,” you say, carefully. A scowl tugs at your mouth.

“Didn’t think you’d care,” your dad says. 

“I don’t,” you say, quickly. Too quickly. “I just…didn’t know.” 

He looks at you. But for all his qualities he’s not exactly perceptive, and he doesn’t clock the look on your face, or the bloom of red on your collar when the breeze lifts your hair. So he lets it go, the way dads do. Leads the way to Ms. Simmons while you drag your feet behind him. 

—

She knows how to host. You’ll give her that much. 

Her house is at the end of the block, at the top of a cul-de-sac. Long and low and suburban, like the rest, but with a distinct touch of divorcee. A tiny white dog greets you at the door — badly groomed and trained even worse, with a blinged-out tag that reads PRINCE. 

She’s gone all out in the yard for movie night. Blankets piled on the grass. Round, colorful cushions scattered like candy. A giant outdoor screen propped up by metal spokes. It’s still being set up when you wander out there — by none other than Joel Miller, you realize, when he steps around the front to admire his handiwork. 

He does a double-take when he sees you standing there, flanked by your dad. He recovers nicely, though — always smooth, in control — and wipes his forearm across his brow. 

Your stomach swirls. It would be embarrassing, the effect he has on you, if it wasn’t so strong. You look down at the ground, and you can feel his gaze sweep you. Your legs, your thighs, the hem of the dress you’ve worn just for him. 

And then the heat lifts off your skin, and you hear him say something to your dad. You figure it’s safe to look, so you do — and, fuck. 

He looks good. 

He always looks good. But the way he’s standing right now: sleeves shoved to his elbows, hammer hanging from his hand as he straightens from the spokes — it makes your breath hitch. 

If he feels you staring he doesn’t let on. It drives you crazy how poised he is. How casual. Drawling out some easy, Joel-excuse when your dad asks him why he’s been ditching his calls. 

Just been busy, you hear him say. Lotta smart-ass clients these days. 

You don’t miss the smirk he gives you, in the split-second when your dad looks away. 

You’re interrupted — maybe mercifully so — by Ms. Simmons herself, waltzing into the yard to examine Joel’s work. The movie hasn’t started and she’s already plastered. 

“I knew you’d figure it out,” she slurs, placing a hand on Joel’s bicep. His brows lift, but he doesn’t say anything. She leans in, theatrically close. “You’re amazing. So good with that hammer.” 

Oh, Jesus. You have to look away to keep from gagging. Even your dad stifles a smile. He might be oblivious, but she’s about as subtle as a plane crash. 

Joel takes it in stride. Ever the gentleman. He mutters something about getting the movie started, finding a seat, talking to Sarah — three excuses for the price of one — and wanders off into the sea of neighbors. 

You excuse yourself, too, before she can corner you. She goes to turn the movie on, finally, and you scan the yard in search of a seat. Your dad is unavailable — scooped up by a group of golfing buddies. Sarah is similarly out of commission, wrapped up in a posse of old high school friends. You don’t want to crash her party. 

You spot an empty patch of grass by the front of the screen. You almost make it there before a hand snakes fast around your ankle. 

You start, catching yourself before you can trip. Your foot drags on the grass. 

You glance down. Joel looks up at you, head tilted halfway to the side, hand wrapped loose around your ankle. 

Your pulse drums. 

“Where you goin’?” he drawls. 

“To my seat?” 

“’S a seat right here.” He releases his grip on your ankle and pats the spot beside him. Then he leans back on his elbows, sprawled out on the grass. “‘F you want.” 

Your heart nudges at your throat. You cast a wary glance behind you — up the makeshift aisle in the yard, where your neighbors are spread picnic-style — and try to spot your dad. Or Sarah. Neither notices you. 

“Okay,” you say, softly. You step over his legs and sit beside him. 

He smiles. Small; Joel, but genuine. He grabs a blanket and tosses it across both of your laps. 

It’s dark by the time the movie starts. You’re pretty sure it’s E.T., but you can’t really be sure, because the second the opening credits play Joel’s hand is on your thigh. 

And then you can’t think about anything else. 

He shifts closer to you, drawing circles on your knee with the tip of his finger. His hand moves higher, dragging goosebumps up your thigh, and his knuckles bump the hem of your dress. You get it, now. Why he asked you to wear this. The thought makes you shiver. 

He’s moving so. fucking. slowly. Two hour movie, and at this rate he’s planning on taking the whole runtime to work his way up your leg. You squirm, a little impatient, and start to hike your dress up yourself when Alicia Simmons — fucking Alicia — materializes in front of you like a washed-out ghost. 

You freeze. You’re covered up by the blanket, but you still drop your hand. 

Joel doesn’t. His palm stays glued to your thigh, big and broad and warm, squeezing gently even as Alicia clambers awkwardly over the blankets to sit on the other side of him. 

“Thought I’d squeeze in,” she whispers, loudly. “Nowhere else to sit.” 

You bristle. You can spot about a thousand other places to sit in your peripheral alone. 

Joel grunts. You’re not sure why it annoys you — it’s not like you expect him to tell her no, and kick her out of her own backyard — but, if you’re honest, you’d kind of like him to. 

He scoots over to allow her room. She spreads out beside him, too close to be comfortable, and leans into his side with a sigh. 

He ignores her. His gaze stays fixed on the screen. His fingers flex at the seam of your thigh. 

You try your best to watch the movie too. But you’re not as stoic as Joel — not as unreadable — and you pluck angry fistfuls of grass from your side. You’re pissed. You hate the way she’s leaning on him, hate the wine you can smell on her breath, hate the lipstick that smears with her satisfied smile.

His free hand — the one not currently squeezing your thigh — isn’t covered by the blanket. It’s splayed at his side, palm flat against the grass. You can see Alicia’s gears turning, out of the corner of your eye — and then, sure enough, her long, painted nails as they skate across his knuckles.

“Fuck’s sake,” you hiss. It’s barely audible. But it’s loud enough for Joel to hear — loud enough to draw his gaze from the screen, momentarily, and catch the fire in your eyes. 

He adjusts himself, subtly moving his hand from hers. It’s smooth; inconspicuous. She probably doesn’t even realize he’s done it on purpose.

His other hand — the one burning a brand on your thigh — moves half an inch higher.

Your breath catches. You squirm and his grip doubles down. 

He leans forward, slightly, and puts his hand to his mouth like he’s biting back a cough. Then he growls at you, muffled, only loud enough for you to hear. 

“Keep fuckin’ still.” 

Your body responds to him immediately. You settle. 

He leans back. His hand slips beneath your hem and his knuckles ghost fabric. You lift your hips — almost instinctively — and his hand clamps around your leg. You watch his jaw flicker. He doesn’t tear his gaze from the movie, but the message is clear. What did I just say? 

You swallow. You try your best to stay still; completely still, as his fingers stroke up your thigh. When he grazes the edge of your underwear you part your knees, making room for his broad hand between your legs. 

You wait for him to scold you. But he doesn’t, this time. Either he doesn’t notice you move — you doubt it — or this is affecting him more than his stony expression lets on. Judging by the way his fingers tense against you, stinging into your skin — you guess it’s the latter. 

You’re soaking wet for him already. Half an hour of aimless touching; of him dragging tiny, hopeless circles on your thigh — has driven you ten kinds of crazy. He feels it, too, when he brushes damp cotton. 

His finger catches the edge of your underwear. He pulls the fabric to the side and you swallow a sigh. 

You try to keep your eyes on the screen, even as Joel’s middle finger dips halfway inside you. The angle is awkward — you’re side-by-side on the grass, your legs parted under the blanket for him — but he’s surprisingly dexterous. He pretends to readjust again, moving imperceptibly nearer, and the added closeness lets him sink inside you to the knuckle.

You barely stifle your moan. It’s a good thing the movie is so fucking loud, you think, absently. It drowns the tiny noise you let slip. 

But Joel hears it. He’s close enough; turned toward the screen but so finely tuned to you that he doesn’t miss a beat. He pauses with his finger hooked inside you. You’re so desperate for him to move that you abandon all shame and lift your hips off the grass, rutting against the heel of his palm. The blanket hikes half an inch and exposes a sliver of skin. 

He’ll tell you off, now. You’re sure of it. Some twisted part of you almost hopes that he does. 

But — as it turns out — he doesn’t have to. Alicia Simmons does that for him. She gives a dramatic sigh and yawns, fading into Joel’s shoulder. Oldest trick in the book. If you were any less preoccupied you might think to roll your eyes. Instead you just hiss; a low, annoyed sound, mingled heavy with arousal as Joel crooks his finger just right. 

He sits up a little straighter. This time it’s not so subtle, the way he rolls Alicia off his shoulder. The way his palm bumps your swollen, aching clit. 

He tilts his head toward you. Whispers in your ear, soft and rough and fleeting as his fingers find that spongy spot inside you and drag out a gasp. 

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” he growls. 

It takes everything in you not to turn and look at him. To not tear the blanket off of your lap and rip his hand away. Teach him a lesson for being so cocky. Or — who are you kidding — to not just grab his wrist and fuck yourself on his fingers til you scream. 

“Don’t,” he warns, like he can read your mind. His breath rasps along your ear. “You’ll make a fuckin’ scene.” 

You’re so stubborn, usually. It’s hard to believe that it’s Joel, of all people,  who finally gets you to behave. The Joel who used to pay you to babysit his daughter. The Joel who taught you to drive stick. The Joel who’s got his hand up your dress, right now, fucking into you with two soaked, lazy fingers. 

It’s filthy. It’s wrong. He’s got another woman hanging by his shoulder while his wrist pumps between your legs. Your dad is four rows back on the grass, probably watching the back of your head as it tips in muted pleasure. And Joel — fucking Joel — is still watching the screen with that perfect, immovable stare. 

Your muscles clench around his knuckles. Heat pools white-hot in the pit of your stomach. You start to rock into his palm again, more desperately this time, seeking any sort of added friction.

You look at him, quickly. You catch a glimpse of his profile, cast in the glow of the screen. The flinch in his jaw when you squirm on his hand is the only indication he’s remotely affected.

He leans into your space again. Puts his lips to your ear. To anyone watching you’re sure the movement looks innocent — a quiet question, maybe.

And his voice is quiet, when it scrapes your neck. But it’s not a question. 

“You’re gonna cum for me," he mutters. He flexes his wrist, and you bite your lip to keep from screaming. “And you ain’t gonna make a fuckin’ sound.” 

He crooks his finger. A whimper catches in your throat. 

“Nod if you understand.” 

You nod. Your breath pulls. 

He leans back. Re-settles in his spot. His gaze returns to the screen, and you’d swear E.T. had his full attention, if it wasn’t for the heel of his palm grinding into your clit. 

You’ve never been very good at keeping your mouth shut. It’s not a trait that’s serving your particularly well, right now. The heat in your core threatens to spill over with each hollow thrust of his fingers. 

You drag the edge of the blanket up to your mouth and bite down on fuzzy fabric. He catches you in the corner of his eye and his hand moves faster, working you up and over the edge. 

It takes everything in you not to rip the blanket out of your mouth and whine his name until your voice breaks. But there are people — so many people — your dad, and Sarah, and Alicia at his shoulder. So you keep quiet. 

He only pulls his hand away when your muscles go slack. The scrap of blanket falls from your teeth. He adjusts himself — conspicuously, you think — and your cheeks blaze.

You don’t hear a single word of the movie after that. You don’t even pretend to watch it. You watch him, instead — staring shamelessly at his jaw, at the denim that peeks from the blanket, at the still-slick hand that splays beside you in the grass. 

Fuck. 

You scoot closer to him. Mae sure no one’s looking before sliding your hand under the blanket and into his lap. 

He stiffens immediately at the contact. But he still — still — doesn’t look away from the screen. Alicia leans in to tell him something — nothing related to the movie, you’re sure — and cups her hand around his ear. 

It spurs you on. It shouldn’t, but it does. You move your hand up his thigh and lay your palm on the bulge in his jeans. 

He flinches. It’s maybe the first thing all night that he hasn’t controlled. You hear him start to respond to her, and then his voice catches and he clears his throat. 

That makes you bolder. You drag your hand over the outline of his cock and feel him strain into your touch. He lets you go until it’s too much, apparently — and then his hand slips under the blanket to stop yours. 

His grip bites. He holds your hand in place, palm pressed to the swell of his cock. There’s some big scene onscreen — shouting, strobing lights — and he takes the opportunity to hiss in your ear. 

“What are you doin’, darlin’?” 

His gaze flicks from the screen, just long enough to look at you. Long enough for you to read his lips when he drops his voice and adds, almost inaudible —

“Don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish.” 

You wouldn’t dream of it. But the universe has other plans, it seems, because as soon as he speaks it starts to rain. 

Pour is probably a better word. That cloud your dad had pointed out earlier seems to have finally made its way over. With a vengeance. Thunder rolls across the yard, drowning the surround-sound. Water lashes at the screen. 

There’s confused chaos as twenty-something neighbors rush to stand. Alicia leaps up, abandoning her post at Joel’s shoulder, and starts to usher people inside. 

It takes longer for Joel to stand than anyone else. He sits there in the grass, getting soaked to the bone, and you can guess the reason for the holdup when you see him trying to adjust his jeans under the blanket. 

You hide your grin. You wait for him in the dry confines of the doorway as he stands, scowling, and crosses the yard. He’s drenched by the time he makes it to you. 

He takes two steps inside and shakes his head like a dog. Water sloughs off his collar and sprinkles the hardwood. Your dad clocks the two of you by the door and wanders over, laughing a little at Joel’s bad luck. 

“Christ,” he says. “You take the scenic route gettin’ inside?” 

Joel’s scowl deepens. 

“Alicia’s settin’ us back up in the den,” your dad continues. “Gonna keep the party goin’. Nothin’ stops that woman.” 

“Got that right,” you mutter. 

Joel’s gaze snaps to you. You feel the warning on your neck. But your dad is oblivious, as always. You’re not even sure he hears you. 

“Go dry off and meet us in the livin’ room, he says, still chuckling. He shakes his head. “Jesus.” 

And then, mercifully — he leaves you both. You watch him walk down the hall, into the living room, and the rest of your neighbors trickle in after him. 

No one seems to notice that you and Joel haven’t joined them. That the two of you are still standing by the doorway, even as the last neighbor disappears into the den. 

The second you’re alone — the second no one’s eyes are on you — Joel grabs your wrist. Hard. You yelp, stumbling over your feet as he drags you toward a set of stairs. The opposite direction of the living room. And decidedly off-limits, you’d think. 

“Joel—” you wriggle in his grip. He’s stronger. “St — what — where are we going?” 

He hauls you up the stairs, two at a time. Water drags off the hem of his flannel. 

“Dryin’ off,” he says, simply. “Gotta get a towel.” 

“Is that a—” he yanks you up, onto the landing, and tugs you down a muted hallway, “—a two person job?” 

He stops dead in his tracks at the end of the hall, in front of a door. And then he looks at you, eyes blazing, and your stomach seizes. He looks hungry. Starved. His stare roves over you, black as coal, searing your skin. 

“Get inside.” 

“Um.” You look at him. Then the door. You’ve overshot the bathroom by at least a few paces — that door is half-open, a ways back down the hall. “Don’t think this is where the towels are.” 

“Pit stop.” He leans his shoulder into the door and it gives, sneaking open. He pulls you inside and now you go willingly, practically stumbling over his feet. His hands are all over you the minute you’re inside — your hips, your hair, the hem of your dress. He nips at your neck and his voice soothes the mark, low and rough and breathless. “Gonna fuck you first.” 

You don’t bother hiding the noise you make. You’re too far gone. He hasn’t even fucked you yet, not properly, and you’re already wrecked. He knows it, too. It’s why he looks so fucking smug, when his smile curves up the column of your throat. 

Your hands go to his shoulders. To the damp flannel on his skin. You tug him closer and your back thumps the door. 

“Joel,” you whimper. “Kiss me.” 

He ignores you. His mouth drops, to the curve between your neck and shoulder, and his teeth sink into your skin. 

You whine. Your nails dig into his shirt. 

“Turn around,” he growls. 

He’s not gonna kiss you. Not if you beg him, not if you ask nicely. The thought runs laps around your brain; makes your mind short-circuit as his hands find your waist and twist you around so you’re facing the door. 

He’s punishing you. For teasing him on the grass. For getting him drenched. 

The realization makes you weak. You feel him behind you: the ragged rise-fall of his chest at your back, and you bring both palms up to brace against the door. 

There’s the rustle of leather behind you. A soft tink as he works his buckle undone. The sharp bite of metal when he drags his zipper down. He crowds the space at your back, hips pressed to your ass, and shoves your dress up and out of his way. 

He doesn’t bother dragging your underwear down. He nudges them to the side — for the second time tonight — and his finger catches on your clit. 

You gasp. Your hips roll into his. 

He moves his hand back. The blunt head of his cock replaces his finger, nudging at your entrance. 

“Fuck,” you breathe. 

Your fingers flex on the door. You try to push your hips back, into him — try to push him inside you — but he stays stubbornly still. Holds you in place with that teasing, iron grip. 

“Joel,” you moan. “P-fuck. Please.” 

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” he murmurs. He rocks forward. Drags his cock up your slit, gathering slick. 

“Not — ngh — jealous.” 

“No?” His voice is low. Teasing. His accent rolls heavy off his tongue and drips to your skin. “Not even a little bit? Didn’t piss you off, seein’ some other woman on me?” 

“No,” you grit. He rolls his hips, cock hitting your clit, and you whine.

He leans forward. His chest folds against your back, big and firm and broad. He gathers your hair in his fist and tugs. 

“Think you’re lyin’,” he says, softly. “Think it drove you crazy, pretty girl.” 

Your stomach flutters. Your muscles clench around nothing. 

“Think that’s why you let me touch you, front’a all those people,” he continues, and you want to smack him, kiss him, whatever it takes for him to shut up and fuck you. You squirm against his cock and he leans even closer. His stubble kisses your neck. 

It’s then — only then, in a split-second of marked clarity — that you realize where you are. Where he’s taken you. Your tunnel-vision expands long enough for you to clock the bed in your peripheral. The silver-framed photo of Alicia Simmons and her sad ex-husband, sitting on a lacquered nightstand. He could have pulled you into any bathroom. Or an empty guest room off the hall. But he’s dragged you through the last door — into the master bedroom — into her bedroom. 

“Wanted some fuckin’ attention,” he growls. “’S why you’re gonna let me fuck you in here— 

The head of his cock pushes into you; just barely, and you stifle a scream. He’s stretching you already, just the tip, and you squeeze the hell out of him as he notches inside you. 

“—next to her fuckin’ bed.” 

He thrusts into you. All of him; all at once. His hips slam into your ass and you cry out, slumping into the door as he splits you in two. 

Your eyes sting. He’s so big it’s almost — almost — painful.

“Fuck,” you yelp. “Joel—”

His name comes out broken. 

He doesn’t move. He’s desperately patient; gauging your breaths and the sound of your pleas. He lets you get used to him, adjusting to his size until the burn mellows out and the stretch starts to sweeten. 

“You’re okay, baby.” That voice, honeyed whiskey and sex. Dark and silk-smooth. “Relax.” 

“Please,” you whimper. “I c—ah—I can take it.” 

“I know you can, angel.” Still waiting, patient, as you settle around him. “You’re doin’ good, pretty girl. Takin’ it so well.” 

Your head spins at his praise. Your muscles clamp around his cock as he pulls out halfway, soaked in your slick, and thrusts into you again. 

“F-uck,” you groan. “Oh my — god.” 

You lose track of yourself after that. He finds a regular rhythm once he knows you can take it; not rough, not yet, but a far cry from gentle. He couldn’t be bothered to take his pants off — just shoved his jeans and his boxers past his hips — and denim scrapes the backs of your thighs. 

You don’t mind. You can barely feel it. You’re too focused on him; the way he feels splitting you open, thick and hot and buried in your cunt. 

You must be making a lot of noise. Too much, maybe, considering he’s pounding you right now in your hostess’ bedroom, while the whole fucking neighborhood gathers downstairs. But it’s impossible to stay quiet, when he’s fucking you like this. When he sets a new, punishing pace and hits a spot that makes you scream. 

He takes care of it. Of you. He doesn’t cover your mouth with his hand — too busy grabbing you by the waist, keeping you steady as he fucks into you. 

No. He reaches for his belt, instead, looped unbuckled through his jeans. He tugs it free and holds it out, between you and the door, until the leather hangs level with your mouth. 

You don’t understand what he wants, at first. But then his hips roll into yours, and you cry out, and he shoves the belt between your teeth. 

You bite down instinctively. The sound muffles in the leather. He drops his hand — satisfied — and returns it to your waist. 

“’S right,” he mutters. “Good girl.” 

He loops an arm around your front, forearm braced against your tummy. His fingers dip to rub your clit while he fucks you from behind. 

You jerk at the touch, but there’s nowhere to go. You’re wrapped up in him. Wedged between his chest and his arm, speared on his cock as you palm the door. 

He’s right. You were jealous. You were jealous of that woman on his arm, touching him, laughing into his ear. Of her fingers on his hand and her head on his shoulder. 

And he’s right, too, that you wanted his attention. That you practically begged him — in soft, unspoken terms — to slip his fingers in between your legs. The same silent way you’re begging him now, with words smothered into his belt. 

This shouldn’t turn you on. You’re in some other woman’s room, your palms pressed to her door so hard you’ll leave prints. Her clothes are on the bed, her lipstick on the nightstand — that same garish shade she’d worn tonight, when she’d put her lips to Joel’s ear. 

It’s twisted. It’s — beyond fucked. But, then — so are you. 

Joel gives a rough thrust and you moan into his belt. Your teeth sink in the leather. Heat builds in your core, white-hot and electric, and threatens to snap when he works on your clit. 

You try to tell him you’re going to cum. You can’t get the words out, between his belt, and the fact he’s fucking you so hard it punches your breath. 

You manage a moan, or something close to it, muffled and desperate as your head starts to fog. 

He gets it. He keeps his pace while you fall apart, fucking you through it, praising you with that velvet drawl. 

“’S’good, baby,” he breathes. “Such a good girl. Knew you’d take this cock.” 

Your mind goes blissfully blank when you cum. Your teeth clamp around the belt and your tongue tastes leather. 

He groans, hips flexing when you squeeze around his cock. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles. His thrusts are frantic. Less controlled. He pulls out, panting, and stumbles back in. “Fuck, baby. S—ngh—so goddamn tight for me.” 

You’re too fucked to respond. You moan weakly, trying to meet his hips as he pushes into you. Your whole head is heavy. You’re not sure you’d still be standing if Joel wasn’t currently nailing you into the door. 

He reaches up and tears the belt from your mouth. It falls to your feet with a clink. 

You can’t stay quiet without it. But he’s past caring, or he’s so caught up chasing his high he doesn’t give a shit about the neighbors anymore. He wants to hear you. 

His movements are rough. Erratic. His hand moves between your legs, stroking your clit, and you’re so sensitive — too sensitive, almost — but he’s so fucking good at this you don’t think to ask him to stop. Heat pools in your core again, tugging at your stomach. 

He’s gonna make you cum again. A second time, in almost as many minutes. 

“J-Joel,” you whimper, “gonna—ah—I c-can’t—” 

“Yes you can,” he grunts. His hand fists in your hair and he moves it to the side ,exposing your neck. His mouth bends to rake your skin. “One more, baby.” 

“Fuck, fuck—”

“You’re alright,” he coos. “Easy, angel. Slow. Let go.” 

He drags it out of you. You moan into the door, pushing back against him as your muscles choke his cock. You hear him swear into your skin when you cum. 

He drags his hand from your clit and puts it back on your waist, holding you steady as your body sags. And then he rocks his hips up, into you — starts to fuck you harder, faster, as his own release nears. 

“Joel,” you whine. 

He’s gone noticeably silent behind you. The only sounds he can manage are heavy breaths and tight, muffled grunts. 

He’s close. 

“Cum inside,” you mumble, breathless. “I’m—fuck—‘m on the pill, it’s fine, I’m—” 

His cock nudges at your g-spot. You lose your focus and your eyes roll back. 

“Y’know I can’t do that, sweetheart.” He sounds pained. “Too risky.” 

If you were any more cogent you’d say something snarky — and fucking me in the neighbor’s room isn’t? — but you’re done for. He’s ruined you. So you just make a sound — a disappointed mewl — and cry out softly when he pulls out of you. 

He doesn’t let you turn around. One hand stays on your hip, holding you still while the other wraps around his cock. You can hear the slick slide of his fist as he jacks off behind you. He gives a low, broken moan and your stomach clenches, gasping when he yanks up your dress and spills across the small of your back. 

“Fuck,” he mutters. His hand slips from your hip. You use the newfound freedom to turn and face him, straightening up and letting his cum leak to your thighs. “You—fuck.” 

He pulls you close on an impulse. His hand comes up to grab your jaw and he kisses you, catching your sigh with his mouth. 

He leans back with a quiet groan. His forehead brushes yours. 

“Gonna ruin me,” he says, quietly. It’s almost…affectionate. 

Your heart flickers. 

He looks at you a second longer — dark eyes searching yours, searching for something , and then he reaches around you, for the door handle, and slips out before you can protest. 

He’s back a minute later, two towels in hand. One for him, to soak up whatever rain remains in his flannel — and a smaller, softer cloth for you. 

You reach your hand out for it — I’ll take that — but he doesn’t give it up. He bends slowly, sinking to his knees, and drags the cloth between your legs. 

You put a hand in his hair to steady yourself. Spread your legs a little as he moves the cloth up your thigh. Something about this — about Joel Miller on his knees, hair tousled, staring up at you while he cleans his own mess — 

You could probably cum again, if he’d touch you. 

But he doesn’t. He’s excruciatingly gentle, cleaning every drop of himself from your legs. When he’s done he just stands, and kisses your forehead, and leads you out of the room with his hand on your back. Down the hall, and back down the stairs, and into the den to re-join the party. 

You slip in just in time for closing credits. You find individual spots on separate ends of the room, perched on the edge of two couches. By the time Alicia hits the lights, there’s nothing to suggest you’d even left. 

Except for the picture-perfect imprint of your teeth on his belt, when he stands to shake your dad’s hand goodbye. 

[august-poppy]

safety (boyfriend's dad!joel x f!reader)

just a bit of an origin story for my boyfriend's dad!joel relationship. you can read other installments of this fic here. this one isn't smutty but i hope you enjoy 💕 and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip. summary: you find yourself falling for your boyfriend's father. rating: 18+ (mdni) warnings: age difference, cheating, daddy issues, daddy kink, lap sitting, pet names (use of babygirl) word count: 2.2k

the first time your boyfriend's father kisses you, it's because you ask him to.

you've always looked at him a bit differently, always found yourself taking quick peeks out of the corner of your eye whenever he's in the room, given him shy smiles and giggled at all his jokes (most of which were actually funny, believe it or not). the first time you'd met him you'd gone to shake his hand, expecting a firm shake and a quick nod like your own father, but he'd surprised you completely when he'd wrapped you up in his arms, given you a bear hug and softly told you he was so happy to meet you.

your boyfriend always rolls his eyes at his father's affection, his jokes, his quirks. it's been almost disappointing in a way, to see the way his father behaves in comparison to his son. your boyfriend constantly seems to cultivate a cold exterior - and interior, if you're being honest with yourself - while his father radiates warmth and welcomeness, a safeness you've never seen in your own father. you wonder how your boyfriend is able to take such advantage of his father's kindness, that safety that so many people can only crave and never experience.

the two of you fight a lot, but this is normal for you. every relationship you've had - whether familial or romantic - has involved some form of conflict. it's just the way things are; you've come to accept that. the only difference is that before this you never had a third party standing on the outside, witnessing it, worrying about it.

"are you okay?"

the first time he catches you crying you feel embarrassed; until this point you've put on a good front, been your sweet and passive self around him. now he sees a different side of you, the side everyone else in your life has seen dozens of times. the side that hurts, feels pain, suffers.

you nod, leaning against the banister of the front patio and biting your lip, "yeah, i'm fine," your voice cracks and breaks - you're not fine, your boyfriend just berated you for messing up his concentration during one of his stupid games, called you a waste of space. but you're not going to tell his father that.

"you don't look fine," he murmurs, taking a step toward you, "something happen?"

you shake your head, "no really, i'm okay, mr. miller."

"joel," he corrects you softly with a gentle smile, and you try to smile back.

"joel," you repeat, "sorry."

"don't be sorry," he says tenderly, taking another step toward you and carefully placing a hand on your shoulder, "i want you to know...if you ever need to talk to somebody, i'm here. i'll always listen, alright?"

you're not sure what to say; no one has ever given you an offer like that before. it's confusing and surreal. your brow furrows but you slowly nod, "okay."

he gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze and then goes back inside the house, leaving you standing there alone. the ghost of his touch weighs heavily for the rest of the evening, his words echoing in your mind. he can't really mean that, can he?

the next time he sees you cry it's only about a week after the first time, and this time he knows what's wrong. you can see it in his expression, the quiet anger burning behind his glasses for his own son.

"i won't defend him," he tells you softly, sitting next to you on the couch in the living room while your boyfriend yells something incoherent down the hall, "you can talk to me."

you find yourself confiding in him briefly, only briefly. you don't go into much detail, just tell him you hate being made to feel worthless, that it's something you've dealt with for a long time. he touches your shoulder again, squeezes it calmingly, reassuringly. you look into his eyes and feel yourself falling before you can even register it. he cares about you.

you think about him a lot. during the day, nights, when you're in bed and can't sleep and just want somebody to hold you. you imagine his arms wrapped around you, remember that first time you met when he'd hugged you so tight and welcomed you so warmly. you want him to hold you like that again, touch you, love you. you touch yourself and pretend it's his fingers, you bury your face in your pillow as you come and pretend it's his chest.

you think of him when you have sex with your boyfriend. you'd feel bad, but you've started to become numb with the way he treats you, uses you. you close your eyes and curl your hand in his hair and pretend it's his father on top of you, his father inside you, his father kissing your neck.

every week your boyfriend competes in ridiculously boring online competitions; you show up at his house only for the promise of seeing joel, talking to him, sharing a quick moment in the kitchen or living room with him. you sit on your boyfriend's bed and watch from afar as he bangs on the keyboard and shouts aggressive things into his microphone, sounding like a whiny and petulant child. you wonder what you even see in him anymore, what you even saw in him to begin with. you should end it, you know you should. but then how would you see his dad?

he berates you again for messing up his concentration, tells you to leave for a bit and to "stop being so annoying". you don't even protest, just climb off his bed and leave the room, slamming the door louder than necessary behind you.

joel spends a lot of time in his office; he's the head of a contracting company, always making plans, doing paperwork, making phone calls. he has his shit together, another thing you feel drawn to. he's the only person in your life who seems to know exactly what to do in any given situation, knows who he is and where he's going.

you find yourself climbing the stairs and knocking softly on his office door. "come in," he calls from inside, and you slowly push it open.

he looks up from his desk, scattered with paper and blueprints. his brow furrows when he sees it's you, "hey, sweetheart, you alright?"

you close the door behind you and then stand there for a few seconds just staring at him; he's got on a cozy looking grey sweater, knitted and warm. his jeans are dark and his socks are mismatched, a quirk you love. he looks perfectly disheveled in his joel miller sort of way, hair thick and curly, beard scruffy and soft. his glasses accentuate the kindness of his eyes, the tenderness as he looks at you. he's like a comforting beam of light, a safe haven.

"can you hold me?" you ask softly, barely a whisper. it's out before you even know you're saying it, and then you're biting down hard on your lip and feeling tears prick in your eyes.

he seems surprised but only for a moment, then he makes his way toward you in two long strides and wraps his arms around you, pulling you in and holding you close. you melt into his embrace, burying your head in his warm sweater and almost collapsing into his arms, feeling yourself begin to cry steadily. you should feel embarrassed but you're too overwhelmed by the feeling of finally being held by him again, feeling him so close, inhaling the comforting scent of him.

you feel him press a soft kiss to the top of your head, a gesture of comfort and safety, nothing more, "you're okay," he murmurs into your hair, "i've got you."

he holds you like that for a long time and makes no move to let go, just lets you stand there and take what you desperately need from him. your cries die down eventually until you're sniffling lightly into the thick fabric of his sweater and just breathing him in. his hands trail up and down your back comfortingly, tracing patterns and words, almost like a secret language.

"i feel safe with you," you mumble against his chest, but the words are muffled and hard to make out.

"hm?"

you pull back a bit to peer up at him with tear-filled eyes, cheeks pink and puffy, "i feel safe with you," you repeat, voice shaky but much more relaxed, calm.

he smiles softly, peering down at you with that familiar tenderness, "i'm glad," he murmurs, and you swear you catch his eyes trail down to your lips for a brief moment, "i want you to feel safe with me."

"can you kiss me?" you whisper, voice breaking on the last word, not caring that this could make or break the quiet companionship you've formed with him, "please."

his brow furrows again but he doesn't pull away, lips parting a bit in surprise, "sweetheart, i'm not sure that's-"

"please," you repeat, voice raw and desperate, "it's all i think about."

his expression relaxes then, the tenderness returning. with a resigned look you watch as he leans his face down toward you; you close your eyes and allow him to press his lips gently against yours, soft and sweet. he's so gentle, so warm, so safe. your arms wrap tighter around him as you kiss him back, a soft whimper falling from the back of your throat. it's perfect. he's perfect.

when he pulls away he leaves his forehead pressed against yours, and when you open your eyes your heart stutters when you see his face so close, lips wet from your saliva and eyes dark with desire.

"that what you needed?" he murmurs softly, nose brushing against yours.

you nod and kiss him again, humming quietly against him when he pulls you in closer and palms your back firmly, holding you close. you're not sure how it happens but you both end up on the small couch in the corner of his office, him sitting back against the cushions while you seat yourself in his lap, a leg on either side of his thighs. his hands travel inside your shirt, exploring the soft expanse of your back as you whimper again into his mouth and revel in the feeling of being touched by someone so different.

"what else do you need?" he breathes, voice deep and husky as his hands travel from your back to your face, cradling it in his palms, "i'll give it to you, sweetheart, anything you ask. just tell me."

you could say a multitude of things; you could tell him to kiss you again, touch you, fuck you, the list goes on. and you want him to do all of that, but the one thing on your mind is what inevitably slips past your lips.

"i just want you to hold me," you whisper, and you don't care if you sound pathetic, "please."

he looks at you with a great deal of pain in his eyes, an empathetic gaze you've seen numerous times. he thumbs your cheeks, wipes away the tears there and slowly nods.

"okay, babygirl," he murmurs, "i'll hold you."

you sit in his lap for the next hour. it's quiet and peaceful and perfect; he rubs your back while you bury your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in and letting his presence completely invade your senses. you fall asleep briefly, but when you wake up you're happy to find that you're still in his lap, still being held. he makes absolutely no moves to remove you from him, to pull away or leave the room. he just holds you.

"thank you," you whisper finally; it's time to leave, you know this. your boyfriend will be looking for you soon, wondering where you went and why you didn't come back. you pull your face up from joel's neck and look down at him with tenderness, love.

"any time," he murmurs with a gentle smile, then leans forward a bit to press a tiny kiss to the tip of your nose, "i mean it, sweetheart. any time you're upset, any time you need to be held...you come to me, okay?"

you nod, biting down on your lip to keep the tears at bay, "no one's ever held me like this before," you whisper, "not even my own father."

his brows scrunch together and he touches your arms, squeezing them carefully in his hands, "i'm sorry, babygirl," he breathes, "you don't deserve that," his eyes capture yours in an intimate gaze, "you deserve the world."

the word is there, fighting to be spoken behind your lips. but you don't say it. you don't want to make him uncomfortable, don't want to ruin something that's only just started. but you feel it there, the desire to call him what you've been wanting to call him since the day you met. but that's a conversation for another day.

instead of words, you settle for a kiss. you lean down and touch your mouth to his, feel the gentle scratch of his scruff against your chin as you open a bit wider to allow his tongue to prod inside, just for a moment. he tastes like comfort, feels like safety.

daddy.

#fic rec #My FAVOURITE so far #i love him