#Joel miller imagine

[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: During a car ride Joel attempts to hide his erection from you along with feelings he knows he shouldn’t have for his friend’s daughter.]

Smut, Angst

Getting a hard on for his friend’s daughter was not something he planned. It wasn’t something he was proud of.

When your father was killed, before he took his last breath, he made Joel promise him he would watch over you and keep you safe. Joel did just that knowing you had no one else. He and your father had been close friends for nearly five years, but he never really saw you around because you had lived with your mother growing up until right before the world ended. Of course, one thing Joel didn’t expect was just how much he began to like you yet, he knew you were off limits.

It had been five months now since your father had died, you and Joel were traveling back to where Tommy was. Although you were twenty, you had never learned how to drive so Joel began teaching you so you both could take turns to rest.

Joel and you had stopped at a shopping center hoping to find some more supplies but of course you became distracted by a clothing section. Mesmerized by the dresses the mannequins wore…you’d kill for the black silk one right in front of you. Watching Joel distracted in the other side of the room you grabbed the dress and hid behind a wall trying it on. You knew Joel would’ve convinced you other wise telling you it was pointless to do, but it had been so long since you dressed up. Catching a glimpse of yourself in a dusty old mirror you gasped. An old ticket showing the $700 price tag on it, why not have some fun with it?

“Joel! Look what I found” you stood before him excitedly as he was hunched over looking beneath a table. The second he stood up, his eyes lighting up before realizing what the hell he was thinking.

“What are you doin’?” He asked in a slight irritated tone.

“I found it and I had to try it on, Joel. I used to love wearing dresses and it’s gorgeous! I mean what do you think?!” Innocently you turned around looking back at him, showing the revealing cut it had down to your lower back. His eyes looking at you in a way they never had, following the slit to your ass before you turned back to him. Joel was speechless, you had no idea the effect you in that black dress had on him.

“Well?” You smiled as he stood serious, struggling to find the words.

“It’s nice” he spoke low, controlling his reaction on what he really thought. Joel couldn’t deny his attraction to you but anything he felt didn’t matter, he wouldn’t disrespect his friend this way.

“It’s gorgeous! It’s a $700 dress, you believe that?”

“We gotta get goin” Joel quickly changed the topic forcing himself to look away. You shrugged silently grabbing your backpack and walking beside him when he realized you were leaving with the dress on.

“The hell ya doin’?” He asked stopping you in your tracks.

“We’re just driving, thought I’d enjoy it on for a bit till our next stop. Come on don’t be a buzz kill” You laughed before walking off, Joel gulped not knowing how he was suppose to ignore you in that dress for the next four hours.

Sitting in the passenger seat you leaned your seat back drifting off to sleep until it was your turn to drive. Joel beside you gripping the steering wheel for dear life fighting the urge to look over at you. Thoughts roaming in his head like never before, inappropriate things about you that he couldn’t control. Moving around in your sleep you softly moaned making Joel unable to resist turning to you. One movement of your leg and the dress had slightly rose above your knee giving him a glimpse of your thigh. The sight sending blood rushing to his cock causing him to quickly swell up in his pants.

“Shit” Joel cursed at himself trying to ignore the urge he felt when you began to move around slowly waking up.

“How long have I been sleeping?” You yawned rubbing your eyes as Joel adjusted his pants struggling to hide his hard on.

“Uh, I don’t know” he kept his eyes on the road with his arm on his lap. You couldn’t help but notice he sounded strange and so you pushed your chair up looking over at him.

“You ok, you wanna switch spots now?” You asked but he quickly shook his head just wanting you to look away from him. His arm awkwardly sitting on his lap you couldn’t help but notice his awkward posture.

“What’s wrong with your arm?” Your question making him more nervous.

“Huh? Nothin’” he cleared his throat before swallowing hard. Getting a hard on for his friend’s daughter was not something he planned. It wasn’t something he was proud of.

“Whatever” you whispered looking away as Joel remained tense hoping his nerves would kill the erection.

“I’m so thirsty, you have any left over water in your bottle” you looked over to the full bottle against his door and reached over.

“Hey, what the hell you doin’?”

Joel panicked feeling you come near him and attempted to grab his water bottle to pass it to you before realizing he was no longer covering his very obvious bulge.

“Oh-“ you gasped as he came to a sudden stop.

“Here, take the damn water bottle” he handed it to you without looking at you in the eye knowing you had seen what he was trying to hide. You had never suspected to see this side of Joel yet you couldn’t take your eyes off it.

What could’ve made him hard?

Looking up at him you realized how much he refused to look at you…maybe it was you. About to let himself out of the car, curiosity got the best of you and you slowly placed your hand on his bulge.

“What are you doin’-” He whispered low looking down at your hands on him, the feel of you so close taking over him. You could see him trying to fight it, yet he didn’t move.

“Relax” you whispered softly. Feeling the thickness of his length through his pants, his breathing growing heavier as if he was about to burst. Slowly you unbuttoned his pants, the urge he felt for you was too strong to stop you.

“Wait-” He whispered roughly yet he didn’t want you to stop. Gently you pulled out his warm thick cock in your hands looking up at him to find him already sweating.

It must’ve been so long since a woman touched him, you could see how much he needed this. Unexpectedly you leaned forward taking him in your mouth making his hips jerk, a sound you couldn’t make out harshly coming out of him.

“Fuck-“ he leaned his head back, his hands not knowing where to go, almost afraid to touch you. Joel closed his eyes in shame, what kind of man was he allowing you to do this? Feelings that Joel realized were never just platonic for you, he didn’t know what the hell they were.

Slowly you got up and leaned over to his side getting on top of him. Straddling him you felt him place his hands tightly on your waist. His eyes darkening realizing you never had any underwear on, the tip of his cock feeling how wet you were. The look in his eyes of a man that lost control as you took him in completely.

“Shit-“ Joel squeezed your waist. Grabbing onto his button shirt you began to ride him, his jaw tensing at the feel of how tight you were, stretching for him with each stroke. A sudden loud moan from you taking Joel by surprise as you moved faster. He watched as the silk dress slipped off your shoulders giving him a glimpse of your breast jumping out with each movement you made. He knew he wouldn’t last long especially with the way you felt wrapped around his cock. Leaning close against him you held onto his broad shoulders, breathless as he looked at you completely lost in the pleasure. A deep moan coming from his lips when his hips jerked upward.

“Fuck- get up- get up-“ he choked out before he picked you up himself off his cock and came. Throwing yourself to the side you watched as he finished jerking himself off, his cum building up on his hand as more continued to spill out of him. He sat still for a minute with his eyes closed, out of breath as you watched him..

The ride continued silently, Joel was serious staring ahead not making any eye contact with you. He could feel you look over at him here and there, the guilt eating up at him. How the hell could he have let this happen? Joel was pissed at himself for giving in, for being so weak.

“Are you mad at me?” Your question catching him off guard. Of course he wasn’t mad at you, he was more angry at himself, he should’ve known better. Maybe you should’ve known better but caught in the moment you didn’t think. Joel was a man you trusted, the two of you were adults and things escalated quickly, why did it feel so wrong?

“No” his response not convincing you.

Joel decided to pull up to another pharmacy to see what other supplies could be found along the way. Waiting for him to get out you called out to him telling him you were going to change. Joel turned his back to the car waiting for you not saying a word.

“Let’s go” you walked past him reaching the front door before slowly opening it.

“Hold on, dammit” Joel grabbed the door letting himself in first taking a look around as you followed. After clearing the place the two of you began looking for anything you might need. Still you watched how Joel avoided you, not letting himself get close to you until you finally had enough.

“You’re really just not gonna talk to me?”

He stood still thinking of what to say but didn’t say a word.

“Look, I never expected that to happen, Joel. I wouldn’t have just done that with anyone” you continued as he distracted himself looking around him.

“You can’t even look at me-“

“It shouldn’t have happened” he whispered looking down.

“Well it did-“

“It was wrong” his voice grew louder as he unexpectedly looked up.

“I made a promise to your father-“

“My father is dead, Joel! I’m not a little girl.”

He most certainly knew you weren’t.

“I’m not looking for you to baby me or..want something more with me so don’t worry about that, but the least you could do is not act like I’m no longer worth speaking to anymore”

“Maybe you never were” he responded rather quickly catching you off guard. Joel didn’t want you upset with him but maybe that’s what was best. Anything was better than Joel coming to terms that maybe this wasn’t just a sexual encounter. A sexual encounter that he should’ve never allowed in the first place.

“I only helped you because of your father, you think I would’ve stayed stuck with some young dumb broad just for the hell of it?” His words cutting through deep. You didn’t think for a second Joel had feelings for you, but he also had never spoken to you like this.

“You’ve only held me back” he whispered coldly, he noticed your eyes tearing up and quickly looked away. A wave of guilt washing over him as you angrily walked out slamming the door shut. Joel watched through the window making sure you got back to the car safely, he noticed you wipe away a tear only deepening his guilt.

During the rest of the car ride you didn’t speak to Joel, you didn’t even look at him. Joel taking a quick glance with the corner of his eye as you faced the window.

Once arriving back to Tommy’s you got out of the car and slammed the door shut heading to your room.

“Everything alright?” Tommy asked Joel watching you walk off.

“Peachy” Joel muttered low walking towards his brother.

Heading towards your room you ran into a few of the guys hanging out having drinks. Usually you were never one to drink but with the way you were feeling, why the hell not?

“What are you guys drinking today?” you caught them by surprise. Sure, Joel had warned you to stay away from these guys that were nothing but trouble but what was it his business whom you decided to surround yourself with.

“Whiskey, want some?” One of the guys asked.

“Please” you surprisingly grabbed the bottle from him and took a chug.

“Oh gross” you wiped your lips as the men laughed.

“Not a drink huh? Maybe you should slow down” they laughed just before you took another chug.

The night went on as the four of you laughed and talked about nonsense, you honestly were enjoying yourself. Joel having a drink with Tommy at the bar he had no idea what you had been up to outside thinking you were in your room.

“Ellie’s been alright?” Joel asked Tommy who nodded before taking a sip.

“She’s making friends easily, the kids like her” Tommy responded before they were both distracted by the sound of laughter and glass breaking outside.

“The hell was that?” Tommy slammed his glass down before heading out as Joel followed only to find the typical guys drinking together acting childish, except this time you were amongst them.

“Oh shit it’s Joel-“ one of the guys whispered hiding his bottle of alcohol, the other attempting to grab the bottle out of your hand.

“What the hell are you guys so afraid of? Joel Miller?” You laughed stumbling to the side as you took another sip. The guys standing up straight as Joel and his brother walked up to them.

“The hell are you doin’ here?” Joel walked up inches away from your face looking down at you.

“Uh, Joel she was just having a drink and-“

“Was I talking’ to ya, boy?!” Joel quickly snapped at one of the guys beside you.

“Let’s go, get out of here” Tommy led the guys away from you and Joel which only pissed you off.

“No-where are they…going…?” You slurred as you attempted to follow them with a stumble, Joel grabbed your arm.

“Let go of me!” You pulled pack hitting the wall behind you.

“I was just…drinking with some friends”

“Ya know damn well they ain’t no friends” Joel took another step forward towering over you.

“I told you about those guys god dammit-“

“What the hell do you care!?” You attempted to shove him, yet he was harder to move than you expected. Taking another chug he unexpectedly grabbed the bottle away from you as you attempted to grab it back.

“Hey!” He threw aside breaking the glass.

“What the hell Joel!”

“This what cha wanna do? You get pissed at me so you go and get drunk with these losers?” He furrowed his brows.

“And what’s it to you?” You smirked at him.

“Maybe I wanted to get drunk and let one of them fuck me” your words making Joel clench his jaw. A hint of jealousy stinging him when he suddenly grabbed you by your legs and carried you over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?!” You screamed kicking and hitting him but he didn’t budge. Not saying a word he let you scream until he bought you to your room. Kicking the door open Joel lay you down on the bed, before you ever had a chance to get up he walked out and closed the door shut behind him with a lock.

“What are you doing?! Open the door!!” You slammed your hands on the door angrily. Maybe this was selfish of him, Joel didn’t like the idea of you with any of these men, you with any other man for that matter. But at the same time you were drunk, he refused to let you make a stupid mistake out of anger.

“Open the door” you screamed once more when to your surprise, he actually opened it.

“Go” he whispered.

“Go on, go fuck those friends of yours-“ he stood back giving you space to walk out.

“That’s what you want right?” You could hear the irritation in his voice.

“What do you…care…” you continued to slur waving your hands around.

“What the hell do you…care who I…fuck, or what I do“ Joel unexpectedly grabbed you by your waist pushing you into the room.

“Cause I want you god dammit-“ he shocked you with his words.

“And not just you on top of me” his eyes looked deeply into yours.

“I want you beside me, I want you with me” he whispered as you stumbled slightly off balance. Too shocked…too drunk to respond, Joel didn’t know if he’d regret admitting this to you…a part of him hoping you wouldn’t remember the next day.

“I-I need to..lay down” you whispered as the room began to spin. Joel quickly lay you back on the bed, your hand covering your eyes as the sensation of a ride began to take over you.

“I’m really dizzy..” you whispered as he sat beside you.

“I’m right here” he held your hand in his as you closed your eyes and fell to sleep. Joel didn’t know what the hell got into him to admit anything to you, he didn’t know how he felt about it. He wondered what the next day would hold, if you would recall what he had been hiding for so long…

#pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller angst #joel miller smut #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fan fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n

[gutsby]

Ruined!

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel is an old man who struggles to cum sometimes. You’ve got time to kill and a tight hole to fill.

Warnings: 18+. Peepaw brainrot + a dash of anorgasmia. Unprotected p-in-v, cockwarming, age gap, daddy kink.

Note: Finals are whooping my ass left & right. This is a quickie.

Word count: 1.2k | Part of the Waiting Game ‘verse

Surely he was hurting you now.

Joel Miller had a kink for many, many fun activities, but splitting a sweet young thing like you over his cock to the point you were almost in tears was just not one of them.

At the same time your poor, surely-bruised walls pulsed around his hardened length, he felt a pang of guilt. His balls were pressed against your ass like two lead weights, soaked with the remains of your third release, and his mind was at war with itself—keep fucking you like this? Pull out and offer his sincerest apologies for not being able to cum? A boy your age would’ve never had you waiting around like that, aching around his cock, much less begging for something as simple as a cumshot.

He decided to go straight to the source. Leaning over your prone body on the bed before him, he was careful not to rut his hips or jostle his dick around too much.

Joel pressed a hot, stubbled kiss to your cheek, then:

“‘S’it too much, baby? She need a break, maybe?”

Joel thumbed at that space where your body ended and his began and nearly lost his mind to the pearly-white slick that had accumulated with time. Two hours time, he had to remind himself while you moaned and writhed and bucked your ass back. Your cunt was choking him.

Crying, too.

Your eyes flew open the moment his words reached you.

“You kiddin’ me, Miller?! I could do this shit all day.”

Sometimes Joel forgot you were only in your twenties. Really, the thought only occasionally crossed his mind in moments like these—or when your father, his best friend, happened to bring you up—but when it did, it hit him hard. You were young. Lively. Surely far too spry and full of life to be messing around with a man as old as him.

Joel’s guilt ran almost commensurate with his pleasure when he felt you anchor your feet on the bed and start to fuck yourself back and forth over his still-throbbing dick.

Almost.

He planted a hand beside your head and grinned. He let you fuck him. Felt you pull off, crawl up the bed a little, then beckon him back to your body, where your ass was now pointing up and your back was arched in invitation.

Almost.

“You know I can’t sleep without your cum inside me.”

And you made a point to spread your knees and look behind you with a smile as sweet as Milo’s tea, fingers drumming a beat against the bedspread in anticipation.

“You do wanna fill me up, don’t you, daddy?” you teased.

Yeah, no. The guilt was gone. Joel could worry about being a depraved old man when he was done cumming.

Then he was back inside you, driving his hips until every last inch of him was wrapped snug within your wet and velvety embrace, and he sighed. A real protracted one, like the kind he was liable to exhale after climbing two flights of stairs, or else just hoisting himself off the sofa. Or lifting you in his arms and fucking you hard against the hood of his Bronco. Any time. Any place. You were kind enough to oblige him with the best cardio of his life, so the least Joel could do now was make you cum again.

He snatched your hands up in one of his own and placed your wrists at the base of your spine. With his other, free set of fingers he took to rubbing your clit gently.

“SON OF A—”

“—good girl.”

You let out a bloodcurdling scream into your pillow and secretly hoped this man’s dick would never deflate again. Not with the way he was sawing his thing back and forth and dragging you to the edge, circling your clit like you were the single most precious thing in the world to him.

“Oh, sweet pea, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Like he could feel the tears staining the cushion himself.

“Mmrooonme,” you cried into it, voice garbled by cotton.

“What’s’at, honey? Can’t hear ya.”

Joel then bent at the waist, pretending to be leaning in to hear you better, when really he knew he’d be digging in your guts with that big, bulbous head of his and making you squeal again. Hands still held captive behind you, you inched your chin back on the pillow so your moans could be heard even louder while Joel sped up.

“You— ruined me,” you repeated. Now clear as ever.

Joel tried to hide his smile and glanced down between your body and his. Then, while his ring finger joined the other two to make their tight, light circles, he returned,

“Ruined? Pussy feels just fine t’me.”

You’d kill him if he wasn’t so good at this. You turned your head more to meet his eyes from the corner of yours.

“No. Ruined me. For anyone else.”

Probably forever.

“Good.”

You knew he liked it that way.

You saw it in his eyes. Felt it in his touch. The hefty, broad, and greying Joel Miller had been loafing around on this earth long enough to know how to claim what was his. When his hips knocked yours to lay you flat on the bed, you already knew what was coming next.

First, his arms came to rest on either side of your body.

“Shit,” you whimpered.

Next, his lips went trailing down to your ear.

“Just a little more, sugar—that’s it,” he murmured while his hips sank in, and you felt that big, delicious stretch.

Then he released your hands so they were free to squeeze the sheets, and when they did, his moved over them—lacing his fingers through your own—and his lips pressed a kiss to your jaw. He held you in a tender grasp. His breath was hot on your neck, and the whole of his body was blanketing yours. Joel knew you liked it like that, which is why he made sure not to leave an inch of space in between. He was grunting, rutting, holding you close while his cock drilled a maddening pace inside you.

“You ruined me too, y’know,” he mumbled into your skin.

His nose was flush with the side of your cheek, nudging inward. Begging you to turn your head just a little more so he could kiss you. Weak as you were, you obliged.

And you moaned against that grey, stubbled chin of his when the thrusts above you had your cunt grinding the bed, rubbing that soft and helpless nub on the sheets.

“C’mon— let daddy have it,” he growled, “Let daddy have it and make it his, huh? That okay by you, baby?”

It was.

More than okay, as confirmed by the orgasm that tore through your body moments later while your teeth sank into the flesh of Joel’s lower lip and your cunt clenched and soaked over him whole. Joel wedged his tongue in your mouth and fucked you through it. His broad and callused hands were like iron around your own, holding you tight and keeping you still amidst a maelstrom of pleasure that combed over your every last nerve.

He licked into your mouth. Licked over it. Took the sick and distinct pleasure of knowing no one but him got to see you like this, with your jaw hanging slack and your eyes rolling back and your whines repeating quietly, ‘Daddydaddypleasedaddyfuckohfuckdontstop.’

Maybe ruined wasn’t such a bad thing to be at all.

#NOBODY SPEAK TO ME UNTIL I’VE HAD MY MORNING COFFEE #AND BY MORNING COFFEE I MEAN THIS MAN’S LOAD IN MY MOUTH #PREFERABLY FOLLOWED BY AN OLD FASHIONED #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fic #joel miller x you

[luvrxbunny]

mini blurbs ─ ★ joel miller x f! reader

a/n: ngl. some of these are blurb sized blurbs but i was just too lazy to give them their own post 😇

wc: 992

warnings: 18+ MDNI, cum in pants, voyerism(?), dry humping, piv, blowjob

-> dbf!joel who gets invited to the family bbq/pool party only to lose his shit the second he sees you. he ends up (uncharacteristically) being the first person in the pool because there’s no other way to hide how hard he is.

you eventually feel bad, watching him float around the empty pool, and decide to join him.

so he has to touch himself while you’re talking to him. you’re so beautiful in the sunlight, your skin basically glowing. you’re just slightly sweating, letting joel’s imagination conjure up insane scenarios.

to top it all off, you start touching him. you notice his silence along with his sweaty and red face. you assume it’s the heat, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead then his cheek, and commenting on how hot he feels.

his hips repeatedly jerk towards you as he cums into the netting of his shorts. trying to keep his voice steady as he lets you know that he is perfectly fine.

-> dbf!joel who is disgustingly depraved. like he lurks around your room at night, sometimes just standing out in the hall to hear you moving around in there. you catch him spraying your perfume on his shirts on multiple occasions.

you don't technically know what he does with the shirts but you know that when your dad has him in the guest room, he thinks the walls are a lot thicker than they are.

-> finally convincing joel to send you a full body video of him cumming and he shocks you to your core when it’s just a video of him sitting back, full body in frame, his thick hairy thighs and huge arms grabbing your attention instantly. he’s looking directly at the camera as his cock bobs between his thighs, twitching and leaking everywhere for the camera before tensing up and spurting across his chest. joel’s head flies backwards as a deep groan rattles from his chest as he paints it white. he comes down with slow chants of “oh baby-” and "fuck, sweetheart." before going silent, just huffing into the air.

when he looks back down at the camera you can see a blush over his cheeks as he reaches for it. you can tell he's looking at himself not the camera when he gives you a “hope that was alright.” and a soft, timid smile before it ends

you respond with “come over right now.”

-> trying to give joel a blowjob for the first time. he's basically bouncing in his seat as you get on your knees. you take your time unzipping his pants, smiling at the way he moans at everything you do. his breathing picks up once you reach for the band of his breifs, his hands coming to the side of his chair, gripping so hard that his knuckles almost turn white. you take a moment to take in his state, all disheveled despite the fact that you've done nothing but undress him.

he rewards you with a desperate, breathy "i'll do anything".

his hips are fucking into the air as he keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling. you concede, wrapping your hand around his dick and shocking a moan out of him. you finally lean forward to place your lips on his tip, licking at his slit softly, relishing in his salty taste. he sucks in a sharp breath and never exhales.

you pull off of him to giggle at his reaction, maybe lick up his shaft. but the second you come off, his hips pump into the air, humping his dick against your cheek before cumming all over your face.

he groans like he got kicked in the chest, completely out of breath and so gravelly you know his voice will be scratchy afterward.

“mmm fuck. m’sorry. m’ so so sorry, love. s- so good.”

-> joel who wraps his arms around you so tightly that they shake when he cums. no matter what position. he’ll either rearrange the both of you so he can wrap you up or he’ll figure out a way in the position you’re in.

if he’s fucking you in doggy then he’ll lean down and wrap one arm around you. to make up for the missing arm, he’ll rant about how much he loves you in your ear.

his favorite position to have you in is spooning. first, because it's convenient. second, because he can wrap both his arms around you and pull you against his body as tightly as he wants.

sometimes he'll lock you in place and flip onto his back, planting his heels into the bed before beginning his relentless pace into your crying cunt.

-> in a van for a supply run with joel, tommy, maria and some other unknown characters. maria and tommy are upfront with the goons taking up the middle seats. you had to beg joel for this but you guys are in a cuddling position. joel sitting with his back to window, one leg straight and the other planted on the floor. you're sitting between his legs, leaning back against him but sitting straight enough to just turn your head if you want to kiss him.

but the road is more worn down than either of you expected. you try to act like you haven't only been focused on the hot bulge digging into your back every time the van bumps over a rock but once you feel the hot mass begin to harden and expand, you realize you're not the only one struggling with those thoughts.

with some more begging, a lot of neck kisses, gentle caressing, and soft, desperate words to joel. you're now in the same position but bent at the waist, giving him perfect access to your perky ass.

he's having way more fun than he'd care to admit but you can feel it. he was cautious at first, stopping anytime someone said something he thought might draw attention to the back, or even when the van got too silent. but know he's going at you. he's bringing your hips back directly on his cock like he's fucking you.

and he has no problem draping himself over your back to lean in your ear so you can hear him cumming in his pants for you

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us hbo #joel the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel tlou #joel x reader #sub! joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller blurb #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller tlou #joel miller the last of us #joel miller thots #joel miller one shot #joel miller pedro pascal #joel miller age gap #joel miller story #joel miller self insert #joel miller drabble #joel miller hbo #joel miller headcanon #joel miller last of us #joel miller brainrot #the last of us fanfiction

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

The landing | joel miller x f!reader, 13.2k

Summary: You feel him before you see him. He’s still taking up space in your micro-universe. His sole presence creates ripples through the atmosphere as he walks towards you, softly nudging you to turn your head from your spot to look behind you. Or The one where your orbits finally collide for the final showdown.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, NO SPOILER (read A/N), ANGST, cheater!joel, discussions of infidelity, mention of food consumption, yelling, crying, the briefest mention of smut thoughts, sprinkle of fluff (blink and you'll miss it), as always let me know if I missed anything 👀

A/N: Ok, *deep breath* I know I can't make everyone happy unless I write alternate endings 😅 and I understand that infidelity can be a very triggering concept. I gave them the ending I felt they both deserved, but if you're looking for a story where they are at each other's throats for 13k words, maybe this is not for you and you are more than welcome to kindly move on. I won't spoil the ending in the Warnings, so proceed with caution, you know what the main theme is all about. All I can tell you is that this part of the story is divided into two main scenes because I didn't want to drag it out with one little scene after another. *she says after spilling 13k words🙄sorry about that👀* As always, I would love to read your thoughts on the last part and please keep in mind that writing is almost always self-indulgent.

P.S. I want to thank each and every one of you for the love I received for this mini-series, I never thought it would engage so many people. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. You've all been so kind and sweet to me, so this journey filled my heart with joy! I love you all, take care of yourselves and I'll see you -hopefully- in the comments! Oh! My asks are always open if you want to know more about their story. I could even write drabbles or one-shots about anything you'd like to know in particular. Ily, bye 😘

P.S. I deliberately left the last two lines without clarification of who says what, I leave that up to you. 🤍

Dividers by @cafekitsune @saradika-graphics @plum98

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FOUR YEARS AFTER THE FALL

Are you still falling?

You’re not sure anymore. Maybe you’re just used to it. Or maybe you just learned how to fly. It certainly feels like everything has slowed down. Sometimes it feels like floating. As if you’re a feather, so lightweight, swirling around aimlessly. But you can never touch the ground. Gravity can’t quite pull you down. Every time you feel like you’re finally landing, a force of nature pulls you back up.

Maybe it is a soft, warm, summer breeze, a memory of Joel.

Maybe it is a whirlwind, a contact from the lawyers.

Maybe it is a snowstorm, sign the papers, please.

Maybe it is the whispering of a gentle wind, the possibilities of what might have been, or the lack of real closure.

But it’s nice here. Even between the earth and the sky.

You never thought you’d enjoy leaving the big city and making a home for yourself on a ranch. But you loved it. You loved the peace and quiet, you loved this new community of people, you loved taking care of the horses, riding them, being around them. And then there was the house. A place you could almost call home. It was beautiful, rustic, warm, inviting, lacking none of the comforts a modern house needs, because you can’t quite get the big city girl out of you. The entire land had a soft, yellow-golden light enveloping every tree and every rock, everywhere your eyes reached, as if the sun shone differently here.

The days are easy. The chores are more than enough to keep you focused, there’s always something to do around here. It feels good to be busy, to keep your mind from dwelling on the past. You welcome the exhaustion of a full day’s work that accompanies your body when night comes.

Evenings are mostly good. You shower the day off, you cook, you chill on the couch with a good book or a film and more often than not, as the time passes and you feel more comfortable sharing the privacy of your home, you have friends over for dinner and drinks.

Nights though, nights are hard. At night, you pray that you are tired to the point of exhaustion so that you can sleep through it peacefully. Sometimes it works, but most of the time, not so much.

Time has intensified and lessened your emotional burden simultaneously.

The sharp pain that feels like thick acid being poured into you mellows in an inexplicable way. It still hurts, the pain oozing out of your every single pore even in a physical way. Only now, it has transformed into a sweet, slow poison conquering every hollow of your body, every vein leading from your heart to the ends of your limbs.

It’s almost a welcoming feeling, this pain, reminding you that you’re still alive, that he was real, that everything that happened was real. Because sometimes, sometimes, when you let yourself relax, when you let your guard down, all of this feels like a dream. Sometimes, you wake up in the middle of the night, confused, reaching with your hand for the other side of the bed and finding it empty. And for a split second you get that feeling. The feeling of how it used to be with him next to you.

Then you remember.

You know why this is happening and who’s responsible for it. This is a mix-up. This is what your treacherous brain does to mess with your resolve. It blends the bad stuff into the good, creating the strangest of concoctions. The clear image of black and white, neatly and perfectly hung in the center of the walls of your mind is now splashed with colorful memories from your life together, like a Pollock painting. You do your best to resist, to bring back scenes from all the vivid recollections of the night your life changed forever but your uncooperative brain pops another memory up, a good fuckin’ memory, like a projector, illuminating those bare imaginary walls with laughter and touches and whispers and scents and warmth. It’s relentless.

This dichotomy creates an uneasiness inside you, you choose to reject and pretend not to notice. Which in turn leads to self-contempt because, as always you can’t lie to yourself. You may lie to others but deep in your core you have to be honest with yourself. That is something you’re owed. To be aware, present in the reality of your life. So, you know, you know, you just sweep things under the carpet as a copy mechanism. You know what you should do.

You should confront him. You should demand answers and then finally say what you need to say to him. Not for him, not for his sake, but for yours. But you can’t. You've lost count of how many times you've picked up the phone and your thumb hovered over his contact to call him but you just can’t bring yourself to do it. And every time you tried to text him, to start a conversation, it felt too awkward. The only acceptable subject of discussion initiated by you was the progress of the divorce papers. You were unable to even remotely insinuate a more meaningful encounter. And he didn’t make any advances either. Not that you gave him any room to try and talk to you, but still, he seemed more settled with that, rather than not.

Maybe that fact itself was your cue to let it all go. He’s probably moved on. You don’t cheat on someone so blatantly and then want them back. Obviously, this whole delaying of the divorce is a power play, like everything else, it seems.

Good, yeah, that’s it. That’s it.

Now, let go. Move on. You solved it. Let go.

But this annoying little voice is scratching the walls of your weary brain, nudging the limits of the carefully made up serenity that’s hanging by a thread.

You should confront him. For your peace of mind, for your equilibrium.

But it’s nice here. Even between the earth and the sky.

Joel, will you please sign the papers?

It’s early in the evening and you’re in the garden in front of the house near the porch, on your knees, plucking a few weeds from the ground. The fatigue of the day’s work has begun to take its toll on you, your shoulder is slightly trembling as you rest your weight on one palm to dig around with the other. Sweat covers your torso, rolling down between the valley of your breasts and the hollow between your spine, leaving your t-shirt clinging to your skin, your hair sticking to your forehead, which is lightly covered in a thin layer of dirt at some places as you keep wiping your forearm over the little beads of salty water that concentrate over your brows.

You feel him before you see him. He’s still taking up space in your micro-universe. His sole presence creates ripples through the atmosphere as he walks towards you, softly nudging you to turn your head from your spot to look behind you.

There's an overload of sensations before you shift your body around to confirm what you already know in your bones. You can smell him, taste him, feel him on your suddenly tingling skin, all at the same time.

You turn slowly and your breath hitches on your throat. You just stay in place, frozen, time infinitely stretching as you take him in from where you kneel on the ground. He stops abruptly the second his eyes meet yours and you could swear he’s holding his breath, his face completely unreadable.

He looks.. he looks like your Joel and nothing like him simultaneously. Soft yet imposing. Handsome yet battered. Determined yet lost. His clothing is simpler, dark jeans, green flannel over a black t-shirt and laced boots, as if he just returned from a working site. His curls are longer, framing his handsome face in a ridiculously good way, more white hairs nestle in his beard that is not that trimmed. Neither of you speak quite yet, taking each other in.

Your mind, your bizarre, ridiculous mind is working on figuring out what day it is. Why does it matter? Did you have an appointment? This is unexpected and a long time coming all at once, regardless of the day of the week. What comes next? Do you draw up an astrological map to determine if it's a compatible date for you to meet? Get it together.

Your facial expression must be pretty funny because Joel smiles awkwardly while scratching one side of his bearded cheek; hey, it’s me.

No, shit, you mentally respond, as if you could ever forget him. Furious is the word that best describes you because these are his first words? Hey, it’s me? And that feeling escalates into an explosive retort because you now realize that you had expectations. His first words? Who cares what his first words are? Were you expecting a tearful reunion, masterfully staged and executed like a romantic film? The guy betrayed you in your own house, sorry, his house. Wake the fuck up.

“Did you sign the papers?” you spit as you rise from your spot and he reacts as if you have punched him in the stomach. His face falls; you see a series of micro-expressions pass over his features before he settles on the last one. Has he been hurt? Did you hurt his feelings? Did he also have expectations?

“Uh-”, Joel raises his brows in genuine surprise, things probably not going the way he expected or hoped.

“It’s nice to see you, too.”, he replies with mild mockery.

Your eyes snap shut and you laugh in anger, lowering your chin to your chest and then looking back up at him, your eyes blazing, your brows mimicking his previously surprised expression, “Are you serious right now?” you cross your hands defensively over your chest.

You stare at each other for a good minute, both of you taking a moment to compose yourselves and regain your balance.

You break first, dropping your head back to your chest, looking down at the heel of your shoe scraping the ground beneath you, exhaling audibly.

“Hey,” Joel tries again, after speaking your name tenderly, your name on his lips, his head dipping down and to the side to try and get your attention back to him, his gaze filled with a mixture of warmth, regret and fear, “hi.”

You shake your head from side to side in repentance, what a great start this is, you keep thinking, “Hi.” is all you give him, still not looking at him.

“Hi,” he repeats, “it’s really nice to see you, bab-, shit, sorry.”, he winces, covering his mouth with his palm, embarrassment creeping into his features. You let out a quiet laugh, exhaling through your nose. You don’t comment on the slip of endearment that leaves his mouth, you don’t correct him, accepting privately that you liked it, you missed it, you longed for it.

Joel studies your face, but makes no comment on your silence. “You look...” he pauses for a split second before deciding to continue, “you look really good.” He hesitates, he doesn't want his compliment to come across as a feeble attempt to patronize you, because he really means it. You do look good, all sweaty and muddy and human and real. You are real. If he took a few steps forward, he could actually reach out and touch you, feel your skin under his fingertips, smell your heady scent, perhaps discreetly lick the remnants of your sweat from his thumb after carefully removing the strands of hair sticking on your forehead. But he doesn’t do that. He doesn’t do any of that.

You don’t quite know how to respond to that, any answer crossing your mind seems stupid or cheesy or dismissive. How do you respond to a compliment from the man who made you worship in his altar, only to have your faith ripped out of your heart?

His eyes keep roaming over your face, your figure, memorizing everything he can, like a blind man who has finally found his light, while he fidgets with an envelope in his hand which reminds you-

“Did you sign the papers, Joel?”, is what escapes your lips before you can think twice.

“No.” and now it’s his turn to lower his head, his eyes avoiding your gaze, as he looks down at his feet.

“Joel!”, you exclaim infuriated, rolling your eyes at him, knitting your brows together in a sign of frustration.

“No, no, it’s not like that. I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you want.”, Joel raises a hand in your direction to stop you from what seems to be a fair assumption, his palm up, facing you in an unspoken surrender. “I thought that- me, not signing, was a way of showing you how deeply sorry I am, how much I wanted to fix our marriage, but I understand now,” his voice wavers slightly, “that I need to respect your wishes. It’s the right thing to do. If this is still what you want, I’m gonna sign it.”

You don’t reply to that last part, only pointing out that “You didn’t have to come all this way to tell me that.”

“No, I didn’t.” Joel agrees.

“Then why are you here?” you insist, reluctant to entertain the idea that he has actually come all this way to apologize.

“Because I owe you an explanation.” is his honest and direct answer, sending little jolts of electricity through your nerves.

“Joel..” you sigh in exasperation. Not in warning or frustration, not really, but in something else. A feeling you can’t really put a name to, the closest you can come to describing it is that of a burden, woven deep into your heart, blossoming rapidly with each beat. There are so many things left unsaid; it makes you feel helpless, like you’re drowning. You want the dam you’ve built around your soul over the years to break so everything you've been holding back can finally pour out of you, but there’s just so much of it, of everything, that you’re terrified. Will the overflowing tank of emotions be completely empty? Will there be anything left unsaid? Untouched? What if the remnants left behind keep licking around your wounds, their waves pushing, shaping what’s left of you into something new, unrecognizable?

And what if, the tank will indeed be completely empty? What you’ll be left with, then? Nothing? Just.. empty? Will you remain empty? What, if anything, will take its place? Will you recognize your new self? Will you like yourself? Will you be able to live in harmony with this shell of a person? This you; you know. You hated and pitied and caressed and comforted and forgave and nurtured you into some version of a new you. But this? Everything will be torn apart, the wounds will be freshly opened, accessible to be examined in detail, plucked and bled and bruised in an all-too-familiar way.

Joel’s voice snaps you out of your trance, “No, I do. I owe you more than that, actually, but that’s the least I can do. And I wanna do that while I’m still your husband. I want to explain myself as your husband. Apologize to my wife, as her husband. Then I’m gonna sign anything you want me to.”

“And if I don’t wanna hear what you have to say?”

“Then I’ll just sign the papers and leave you in peace.” Joel confesses in all his honesty.

You just nod, looking down on the ground. You take a deep breath to ground yourself. You can do this. You want to do this. You need to do this.

You walk towards the house and sit down on the steps of the porch, as he looks at you awkwardly, not knowing where to stand. You gesture with a tilt of your head for him to come sit next to you. You can do this. You realize that you didn’t invite him into the house and you feel a bit rude for that, but it's beyond your empathetic capacity to deal with him being here and to let him into the house as well. “I just like it out here, it’s calm and-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, whatever makes you feel comfortable; I know you don’t want me here any longer than I have to be..” he interrupts you as he sits down next to you, his one side pressing against the end of the stairs, where the railing begins. He places the contract between your bodies, on the wooden floor.

It makes you uncomfortable, his statement, you always want people to feel welcome and relaxed around you. You internally chastise yourself for worrying about his feelings instead of yours, but you can’t help it, it’s embedded in your DNA. “It’s OK, Joel, I don’t mind, we can talk.”

Joel nods, but he remains silent. You don’t break the silence, giving him time to collect his thoughts. He chuckles defeated, shaking his head while rubbing his hand over his face.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, you don’t look that mighty to me anymore.” you blurt out before you can stop yourself and you immediately regret it. It didn’t sound so insulting in your head. You only meant to say that he doesn’t intimidate you anymore. Which is sort of a lie and a truth at the same time. You used to find him imposing, even his mere presence had the ability to make your skin crawl, your heart flutter and your words get catch in your dry throat, you were in awe of him. Every time you laid your eyes at him, even when you were straddling his lap or gazing at his profile as he slept beside you, you always felt as if you were looking up. You admired him.

His heart loses several beats to that. He can read between your lines now. He has lost your respect. Your admiration. The time when you looked up to him in awe is long gone.

“You know, my therapist warned me about this.”, he chuckles bitterly.

“Your-” you can’t hide your shocked expression from him as you search his eyes for any sign of him joking around, but you find none. “You’ve been in therapy?”

“Yeah, I-, I spent two years hating myself,” he chuckles deprecatingly, “and then I realized it was time for me to stop being an arrogant prick, so I spent another two doing it all over again with the help of my therapist.”

You laugh wholeheartedly at that and it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen in his entire life. “OK, somebody’s off to a good start. Go on.”

“You mean about the therapy?”

“I mean about you admitting you are an arrogant prick”, you say playfully.

He really laughs now, his eyes crinkle up at the sides. You used to love that. You feel your heart warming up. “You can thank Maria for that.”

“For what?”

“For kicking my ass and pushing me to help myself.” Joel admits. “She’s a good friend.”

“Yeah, she is.” you agree through your laughter, the image of Maria actually kicking Joel’s ass is priceless.

“I missed that sound.” Joel is looking at you softly, as if his gaze could break you.

“Hm.” you simply smile at him, not finding it in you to respond with a snide remark. The time for that feels like it has passed, like it’s irrelevant at this point. All you really want is to have an honest conversation, irony be damned.

You both look at your feet in silent consideration for a minute or two. “I thought you’d be mad at me.” Joel reveals.

You exhale through your nose, the edges of your mouth turning up in a gentle smile. “Four years is a long time to be mad at anyone, Joel. Even you don’t have that kind of power over me.”

“Good. I have enough burden on my shoulders as it is..”, he mumbles and you decide to change the subject.

How do you admit that you are still mad at him but in a different way? How do you describe the deep scar his existence has carved into your soul making it almost unbearable to even exist without him? How do you explain that you’ll always carry him with you, no matter what? How do you instill in him that you still believe in the best version of him, the best version you know he can be, the best version of him you once lived with. Yes, you’re not mad at him for the reasons he thinks you are. You’re mad at him because the way he made you love him is stronger than any hurt he’s ever caused you.

“So, what did your therapist warn you about?”

“She, uh- she tried to prepare me for this.”

“Oh? What did she say?”

“That I should not be prepared.”, he laughs in earnest. “That I should not obsess about what I want to say and just be open and have an honest interaction.”

“I like her, already.” you say with a straight face.

He smiles softly, looking down at his boots, while he rests his elbows on his knees, one palm encircling the other. “Yeah… I had some digging to do; I still do for that matter and will be for a long time it seems.”

“Anything you wanna share?” you reply, raising an eyebrow as if you had no idea why he was here.

“Oh, boy-” he squirms in his seat, already overwhelmed by the turn of the conversation, his chest almost vibrating with anxiety, he can barely swallow, small beads of sweat starting to form around his temples. You reluctantly reach for his forearm, trying to calm him down. “Hey, Joel?”

His whole body stiffens at your touch and he wishes his clothes would evaporate so he could feel your skin against his. He fixes his eyes on your delicate fingers lightly squeezing his tight muscles underneath the fabric. “The worst part has already happened four years ago, so-” you shrug, “just breathe.” Joel keeps his eyes on your hand, his heart rate dropping slightly; you ground him. You retract your arm and keep your hands to yourself in an effort to maintain a respectable distance between you. You shouldn’t have touched him at all.

“I think- I think I understand now.” he begins, still feeling the ghost of your touch on his forearm. “How I made you feel, what your words meant. You always did that, you know. And I found it so fascinating and so exhausting at the same time.”

You look at him, confused. Joel continues, “You always chose your words carefully. You had a reason for every single thing you said. In retrospect, I realized that you were handing me everything on a silver platter, but I was too self-absorbed to see it at the time.”

You nod in agreement, gesturing with your head for him to keep going.

Joel takes a deep breath, holding it inside his lungs for a while. His exhalation is controlled, measured. “Fuck. Okay. It was not just the fact itself. It was not just the cheatin’.”

Your stomach clenches violently at his words. The time has finally come and although you know what happened, you where there, when the words come out of Joel’s mouth it's as if you're pulled back to that threshold all over again. It really happened. You feel your hands sweating. “Go on.”, you pronounce carefully, already anxious your voice is going to betray you. You can do this.

“I don’t want to sound all full of myself-” Joel hesitates.

“You won’t.” you interrupt him with conviction. The truth has never frightened you. You welcome it. It feels like a form of catharsis, it feels like you’re finally being seen. Every nerve in your body is on fire. You’re ready for this, for the truth, if only he gives it to you. Please, set me free.

“I was your everything.” he whispers, almost embarrassed, his eyes not meeting yours. You don’t respond to that, not until he looks at you, although the admission shoots straight through your heart. You stare at the side of his face, almost forcing him to turn to you. He does.

“You were.” Simple. True. Clear as the light of day.

“And I ripped that from you.”

“You did.”

“In the worst possible way.”

“Hmhm.”, you don’t trust the stability of your voice.

“And no matter what I say, I can never take back what I did. I humiliated you, our home, our relationship, everything. I-” his brows furrow in an expression of disgust, “I disrespected myself. I burned everything down. I left nothing for you to hold on to, nothing for me to hope for, nothing.”

His chin trembles and his voice wavers as he continues. “The words to describe how sorry I am have not yet been invented. And even if they had, they still couldn’t take the pain away; what’s done, is done.”

He closes his eyes and rests his head on the railing. “I don’t know what I wish for anymore. That you had never met me, so you could be spared all this pain? But I can’t. I can’t wish that, because I’m so grateful to have met you. I married you, I had you. That is what has comforted me all these years, what has got me through all those sleepless nights.” He looks absolutely devastated, desperate.

It feels genuine, because he’s not directing it at you, he’s not trying to convince you, he’s not trying at all. “I have not thought about my pain or what I want from all this for a long time. All I pray for is-” his glistening eyes are searching frantically on the ground, his brows knitted together in a painful grimace. You rest your head on the palm of your hand, your elbow on your knee. Watching this moment like an outside observer, you realize that he's trying to live up to your standards, reminding you of a child trying to impress his parents, only to fail regardless of the outcome.

“Look, Joel, couples break up, divorce, all over the world, all the time. And I guess, they all thought their partners were their everything until they finally weren’t.”, you rationalize, putting everything that has happened into some kind of perspective. It is not the end of the world. It is the end of your world. He doesn’t have to carry this burden on his shoulders for eternity. All you need from him is to understand, to acknowledge what he's done to you, how broken you’ve been.

But if he acknowledges that, if he truly comprehends the tremendous pain he’s put you through, won’t all that anguish be transferred to him? Isn't it unbearable for a truly repentant man to know that he has deliberately caused so much pain?

“But, you see; I wanted that, I needed to be your everything.”

“It certainly fed your ego..” you grin at him.

“No, no- I craved that- that look on your face when your eyes were on me, like there was nothing else, no one else around you, but me. You drove me to be better, to move forward; I felt I had a purpose. You were my purpose.”

“Well I didn’t do much of a job then, did I?” you smile defeated.

“No, honey, this-” he’s determined to make you understand that it wasn't your fault, even if it is the last thing he is going to do. He licks his lips trying to formulate his thoughts, “-what happened, had nothing to do with you, I- I was just- I got in my head..”

You shake your head dismissively, “It’s a terrible burden to put people on a pedestal and expect them to-”

“But you see, baby, that’s the thing. You didn’t.”Joel dismisses your comment and if a bucket of ice-cold water was thrown over your head you wouldn’t feel so frozen. You search his eyes for meaning, because deep down it stings to hear that you could give more. Is that what he’s saying? You didn’t love him enough? Joel catches on and rushes to explain. “You-” god this is so hard, he’s struggling, can’t he just rip his heart open and let you examine it? “You loved me so much, baby and you never asked for anything in return. You let me be who I was. You accepted me completely. You set me free.” His eyes are blown wide, burning into yours with intensity. You look so lost, how does all this fit in with what he did then?

“Darlin’,” he expands further, “we live in a competitive world. Everyone aims to control each other, from business partners to lovers and spouses; everyone manipulates, everyone tries to tell you where to look, what to do, how to act, how to fuck, how to love. Except for you. You let me be. You put your heart in my hands and you set me free. And I took advantage of that and I am truly sorry. I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know. That’s how fucked up I am.” you look at him dumbfounded.

“I can’t connect the dots; I don’t get it, Joel, I’m sorry, I-” you run your fingers through your hair, scratching your scalp in frustration. What does he mean?

Joel winces mid-sentence because he can’t escape what’s coming. This is his last resort. And he knows it is going to sound cruel and he doesn’t even mean the first part the way you're going to perceive it, but for lack of better words, for lack of the better person he could have been, a person who should have never put you in this position in the first place, here goes.

“She made me feel wanted; you made me feel free.”,

he spits out in a hurry, praying to whatever god is listening, that you won’t even catch it, knowing full well that these may be the last words you'll ever let him speak to you.

You are utterly, completely, perfectly shocked.

Then you feel it for the first time in what feels like ages. That old friend consuming you. Rage. It burns your lungs, twists your guts and pierces your heart like a thousand needles. Everything becomes crystal clear. You’re so infuriated, that your mind goes blank. A million words and nothing at all come to your mind simultaneously.

“Let me- let me rephrase that, because actually it was never even about her, I just-” Joel begins, in a vain attempt to stop the tide from crushing you both.

Your palms become clenched fists in front of your mouth, pressing against it, crushing the velvety skin of the inside of your lips against your teeth until you draw blood, in an effort to control yourself. You inhale sharply, keeping your eyes fixed on the land in front of you, blurred by the tears gathering in your waterline.

“She- what?” are the only words you manage to choke out.

“Baby, it doesn’t matter, it was never about her, she was a means to an end and-” your eyes bulge out of your sockets at the statement, “I know- I know how that sounds- just-” his palms come together in a prayerful gesture, begging you to give him a chance to explain.

“A means to an- what the fuck are you talking about, Joel?” the veins on your forehead swell under your skin, creating a map of the river of wrath flowing aggressively through your body.

“It was never an affair sweetheart, but a transaction; one I initiated. She was only a boost to my ego.”

..she made me feel wanted..

..a boost to my ego..

It's all starting to make sense now, and it's the last thing you expect to be confronted with. You've always imagined either a heated affair, a secret love story, him realizing he had found his soul mate in someone else, or him getting bored with you, finding you too much or too emotional or too unlovable. It turns out that you were accused of the one thing you never were.

“Are you-, oh god,” you can hear your heart pounding in your ears now and it takes every ounce of strength not to vomit, “are you saying that you fucked someone else; you fucked your secretary for fuck’s sake, you fuckin’ cliché of a man, because I wasn’t jealous of you?”. Your throat is so swollen, you try to scream your words at him but they only come out in wrenched whispers.

You stand up abruptly, dizziness causing you to close your eyes tightly as you see a million white dots behind the blackness of your eyelids. Your whole body vibrates with rage. You steady yourself on the railing and then begin to pace back and forth, your hands unable to stay motionless, but moving over your face, through your hair, lowering and squeezing the sides of your waist as you lean slightly forward in a subconscious way to soothe yourself.

“Oh my god, oh my fucking god,” you laugh hysterically now, as angry tears run down your cheeks, as if you've been let in on an inside joke. “It’s my fault, everything is my fault-”

Joel is frozen in place, he’s not sure if he should get up and try to reason with you or stay where he is.. or run for the hills. He’s witnessing the unleashing of a caged animal. His tongue feels heavy and numb in the cavern of his mouth but he dares to speak again, “That’s the exact opposite of what I said, sweetheart,” he tries to explain in vain, “I’m sorry if that’s what I-” but you’re not listening to a single word he utters.

“People kept telling me, urging me on, all my life;” and you slap your palms on the sides of your thighs, looking at his direction, but not really looking, “I should be more controlling, more pushy, more..” your voice begins to fade, muttering to yourself through your teeth. “They warned me, you know, that the lack of pressure in any kind of relationship would be perceived as a lack of interest.”

Don't trust completely; hold something back; men like the illusion of power; show them you need them; make them jealous; be jealous, like a manual to a pre-installed setting.

Do you agree to the Terms & Conditions?

Press ‘Enter.’

“But I didn’t listen. I never listened. Because in what world do we choose a leash over freedom?” You turn to look at him now, addressing him as if you were talking to a third party, an outsider, asking for advise or affirmation.

Maria’s words come back to Joel’s mind, words that he had long forgotten about, finally fitting like missing pieces of a puzzle to the bigger picture.

“Maybe the wrong Miller is on a leash..”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means that freedom is for those who can bear it.”

“I was really stupid, was I not? What on earth made me think that this time would be any different, what made me think that you’d be any different? You’re just- you’re just another man-” you spit your vile angrily as your eyes sweep over him. The look in his eyes is devastated, he feels shuttered, reduced to nothing.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid little girl. When the fuck will I learn? When the fuck am I going to accept that I don't really belong? When?”

Joel is staring at you bewildered, he never felt more helpless in his life. A thousand new thoughts and questions form in your head, things you didn’t even begin to imagine would cross your mind.

“Did you use her?” you ask with renewed vigor, a surge of energy running through your body.

Joel’s cheeks burn with humiliation but he has already admitted it once, what will it do to him to say it one more time? “Yes, I never had any feelings f-”

“No,” you interrupt impatiently, you don't care about his feelings right fuckin' now, “that night, did you use her? On purpose?”

Joel looks lost for a second but the cogs in his head finally turn and “NO! No baby, I wasn’t even aware of you coming home earlier than expected, no. Don’t even entertain this idea; it wasn’t intentional, I swear to god.”

Oh. There’s a new question for Joel. Why did you leave your business trip early? He had never thought about it before, solely focused on everything else that had happened, which now made him wonder, “Did you- did you know?”

“What?” you frown, lost in your own thoughts, not following his line of logic.

“Did you know? Is that why you came back early from your trip?”

You’re still a bit too far gone in your head to think clearly and try to prevent the next question from coming, “Of course I didn’t know, Joel, did it look like I did?” is all you say with a bite, annoyed.

“Then why-” Joel insists, pressuring you for an answer, but he doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

“I- fuck- I need a minute.” you declare and start to walk towards the house.

Joel waited on that porch for almost an hour, watching the sun set behind the mountain, afraid to move, barely breathing in case you stormed out and threw him back where he came from as if him standing still would somehow make him part of the landscape; as if he belonged.

And you certainly delivered.

He hears the screen door open, his back still to the house. You are standing behind him, your arms crossed stiffly over your chest, your face tilted down, to avoid his gaze. He could see the red-rimmed and swollen eyes of yours, despite your efforts to hide them.

“I can’t do this-”

“Please,” his whole face contorts in agony, “please, hear me-” you both speak at the same time.

“-tonight.”

“What?” his voice matching the look of confusion on his face.

“Maybe another time, but not tonight.”

“I-” he doesn’t know how to articulate his thoughts without sounding like an idiot. He drove all this way, four hours straight, to finally get things straight. His brain has short-circuited, unable to put a plan into action. Should he check into a hotel or a motel or whatever the fuck is around here in the middle of nowhere? Should he go back to his place? Do you really want to talk again? You sort of said you did. You said maybe. Fuck. What does he do?

But honestly, what did he expect? That this would be over in the course of one evening? Of course he would have to come back. His eyes are fixed on yours like a deer caught in the headlights. “I came all this way-” he mumbles, choking on the last part, already regretting the words that came out of his mouth.

“Well, too bad.” you spit emotionless as you turn and head for the safety of your house, leaving him stunned on the goddamn porch.

Joel returned the next evening, but you weren't there. He made the four hour journey and came back empty-handed. And you weren't there the next evening, or the evening after that. But he kept on driving the miles, hot wheels under the Texas sun. He didn’t check in anywhere near your small town. He went back home and then back to you again.

The last time he found nothing but a closed door, he finally got the message, so the next time he left the house, before he turned on the ignition, he texted you, as a sign of respect for your boundaries.

Is it all right if I come and see you?

Backspacebackspacebackspace

Is it OK if I come and talk?

And the answer was

Not today.

So, every day he texted you. He didn’t mean to be intrusive, he just wanted to remind you that you were never far from his thoughts, that he was always ready and eager to finish what he started.

You denied him for quite some time. You couldn’t bring yourself to face him again. The confessions he made have knocked you off your axis. Just when you finally felt like everything was falling into place, he dropped this bombshell, making you rethink everything you thought you knew and had sorted out in your mind. You just couldn’t wrap your head around what you’d heard coming out of his mouth. How could he think like that? Why couldn’t he just talk to you? You used to talk about everything; what the fuck happened? How did you not see that coming?

You were sure that he would give up, that he would stop bothering to contact you at all. Was it the monster of self-deprecation? Was it a deep disappointment in human beings and their general lack of persistence in trying to nurture and repair a relationship, or at least trying to give it a proper closure? You didn’t give it much thought afraid of the answer you might get. But you kept saying Not today, until one day, for some reason-

Can we talk?

Yes.

Joel’s heart is beating through his chest so rapidly, he has to cough to regain some of his composure. He almost drops his phone, trying to confirm the most convenient time for you before you change your mind.

That was the first Yes after the day you saw him again. You weren’t sure what you wanted to talk about; if you could pick up exactly where you left off. You weren’t even sure you could look him in the eye again, but you had to see this through.

When you hear the sound of his engine and tires on the dirt road, you take a deep breath and walk out of the house to wait for him on the porch.

“Come on in, I’m cooking dinner.” you announce as you open the screen door for him to enter the house.

“Are you sure?”, Joel is taken aback, he thought the inside of your house was strictly off-limits to him. You were also cooking dinner as if he was an old friend visiting you. He couldn’t help but wonder if he should lower his defenses or not but with the way you looked tonight you didn’t give him much of a choice.

You’re wearing a pair of warm cream jeans, paired with a white front tie shirt, the first few buttons left open, giving him a glimpse of your tanned sternum. It almost looks like a man’s shirt, just messily tied up over your soft skin, revealing bits of your stomach. Could it be another man’s shirt?

You are barefoot. The nails of your toes are painted in a fresh glossy black color. Your hair is casually tied up in a messy bun, loose strands falling around your beaming face. Joel has to restrain himself from pushing you against the wall and fucking you on the spot, by clenching and unclenching his fists. His mouth is salivating at the sight of you, excitement building in his groin. It's been so long since he's felt this way, a different kind of hunger is growing in him at a rapid pace, as if something buried deep inside his masculinity has just awakened from hibernation.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you quirk back at him, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, what you’re both doing. “I’m starving. Coming?” you leave him at the entrance and go back into the house.

“You have a beautiful home.”, Joel admits as he takes in his surroundings, thinking that this is going better than he expected. He also can't help but prepare himself for the fact that this might not end the same way.

“Thank you.” you laugh nervously.

“What?”, he catches the note of disbelief in your voice. “I'm serious, the light is just right, it’s open and warm; it actually reminds me of you.” he says matter-of-factly.

“No, no, I know you mean it, it’s just- I guess it’s high praise, coming from you.” you admit. You always admired what he did for a living and how good he was at it and him seeing your place for the first time gave you another reason to feel kind of nervous.

“Oh, come on, none of that now.” he dismisses the compliment, his voice wavering slightly at the praise.

“Well it’s true, you are excellent at what you do, I mean, the house you built is a work of art and that’s a fact.”

“Which one?”, although he knows exactly which one, he presses on.

“The one we used to live in, together.” You can’t call it your house. You cannot. The mere thought of it makes your tongue feel like it’s on fire.

“Oh.”, Joel smiles as he presses his lips together in a thin line, “You mean our house. It was built out of love, that's why. It's the one I'm most proud of.”

“Hm.”, is all you give him. Déjà vu brings back memories out of the closet -pun intended- for both of you.

“Ok, now you really have to tell me. What is it?”, Joel crosses his forearms over his chest. He has to know.

“What do you mean?”, you try to buy some more time, cause you’re not so sure you want to go in there.

“You had the exact same reaction when I mentioned that, four years ago.”

“Ah, that.”

“Yeah, that.”

“It’s just- it always felt like it reflected your personality rather than mine. Or at least ours.”

Joel looks at you perplexed.

“I’m not complaining, I mean, how many people can claim that their husband built them a house the size of a small hotel as a wedding present?” you chuckle while you continue as nonchalantly as you can muster, “I would have lived in a cave with you, Joel, you didn’t have to go to these lengths to house two people. If you want my honest opinion, this was an ego project. I let it slide because it made you happy. And I liked you happy.” Joel looks stunned, his eyes darting back and forth between yours.

“Baby, I- I wanted to make you happy, to give you the best I could-”

“Joel, I’m not judging you. I am not. But you didn’t show me a single blueprint while you were designing the damn thing. You didn’t ask me what I wanted or how I imagined it. Sure, you equipped it with all the best stuff money could buy, but you never asked me what I thought about it. Not really.”, you see the hurt in his eyes and it unsettles you, but now the rabbit is out of the hat. “Again, I’m not judging you and I’m not being ungrateful, all I’m saying is that for some reason you needed your shinny new wife to live in a shinny new castle. It was a prestige thing. Just think about it.”

“Jesus..” Joel mutters, pinching the sides of his forehead with one hand, feeling defeated.

“Hey,” you give him a wry look, “I tried to avoid answering that question for four years. You were the one who insisted.” you defend yourself, clearly amused by his reaction.

“What else do I need to know?”, Joel wonders in a desperate manner.

“Well.. for how long can you keep coming back?” you joke absentmindedly.

“For the rest of my life..” Joel answers a little too quickly, not a hint of playfulness in his voice.

Your heart tightens at his eagerness, forcing you to admit a consideration that you have had more than a few times before. “You know,” you look over at him, lost in thought, almost like reminiscing, “sometimes I wish I had met you before your company took off.” You snap out of your daydream and consciously look at him and he looks pained as if some kind of realization has hit him. You change the subject for the sake of both of you. “Anyway, speaking of which, how is work? I heard you closed that deal, after all.” you grin mischievously.

“Yeah, I did.”, his voice takes on a strange timbre, almost like regret. But you’re not so sure about anything these days, so you let it pass. He puts the envelope with the contract on the counter in the kitchen and sits down in the chair next to the table already set for dinner.

“Good, that’s good. Let me guess, you’re all over it? First in, last out? Is it almost done?” you word vomit to cover your nervousness.

“Uh,” Joel rubs the back of his neck, “I wouldn’t know.” is all he gives you, clearly trying to avoid getting involved in the discussion.

“Um, you don’t know?”, you laugh lightly in confusion. “How is that possible?”, you ask stirring the vegetables in the pan.

“I’m not involved in the project and I have no idea about the status of the construction;” Joel answers your question and continues, revealing, “I quit. Sold my shares and got out.”

“Yeah,” you draw the vowels, still not looking in his direction, “right. Big, mighty Joel Miller left his enterprise-” you laugh mockingly, but you are met with silence. “You’re joking, right?” You turn to look at him, not believing what you have just heard. You feel your blood freeze in your veins.

Joel shakes his head in denial, “I’ve actually left the city and the only reason I haven’t sold every asset in my name is in case you want to claim any of them. They’re all yours if you want ‘em.” Your mouth is slightly agape, as you try to process what has just been delivered to you.

You open your mouth to protest but he beats you to it, by raising his hand to stop you. “I know you don’t want anything from me, but that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want them either. Not without you. Just take them. Burn them for all I care, liquidate them and use the money as you see fit.”, Joel insists, trying to find ways to convince you.

“You can do that yourself, Joel.” is all you say; you don’t give a damn about his money. Joel nods and leaves it at that, he knows better than to talk about money right now.

You’re curious where he lives now, but you’re not sure it’s appropriate to ask, so you don’t. You prepare dinner and make small talk about simple things like your lives over the past four years. Joel asks you about the ranch, the horses, the chores; you ask him about Tommy and Maria, their newborn son, whom you haven't had a chance to meet yet. None of you dare to break the bubble of normality in which you have effortlessly found yourselves.

It feels like coming home after a long day, the way you both fall into a comfortable silence. Joel speaks your name softly, drawing your attention and your gaze back to him. “What are we doing here?”

“We’re eating?” Just a little longer, let me have it just a little longer.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “no, I mean, what are we doing?” he gestures with his fingers between him and you.

You look at him and then at your plate, playing around with your food, lost in thought. How do you acknowledge that? How do you confess that you’re trying to stretch time? How do you admit that you’re scared out of your mind of how it's all going to end? How do you even come to terms with the fact that you’re not sure you want any of this to end? How do you accept how natural it feels to have him back in your life? How do you admit that after four years the pain has never stopped, but the force, the roughness of it has changed into something softer, yet persistent; never quite going away, lingering.

How do you admit that all the good memories are emerging, because that’s what the mind does, that’s how it protects you, that’s how it helps you survive another day, that’s how it tricks you into falling back into a comfortable routine with him. Even if what binds you together now is his betrayal. How do you admit that you’re afraid of what will become of you once you've finished confessing your truths?

Will he cease to exist for you? Will you cease to exist for him? Will he ever bother to contact you again? Do you really want him to? Will you matter to him or will he move on, start again and shake off the last vestiges of your life together?

Or maybe- maybe he has moved on with his life and that's why he's doing all this, putting all this effort into it. Maybe he is preparing a new, clear path for himself and whoever is in his life right now. Is it her? Is it still, her?

You’re spiraling, lost in your thoughts, biting your lower lip anxiously, like a snake eating its own tail. “Baby?” his baritone voice snaps you out of it, he must have called you several times before you heard him, suddenly aware of hot, fat tears streaming down your face, his thumbs gently brushing them from your cheeks.

You let out a shuddering breath; it’s the first time he’s touched you, in so, so long. And here he is again. The familiar, old friend. He’s pounding on your door now, relentless as he is, screaming for you to let him in, lead the way, take charge, take care of you. You can almost feel his maniacal banging, vibrating through your chest, let me in, let me in, let me in.

Let me in, better angry than scared.

Better angry than scared.

Your shoulders slump, your head feels unbearably heavy. The world has stopped moving. The world is moving too fast. You savor his features as he leans further in, his intoxicating scent filling your nostrils, his eyes pleading, the brown of his irises inviting you to let him in. Joel’s face is that of a man still in love as he continues to caress your skin and you let him.

You let him, because you are a weak person.

You let him because you have been deprived of his touch, of any touch really, for far too long.

You let him because you want to have something for yourself, selfishly.

You let him, because for once you just want to take. Take, take, take.

You let him because you just want to be held and touched and loved.

And even though your mind knows that you shouldn’t want all that from him, your heart allows you that little moment.

“Joel, I’m tired.” you begin, your voice breaking as fresh tears run down your face and onto his thumbs. “Tired to my bones. All I want is to be honest with each other. Do you think we can do that? Can we talk like two adults with nothing left to lose? Can we just be truthful to each other? I know there’s too much history between us, too much hurt and resentment but we both have to try and put it all behind us. I can’t go on like this.”

There’s a stillness in him, realization and clarity dawning on him. He thinks he understands now and it shocks him somehow, as a fact, that there are still things to uncover, to revel in, to acknowledge. Every time he thinks he’s reached the end of this journey, a new sun rises over the horizon.

You don’t need the specifics of his action, at least not right now, or not anymore. What you need is closure. True, honest closure. And that can only come from him baring himself to you. “Yeah, yeah, we can do that. We can do anything you want, baby.”, he squeezes his eyes shut, knowing where to begin, but resisting the thought. He leans back in his seat, dropping his hands from your face as he lets out the breath he seems to be holding in and begins.

“Remember that night before your business trip when you came to my office?”

“Uh, yeah? I guess.”, what a strange thing to mention, you think confused. “What about it?”

“You came to me for sex.”, Joel says bluntly, no need to beat around the bush. This is it. This is how he loses you. Once again.

You stare at him and then, for some reason, look down in embarrassment. You’ve fucked him in almost every way you can think of and now the very admission of that fact makes you feel like an exposed nerve. It dawns on you, how far away this era has slipped away. You feel vulnerable as if you’re talking to a total stranger about your most intimate moments. At the same time, you still know exactly how to touch him, how to please him and a light warmth begins to shimmer inside you.

“Well, that’s one way of putting it, but- yeah..”, you admit, still nervously picking at your food with your fork.

Joel sees your apprehension but he presses on. This is what you asked for. “And I refused you.” The look on your face betrays your confusion. Where is he going with this? Only now, he sees more. He can finally see more. The hurt. The disappointment. “What happened next?” is his next question and does he really think that you can remember all these years later? Does he honestly believe that you can recall yourself leaving his office defeated and crying yourself to sleep? “I don’t remember.” you lie, shrugging your shoulders as convincingly as you can muster.

“You said you loved me and then you left.”, Joel reminds you.

“You- you remember all that?”, your eyes are wide and the look on your face vulnerable, Joel wants to pause it all and hold you in his arms.

“I can’t seem to forget anything about you,” he reveals, “believe me, I’ve tried.”

“What’s your point?”

“Why did you do that?”

“Uh.. why did I do what?”, you narrow your eyes in confusion.

His eyes are piercing yours, provoking you to figure it out on your own.

“Loved you?” He shakes his head almost imperceptibly.

Your eyes widen again, in surprise this time, as you finally see what he means.

“Walked away?” You’re fucking shocked to the core, your voice choked, you’re not sure you spoke out loud.

“Why didn’t you insist?”

Your mouth is wide open, you’re speechless, you flatter your eyelids in search of the right words. This is your second encounter and once again he says what you least expect him to say.

“You refused” you remind him now, “and I respected that.”, your hand moves to rest on your chest, palm open, to calm your racing heart.

“I didn’t want you to.”

“You know how that sounds, don’t you?”, you mock with a nervous laugh.

“Oh, please,” Joel is quick to respond, his brows knitted in a dismissive frown, “like you could ever force yourself on me.”

You genuinely are at a loss for words, your gaze unable to stay in one place, your mind running a million miles an hour.

Apparently you both are, because Joel is no better at explaining how he feels. “I wanted you to-”, he stops, his eyes still searching yours for the right words, pleading with you to feel him.

Oh my god. Oh. My. God.

It dawns on you. All at once. You see it all playing out. You know exactly how this conversation is going to go. “-claim you? You wanted me to claim you?”, your voice rises, as does your tone. You feel the presence of your abandoned friend again. You don’t want him here. But he creeps in through your veins, nonetheless. He is not giving up. If the pounding doesn’t work then he’ll poison you, slowly and persistently.

“From who? You were supposed to be mine!”, you exclaim exasperated, immediately correcting yourself “-not that I owned you, you know what-”

“That! That’s what I’m talking about!” Joel points his finger at you, “That’s what I needed. To be yours!”

“But you were! Are we really haggling over semantics? Of course you were mine! I just never wanted you to feel suffocated by me. You were not my possession Joel, you were my partner!”

“I swear to you, I would die a happy man, baby.”

“I- I tried so hard to control myself-” you mutter to yourself, rolling your eyes back to your head as you shake it in denial, “-all that hunger inside of me, eating me up-”

“What?” is Joel’s turn to look like a lost puppy. What the fuck is going on here?

“You,” you point a finger at him, “you were my first and last thought every passing day, it wasn’t even healthy anymore, Joel. But- I saw that look in your eyes sometimes, a hunger, one I thought mirrored mine and then it was gone in the blink of an eye and I thought that something was holding you back; I- I was holding you back. I thought- maybe I was undeserving..” you divert your eyes from him, embarrassed at your feeling of inadequacy, “So, I accepted what you gave me if it meant I could have any part of you.”

“Oh, baby..” Joel’s hiding his face in his palms and his heart breaks as he realizes where you both stand. How did the two of you get to this point? How could his judgment be so clouded, how could he be so blind to what was happening under his own roof? How could he be so arrogant as to seek validation, one he didn't even need, from someone else? Someone whose validation he didn't even care about. It didn't matter to him. She didn’t matter to him. How could he not sense the insecurity tantalizing your very core to the point of feeling inadequate? If only you had told him sooner.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you mirror his thoughts with your voice.

“What should I say to you? I couldn’t put it into words, even now I'm not sure I can. It was an all-consuming feeling, an absolute necessity, an overwhelming need that was impossible to handle. I wasn’t mentally or emotionally prepared to deal with it. I loved you with such force that it became an obsession. I couldn’t even entertain the idea that you might not want me back in the same way. I felt helpless, vulnerable. How could I come to terms with this? With the realization that I had fucked someone else just to get a rise out of you or to prove to myself that I didn't need you that much after all?”

Joel’s palms are clenched into fists on his thighs, trying to keep himself from pressing his lips against yours. Feelings and desires that had been buried in his subconscious for too long came back as he tried to make you understand.

“A r- so, you did fuck her on our bed on purpose.”

“You asked me that before, darlin’, I promise you I did not.”

“Then how would you provoke me if you didn’t mean for me to find out?” you look at him incredulously.

“I-” Joel winces, “it wasn’t a conscious thought, I just kept fantasizing about you finding out and burning the house down for me and that single image made me so h-” Joel shuts his mouth abruptly, not the best idea to describe to you how fuckin’ hard he got, fantasizing about you while fucking someone else. You, bursting into the bedroom all raging and furious, turning the whole place upside down reclaiming what was rightfully yours.

Him.

What a sick fuck he was. “I swear to you, no. I’m not that fucked up. It was a gigantic lack of judgment, I was fuckin’ drunk, my mind was a mess at that point. That whole week was-” he’s biting his tongue hard to stop himself while rubbing his forehead with his fingers, “I was just being an idiot.”

“The week I was gone?”

“Yes.”

“What about it?”

“Nothing, ‘snothing.” and he doesn’t elaborate. “Just a bad fuckin’ week.”

The atmosphere suddenly feels suffocating, as if all the words that have spilled out of both your mouths are hovering over your heads like a black cloud. You need some air to clear your mind, so you make your way out of the kitchen without looking back and walk slowly to the porch, sitting on the steps at the bottom of the stairs. You know he will follow. Your bare feet touch the soft soil beneath you and you try to ground yourself through the little patch of earth you call your own. It doesn’t quite work. There’s a beautiful golden glow, a last gift from the parting sun, warming your soul. Everything is going to be all right.

“Strange fantasies we both had.” you say as Joel seats down next to you, the contract once again a barrier between you. “You kept fantasizing about me finding out about your affair-”.

“It wasn’t an affair-” Joel corrects you. “Fine, fine. You imagined that, while I kept fantasizing me holding you so tightly while we fucked that our flesh became one; that’s how deep I needed you inside me, that’s how obsessively I wanted to carry you with me all the time, isn’t that totally fucked up?” you laugh dejectedly.

“I guess we are the same kind of fucked up. If only we could admit it to each other..”

“Did you really feel that I didn’t love you enough?” you whisper, almost too scared to be heard and to get an answer.

“I think we loved each other too much. I think we were both too afraid of losing each other. I think,” Joel pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts and calm his voice, “in our efforts to keep each other we did the exact opposite. More me than you, for sure. I have handled things badly and badly is an understatement.”

“You were always so patient with me. You’d always wait for me to come to you, to take my time. I needed the savage in you, or I thought I did at the time. That desperate thing I felt creeping out of you in stolen glances or bitten lips between your teeth, or when we fucked; no one has ever fucked me like you did. I did see all of you then, you know. And I think you saw all of me. If I made you feel confident or safe enough, you would have talked to me. And if I wasn’t so self-absorbed I would have asked.”

You never thought you’d hear these words from Joel, but all this time of self-reflection has changed him in a way that reminds you of the Joel you fell in love with. The one you could see behind all those layers of self-protection, the one you’d always hoped would emerge for you. And then he goes on, and you wish you knew what was coming so you could protect your heart from being torn to shreds.

“Maybe-” he closes his eyes looking pained, “maybe I was a narcissist. Maybe you gave me all you had and I kept wanting more, maybe I needed every part of you for myself. Maybe I needed you on your knees, on a leash, at my mercy, just to have the illusion of the certainty that you would never leave me. Maybe freedom is for those who can bear it, after all. Hell, maybe I was the one who needed the leash in the end. Maybe you gave me too much credit, my love, when you deemed me worthy of freedom.”

His words are earth-shuttering, obliterating, final. There’s nothing left to be said, at least nothing of substance. Final. The fucking word plays over and over in your head. Final. This is final. You could swear that you have felt every possible kind of pain during these four long years but new depths of agony are being discovered right now. The acid in your stomach makes your throat constrict. You feel petrified.

Joel can sense your distress, his words have been of no comfort to you. Your skin looks pale, covered with a thin layer of cold sweat; you look physically ill. Your forearms rest on your knees and he gently cups your elbow to check in on you. Are you OK? You smile weakly at him, the expression not reaching the corners of your eyes.

“You know I would give anything to take it all back, right?”

Your laughter is more lively now, not with malice or sarcasm, but with a sense of humor.

“Yeah, yeah, I think I do.”, you shake your head in twisted amusement, tilting your head up, to let the last rays of the sun warm your face, maybe bring back some of your lost color. It's getting dark now, the day is coming to an end, the curtains of the last sunlight are almost closed. Your eyes are closed too, your head still tilted back as you laugh to yourself, “You did that backwards, too, you know.”

“What?”

“You have burned everything to the ground, only to realize that you want to get it all back in one piece. I mean it’s- it’s-” you struggle to find the right words but Joel offers one of his own.

“Ridiculous..”

“I was gonna say pointless.. But that’s the thing, Joel. Choosing to be with someone is like faith. You believe because you just know. You don't have to find evidence to prove your choice at every turn, otherwise it’s just exhausting. You choose to trust yourself.”

“Trust me as your partner, you mean, not yourself.”

“Joel, it was never about trusting you..”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand..”

“I’m not sure how to explain it- uh..”, you raise your shoulders and your brows in unison as you shake your head slightly, searching for the words. “Trust is a personal journey. ‘Trust’ doesn't mean ‘trust in you’, I’m not trusting you. No one can be sure of anyone. ‘Trust’ means that I have faith in myself, that even if you hurt me, even if you abandon me, I will not fall apart. And..” you shrug your shoulders, hugging yourself with your hands, “look at me, Joel..”, you finish, suggesting that you’re still here, still standing.

“I am, baby; I am..” Joel replies, taking in the sight of you as if it were the last time he’ll ever have the chance to, utterly compelled by your inner glow.

“I’m not mad at you Joel, not anymore. And I believe you, I really do. But I can’t get that scene out of my head. I just can’t. I can still hear the sounds, I can even recall the way you smelled when you were standing next to me.”

His hands are shaking.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, really.”

“I know.”, his voice is barely audible.

“I think you’ve done enough of that yourself. Maybe it’s time to forgive yourself?”

“Do you?” Do you, really? Do you forgive him after all that has been said? Do all these confessions illuminate the facts from a different perspective? Does it change what he did and what you went through? And if so, does that mean you're letting him go? Are you leaving him behind? Is he leaving you behind? Why is it so hard to let go? Why do you choose the safety of the known, even when it hurts you?

You choose not to answer and instead firmly insist, “You have to forgive yourself, Joel, it’s okay.” Be the better person. If not for him, then for yourself. Let him go.

“I can’t do that.”, Joel is adamant, shaking his head while he rejects your request.

“Yes, you can.” you urge him again. “As I can and do.” Let him go.

Joel never thought he would listen to those words coming out of your mouth. He doesn’t deserve them. He hasn’t earned them. “You forgive me?”, he repeats in utter shock and disbelief.

“Yes.” Loud and clear as daylight.

“I- You can’t- I don’t- I don’t deserve that.” Joel feels like he’s drowning in your so graciously offered Holy Grail, desperately trying to keep his head above the waters of your absolution.

“I can’t be the judge of that, Joel, hell, I can’t be the judge of anyone. The way I see it, you chose your actions and I chose mine. You chose to hurt me and I chose to walk away. We both lost something. Have we not suffered enough, Joel?” you ask him honestly.

“I don’t want to presume, but- isn’t it a great burden to carry on your shoulders when you try to move on? All this anger, all that bitterness?” you search his eyes for an answer but he doesn’t give you one.

You continue, hoping to get through to him. “Your feelings are your burden Joel and it doesn’t matter if I forgive you. That’s why it is you who needs to forgive yourself.”

His eyes still refuse to meet yours, stubbornly glued to the ground. “I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing this for me. We need to move forward, both of us.” is the last thing you say to him, not knowing if he even listened to half of what you just said.

You both fall into a thoughtful silence, but something you said is bugging him. He can’t quite figure it out, so he turns to look at you, to savor you while he still has the chance. He knows that his time is limited.

You’re just sitting there with him, trying to comfort him, you of all people. You seem lighter now, fidgeting absentmindedly with your fingers as if some of your burden has already been lifted. And as his gaze sweeps over you, he sees it again. He sees the white shirt hugging your body and he knows what’s troubling him.

I don’t want to presume, I don’t want to presume, I don’t want to presume.

His heart beats rapidly in his chest, panic rising inside him.

“I’ve been with you for the last four years.”

“Excuse me?” your hands freeze as you turn to face him, clearly confused.

“You said you didn’t want to presume anything and I need to set the record straight. There was and is no other woman in my life except you.”

“Joel,” you blush shyly, “this is none of my business, you are free-”

“No. No. I need you to know this, it’s important to me. I meant everything I said. You have done nothing wrong. My feelings for you have never changed-”

“Joel, please..” you beg him to stop, you can’t have this conversation now, it’s too soon. No, you’re wrong. It’s too late; too soon means there’s a future ahead of you. A future where you both fit in the same universe.

“I don’t want you to think that I came all the way out here just to tie up some loose ends and move on. That is not what this is about.”

“If you expect me to tell you about my personal life..” your what now?

“No, I don’t. And I don’t think I could handle it, anyway. You are a free woman and you deserve the world. Unlike me; I don’t deserve anything and I’ll never be free of you.”

Your chin is now trembling and you bite your lower lip to stop the involuntary muscle contraction. You can’t decipher if it’s from anger for the way things came to be or from deep, excruciating sadness for how Joel feels. For how he makes you feel.

“Free woman, huh?”, you whisper bitterly, looking down at your feet, willing yourself not to cry.

“Yes, free, as you should always have been and I’m sorry I couldn’t see it sooner.”

Joel then picks up the divorce papers from the floor next to him as he’s fishing a pen out of his pocket. He stares at you and then at the blank space where his signature should be, next to yours. He splays his palm over the last page as if to straighten it out, but it almost looks like he’s caressing it. He brings the ball of the pen to the white surface and for a moment his hand lingers over it. He doesn’t dare look at you again, his resolve is not that strong. Finally, finally he signs, filling the empty spot and he hands you the contract. It’s a strange moment, the one before the signature and the one after it.

Everything seems to be the same; it is just a signature.

Everything feels completely different; it is not just a signature.

Your fingertips brush his as you reach out to take it, the touch sending shivers down your spine. Your slightly trembling hands hold the papers gently, not sure you wanna hold on to them or scatter them on the ground. Your thumb swipes softly over his signature.

You feel it, now. You feel the ground beneath your bare feet, the warmth of the earth, the weight of your footing. The falling has stopped. The feather finally rests. You have landed.

Joel moves to stand on his feet, as you keep staring at the drying ink, when you feel something fall from above onto your thumb; but you can’t see anything as it is immediately absorbed by the hungry pores of the paper, slightly smudging his signature. You look up to catch him as he dries his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

“Free as a bird, baby, ready to fly over the world.”, Joel smiles at you with a look of reverence and devotion in his eyes.

You picture the floating feather in your head and smile back at him with a serenity he hasn’t seen in a long time.

“I think I just want to walk for a while. One step at a time.”

He nods, his eyes still full of emotion and you watch as he begins to walk slowly towards his truck, when suddenly he turns his body to face you but continues to walk backward in the same direction.

“Hey!” he calls to you with a mischievous smile, raising his chin to you.

“Yeah?” you answer, your voice wavering slightly as you try to hide your smile.

“Can I take you to dinner sometime?” he asks as he reaches for his driver’s door and opens it, waiting for your answer, which never comes because you think he’s joking. But he continues to stare at you, with no expectations, quietly, earnestly, sincerely, with a soft, shy smile on his lips. Oh.

Oh.

“Joel..” is all you breathe out, closing your eyes for a moment before you look at him again, because his name is all that is left in your very being right now. Joel.

He seems lighter, too.

“Maybe, one day..?”

“Yeah.. Maybe, one day..”

previous |

Taglist: @southernbe, @orcasoul, @auteurdelabre @leggtostandon @sarahhxx03

@zliteraturehoe @msmorningstaarr @gossipgirl-03 @vabeachazn @joeldjarin

@sofiparallel

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fandom #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #fanfic #joel miller #joel miller angst #infidelity joel miller #joel miller au #joel miller tlou #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo #hbo the last of us #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x original character #joel miller x oc #joel smut #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel x you #joel x oc #angst fic #cheater joel miller

[orcasoul]

Fic Recommendations

Below are a collection of my favourite stories by some very talented writers, who's works deserve to be shared far and wide, enjoy...

Din Djarin - One Shots:

Familiar and unfamiliar - @theidiotwhowritesthings

Help Her - @forever-rogue

Shev'la - @themand0lorian

Breathe - @oliviajdjarin

His World - @oliviajdjarin

One Hundred and Fifty Seven - @theidiotwhowritesthings

keep You Alive - @not-the-droid

Stormy skies - @deakyjoe

Don't Die - @sirowsky

Supply Run / Supply Run: Return (pt 2) / Suply Run: Exchange (pt 3) - @thepascalofus

Heavy Lies The Crown - @blueeyesatnight

Din Djarin - Series and Multi Parts:

Beskar Doll - @justagalwhowrites

Somewhere Beautiful (pt 1) / Something Like Home (pt 2) - @peetiespetals

A Bounty For Reward - @alltheirdamn

Lover's Crest - @gingerlurk

Ni Ceta, Cyar'ika/ I Love You, Cyar'ika/ Do You Want Me, Cyar'ika: Happy end/ Dark End @theidiotwhowritesthings

Not Like This/ Not You - @theidiotwhowritesthings

In Your Loving Arms / Aliit Be Ehn - @djarins-wife

Rescue Me - @charnelhouse

In a Crowd of Thousands - @gingersnappe-9

Joel Miller - One Shots:

Joel's children - @absurdthirst

I've Got You - @atinylittlepain

Don't Take The Girl - @alt-vera

Protective - @forever-rogue

Jealousy - @nonexistent-introvert

Joel Miller & Pregnant reader - @brighttears

Mr Grinch - @integra1127grimmreaper

Joel Miller - Series and Multi Parts:

Yearling - @justagalwhowrites

Smother - @beardedjoel

Raider Joel - @toxicanonymity

By The Grit of sandpaper - @penvisions

So Much To Lose - @auteurdelabre

I Know Who You Are - @punkshort

Brain Scramblies (pt 1) / Brain Scramblies (pt 2) - @strang3lov3

A Strangers Heart without a Home - @morning-star-joy

Unexpected Expectings / We'll Be Expecting You / Not What You Expected - @atinylittlepain

Feral Woman - @gasolinerainbowpuddles

To The Light - @metaphoricgibberish

Predro Pascal - One Shots

Accidents Happen - @josephquinnswhore

Breaking Point - @josephquinnswhore

Shame - @imaginesbymonika

Pedro x Sick Reader - @talaok

#pedro pascal #mando x you #din x reader #joel miller fic #din djarin fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #the mandalorian fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us imagine #joel miller the last of us

[tightjeansjavi]

The Rite of Movement | drabble

“Takeout 🥡”

A/N: I sent @strang3lov3 post shower titty pics in my takeout undies…and then she said I should write baby love wearing those said panties around Joel 🤭 so I did the mf thing and wrote it! P.S that is yours truly’s fine Italian ass in the moodboard! 🍑

~word count: 1.4k~

Summary: Friday nights are takeout nights, baby love

Pairing | pornstar!joel x pornstar!female reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, oral f!receiving, mentions of ouid, teasing, flirting, intimacy, daddy kink! Mommy kink??, Joel and the reader are pornstars, Joel is in his 40’s, reader is in her 30’s, reader has no physical descriptions, readers nickname is baby love, +18 minors dni!

Friday nights were arguably your favorite night out of the entire week; takeout night, baby! Every Friday night you and Joel would pick a local restaurant to order from and this week it was your turn! Instead of simply letting Joel know where you wanted to order from, you decided to play some theatrics into it.

You were, after all, well seasoned in front of the camera.

So while Joel was downstairs, seated at the kitchen table with his jar of weed and rolling papers laid out in front of him, you slipped into one of your favorite pairs of lounging panties. The fabric had little Chinese takeout boxes printed onto the fabric. They were a high waisted, cheeky pair and you had a sneaking suspicion that Joel was absolutely going to love and devour them.

After throwing on one of his well-loved shirts, you headed downstairs to greet him in the kitchen. He had just finished rolling a joint when he noticed you in his peripheral, his lips curved upwards into a boyish grin when he saw that your attire consisted of nothing but panties and one of his shirts: delicious.

“Hey, baby love.” He tucked the joint behind his ear, turning in the chair completely so he was facing you.

“Hey, baby.” You grinned, lifting the hem of his shirt up so he could get the full view of your cheeky choice of panties.

His eyes traveled from your face and all the way down the curve of your body. His eyes flickered back upwards, grin widening as he beckoned you to come closer, “Ooh, how’d you know I was hungry, baby love?” He snickered, wrapping his strong arms around your waist when you were within reach and pulled you in close. He started nuzzling his face against your exposed stomach, pressing open mouth kisses here and there while his hands grabbed a handful of your ass, squeezing the plump flesh between his thick fingers.

He brought one hand back, giving your ass a playful slap that elicited a giggle to slip past your lips as you gently carded your fingers through his soft, salt and peppered kissed curls. You leaned down, giving the top of his head a sweet peck as he hummed against your tummy.

“No, baby.” You giggled, “ME. I’m hungry. I want lo mein and orange chicken from Fortune House.”

He let out a soft huff, tickling the sensitive hairs above your pubic bone with his enticing warm breath, “yeah, that’s what you want tonight, baby love?” He looked up at you, resting his chin against your stomach while you gently brushed a few stray curls from his forehead.

“Mhm. Are you good with that for tonight?”

“Always down for some good Chinese takeout.” He rasped, dropping one hand from your ass so he could reach across the table and grab his wallet, “think I wanna eat you first, though.” He chuckled, pulling out one of his cards and handed it to you.

“You always wanna eat me, Joel.” You shook your head with a small smile playing on your lips.

“Can ya blame a man?” He focused his attention back on you, slipping his fingers under the waistband of your panties and gently pulled the elastic back before letting it snap against your hip. “These are fuckin’ adorable, by the way. Love how they look on you, baby love.” He pressed a wet kiss to your hip bone, and then the other before trailing his lips just above the delicate lace on the hem of your panties.

His eyes flickered upwards, deep pools of brown full of nothing but unbridled mischief. The look he was giving you sent heat rising to your cheeks and your thighs involuntarily clenching together.

“Thank you, baby. They’re one of my favorite pairs to lounge in.” You hummed, keeping one hand in his hair just as he began to lower his lips, hot breath fanning your covered core. He leaned in, rubbing the tip of his nose against your covered clit, taking a deep inhale at the scent of your arousal.

“Fuck me.” He grunted, lashes fluttering shut momentarily before they opened again. He kept his eyes locked on yours when he pressed a kiss to your clit, and then another, and another till there was a small wet patch forming from the moisture building up between the thin layers in the fabric.

You stifled a moan, gripping onto his hair for support, your words coming out stuttered when he dragged the flat side of his tongue from your core and all the way up to your clit. “J—Joel, the f—food. Fuck.”

His words were muffled by his face being buried in your covered pussy as he hooked his thumb around the front of your panties and pulled them to the side. “You have my card, baby love, call ‘em and place the order while I feast on ya.” He chuckled deeply, sending a series of sparks to shoot up your spine as you tilted your head back.

“O—okay. What do you want?” You reached for his phone, snatching it up quickly just as he began to suckle on your clit.

“Gimme a minute, kinda busy.” You could feel him smirking against you as he swirled his tongue against you in a languid figure eight motion.

You struggled to dial the number to the restaurant with just one hand, but somehow you managed. “Hi! Yes, I’d like to place an order f—for delivery! Mhmm—I’d like an order of lo mein, orange—chicken. What—size? Uh, large for both, please!” You squeaked out, eyes rolling back into your skull when Joel had crooked his middle and pointer finger inside of your core, thrusting them shallowly.

His mouth and fingers were working in unison as your slick dripped out of you and down the side of his hand almost immediately. You struggled to keep your composure while he was working you into absolute ruin. You pulled the phone away from your ear, placing it against your shoulder for a moment.

“Joel!” You hissed, “what do you want, baby? Seriously J—Joel!”

He detached his mouth from you, looking up at you, beard and chin glistening in your slick as he licked his lips, “what was that, baby love? S’matter?” He teased.

You narrowed your eyes at him, struggling to not let a moan slip out and scar the poor old woman on the phone, “please, just—tell me what you want to eat.”

“Hmm.” He pondered, smacking his lips together, “an order of crab rangoon.” He leaned back in, dragging the tip of his tongue across your clit, sucking it between his lips before gently releasing it with a wet smack! “Egg rolls.” He repeated his previous action, feeling your thighs begin to quiver and tremble, “pan fried potstickers.” He suddenly ceased the movement of his fingers inside of you, and his mouth, forcing you to drop your hand from his hair to brace yourself against his shoulder, “and an order of beef and broccoli.” He added.

You swore you saw stars behind your eyes when he purposely edged you from your approaching orgasm. With a shaky hand you brought the phone back up to your ear, “hi! Sorry, I would also like an order of crab rangoons, egg rolls, pan fried potstickers— Jesus fuck—” you stuttered, biting down on your lip hard enough to draw blood when he continued with his ministrations, pumping his fingers inside of you at an unruly pace while he suckled on your clit. “I’m so sorry for swearing! That just slipped out—can I also get an order of beef and broccoli? Thank you—yeah, that’s it!”

“Yeah, that’s it, baby love. Give it to me. Soak my fuckin’ fingers, sweet girl. Give it all to daddy.” He murmured between your thighs, mouthful of pussy.

You don’t even remember saying your address, or the digits on Joel’s card when the sweet old lady let you know that the food would be delivered within the hour. You said thank you, ending the call and tossed Joel’s phone on the table before you slipped your fingers back into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as you pressed his face further into your dripping cunt. “Don’t you dare fucking stop now, daddy.”

He looked up at you, tongue sinfully swirling around your clit, stray strands of curls dropping from between your fingers, falling against his forehead and briefly obstructing his view, “I wouldn’t stop eatin’ my girls sweet fuckin’ pussy even if the world was ending, momma.”

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#fic: takeout #pornstar!joel #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller drabble #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel tlou #joel miller au

[fungal-rot]

Sweet, Domestic Life

this one's actually based off a lucid dream i had months ago and oh how i wish to be back there </3 so i decided to write a quick little one shot about it

pairing: Joel x Reader

summary: you and joel have a three year old daughter, and today is her birthday. the two of you are setting up for her party!

warnings: age gap between joel and reader, no specified age for reader, jackson!era, the daughter isn't named here bc i wanted it to feel a little more personal for the reader, but her nickname is Bug, you and Joel make out for a quick second, your child is a cock-block, reader is referred as mama.

w.c.: 1.2k

⁺˚°｡⋆♱✮˖☽𓋼𓍊◯𓍊𓋼☾˖✮♱⋆｡°˚⁺

Mermaid-Princesses.

That is the theme your three year old daughter had her little heart set on. And of course, Joel did everything in his power to make it happen because 'whatever daddy's girl wants, daddy's girl gets.' So now here you were, hunched over while holding a plastic tiara with pink, heart-shaped rhinestones in one hand, and trying to zip up the back of this corny little iridescent mermaid dress with the other- on a child that couldn't sit still for longer than a second.

"Bug, I need you to stop moving," You tell her as you followed her tiny steps, hand chasing the zipper as she toddled off. Joel sat on the couch, blowing up balloons and tying them off before bopping them elsewhere into the living room. He watched the two of you with a fond gleam in his eyes, chuckling under his breath as the girl argued incoherently, wanting to go play.

"W- hold on a sec, girlfriend." You huffed and placed your hands on your hips, peering down at her with a cocked brow, "I'm almost done."

"No, I play now." She spoke back immediately with a firm shake of her head and scampered off, tiny feet stomping against the hardwood floor. You sighed and threw your hands up before letting them drop back to your sides with a light smack.

Toddlers, man.

"She gets that from you," Joel commented, a smirk turning up one corner of his mouth as he tied off another balloon. "That 'tude. Just as sassy as her mama." He tossed the balloon into the air and smacked it in your direction.

With a quick titter, you reached out and tapped the bottom with the tiara, letting it hover for a second longer before hitting it to the ground with the rest. "Mm, you must be so happy." Your brows waggled teasingly with an imperceptible back-and-forth nod of your head.

Joel was silent for a beat, his heart leaping in his chest as he stared back at you. He thought about all he's lost, all he's gained, and where he's at right now. He never thought he'd have another kid after Sarah, let alone two. Life was currently really good for the older man. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat, gaze softening as he gave you the gentlest smile, "The happiest." He responded sincerely.

Your shoulders droop a bit with a fluttering feeling growing in your stomach. Then making your way towards him, you sat down and ran your fingers through the graying hair at the nape of his neck.

"I love you," With a murmur you lean in and press a delicate, chaste kiss to his cheek, only for him to return it by swiveling his head and cupping your jaw tenderly, kissing you slowly and passionately. Joel placed a big hand at the small of your back as he licked at your bottom lip before slipping it in for a deep, loving kiss; noses pressed against the others cheek as he wrapped another arm around you.

He pulled away, just enough to reply, "I love you," and crashed his mouth against yours once more.

Then your daughter came running back in, now holding a pair of pink plastic princess pumps, the face of Aurora- Sleeping Beauty- buttoned at the top in feathery down in her pudgy hands, "Mama, shoes."

Your lips part from Joel's with a wet 'smack' as you peer down at your kid, nodding vaguely with a smile, "Yeah, they are! You want mama to help?" You tentatively reach your hands out in an offering, but she quickly turned her body from you, hugging the toy shoes to her chest.

"No, I do'd it."

You giggled, finding her grammar mishap endearing. "Okay, you 'do'd' it, then."

She turned her back to the two of you and crouched down, carefully placing the items to the floor before standing upright again, teetering a bit and grasping Joel's knee for support. He held out his arms, spotting her as he arched his brows in light amusement.

"Y'got it?" He asked, head tilting while he watched his babygirl hike a leg up, struggling to find balance.

"No." She answered softly, lips thinning and brows furrowing with concentration. The shoes were certainly too big for her, you noticed, as she slipped one foot in and lifted the other to do the same.

"Y'want my help?"

"No."

Joel turned to you with a flat expression, eyes saying, 'I told you.'

Yeah, this was definitely your child.

Yet you shrug your shoulders dismissively, slipping the tiara into his hair, leaving it lopsided, "Here, hold that," you spoke and took the opportunity to finally get your daughter's dress zipped, careful to not snag her hair or undershirt into it.

"And she actually gets her stubbornness from you, by the way." You smoothed her sleeves out, working your way down to adjust the shimmery tail of her dress, tugging at the hem slightly while she got her other foot in the slipper, bending over to reach for a red balloon.

All he could do was hum in response, the corner of his mouth flitting up as he grabbed the inflated sack of rubber and handed it to her. She held it up over her head, the static electricity making her hair stand up.

When she finally got situated, Joel let his arms lower a bit as she turned, arms still over her head while her feet scuffled against the floor.

Your daughter's face beamed with delight as she looked between the two of you proudly.

"Lookit you!" Joel exclaimed, mirroring her expression. His palms then splayed under her armpits, and with a soft grunt he picked her up, placing her on his lap before smoothing her flyaways down. He plucked the tiara off his head and placed it on hers, adjusting it so it would sit right, "Daddy's li'l princess."

Her shoulders turned up, now holding the balloon in one pudgy hand while the other placed against her mouth with a scrunched nose and toothy smile as she giggled excitedly.

"More like daddy's li'l stinkbutt," Another voice entered. Ellie walked in, kicking a few balloons to the side with arms folded over her chest as she observed the little girl with a playful glint in her eyes. The comment didn't faze the toddler one bit; instead she lifted her feet, presenting them to Ellie.

"Bellie, shoes." Her voice squeaked, legs kicking and arms reaching out to be held. The oldest girl laughed quietly at the mispronunciation of her name and leaned down to pick her up from Joel's lap, hoisting her onto her hip with a soft bounce.

"I see that, Bug!" She began to walk off, continuing to hold the conversation. "You know what a princess needs? A knight," Her voice carried through the living room and down the hall.

"I'll protect you from dragons, and monsters, and weird men who want to court you-"

You chortled with a shake of your head, leaning into Joel's side, resting your head on his shoulder and run your hand between the spot on his shoulder blades. The two of you sat there, relishing in the family you've created. Even though life wasn't like it used to be, it was still a nice change of pace to what you've endured before.

Life was good.

⁺˚°｡⋆♱✮˖☽𓋼𓍊◯𓍊𓋼☾˖✮♱⋆｡°˚⁺

again, thank you, everyone who’s shown me support and love on my last fics. i’m very grateful for every reblog and comment, please keep doing that. it makes me motivated to keep writing.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #joel miller tlou #tlou #joel miller x you #the last of us #the last of us hbo #joel miller imagine #joel miller/reader #joel miller fanfic #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel and ellie #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller the last of us #joel miller/you #ellie the last of us #ellie williams #ellie tlou #tlou hbo #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

[forever-rogue]

let me just say i am obsessed with your work and i have a small concept with pre-outbreak!joel that i’d like to share. you’re welcome to develop this as a full fic, a headcanon or even just discuss it.

joel has been dating you for a while, it’s his first serious relationship since sarah’s mom left and needless to say he’s very much in love. but being with you comes with a lot of pressure. as i said, it’s his first real relationship and he tries to be the absolute best partner for you. in the beginning you don’t pay attention to it because what you have is new and of course you do a lot to make it work but as time passes, you realize it’s a bit more serious than that.

he literally drives himself crazy trying to be the perfect partner. to the point where he’s stressing himself out or feeling guilty about things that are either normal or out of his control. for example, let’s say it’s your birthday and he wants to take you to a nice restaurant. you happen to be late (maybe an issue with his car or traffic) and lose the reservation. it’s okay, you assure him it’s fine but he feels terrible and just trying to fix it. in a similar way, if you ever have an argument and you decide to leave to clear your mind, it will bring the worst anxiety out of him. it’s all small things that pile up until you realize that he’s actually terrified he isn’t enough because if he wasn’t enough to make the mother of their child stay, why would you?

you can choose how you work it out so he feels more secure in the relationship or tell me what you think of this, i’d love to hear your opinion 🙂

AN | Okay but this is so soft and heartbreaking at the same time. But there is a happy ending! Enjoy ❤️

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 2.7k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel was standing on your doorstep, clutching a bouquet in his hand. He felt like he was shaking and sweating and going to throw up all at once. Needless to say he was nervous. It had been so long since he’d been on a date, let alone a first date. And not just any first date, but a first date with you. 

You, that had almost knocked him over, literally and metaphorically, in the grocery store and left him feeling like a scared teenager. You’d been the one to ask him out, in fact, but he was still somehow convinced that you’d made some kind of mistake or were going to change your mind.

He rocked back and forth on his heels for a few moments as he listened for your footsteps. When he heard you unlock the door and slowly open it, his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. 

“Joel,” your pretty lips pulled in a big smile as you looked him over, “you’re here!”

“Of course I am,” he replied sweetly, a soft twang to his warm drawl, “did you think I wouldn’t show up?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted sheepishly, your face growing warm, “men are weird sometimes…even more so when it’s a woman asking a man out. But I’m so glad you’re here.”

“You look beautiful,” he couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten or how pretty you were. You were wearing a pretty little sundress and that alone was enough to cause his mind to practically spiral; he was just a mere mortal man and even he was not immune to the effect of a sundress. He pulled himself together to hand you the flowers that were still tightly clutched in his hand, “these are for you.”

“They’re lovely,” you took them gently, your fingers brushing against his, “thank you so much. No one’s given me flowers in so long, this is so kind.”

“They reminded me of you, bright and pretty,” maybe he wasn’t totally terrible at this after all.

“Come on in for a moment while I put these in some water,” you moved back inside and motioned for him to follow you. He slowly followed you inside, looking around your humble abode to try and get a good feel for you, “so, have you decided what we’re going to do this evening?”

“I have a few things in mind,” he grinned, a little half smile that made your heart speed up a little bit as you quickly moved to set the flowers into a vase with fresh water, “I can tell you or you can be surprised.”

“Surprise me,” you set the flowers on the counter and looked at him sweetly.

“Surprise it is.”

“I have a feeling you’re going to surprise me a lot, Joel Miller,” you grabbed your purse and he shot you a cheeky little wink, “I look forward to it.”

“Me too, sweetheart, me too.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel Miller couldn’t believe his luck. It had been a year, a whole ass year, since the two of you had gone on your first date. That might have been one of the best days of his life, topped only by the birth of his daughter. He knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, and knew that he wanted to ask you to marry him.

But there was still some remaining doubt that kept nagging at the back of his mind.

A part of him was always waiting for you to realize that he didn’t deserve you and to leave. Not that you’d done anything to ever suggest that was going to happen but still. He thought about it…a lot. He’d felt like a complete failure when his wife had left him and their daughter when she was only a few months old without so much as a proper explanation. If the woman he’d loved and married, the mother of his daughter, didn't want anything to do with him, why would anyone else? And what did he have to offer anyway? Nothing. Not in his mind anyway. 

And he loved you, so much. He would do anything to keep you in his life. So he threw himself into everything he did; he wanted to make sure everything was perfect for you, even if it all but killed him. 

You appreciated everything he did for you, so much and all the things he did were definitely not lost on you. At first it didn’t really hit you just how much he was driven to perfection until you started to see some of the cracks in the facade. 

It happened one night when you were over at Joel’s house for dinner with him, Sarah, and Tommy that you noticed something was off. Joel had seemed so tense and distracted since you’d arrived. You’d made it to the Miller household a little earlier than you had initially told them in order to help finish up dinner and get everything set up. 

Sarah had answered the door and let you in with a big hug before you made your way into the kitchen. You adored the girl, and her father, and you were happy that she seemed to like you too. You weren’t trying to force your way into her life, but let her welcome you at her own pace. It had only been her and Joel for pretty much her entire life so you were sure that this was a whole new world for her too. 

“Hi baby,” you grinned as you walked into the kitchen, setting down the desserts you’d brought. Joel turned around and his entire face dropped when he realized it was you. Ouch. That managed to sting a little bit, “everything alright?”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he looked at his watch and ran a hand through his messy hair, “for almost another hour!”

“I finished earlier than I thought at work,” you shrugged lightly, “and thought I’d come over to help. I didn’t think it was a big deal…I can go if that’s better?”

“No - no,” he insisted softly, “no, I’m glad you’re here, it’s just that nothing’s ready. It’s not set for you yet.”

“You don’t have to do all the work silly man,” you pressed a kiss to his cheek, “let me help. I’m more than happy to - I want to.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” you whispered as you decided to hug him; he looked like he could use a hug. He wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you tightly to his broad frame, “just let me know what I can do to help, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed, allowing himself a moment to bury his face in your neck and to breathe your warm scent in. When he pulled back, you kissed him sweetly, “okay.”

Once you had everything squared away and ready, Joel ran upstairs to shower and change, leaving you and Sarah to set the table. She looked at you for a moment before quietly saying, “he really likes you, you know?”

“I do,” you smiled softly, “I really like him too.” 

“He’s never been with anyone since I was born,” she scooted over to you so there wasn’t a chance for Joel to overhear, “I don’t even remember my mom; she just up and left when I was a baby. But I’ve always had my dad. And it’s nice to see him happy ‘cause he deserves it.”

“Oh,” your expression softened, “he told me it’s been the two of you but never went into what happened.”

“Yeah,” she shrugged, “it’s fine. I never had the chance to know my mom so it never really bothered me. But I know my dad really likes you, he’s been so happy lately it’s kinda gross. He’s trying really hard. He just wants you to be happy too.”

“I am really happy, Sarah,” you promised, “and I want your dad to be as well. I love him a lot and you both mean a lot to me.”

“This is too sappy,” she snorted in amusement and rolled her eyes playfully, “but…you mean a lot to me too. Just so you know.”

“Don’t worry kiddo, we’ll keep it between us,” you shot her a wink, causing her to giggle softly, “you mean a lot to me too.”

“What are you whispering about, huh?” Joel came back downstairs and into the kitchen, his eyes flitting between the two of you, “planning a mutiny?”

“Duh, old man,” Sarah pushed past him, and Joel raised an eyebrow. 

He was just joking around, mostly, but he was also panicking internally - just mildly but still. It was there. His first thought was that somehow the two of you were talking about him…but not in a flattering way. What if you were telling Sarah you were tired of him? What if you were telling her that you were planning on breaking up with him? What if you told her that -

“Joel?” you put your hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. He blinked a few times as he snapped back into reality before looking at you, “where’d you go, space cadet?”

“Just zoned out,” he offered you a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you insisted, “it’s been a long day, I’m sure tired as well. We’ll call it an early night tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, heart constricting at your gentle nature. You were always so sweet and kind but he still found himself waiting for the other shoe to drop, “sounds good, sweetheart.”

“I love you,” you reached for his hand and squeezed it, “a lot.”

“I love you too,” he hoped you never stopped saying that. He wanted to hear it for the rest of his life. He was going to try his damndest to keep you in his life forever. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I can’t believe it,” Joel shook his head as he looked at the maitre’d, “it’s only fifteen minutes! You can’t tell me that you don’t have a table available anymore.”

“I’m sorry sir, the reservation was for 6:30 and we have a ten minute policy for being tardy,” he remained calm but you could see that Joel was only growing more annoyed, “as you can see we’re very busy.”

“I made these reservations three months ago-”

“I’m sorry, sir. That’s our policy,” you put your hand on Joel’s arm and squeezed it gently. He looked at you with a deep frown on his face. 

“It’s alright,” you promised him, voice gentle and soft, “we can go somewhere else, it’s no big deal.”

“Fine,” he huffed after a moment and turned on his heel to leave. You offered the man a small smile as you followed your boyfriend out the door. He immediately started walking to the truck, leaving you to trail after him in his wake, “this is fucking ridiculous.”

You flinched as he slammed his door against the side of the truck, “Joel. I need you to calm down. It’s really not a big deal - I don’t care where we go, I just want to spend time with you.”

“But it’s your birthday,” he hissed, “it should be nice. I had this all planned out and I fucked up and made us lose the reservation.”

“Hey,” you slowly took a step closer to him, “do you want to tell me what’s really going on?”

“I just wanted everything to be perfect for you,” his shoulders slumped as he looked at you with misty eyes. Clearly there was a lot more going on underneath the surface, “I don’t want you to leave me.”

“W-what?” you looked at him in confusion, wondering where that train of thought had suddenly come from. You reached up and out your hand on his cheek, gently brushing away the tears that had rolled down his cheeks, “why on earth would I leave you? That has never crossed my mind.”

“I want to give you everything, you deserve it but I feel like I can’t give it to you,” he pressed his hand gently onto yours, “sometimes I wonder why you’re with a loser like me.”

“Joel,” he hated, and loved, how gently you always managed to say his name. You always had such a tender way about you, “I have never once thought you were a loser. Never. I love you, silly man, so much. You’re perfect to me - for me. Why would you even think that I would feel like that?”

“I couldn’t even get the mother of my kid to hang around. She up and left and sent divorce papers and left us,” he sighed softly, “sometimes I wonder how long it’ll be before you get tired of me as well.”

“I’m not her. I’m me,” you reminded him gently, “I’m never going to get tired of you. Oh my gosh, you don’t know how much I adore you, do you? Joel, no one has ever been as good and kind to me as you have. I look forward to spending time with you even if its just at home watching a movie. When we’re apart I look forward to seeing you. Not because of things like fancy dinners or grand gestures or whatever - not that I don’t love those - but because I love being around you. It’s because of you, not anything else. We could have nothing but as long I have you, and Sarah, it’s more than enough. It’s everything.”

Joel looked at you, trying to make sure he’d heard everything you’d said correctly and you weren’t about to laugh at him. When he saw the soft smile on your face, the tender way you were looking at him, he knew that you weren’t joking. He nodded slowly, sniffling before whispering, “I love you.”

“I know you do,” you promised, “you’ve never once given me a reason to doubt that. I love you too, Joel.”

“I know,” he reached for your hand, hesitantly and gently, lacing his fingers through yours, “you’ve never given me a reason to doubt that either.”

“Good,” you squeezed his hand gently, “I think we’re on the same page, right?”

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, “we are.”

“If you ever have any doubt, just let me know and I’ll remind you just how much I love you. But…does that mean we can go and get dinner? Some McDonalds fries sound amazing right now.”

“You want to go to McDonalds? On your birthday?” That was one of the many things he loved about you - you weren’t pretentious or picky or anything. You were just you. 

“Are you going to go with me?”

“Obviously,” he snorted in amusement, shaking his head fondly at you. 

“Then hell yeah,” you teased, “let’s go and get tons of McDonalds and go home and watch a movie. That sounds perfect.”

“Then that’s exactly what we’ll do,” he agreed as he opened the car door for you. He buckled your seatbelt for you before leaning in to kiss you gently, “happy birthday baby.”

“Thank you,” you made sure to steal another kiss from him, “I love you, Joel Miller.”

“I love you. So much.”

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #tlou #pedro pascal

[squintyeyedjoel]

Look For The Light | (Joel x Reader) - Coming Soon!

Synopsis: When Joel and Ellie are on their way to find the Fireflies, they stumble across something else in an abandoned farmhouse. Something unexpected and life changing - you. ….and the three year old toddler you rescued three days ago that happens to harbor something familiar Joel has a hard time reconciling with.

(Sneak peek below the cut!)

Suddenly the handle on the door to your room jiggled, making the breath stutter in your chest.

The low voice on the other side of the wooden barrier made you jump. “I’ll give you to the count of three, otherwise I’m breakin’ this thing down.”

You gulped.

“One.”

Silence.

“Two.”

A beat more.

“Three.”

Suddenly the door swung open, the latch busting into pieces and skittering across the floor as the hulking frame of a man barreled through shoulder first. Just behind him you saw a teenaged girl peeking in curiously from the top of the steps.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, offering a timid smile. “I’d have met you at the door, but,” you looked down toward the bundle in your arms, the smile turning more genuine. “My hands are full.”

“Holy fucking shit,” the teenager mumbled, before trying to make her way around the grumpy looking man. He caught her by her backpack, not allowing her any closer, to which she turned a skeptical look his way. “Really, Joel? It’s a baby. What’s it gonna do, drool me to death?”

You snorted a laugh, arching an eyebrow at the man- Joel’s unimpressed look your way.

“It’s a toddler. They’d scream your ear off b’fore they’d drool-” He stopped when he glanced from the tiny human in your arms who looked up at him with wide, curious eyes, and focused back on the teen, finding her already looking at him with raised brows.

After a moment he released her with a sigh, and she took a few tentative steps your way, wide grin climbing up her face.

“How would you know, anyway?” She teased the man without sparing him a glance.

The look he shot at the back of the girl's head made you want to grin, but you successfully tucked it into the top of the little human’s head in your lap.

“I’m older ‘an you. Been ‘round the block a few times, is all. Know a thing or two.” His voice was a rumbling grouse, the dry tone exasperated and saying he’d been here a time or two before, this argument worn and thin.

“Yeah, because you’re ancient,” she mocked.

“Ain’t that old,” he grumbled.

“Dirt is younger, Joel.”

“Not worried I’m infected?” You kept your voice calm, not wanting to poke the angry bear known as Joel.

The girl smiled in a way that said she had more to say than what she was telling as she knelt next to you. “No. Not really.”

“Ellie,” Joel groaned, taking a step closer as the teen sat next to you, her shoulder lightly bumping against your own as her back pressed against the wall.

“I’m not, by the way,” you looked between them both. “Infected.” Looking down to the toddler in your arms, snorting as she tried to hide further into your threadbare shirt, you couldn’t help but smile softly. “Neither is she.”

“What’s her name?” Ellie reached out a finger for the little one to hold. It was taken tentatively, and given a firm shake like she had seen countless adults do around her in the QZ you’d been in before.

It made Joel snort out a laugh through his nose.

“Sarah.”

The laugh turned into a choking sound, quickly melting into a coughing fit as Joel bent over at his waist, bracing his hands on his knees as he fought for air.

“You okay, old man?”

You tried to stifle the smile Ellie’s comment brought to your face before you turned your gaze back up to Joel once again.

After a long moment, he stood up straight with a huff. “Fine.” Another long pause. “Just swallowed wrong.”

Wanna be tagged if/when I write any future Joel stuff? Here’s how to sign up!

#the last of us #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller reader insert #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfic #tlou fic #tlou fluff #tlou imagine #tlou reader insert #joel miller comfort #joel miller angst #the last of us reader insert #the last of us imagine #the last of us x reader #the last of us x you #the last of us x y/n #tommy miller #ellie williams #dina the last of us

[notjustjavierpena]

Swelter

A/N: This happened because the SAG Awards made me horny. I have no other explanation for my behavior, no other defence. Maybe that I was listening to ur dad by VIAL. Obviously also a huge thanks to @strang3lov3 for being the cutest love bug I know, and for putting up with my brainstorming sessions.

Summary: You have a crush on Sarah’s father. It is summer, it is hot, and you just want a cold drink.

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, best friend’s dad, significant age gap (reader is 19-22, Joel is in his mid-40s), SEXUAL TENSION, bee stings, groping, voyeur to some degree, f masturbation, dirty talk, an endless amount of pet names, sexy play with a soda can, praise kink, car sex, daddy kink, fingering, unprotected piv sex, joel’s cock is huge in this, creampie, premature ejaculation, pussy eating, come eating, squirting

Word count: 6.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54233479

Swelter

A warm Texas breeze blows through the open window of Sarah’s childhood room, making the see-through pink curtains move elegantly from side to side. It hits your back right underneath your halter neck as you lay on Sarah’s bed, caressing your bare skin and making you think of him. You wonder if his hands would have the same effect on you because you find yourself shivering but not from feeling cold. He is somewhere here, and his daughter doesn’t even know that her best friend obsesses about that fact.

Sarah hasn’t changed her room since she was a teenager. She told you this the first time she brought you here, which is almost a year ago today. You were here last summer too, thrilled to be invited to spend a few weeks of your summer with a friend from college and you and her have been inseparable ever since, even if you are so different from each other.

You have your face in a woman’s magazine, propped up on your elbows so you can suck on a popsicle stick whilst turning the pages. There’s a page with the recipe for ‘The Best Fudgy Chocolate Cake Ever!’ next to a page on how to lose weight, and it makes you snort.

“What?” Sarah turns on her chair, pausing the video on her computer.

“What kinda woman are you? You can choose one, but only one. Don’t get greedy now!” You make a scratchy voice but then pop your ice pop in your mouth to hold up the magazine for her to see.

“Seriously? We can’t win,” she groans dramatically, “Chocolate cake always. I just want to be happy, and that looks like a serotonin boost.”

Suddenly, the door opens without any warning. It’s him. Mr. Miller. You quickly remove the popsicle from your mouth, not about to show him how your lips are stretched around the sugary snack. The open door causes a draft to blow the smell of his cologne your way, and it is intoxicating beyond your imagination because you relish in it in secret.

“Dad,” Sarah says with exasperation, “I thought being an adult earned you the privilege of more privacy.”

“It’s gettin’ colder outside now,” he states and ignores her comment, hand resting on the doorknob, “The Adlers need Mercy to be walked, and the pavement’s coolin’ down.”

“I walked him when I was fourteen,” she furrows her brow and you suppress a snicker, “I’m twenty.”

“Just ‘cause you’re grown, don’t mean you can’t do right by ‘em,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you say from your spot on the bed as Sarah fumes quietly, absentmindedly reaching to pull the short skirt of your dress down. He can probably see the start of your ass from how it has been riding up as you lay down on the sheets.

“Hiya darlin’,” he replies and you swear you can hear a restrained sound in his voice. He turns to Sarah again, “Get your butt off that chair.”

“Fine,” she follows through on her orders but still wants to argue, probably embarrassed at being ordered around by her father in front of her friend. She gestures to you, “And what about my guest?”

“She’s grown too, which means she can probably entertain herself the half hour you’ll be gone,” he dares wink at you, and blood courses through your veins.

“I’ll just get that assignment done while you’re out,” you reassure and try not to seem like your core is shaking.

“See?” Joel looks triumphant.

“You’d make a hell of a lawyer,” she deadpans at her father and walks past him.

When he closes the door and leaves you alone in the bedroom, you can feel your popsicle having melted, its syrupy water running down your fingers. You switch hands and suck the sticky fingers into your mouth. The action makes Mr. Miller’s image flash in your mind and you press your thighs together before getting up and finding your laptop.

You find that it’s near impossible to concentrate on proofreading your assignment in the tiny bedroom after just five minutes of being alone. It’s not that you can’t concentrate in the Summer heat but no matter what you do, your mind keeps circling back to Joel’s voice as he called you darling. It heats you more than the sun ever could, and with every tap on your keyboard, your mouth gets more and more dry.

Eventually, you push yourself to stand from your seat at the desk and make a decision to go fetch something to drink, and it is definitely not with the intention of accidentally bumping into Sarah’s father. Not even when you do not find Joel in the kitchen and decide to bypass it altogether to continue into the garage in hopes of being successful in your search for a drink (obviously).

This infatuation started last year. It took you about ten seconds - from walking into the kitchen and shaking Joel’s hand - to realize that Sarah was cursed with having him as a father. Firstly, he was outrageously handsome; always wearing washed-out t-shirts that clung to his shoulders, always smiling with teeth, sporting salt-and-pepper curls, and sometimes even shocking you by entering the kitchen with working gloves on. However, when he opened his mouth and spoke, a southern drawl dripped from his lips and made your whole body tense up. He was charming, respectful, and laughed at the right moments. Most importantly, he laughed at every damn attempt that you made at being funny, and while it was probably an attempt to be nice and make you feel at home, it spurred you on terribly to win him over at every opportunity.

Despite all that, those opportunities weren’t many. He was also cool enough to know that his daughter didn’t want him hanging around all the time, and so he spent many days either in the garden to mow the lawn in competition with the rest of the fathers down the street, in the garage to fix up some old truck, or with his brother, Tommy, and Tommy’s wife who always had some DIY-project going on.

Thus, the summer became one of tanning sessions in the garden, movies in Sarah’s room, stolen glances at Joel Miller whenever he came inside to quench his thirst after hard labor, and secret longing whenever he had kept away for too long.

One particular day last year, Sarah had failed to mention that her father would be home most of the last days you were in their house, and because he was always out, you were getting more and more comfortable with walking around in your towels post-showers or leaving the door unlocked when changing.

The particular event had happened in the morning when the house had been silent except for the kitchen where Sarah was preparing breakfast, using a large box of pancake mix and the whole fruit section of the local grocery store for topping. You had just showered, standing with your head in your suitcase to search for the last few pieces of clothing you had that were clean when there was a rap on the door and a pull of the handle not even a second later.

“Sarah, I need—“

You whipped around at the sound of a new voice entering the room. Your heart nearly burst out of your chest, feeling as though it was fighting its way out between your ribs as embarrassment began to flood your system. Even so, you stood too frozen to reach for something to cover yourself up.

Joel was in the doorway and dead silent, looking as if struck by lightning. Like earlier today, his hand had been resting on the doorknob and in the painfully short moment that the both of you were processing the situation, you saw that his grip tightened enough to whiten his knuckles.

And then it happened, the thing that had soaked you in forbidden desire and delicious excitement; his gaze had flickered down your body and taken you in for the briefest of seconds. His gaze had traveled from the hard peaks of your nipples to the shape of your hips and the softness of your young cunt.

“Fuck,” you heard him utter as he remembered himself and his self-awareness made you finally grab the top you were going to be wearing that day to cover up your quivering body. He slammed the door shut and spoke through it, “Christ, ’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Miller,” you promised but he was already gone. You immediately locked the door afterward to come so hard with two fingers on your clit that you had to hold onto the chair by the desk.

God, you want him to look at you like that again, want to tell him it is all for him. Now, as wrong as you know it is, you find yourself searching for an excuse to get him to ogle you and the chances are higher if he actually spends time with you.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you announce yourself as you enter the garage through the door in the kitchen. Joel has his head inside the hood of his truck, leaning over to inspect something that you wouldn’t understand anything about anyway. He grips the front side of the engine room to push himself to stand, closes the top of the hood of his truck, and turns around to face you.

“Hey kiddo,” he returns with a smile, “How many times do I gotta say to ya that it’s just Joel?”

“Alright, Mr. Miller,” you tease, “—I mean, Just Joel.”

You hear him laugh softly but you don’t dare look at him, afraid that you’ll spontaneously combust. He goes to the utility sink to wash his hands, saying nothing more and making you feel insane for coming apart in the silence.

“I’m just getting something to drink,” you explain when it becomes too much, “Sarah’s room is boiling hot.”

“That’s fine, take what you’d like,” he replies, and there’s a kind teasing in his voice. “But don’t touch the orange sodas. Those are mine.”

The concrete floor of the garage is cold on your bare feet as you pad across the floor where an old bottom-freezer refrigerator stands in the corner, humming in the otherwise quiet room. It has seen better days, and it seems like Sarah has tried to cheer up its weathered appearance by covering it in stickers and ugly magnets.

“Now I have to get one of those,” you giggle and pull the door open, scanning the contents and noticing that the sodas are on the bottom shelf. You hesitate for just a second, and then you choose to bend over instead of crouching down. Behind you, Joel Miller is completely silent.

In the beginning, it hadn’t been your intention to let the crush fester in your brain and turn it into something more but last week, during dinner out on the terrace, you had accidentally sat down on a bee and gotten stung on the back of your thigh. The cry you had let out had nearly made Joel tip over the table to get to you, his chair falling backward as he got up from his seat.

“Fuck! Ow ow ow!” You cried and hobbled around on the grass. The pain was unbearable but the shock only seemed to make it worse.

“Sarah, please get some ice and some antihistamines. There should be a bottle on my nightstand,” Joel ordered quickly and she rushed inside. He walked toward you, grabbing at your shoulders to ground you but his touch only heightened all other sensations. He dug his thumbs into you and your head swam, “Sweetheart, ‘tis just a bee, shh, calm down. I need to remove the stinger. Lemme see ya.”

“It really fucking hurts, Mr. Miller,” you said with a whine as he guided you to one of the loungers that Sarah and you had dragged out from the shed earlier that week.

“I know,” he finally let go of you so you could think just a bit more clearly, “Lemme take a look. Lie down on your front.”

You followed orders with the realization of how much you trusted his judgment, that he would treat you right, moving carefully because the flex of your thigh muscle was making the pain worse. The wooden lounger burned slightly against the front of your thighs, and you pressed your cheek into its slats while screwing your eyes shut.

The wood creaked behind you as he knelt on it with one knee and suddenly, his broad hand was perched on the top of your thigh in an attempt to keep your skin taut. You sucked in a breath but he only mistook it for more pain.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I can see it,” his breath was slightly quicker but you didn’t want to jump to conclusions, “He really got ya right on your inner thigh. Hold on.”

Your eyes shot open when his thumb ran towards the innermost part of the back of your thigh, a sort of panicked arousal spiking from your chest and thighs. He paused for a second then murmured something, a swear word that you tried to take as frustration. There was a beat but then he cleared his throat, “Can you bend your leg a little? I wanna make sure that I get it on the first try.”

“How?” You asked stupidly. The image of how he would be looming over your backside made your heartbeat go down between your legs, “My dress’ll ride up.”

“Just bend the knee a little, pull it towards your chest,” he explained and cleared his throat once more, “On my life, I won’t look.”

So you did as he told you, and sure enough, your dress betrayed you by crawling slowly up to sit around your hip instead of the middle part of your thigh. You looked back at him when he started picking at the stinger with his nails, and you hoped that he would not notice your gawking at his concentrated expression.

A flash of the day he had barged in on you naked flashed in your mind because his eyes were so focused on not staring at you that you nearly whimpered when you saw his eyes flicker to the spot of dampness between your legs for no more than a second.

You had worn white cotton panties that day so they would not be seen through your dress. They were straining against your pussy in this position and all he had to do was reach out, and he’d find your clit poking against the fabric from how excited you were feeling.

He had had the perfect outline of your cunt, and it’s the same now as you bend over to get to the very bottom of the fridge, reaching for a cold drink that just happens to be his favorite. You know that he can see everything, and the worst is that you know he already has. Twice. The mere thought is so dirty that your heart starts pounding in your chest and sends heat through your already hot body, so you hurry to stretch to your full height again.

With a cocky grin that is mostly put on to hide your anxious excitement about what you have just done, you turn to face Joel and walk to stand in front of him and his car. His cologne fills your nostrils again, and the scent seems once again to have a direct line to your cunt because you have never felt more empty. In front of you, Joel’s jaw is clenched but other than that, he seems a lot more calm and composed than you.

That is until you jump onto the hood of the car and scoot back, letting your bare feet dangle out over the edge. You crack open the soda in your hand and take a sip that is a little longer than intended. The satisfying burn of the fizz grounds you in the warm climate, but it is even more heavenly as you tuck the skirt of your dress between your thighs so you can place the cold can there.

Joel shakes his head with a sigh but you know he is playing a game as much as you because he cannot help but crack a smile back at you, “You’re trouble, I knew it the second Sarah brought ya into my house.”

“Oh, whatever will I do?” You ask dramatically and lean back against the windshield.

“Go morally bankrupt?” He raises a brow. If only he knew what is going through your mind. You catch him looking at you in the fashion that you have craved when you sigh deeply and cause your chest to push out.

“Only that?” You take another sip and some of the contents spill down your chin in a thick, sticky trail due to the angle you’re sitting in. You reach up to wipe it away with your index finger and then dare to suck your finger clean with the intention of mimicking the way that you had licked it clean earlier when it had been coated in melted popsicle.

“Give it here,” he says. You lock eyes with him. However, your eyes widen slightly when he nods at the can and takes it from between your thighs. There’s electricity shooting through your nerves the second his fingers touch the fabric of your dress but they intensify to a dizzying degree when he takes a sip of the soda too.

Like a reflex, the sight of him drinking from the can that’s been nestled between your thighs makes your legs fall out to the sides. You’re worse than an obedient dog in your horniness, reacting the same way to the way he moves as it would to the sound of a bell ringing.

Your dress rides up slowly along your thighs, revealing your sweaty skin that feels sticky by now and Joel clears his throat after briefly looking down. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and when you realize the effect it has on the poor man, you grab the hem and pull upwards, “It’s so hot outside today. Don’t think I’ll ever get used to the heat here in Texas.”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says and his face has got a pinker tint, pulse visible on the side of his neck. With his free hand, he grabs one of your knees and starts nudging your legs together again. He yanks your skirt down, “I know I’m always teasin’ ya but you can’t be doing this.”

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you say with exasperation and move your legs out again, “It’s just very hot… and it’s not like you haven’t had a peek.”

“Hey now,” he leans forward to place the can of soda on the roof of the truck, “That ain’t a fair accusation.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” you reply, chewing on your bottom lip, “But you’re not denying it.”

“Don’t tryna make me look like the pervert here,” he scolds, taking a step towards you and causing your stomach to do somersaults, “I noticed the way you went real quiet when my hands were on you.”

“What do you mean?” You furrow your brows in confusion, “Your hands were never on m–”

“Did that bee sting really hurt that much?” He clarifies. Oh, you think whilst he smirks with triumph. Something has switched in the air surrounding you, the atmosphere has become more daring, “Yeah, I saw her; your pussy wet f’me.”

It’s true. If you think about it too much, you can still feel your heartbeat in the places where he touched you, and the pulse is rapid and overwhelming. You can’t imagine what it'll be like if he touches you underneath your dress, even if it’s simply on the outside of your panties. The thought has your underwear starting to dampen, the fabric starting to stick to you, and make you painfully aware of the wetness between your legs.

“Did ya touch yourself after?” His eyes have darkened slightly. His pupils are dilating with desire for your answer, and you nod hesitantly, overwhelmed by the need to tell him everything.

“During my shower that you told me to take,” you confess and hear him make a sound low in his throat at the mental image, “I couldn’t stop myself— I wanted you so badly. The thought of you inside me...”

This is a crossroad, you realize, you’ve said your deepest secret of depravity. On one hand, you can bolt out the door or you can make a move to show him what you really came down here for. The latter is risky but Joel is so goddamn decent that you know that if he doesn’t want this - which you doubt is the case at this point - he’ll gently reject you and never mention it again if it means that his daughter will continue having a best friend.

However, as your mind races with scenarios of what could or could not happen in this moment, Joel pulls you back into reality as his hand, cold from gripping the can, rests on your knee again but this time, it doesn’t try to make you decent like before. Instead, it slides up under your skirt in such a slow motion that you find yourself holding your breath.

“Is this what’ll quiet down that mind of yours?” He asks in a low voice, eyes flickering from your face to down between your legs and back again, “If I take a peek more to get it outta our system?”

“What are you doing?” You ask as if you do not know. It’s your turn to be scandalized by bluntness, and you find yourself gripping his arm but not hard enough to signal that you do not want him to continue. You hope that he realizes that this is not you rejecting his advances.

“I ain’t doing nothin’ that you haven’t already silently begged me to do. Perhaps sometimes - and God help me, I will probably regret it - you just needa follow your instincts when a pretty girl like you has been sendin’ me heart eyes all week,” he almost sounds annoyed with you, and to stop yourself from being scolded, your hand loosens its grip on him until you remove it altogether. He smiles, “Good girl.”

“You shouldn’t—“ you feel a rush of blood to your head, adrenaline kicking in as your thoughts circle around the repercussions that this can bring. In all honesty, you had only walked in here to have Joel’s eyes on you but now, you are getting more than you bargained for and it is making you so turned on that your mind is clear and foggy at the same time. Boldly, you sit up on the car’s hood so you can reach for the buckle of Joel’s belt, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“You’re damn right we shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he agrees immediately but doesn’t stop. His warm and rough palms skim further up your thighs until they settle by your hips, his thumbs teasing the elastic band of your panties. He starts to drag them down, the fabric nearly snapping in two when you barely register that you have to lift your ass to help him.

His fingers unintentionally caress your calves as he slides the underwear down to eventually pull them off your ankles and feet. The sensation makes your body wake up even more, a gush of wetness smearing your inner thighs and you know that you have to pull your dress up soon if you don’t want it stained.

In front of you, Joel reads your mind. He shoves the hem of your dress up as far as he can without a word with desperation in his trembling hands, and you move to let him bunch it up around your waist so he has a full view of what waits - and for long has waited - for him.

When your cunt is revealed to him, he groans like he is in pain at the sight of the slick shining on your soft youthful skin. You can see how hard he is in his jeans, cock straining against the zipper at the front of them.

He looks like he wants to touch but hesitates. The first sign of his inner conflict. You remember that he did say just a peek as if there’s an unspoken agreement that he is not to cross the line of touching what he shouldn’t want to have. It would definitely be a nuclear decision if he chooses to do it anyway. It makes you want it even more, and another gush spills from your glistening slit when you clench from excitement.

Joel swears under his breath, something that sounds like fuck it and it sets it in stone; he is going to ruin you for eternity right here on his car. He steps closer until your spread knees bump into his sides, and without saying anything you move to yank his jeans and briefs down, settling them around his hips with a soft gasp as you take in the sight of his fully hard cock. He is huge. So huge that your mouth starts salivating like you’ve already been fucked stupid and your walls try to clamp down on nothing. It’ll hurt. You want it to if it means that you won’t doubt if it ever happened tomorrow.

“Tell me you want this too,” he seeks your reassurance.

“So fucking badly, Mr. Miller— Joel,” you say without any hint of second-guessing in your voice. You scoot further forward on the car and lean back so he has better access, trying your best to be elegant in your messy state, “Please, want you in me.”

“Jeez, honey,” his breath shakes, “Already so eager. I haven’t even felt if she’s ready f’me.”

With one hand gripping your left thigh, he uses two fingers on his right hand to slide through your wet folds and you don’t think you have ever been this turned on for anyone; when he flips his palm upwards and shoves two fingers inside of you, you feel more arousal drip from your cunt and pool in his hand. The longing you have felt since you saw him for the first time finds somewhere to empty all its desire and desperation into, and you whine like you’re in a state of agony.

“Shhh…” he soothes and curls his digits inside of you until you think you might start crying, squelching cunt trying to pull him further into you as he fingers you lazily. Your gaze drops to how his cock twitches whilst standing in the air, “You’re grippin’ me so good, doll, can’t wait to fuck this pussy. Don’t cry like that. Be patient.”

“Please, I’m so—“ your palms are flat on the hood of the car, your mouth hangs open in ecstasy and you stare down at where his ring- and middle finger disappears repeatedly into you, “It’s yours, please.”

“I know it’s mine, don’t gotta say it, I know,” he coos at each of your whimpers, gets you worked up until you are just on the brink of coming, and then he moves quickly. He pulls his fingers out of you, smears his cock with what you’ve soaked his whole palm with, and leans over your gasping frame to nudge at your quivering hole.

When he finally enters you, the both of you gasp in unison. He struggles with it for a moment, rubbing the skin just below your belly button to make you relax because he is so much bigger than you had first anticipated, and such a tight fit that you think he might split you in two.

“Goddamn, you are tight,” he says through gritted teeth, “Feels fuckin’ amazin’.”

“Ah,” you feel like letting yourself turn into a drooling mess already, pulsating around him from the way your body struggles to take him, “Joel, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, honey,” he encourages, showing no signs of pulling out of you to free you from the burn of his girth. He growls low in his throat as you struggle with it, and you know it’s because your walls are clenching around him as you involuntarily move, “Stay still, let her get used to it.”

“It hurts,” you whine, sliding slightly on the metal underneath your ass. He presses his hips forward even further and causes you to whimper but in doing so, he holds you firmly in place by using his strong frame.

“I know but ya just gotta relax,” he goes on. He places one hand flat on the hood of the car and then places the other right on your hip, thumb going inwards to find your clit. It pulses under his finger, trying to find out whether to find the pain delicious or not.

When his thumb starts going in circles on you, your thigh muscles start to twitch and flex from burning desire instead of uncomfortable pain. He presses down a little to stroke your sensitive nub with even more determination and smiles at his success when a moan slips from your mouth, “That’s it, honey. Just enjoy this until you’re creamin’ on me, and then I can fuck her real good.”

Your walls start to flutter a few seconds after the first new round of pleasurable sounds leave you, and the more his finger moves on you, the easier it gets to take him because the pain turns into nothing more than a dull ache in the background of ecstasy. He has you breathing faster and faster, and in return, he starts moving his thumb up and down to make his touches more direct.

God, your clit is hardening underneath his torment. He stares at what he is doing, an occasional grunt leaving him from how you involuntarily squeeze his length, and you know that he can sense it, suddenly smirking to himself as you near your climax. He admires the sight of you, eyes glued to the way the hood of your clit has drawn back, “Babydoll, look at that. Such a pretty pussy, clit peekin’ out and all. Does she wanna come on my cock?”

“Please, yes, oh please,” you nod repeatedly, mouth hanging open in an o-shape and breaths coming out in small puffs. Your climax is within reach, and Joel looks concentrated as he more than willingly hands it over to you whilst buried deep inside of you. The concentration on his face is probably from keeping himself from spilling inside of you too soon, but God, he looks gorgeous as he determinedly strokes your cunt.

“Yes, yes, yesyesyes— oh God, I’m… fuck, I’m coming!” You shake with pleasure as he causes your pussy to spasm, your hands barely able to find out what to do and making you grab at both the metal underneath you with one hand and his wrist with the other. Your eyes are squeezed shut but you do not doubt that he is staring at you in awe as you come so hard that reality fades.

“Good girl,” he rasps, voice unsteady and hand hitting the hood of the car as the feeling becomes overwhelming, “Oh sweetheart, you’re choking my dick so g—“

He swears quietly and then loudly, and suddenly, his cool demeanor crumbles because he is spilling his load inside of you with a pathetic and strained grunt. His hips stutter slightly and warmth spreads slowly inside of you, mixing with your own arousal.

You look down to where the two of you are connected, feeling fucked out despite not even having had the chance to feel him move inside of you. His come has started to spill from you already, dripping obscenely from your cunt.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel say above you. He slips out of you and leaves you gaping and mewling for a second, starting to take a step back. You catch him with your legs before he is too far away, and he reluctantly steps close to you again. He looks embarrassed but gives you a smile to hide it, “Felt too good, honey. This pussy’s makin’ me all sweet on you.”

“I’m that irresistible?” You grin in your post-orgasmic haze, not really giving a crap about the lack of a proper fuck from how much dopamine is coursing through your veins.

Joel takes hold of your thighs as they are wrapped around your body and lifts them off of himself, “You’re makin’ an old bastard like me weak in the knees, so maybe. Hah! Comin’ too soon like a goddamn teenager.”

“I liked it,” you admit without hesitation, still basking in the sweet afterglow, “Made me feel sexy and powerful.”

He scoffs but can’t fight the smile on his face, “Now now, don’t get cocky on me. Crawl back a little, spread ya legs f’me.”

You giggle and do as you are told, presenting yourself to him on the hood of his car. You plant your bare feet on the metal, lay back against the windshield, and smile.

“Now look at that,” he tuts as he admires his work; white ropes of come dripping down from your slit and onto the surface beneath you. He lays both hands flat on the car and leans forward, and before you know it, his mouth is covering your whole cunt and he eats from you like he’s paid to do it.

“Jesus,” you groan, throwing your head back and grabbing onto the roof of the car with one hand whilst the other finds Joel’s hair. You tug and he moans against you, sending vibrations through your whole lower body and beginning the first stirrings of another high. You don’t think that you can take it, squirming just like you had done moments earlier.

Joel makes a sound of disapproval. He scoops his arms under your thighs until he can lay his hands on top of them, holding you tightly against his mouth and causing you to cry towards the ceiling when he makes your second orgasm approach so quickly that nothing in your brain makes sense except what he is doing between your legs.

The hand on the roof of his car goes to his head too. You slide your fingers on both hands through his hair until they lay at the back of his neck, and then you yank once more at the curls there. His tongue works at your clit, swiping back and forth over it until you think that you might see God.

However, it doesn’t stay there. Instead, it is replaced by his nose so that he can eat his own spill straight from you by dipping his tongue hungrily inside of you.

“Joel— holy fuck, you’re incredible,” you close your eyes to concentrate on your pleasure. Who knew that the man could fuck with his tongue? He is warm and wet inside of you, slurping pornographically until you are clean of any remains of his come.

You are just about to finish a second time when he halts whatever he is doing. He pulls back only a few inches so you can still feel his uneven breaths against your cunt.

“No! Please,” your eyes fly open, you cry desperately, and throw your head forward dramatically. You want to thrash but he still has your legs locked in his arms, so you decide to pull out the big guns and hope for the best, “Please, Daddy! Pleasepleaseplea—“

“What the fuck did you just say t’me?” He looks up at you but you are too busy screwing your eyes shut in agony whilst whining for more. He growls and releases one of your legs, “I was already gonna make you a happy young lady but now, I’m gonna make you come so hard your little brain goes dumb. See how it feels. Impatient girl.”

His hand goes between your legs. He turns his palm upwards and then shoves two thick fingers inside of your pussy like earlier, curling them slightly and then pumping them so quickly that blood starts speeding through your system a second after and your heart rate goes so fast that you know that you are just about to come.

“Joel, oh my— fuck!” You whimper.

“Wrong word,” he replies.

You correct yourself immediately because there’s no way he is stopping again to chastise you once more, “Daddy, oh I— mhmm, I’m gonna come for you. Don’t stop, please, please Daddy, pleasepleaseplea—!”

He responds just how you had liked: He closes his mouth around your swollen clit and sucks hard, finally severing all connection to your brain and you come so hard that you actually squeal. Joel groans against you, feeling you squeeze the digits he has buried deep inside you. He draws back his fingers, pressing upwards the whole way.

Clear liquid squirts from you the second he pulls them out. The gushes that follow are so intense that the leg he isn’t holding anymore shakes so violently that the metal rattles under you, the car staining with your come. He repeats the move again and again, over and over, and watches the steady trickle down the hood and onto the concrete floor that turns a dark gray.

Euphoria courses through your being as you come in a way that you have never felt before. Your limbs tingle as warmth spreads out from beneath your belly button, your cunt pulses with eager pleasure, and you sob through the waves that crash over you without giving you time to recover from the last. The whole room feels brighter and its colors more vibrant.

“Shh, baby, let it happen, feels so good, don’t it? That’s it,” Joel coos at you the whole way through, guides you through it when you barely know how to use your words. He has straightened to his full height again but you don’t know when, and he has slowed his fingers down to tease out a few aftershocks. You whimper feebly at each one, and when Joel seems satisfied with what he has drawn out of you, he covers your whole mound with his palm to soothe the feeling of overstimulation that settles.

“Soundproof,” he mutters, once again reading your mind when you come to your senses again and start thinking about your noise levels with furrowed brows and eyes flitting from him to the garage door. Your heartbeat has started to slow again, and the relief of knowing no one has been able to hear you makes you slump against the windshield and breathe deeply.

The remnants of your orgasm have made you smile, your body slipping into a deep state of satisfaction when the anxieties have been dispelled. Joel moves his hand up your lower body until it settles between your breasts, still covered by your dress. He caresses your heaving chest, looking at you boyishly for the first time, “You good? Didn’t cause any brain damage, did I?”

“You think this truck has ever seen action like that before?” You joke breathlessly.

“Probably ain’t the first time I disappointed a gorgeous lady in its presence,” he says with an apologetic smile, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Disappointed? You’re insane,” you stretch your arms above your head to get some of the last bits of euphoria out of your body, trying to ignore the way he has just called you a gorgeous lady. He probably means nothing by it. As your stretch peaks, you moan gently, “I came two times. Hard. I’m not complaining.”

“Just saying that I woulda liked to do it… properly, I guess,” he talks as he stuffs himself back into his underwear and pants, most likely trying to feel the least uncomfortable about mentioning his overexcitement. Automatically, he steps back when you jump off the car to adjust your dress.

“This doesn’t have to be a one-time thing,” you try to act casual as you say it but there’s no way you are accepting the best sex of your life to be a thing you will never have again, reducing it to a movie merely playing behind your eyelids as a cruel reminder of what is unattainable.

“And when would we have time for that?” He asks, zipping up his jeans. He wipes his hands on them, “We can’t, honey.”

“We just did,” you mumble, picking up your underwear from the floor. You turn the panties in your hands, just about to bend down to put them on before deciding against it. Boldly, you stand in front of him and stuff your sticky underwear into his front pocket; closest to his crotch. There are extra pairs in your bag in Sarah’s room. He can have these.

He looks down briefly and then finds your eyes. His jaw clenches as he weighs his words, “When?”

“Aren’t you driving me to the airport on Sunday?” You smile and kiss his cheek, and then you leave him, your soda in hand and a mess on the floor.

.

.

.

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#pedro pascal characters #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us #my writing #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller the last of us

[joelsgu4tar]

JOEL MILLER FIC RECS

⇾ 18+ minors DNI, read at your own risk! ⇽

an appreciation to all my favourite writers out there you deserve all the love <3

Series

— Something To Fight For by @auteurdelabre | After a disastrous blind date you decide to stay away from the miserable Joel Miller forever...

— I Know Who You Are by @punkshort | A fall on patrol causes you to lose your long-term memory, forgetting the identities of your friends and loved ones. You have to learn all over again how to survive in a post-apocalyptic world, and you learn things about yourself along the way.

— The One You Need by @loliwrites | When you move into town hellbent on keeping everyone at arm’s length, your neighbour Joel finds his way into your life.

— By The Grit Of Sandpaper by @penvisions | An offhand comment from you inspires Joel to branch out and create helpful kitchen wares. And it seems everyone has been gifted one from him, except for you. It makes you rethink the casual friendship you had developed...

— I Wanna Be Your Lover by @shellshocklove | Miserable after losing your job, your friend drags you out to a club to dance away your sadness. on the dancefloor, you meet a handsome stranger, who then whisks you away into his fantasy world as his assistant for his porn career. what happens when the lines get blurred?

— If The Door Wasn't Shut by @heartpascal | months of travelling with Joel and Ellie come crashing down on you, the fear is suffocating.

— Stay In Bed by @psychedelic-ink | After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance.

— That's A Real Fucking Legacy by @wyn-n-tonic | When Tommy disappears in search of a better life with a promise to come back for you, his years of absence and the grief it leaves behind drives you and his brother closer together until the man you're sharing a bed and starting a family with is Joel Miller and not the one you always thought it would be.

One-Shots

— No Time To Die by @davosmymaster | The main difficulty of being Joel’s closest friend is not falling in love with him, but you still do. Those feelings are buried until you join him on a mission to trade supplies with Bill and Frank. With your life now hanging by a thread, Joel is determined to get you to safety, but the clock is ticking faster than he can run.

— White Lies by @poeticpascal | Joel would do anything for you. He does anything for you. And he makes sure you don't know a thing.

— Saying Thanks by @vivwritescrappythings | Joel is your grumpy patrol partner who doesn’t even talk to you in the streets of Jackson. But one night a man grabs your arm at the Tipsy Bison, and Joel’s decided he doesn’t like it.

— Soft & Sweet by @cavillscurls | You share your first kiss with the last man you ever expected: your older, grouchy, overly protective patrol partner, Joel Miller.

— Who We Are by @gracieheartspedro | Being stuck on the road with an older guy you've been crushing on for ages won't be so bad, right? wrong. because he's been pining after you, too. and one of you will have to give in eventually.

— Warm Me Up by @tightjeansjavi | While on patrol, you and Joel find yourselves caught in a treacherous snowstorm.

— Love In the Time Of Cordyceps by @sameheart-sameblood | When the world ends, you promise you'll never love again. Joel Miller makes that rule hard to stick to.

— Puppy Love by @absurdthirst | You always follow Joel Miller around, you've got his back. You're in love with him. Putting up with Tess's nickname of puppy dog, you don't realize that Joel feels for you until the end.

— Light The Flame by @yeollie-plz | Your mom moves the two of you back to Texas and attempts to reignite an old flame. What will happen when she learns his candle now burns for you?

— Best I Ever Had by @endlessthxxghts | Someone tries to hit on you on your night out with Joel, insulting your man in the process, and oh you don't like that. You blow off some steam in more ways than one.

— Make A Move On Me by @freelancearsonist | You've been teasing Joel every day since he started remodelling construction on your house. He finally works up the courage to do something about it - but not in the way you expect him to.

— Fire Walk by @motherofagony | A chance encounter at a motel has you crossing paths with a stranger in a blue t-shirt.

— Cry Baby by @psychedelic-ink | bodies have been dropping left and right in the most brutal ways in Jackson. As the relentless wave of deaths continues, your mind becomes increasingly restless. however, you find a sense of comfort and solace in the presence of Joel. who might be hiding secrets of his own.

#joel miller #joel tlou #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel fanfic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller au #joel miller fic #joel miller oneshot #joel miller smut #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x oc #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #soft joel miller #joel miller blurb #joel miller masterlist #joel miller series #hbo joel miller #joel miller imagine #game joel miller #joel miller one shot #joel miller self insert

[joelsgreys]

baby, i’m yours

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: You remind Joel that you’re his.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. JACKSON ERA. READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION however she does wear Joel’s t-shirt and he semi lifts her onto a counter? sorta but not really? UNSPECIFIED AGE GAP (Joel is in his 50’s but reader’s specific age is not mentioned). established relationship, sort of. consumption of food (if you are allergic to peanuts, i so sorry). angst, Joel and Ellie’s strained relationship is lightly implied, Joel is insecure, it’s implied reader did some horrible things in her past, reassurance, brief smut, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, consider it a quickie idk. apologies if i missed anything.

word count: 2.6k

a/n: this short lil thing has been sitting in my drafts forever. i finished it while i was in ireland and finally had the chance to sit down and do a quick edit and when i say it was quick, i flew through it so i could hop onto my next wip so please excuse any errors! here’s a spotify link to the song if anyone’s curious, it’s an oldie but a goodie although it may not be everyone’s cup of tea.

main masterlist l fic notifs

Joel rolls over in bed, his arm outstretched and seeking the warmth of your soft, naked body.

“Mmph,” a small, sleepy groan falls from his lips as his long, thick fingers feel around on your side of the bed—of his bed. Of course, you have your very own bedroom in the house you all had been placed in when you first arrived in Jackson. Your very own bed to sleep in is just down the hallway, but lately, you’ve been waking up beside him a lot more often than not, especially now that Ellie’s a bit older and she’s gone and made herself her own space out in the garage behind the house. Being under the same roof as Joel did those two more harm than it did good, and while you missed having her around, it was for the best.

“She’ll come around, Joel,” you’d assured him. “I know she will. She just needs a bit of time is all.”

“Hope you’re right, darlin’,” he had murmured sadly in response.

Still lost somewhere in between sleep and full consciousness, Joel continues feeling around for you, but all he finds are the wrinkled sheets, cold and abandoned. Confused, his eyes finally flutter open and with a painful protest from his sore, stiff back, he sits up, blinking furiously as he looks around the darkness of his bedroom. The door’s been left cracked open ever so slightly, and as his vision adjusts now that he’s fully awake, he notices the dim glow of the hallway light that’s peeking through into the room.

He turns and glances over at the old digital alarm clock perched on his nightstand, the obnoxious, bright red numbers practically screaming at him that it’s a quarter past midnight. With a small, tired grunt, Joel switches on the lamp beside the clock and swings his legs over the side of the mattress, goosebumps erupting across his flesh the instant that his bare feet meet the cold, hardwood floor. He stands and fumbles around for his clothes, which he’d tossed carelessly somewhere over his shoulder hours earlier when he’d been lost in the heat of the moment with you. He finds his faded, navy blue sweatpants strewn across a chair next to the door and pulls them on over his naked lower body before searching for his t-shirt. When he doesn’t immediately see it, he doesn’t bother, figuring that it’s just going to come back off when he climbs back into bed with you.

Padding out of his bedroom, he makes his way down the hallway, heading towards the staircase. As he draws closer, he hears it—the soft music that’s coming from downstairs.

Baby, I'm yours

and I'll be yours until the stars fall from the sky

yours until the rivers all run dry

in other words, until I die

He’s led towards the kitchen and that’s where he finds you.

Joel wants to be annoyed. 

Fuck, he tries to be annoyed. But he can’t help the way that the corners of his mouth threaten to turn upwards when his eyes take in the sight before him.

You’re standing at the center island slowly swaying your hips from side to side along to the beat of the song that’s playing from the record player perched next to the instant coffee maker on the counter behind you. He’d nearly wrung your neck when he found out what all you had traded just to get your hands on it, but you loved that thing more than life itself it seemed, so he couldn’t stay mad for very long. You’re making yourself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich—the peanut butter you’d learned how to make yourself with the old food processor he found deep in one of the kitchen cabinets, and the strawberry preserves you had picked up from the market earlier that week. Clad in nothing but his t-shirt, you’re singing along quietly to the lyrics as you finish making your late night snack.

Baby, I’m yours

and I’ll be yours until the sun no longer shines

yours until the poets run out of rhyme

in other words, until the end of time

Joel leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his bare chest as he watches you carefully lick the remnants of peanut butter off of the knife you’re using before setting it down on the counter. You then pick up the two pieces of bread and slap them together—you’d also learned how to bake homemade bread using some old nineties cookbook you had found in the commune’s library. Your sourdough is the reason he had to go up a notch in his belt.

Sandwich in hand, you do a little spin, humming happily as you take your first bite.

Joel loudly clears his throat from the doorway.

Startled, you whirl around and freeze, your eyes wide.

“Enjoyin’ yourself there, darlin’?” He asks amusedly as he approaches you.

“Jesus Christ! You scared me, Joel!” You hiss at him. You then realize what time of night it is and a look of guilt crosses your features. “Oh shit. I’m sorry, did I wake you up? I honestly thought that I had the volume down low enough in here—”

Frowning, you turn around and reach towards the record player to turn the music off, but much to your surprise, Joel stops you. “No, s’okay. I woke up on my own,” he assures you. “I reached over for you and you were gone.” The admission slips before he can even think to stop it. He notices how taken aback you are by what he’d just said and quickly asks, “What’cha doin’ up so late, anyway?”

“I was hungry,” you tell him, sheepishly holding up your food. You always have one hell of an appetite after Joel was through fucking you senseless. You take another bite and offer it to him. “Want some?”

“Sure.”

He accepts and takes a corner of the sandwich before handing it back to you. His fingers brush against yours and his face burns at the contact.

Fucking Christ. 

You’re standing there in nothing but his fucking t-shirt after he had, yet again, made you his in his own fucking bed, and that’s what gets him?

Truth be told, the only time he holds your hand is when he’s inside of you—his fingers lace with your own as he comforts you and praises you for being such a good girl for taking his cock the way you do.

For being so, so fucking good for him.

He’s thought about taking your hand in front of others. Particularly when he notices the way some of the men in town stare at you. Joel wants to make it known that you’re already spoken for. Only, you’re not spoken for, not really. 

You’re his, but you’re not really his. It’s not that he doesn’t want to take the leap and acknowledge the two of you are far more than just patrol partners, far more than just two people who fought like fucking hell to get some smart assed teenager—and the world’s only hope for a cure—across the country.

He feels undeserving of it. Of you and your heart.

Several seasons had come and gone since you’d both arrived in Jackson with Ellie in tow, and somehow, Joel still can’t fathom what you’re doing by his side. She’s out of the house now and there’s nothing tying you to him, so why are you still here?

He’s so much older. Closer and closer to being on his way out, while you still had your entire life left ahead of you. He’s worn down, hardened from the post outbreak world. And you, you hadn’t lost any of your softness, your sweetness. Not even after the things you’d been forced to do to survive because of him.

You could meet someone younger, someone closer to your own age. You could marry, even start a family. You could be with someone who could give you a good life, the life you deserve.

The life that he’s too fucking broken to give you.

“Joel?” Your voice breaks into his thoughts. “Hey. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. M’fine.” He gestures to the record player with a nod of his head. “Y’know, this song’s older than me. By a few years. Came out in the early sixties.”

Joel half expects you to make some wisecrack joke and tease him over his age like you have done in the past—especially when the kid would get you going. Instead, he watches you set what’s left of your sandwich down and brush the crumbs from your hands before holding one of them out to him.

Confused, he stares at it for a moment before his dark eyes meet yours. “What are you doin’?”

“Dance with me,” you say, smiling at him.

“You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me, right?” When he realizes you’re being serious, he shakes his head. “Y’know I don’t—I can’t dance.”

Dropping your hand back down to your side, you turn around and flip the record, starting the song over again before whirling back around and taking Joel’s hands in yours.

“Just follow my lead,” you tell him as you place them on your waist. Your own hands settle themselves on his broad shoulders, his skin warm beneath your fingertips. “Don’t overthink it.”

“You’re fuckin’ ridiculous,” Joel grumbles underneath his breath, however he finds himself moving along with you without further protest. Subconsciously, he pulls you closer against him as the two of you slowly sway from side to side along to the beat of the music. He chuckles, “Y’know we gotta be up at the asscrack of dawn for patrol, right?”

“And your point is?” You rest your head on his shoulder and exhale a soft, contended sigh.

Joel’s lips threaten to pull down once more.

Could it be that you’re actually content with him?

Head still on his shoulder, you sing along softly with Barbara Lewis. 

“I’m gonna stay right here by your side

do my best to keep you satisfied

nothing in this world can drive me away

‘cause every day you'll hear me say…”

It quickly becomes too much for him. Joel’s hands leave your waist. Taking your wrists, he tugs your arms from around his neck and gently pushes you away from him. “Why?” he finally asks the question that’s been hanging off the tip of his tongue for the better part of the last three years. “Why me?”

You stare at him, puzzled. “What?”

“Why me?” he repeats himself. “Why me when you can have anyone else—”

Your reply is prompt and you say it so simply.

“Because I don’t want anyone else.”

“You deserve better.”

You peer at him curiously. “I deserve better?”

“You do. Ain’t got no business being with someone like me. After all the terrible shit I’ve done—”

“I did the same exact shit, Joel. Sometimes I did even fucking worse.” Somehow, softness laces your tone. You have never been angry with him and you weren’t about to start now. “What makes my hands any cleaner than yours?”

Joel begins to sputter. “M’older than you. Much older. Should’a been a lot more careful. Should’a done more so you didn’t have to do those things.”

His hands still curled around your wrists, you reach up and gingerly cradle the sides of his face. He winces, but then quickly melts into your touch, the very same touch that could heal his wounds, if only he would allow it.

“I made my own choices,” you remind him, quietly. Neither of you realize the music has stopped. “Quit acting like blood doesn’t stain my hands too because it does.”

His lips press into a tight line. “Blood stains your hands ‘cause of me. S’my fault. I was responsible for you. I was s’pposed to take care of you. I didn’t protect you the way I should’ve.”

You sigh.

“When are you going to stop blaming yourself, Joel?”

The muscle in his jaw ticks as it clenches. He averts his gaze, his eyes falling to the floor. He doesn’t answer.

You stroke the scruff of his beard lightly with your thumbs. “When are you going to stop thinking you’re not good enough for me? What’s it going to take for me to prove to you that you are all I could ever need and want?”

“You’re just wastin’ your fuckin’ life on me, darlin’. S’the truth and you fuckin’ know it as well as I do.”

Pulling your wrists out of his hands, you pivot on your heel and suck in a sharp breath, stubbornly blinking back the tears stinging your eyes. You’re frustrated.

It cuts you to your very core to know the man you’ve grown to love more than anything and anyone else on what’s left of this fucking planet can’t see that he’s enough. He’s more than enough.

Joel bites back his own frustrated sigh. He knows he can’t rely on you to tell him, rely on the reassurance—he needs to do his part and believe it. If he keeps trying to push you away, he just may very well succeed one day. He will lose you.

After a moment, he walks up behind you and wraps his arms around you, his lips lightly brushing your neck. “M’sorry,” he mumbles, his own voice thickening as a lump forms in the back of his throat. He’s quick to swallow it down. “Jus’ have a hard time believin’ you’re mine. S’almost like my mind is lookin’ to prove me wrong.”

“But I am yours, Joel. I’m yours, I’m fucking yours.”

It’s more than just reassurance. It’s an oath, one you’ll honor for the rest of your life.

He holds you tighter. “Yeah?” He nips at the delicate spot right below your ear, his teeth scraping along tender flesh. “S’that right, baby? You’re all mine?”

“All yours,” you confirm breathlessly as his hands slowly begin trailing down the length of your sides, his fingers skimming the hem of his t-shirt.

Joel swiftly turns you around in his arms and slips his hand between your thighs. The next thing you know, he has you backed up against the counter and he’s shoving his sweatpants down, freeing his hard, thick cock. With one of your legs hooked around his waist, he buries himself into the warmth of your cunt and begins to deliver smooth, languid strokes.

“Say it again, baby,” he rasps into your neck. He coaxes your other leg up and around his waist and his large hands curl securely underneath your thighs as he bucks up into you. He’d deal with the back pain later. He pants, “Need—need to hear you say it, my sweet girl.”

You hold onto the countertop behind you as he fucks you, your fingernails digging into the laminated wood. “Fuck, I’m yours,” you moan into his shoulder. “I’m all yours, Joel. Oh fuck—”

You say it over and over again and he believes it.

He finally fucking believes it.

Sweet nothings fall from his lips with each thrust.

“S’lucky you’re all fuckin’ mine.”

“My beautiful, beautiful girl.”

“Gonna keep you for the rest of my fuckin’ life.”

When he spills into you, there’s no regret on his part nor yours. You’d always wanted to feel him come inside of you—secretly, so did he. Joel’s deep, guttural groans bounce off of the kitchen walls as your pussy fills with him, with all of him, taking as much as it can before he begins leaking out of you and down the insides of your thighs.

“Jesus,” he exhales. He dips his head for a kiss. “You’re all messy now, baby,” he mumbles against your lips. “How’s about we go upstairs and get back into bed so I can clean you up?”

Giggling, you mimic him and remind him of what he’d said earlier. “Y’know we gotta be up at the asscrack of dawn for patrol, right?”

Joel grins. “And your point is?”

You laugh again as he leads you out of the kitchen and back up to his bedroom—to yours and his bedroom.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller drabble #joel miller one shot #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #joel fic

[gutsby]

Waiting Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel Miller has mastered the art of self-control in all areas except one: not fucking his friend’s daughter. A cross-country road trip home from college takes a hard turn when he’s forced to share a motel room with you.

Warnings: 18+. Protected p-in-v. Praise. Overstimulation. Sweet, possessive, slightly obsessive and pussywhipped Joel. Daddy kink. Drug use. Angst. Accidental creampie. Joel fucking you while on the phone with your father.

Part 2 | Part 3

“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad presses. A hint of concern rises from his end of the line.

At length, Joel grips both of your legs and brings them up over his shoulders, and he grins before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.

“Yes!” you yelp as you crush the phone to your ear, hoping your father can’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”

Aside from the fact that he smoked like a chimney and bumped far more Billy Joel than any man ever should, Mr. Miller was an A-OK friend—your father’s best friend.

All you needed was a ride home for the holidays.

From the second you’d set foot in his old Ford Bronco, you sensed this trek wouldn’t be an enjoyable one—thirty-hour road trips rarely ever were—but you leaned back in the passenger seat, propped your feet on the dashboard, and bopped along to ‘You May Be Right’ for the fifty-fifth fucking time that morning and smiled.

Joel frowned.

“Dogs off the dash,” he muttered, swatting at your bare, polished toes before you kicked his touch away.

“Shotgun puts her feet up, driver shuts his cakehole.”

That wasn’t even how the saying went. Oh well.

Joel slowed the car to sixty in the right-hand lane and smacked your ankles even harder. You yelped.

“Hey! You can’t hit a woman!”

“I’m not hitting a woman, I’m hitting a little gremlin,” Joel tried not to grin as he delivered another tart slap to your foot, and you almost jerked into the passenger door.

He momentarily righted the car before it went veering into the lane beside it, seized one of your feet, and tried to forcibly shove it off the dashboard, to no avail. As soon as he moved one limb, the other would glide right back up to take its place; Joel’s hands were big, but they weren’t massive enough to grab hold of both of your legs at once and make you stay the fuck there, Christ’s sake.

You liked to see him flustered. Brought a whole new hue to his tough, stubbled cheeks that folks rarely got to see. You squirmed in your seat when he reached for your side.

“Wh—NO! No tickling!” you cried, trying your hardest to roll away.

But the man was nothing if not a lover of cheap shots and filthy antics. He’d never played a clean game in his life and wasn’t about to start now.

His gaze darted from the road to your writhing form, pinned against the door and begging him to stop, while he pressed his foot harder on the gas and smirked.

“Too much?” he teased, “Say pretty, pretty please.”

In other words: give up. You would do no such thing. Your elbow jutted out to the side and clipped his fingertips sharply, and right before he could reach for you again, you were heaving yourself up and leaning almost halfway out the open window, trying to shy away from his touch.

“You fuckin’ nuts?! Get down!” he yelled.

“But it just may be a luuuunatic you’re lookin’ for!” you sang along to your old friend Billy Joel and pretended not to see, or hear, Joel Miller twisting desperately across the center console to take hold of your belt loops.

“Get—I swear to God, kid—DOWN!”

Joel had just managed to finagle a loose, feeble grip on your denim waistband as he tried to keep the car from soaring across three lanes of traffic, was just about to yank you back inside and give you a red-faced, fatherly lecture of a lifetime, when a sound startled you both.

A siren, and a set of flashing blue lights behind you.

You scrambled back in your seat and swallowed a lump in your throat the size of a peach. You turned off Mr. Long Island.

“Great! Good fucking going,” Joel griped beside you as he flicked on his blinker and started to pull off the road.

Dogs no longer on the dash—and a very pissed off cop pulling up behind your car on the shoulder of the road—you got the feeling this would be a long couple of days.

You hadn’t even made it outside the city limits of Boston.

Somewhere between Richmond and Roanoke, the two of you turned off the highway to find a place to sleep.

Joel had sat and stewed and ignored you for the customary duration of about two hours before choosing to re-engage in conversation, but deep down, you knew he was still kind of irked by that reckless driving citation he’d received. You couldn’t help but feel responsible.

Though it had been pretty funny when the state trooper had approached the car and pointedly asked, “What the hell was your daughter doin’ danglin’ outta this thing?!” Joel was nowhere near as amused as you, but he managed to roll with it and told the cop you were just trying to wave to the cows in the fields passing by.

The police officer hadn’t bought it.

He probably would have arrested you both if you hadn’t been such a coquettish flirt and somehow managed to persuade the man to let your ‘dad’ off with just a ticket.

You had hoped that would temper Joel’s anger some, but if anything, the sight only seemed to make him more mad at you. You weren’t sure why.

Presently, you pulled up to Balmaceda’s Mountain Lodge and cast a bleak look at the front office before you.

This looked nothing like the snug, homespun mountain retreat you’d been picturing in your mind. Ahead of your car, there stood a single-story concrete slab of a motel, tilted to one side and consumed almost entirely by the dark of night and wide open wilderness. A big block letter neon sign displaying the owner’s name in red now barely flickered above a muddied, pinkish glow. You groaned.

But before you could complain to your travel companion, Joel was already stepping out of the car and heading toward the main office. Hastily, you followed after.

“No way, Miller. No fucking way are we staying in Murder Motel,” you hissed.

“Bal-ma-ceda’s,” Joel intoned with a maddeningly accurate lilt, ignoring your protests, “I think that’s a Chilean name.”

He swung the door wide for you to enter and pretended not to see you shoot him a glare as you strolled in.

“Needin’ a room?”

The lady behind the counter barely graced your entrance with a look.

“Yes ma’am. Whatever you got,” Joel replied, smiling.

“Smoking or non?”

“Smoking, please.”

Of course he would. You could already feel the fetid stench of American Spirits wafting up to your nostrils.

“King or two Queens?”

“Queens,” you and Joel answered in unison.

At first, the woman nodded, flicked through a rolodex on her desk and nosed through a couple yellowed pages in front of her. Then, frowning, she looked back up.

“Sorry. All the Queens are took up. Rest of the rooms are being fumigated but the one—” she tapped a manicured nail on the motel map, “—and it’s got a King. That okay?”

No. No, it was not. You opened your mouth to speak but were shortly cut off by the woman before you could.

“Of course, if you don’t want dad hoggin’ up all the sheets, there’s a pull-out sofa for him to sleep on.”

The sixty-something desk clerk offered a smile, and you likely would’ve returned the favor if you hadn’t been so deeply nauseated at the thought of everyone around you assuming that Joel was your father. You chanced a look at the man, who seemed equally uncomfortable as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. You sighed.

“Alright.”

Defeated, but marginally pleased that you wouldn’t have to share a bed with your ‘old man’ that night.

Joel paid and signed the papers without another word, or look, to you or the woman. By the looks of it, he just wanted to book the room and get the hell out as fast as possible, his brow pinched inward and lips zipped tight.

He’d turned to leave so quick that he was almost approaching the door when the lady called out,

“Mr. Miller! You forgot your keys.”

You hardly needed to steal a glance in Joel’s direction to see that he was flushed. Even blushing a bit.

You strode over to the counter and intercepted the keys she was dangling for someone to take, then politely, finally, were able to manage a smile and a thank-you.

You turned back to Joel.

“Here you go, Daddy.”

In a blink, the small silver set was pelted in his hands, and the man nearly dropped them—and lost his balance. By some miracle, Joel managed to catch them between his big sweaty palms and step aside just in time for you to saunter past him, straight through the door.

“I’m starved,” you announced, then, averting your face to hide your smug expression and lower your voice a bit, “Feed me, Daddy.”

In that moment, Joel thanked every last one of his lucky stars that his pants were made of denim, and that the denim itself was thick. And that the woman at the front desk was swift to turn her attention back to her tabloid magazine, away from you two, and didn’t look up again.

If they weren’t, and if she hadn’t, it would’ve been plain as day to see that Joel Miller was sporting a hard-on.

A huge, swollen hard-on that made it almost impossible for him to walk and haul luggage and try to keep apace with your steps as you sailed along the gravel drive. So big the man had to will himself not to limp, not to make it known how stiff he was, until he eventually failed at both.

Once you’d grabbed your bags back at the car and made it up to your place, you entered Room 102 with a lightness you hadn’t felt all day. Joel slogged behind with all of the baggage and a boner beneath his jeans that probably could’ve cut sheet metal, if needed.

He was fucked. No doubt he’d have to enlist in the Witness Protection Program after your real father found out that his best friend had gotten visibly bricked up for you, his one and only daughter. How awkward holiday dinners were bound to be from that point on; how humiliating it seemed to him to pop a chub at a thing as dumb as saying ‘daddy’; how batshit insane it was that he hadn’t gotten laid in almost a year, and you were still, somehow, the only one he wanted to break the dry spell.

Joel was better than this. A fucking pro at self-control and all things dirty old guys didn’t do. He could chill out.

He just needed to rub one out in the bathroom, fast.

So, while you flopped down on the bed, Joel dropped every bag and made a beeline for the toilet. Slammed the door so hard he probably could’ve knocked the thing off its hinges, but he didn’t care. He was wrestling his belt, button, and zip off in a second. Then haphazardly turning on the sink to mask the sounds of all that was to come. No pun intended.

He yanked his thick, throbbing, rock-hard member out of its confines and had to hiss through his teeth to keep from moaning. The sensitivity he felt was unbearable, the front of his boxers already painted with pre-cum.

Gingerly, Joel wrapped one hand around his cock and raised the other to anchor himself against the sink. He slid his palm, which he’d just barely lubricated with some spit of his, up and down the shaft and groaned. A welt of pleasure formed in his chest, and he rubbed even faster. And, in spite of his legs feeling a bit like jelly, he stood there and fucked his fist and wished with every bit of himself that it was your warm, lush folds opening around him instead. Stifled a groan and would’ve paid any sum of money to hear your moans spilling out while he thrusted. The act here was more mindless and reflexive than anything else—jerking himself and soaking in the sharp, fiery sensations that shot up through his body.

To him, at least, it was all purely physical. Mechanical.

Nowhere near as euphoric and otherworldly as it would have been with your hand actually curled around him.

Or your lips. Or your tongue. Or your tight, wet cunt.

Fuck, he needed a shower.

Blindly, Joel moved inside the tub to his left and yanked the curtain shut over a space almost two times too small for his frame. He turned on the water and made it hot. Then he fisted his cock again, pressed his head to the shower wall, and pumped himself as fast as his forearm would allow him—trying all the while not to think of you.

You, with all your wily, shrewd ways were still the daughter of the man who guzzled down IPAs with him at the local dive bar every Thursday night over jalapeño poppers and buffalo dip. The man who clapped him over the shoulder and shook his frame with the kind of good-natured sneer that only a best friend could make, ‘A man as suave as you oughta get some tail every now and then. Go find you a gal and fuck her brains out, Joel!’

But the only ‘gal’ Joel wanted to rail was the one who called that man ‘dad’—and just called him ‘daddy’ for the first time that night—and he hated himself for it.

Sparks of pleasure continued to ignite across his lower half as he jerked himself in the shallowest, short pumps. He flicked his hand back and forth, circled the tip with his palm, and felt a groan start to claw at his throat. He tried to picture any face but yours but failed miserably.

All he could think, see, or breathe was you—imagining your lips enveloping the head of his cock, jerking him softly, taking him down to the back of your throat and bobbing that pretty little face up and down his length.

That sweaty, desperate fist of his just wasn’t cutting it.

For the first time, Joel couldn’t make himself cum.

Now even more pent-up and pussywhipped than he’d been when he first started, he slammed his palm against the wall and flung the shower handle in the opposite direction—turning the water as cold as it could get.

Five minutes passed, and the icy spray had scarcely left a dent in his raging erection. Joel stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his hips, and stood in front of the mirror to see that he was still very hard.

Fuck this.

He bunched his strewn aside clothing together and held it over his crotch, discreet as he could, and waddled out.

And, either the temperature inside had just jumped fifty degrees or the world outside had just caught fire, but Joel’s face was flooded with heat the second he exited.

You were sprawled across the bed wearing nothing but a thin white tank, shorts, and fuzzy socks—and a scowl.

“Sofa’s broke,” you said.

Joel blinked.

“Broke?”

You nodded toward the busted sleeper couch at the far end of the room, torn to pieces and kicked a half-dozen times since you’d tried unfolding it in Joel’s absence.

The jaws of the old steel frame had simply refused to give way, and now the sofa was so out of sorts and misshapen that you had no hope of putting it back the way that it was. You sank further in the bed and pointed to the floor.

“You can sleep there.”

Joel eyed a flat sheet and a pillow laid across the carpet, visibly coated in dust and grime. He turned back to you.

“You’re smokin’ crack if you think I’m doin’ that.”

“Be grateful I’m not making you sleep in the car, daddy.”

Again with that fucking name. Joel tightened his grip on the clothes he was holding over his dick and tried to fight a thousand dirty thoughts threatening to seep back into his head.

Unfortunately, the dirty thoughts had hands—and were beating his ass to a bloody pulp when he first caught sight of your nipples poking up through your shirt. Just when the man might have started to drool or else begun humping that pile of clothes, you snapped your fingers.

“Miller Lite. Eyes up here.”

Fuck.

“Got a…stain on your shirt,” he grumbled in his defense.

“Shut up. Now, we can flip for the bed if you want.”

By turns, Joel’s focus was slowly coming back, and the man was trying like hell to find a place on your face that didn’t arouse him to no end—to help ease the intrusive thoughts and all. So far his search had yielded nothing.

“Like, uh…coin?” he asked. Endearingly stupid.

“Heads, I win,” you said, nodding, “Tails…”

Joel swallowed.

“Tails, what?”

“Tails, you tell me what was going on in your head when you were jacking off to the thought of me just now.”

Your words came out in a hurry, almost too quick for Joel to comprehend. He still heard them, though, and nearly choked on his spit when he tried to swallow again.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were,” you bit back, “I heard you moan my name.”

Joel didn’t remember that. Joel didn’t remember much of anything that had taken place in that bathroom apart from being implacably horny and unable to bust a nut. You stepped off the bed to stand in front of him.

“What? Cat got your tongue all of a sudden?” you sneered, “Think I’m just gonna run off and tell my da—”

“Don’t,” Joel’s response was immediate, insistent. Then, setting his jaw in a way you knew too well, contemplating about fifty different thoughts in the span of two seconds, he pressed the clothes pile to his crotch even tighter and sighed, “Don’t…do that, please. I’ll take the floor.”

You raised both brows, mildly amused.

“I said we could flip for it. C’mon,” you said.

“Ain’t got any coins.” Joel was already retreating to his makeshift sleeping pad on the floor, eyeing the shag carpet for any traces of blood, piss, or rodent droppings. Before he made it too far, you reached for his arm.

Joel tensed under your touch.

“We can try something else.” Your voice was cloying, almost too sweet to be trusted.

It had just dawned on you then how bare the man standing before you was. Clad in only his towel, every taut, toned inch of Joel’s body was there on display—coated with sweat and a fine sheen from the shower, his skin practically shone in the glow of the bedside lamp. You watched him shift in place and saw the towel around his hips stir along with it. He never let those old clothes in his hands move an inch away from his groin, though.

“What game?” he asked.

“Something my roommates showed me,” you began, “‘Too Hot.’”

“Too Hot?”

“You heard me.”

“What, like— like Spin the Bottle, or some bullshit?”

Joel could just picture it: a gaggle of your college pals huddled around an old, empty bottle of Bud Light as you watched it turn circles again, and again, and again on the dorm’s linoleum floor. You tugging at the sleeve of some oversized man-child from a frat Joel couldn’t name, leaning in and beaming like the insatiable flirt he knew you to be, asking that boy if he wanted to sneak off somewhere and let his tongue take a tour of your mouth.

The thought made Joel’s stomach turn.

Presently, you wrinkled your nose up at him.

“Spin the Bottle? That’s rookie shit,” you made another face reminding Joel, once more, how little he knew of the life you lived 1,900 miles away from Austin, at college.

He still couldn’t shake the thought of those boys.

“No, Joel,” you shook your head, drawing your syllables out for effect, “‘Too Hot’ is just…edging your opponent.”

Joel’s throat tightened, and he tried not to let his eyes widen too much, but he was almost certain they had. Before he even knew the words he was saying, the thought of your father taking his fist—or a shotgun—to his face made him blurt out in response, stammering,

“We can’t— I can’t— can’t lay one finger on you, darlin’, you know that. Your dad would murder me.”

To his surprise, the smile on your face only widened.

“Bingo,” You stuck one pretty finger in his face like he’d made the world’s finest discovery, “You can’t touch me.”

“Huh?”

“That’s the whole fuckin’ game, Miller. We can kiss, but we can’t touch each other with our hands. First one to crack and grope the other player loses the game.”

Your expression now was something just shy of sadistic. Watching him with keen, narrowed eyes and a wicked little grin, it seemed you were half-expecting him to fold on the spot. No way was this a game your college friends taught you; you just wanted to play him. Make him lose.

And Joel was a man who couldn’t stand to lose, no matter the stakes.

You watched that failure-averse glint eclipse every shade of lust in his eyes, at least momentarily. Suddenly, Joel didn’t look so fearful of your father’s wrath or what lurid implications this night might bring—he just had to win.

“You suck, you know that?” he said, at last, dropping his makeshift shield from the front of his towel and knocking you flat on the bed with a single push.

“You wish I would,” you grumbled, heart still jumping up in your ribcage all the same. You scooted back.

“I bet you will.”

The man was a menace when he had the will to be.

At length, Joel crawled over your body and made room for himself snug between your legs. The bulge that he’d been trying to hide all this time was now heavy on your center, pressed tight to your stupid-thin shorts and the panties you’d conveniently forgotten to wear. He grinned.

“Are tongues allowed?” he hummed.

“Everything but hands,” you shrugged.

Try as you might to play it cool with him, though, every fibre of your being was alight with desire for the man on top of you. You flitted a look between his soft brown eyes and slightly parted lips and could’ve melted in that bed had Joel not lowered his head and dove right in for it.

His mouth was far gentler than expected. Reverent, even. He slotted his lips between your own and made a fine, delicate showing of just how tender and adept he could be while imparting his slow, sweet kisses. Skirted his tongue across your bottom lip before driving it inside, coaxed your mouth open to him in a matter of seconds. He was graceful. And patient. And lithe with that tongue.

Joel Miller was showing off for you—the bastard.

“Sweet little thing,” he groaned against your mouth, “Ain’t felt a tongue this shy on mine in a long time.”

Of course he’d try taunting you, too. Same old Joel.

“What’s it been? Two years since a woman let you touch her?”

“Twenty since I felt one this good.”

You would’ve liked to reach around the back of his head and seize a clump of that thick, dark, grey-speckled hair. But you couldn’t. Your hands remained plastered to the duvet beneath you, and then, just slightly, your fingers started to curl inward. Joel’s palms laid flat on either side of your head.

It felt weird; mashing lips, teeth, and tongue with a man who’d been alive about twenty years longer than you and went further back with your father than you could even remember. What felt even stranger was the fact that you couldn’t touch him, or take him between your two hands.

Joel’s tongue continued roaming every contour and crevice of your mouth like he had an ache for this taste that he just couldn’t quench. Your tongue tried keeping up, too, but frankly, you were too preoccupied by a pulse between your legs—your parts and Joel’s practically throbbing in time with one another—to work just as hard.

Even through the towel, he felt huge.

You whined when Joel started to grind up against you, and shortly, those fingers of yours that had just been grazing the sheets before were gripping them. Tight.

“Earlier…” Joel murmured between kisses, hips working a vicious pace against you, “You said you were hungry.”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry—starved,” he corrected himself, and you almost could’ve smacked him for being so smug about it.

“What’s your point, Miller?” You were fisting the sheets beneath your palms and gyrating your whole body to meet the motions of the man currently dry-humping you.

All of a sudden, Joel’s movements stopped.

He peered down at you with a curious look.

“I could go for something to eat, too,” he declared.

You blinked. Stared. And just when you’d opened your mouth to say, well, maybe you should’ve grabbed us a bite to eat when we passed that Burger King on the way in, dipshit, Joel’s torso started to move down your own. Slow and painstaking as ever as he made sure not to graze one inch of your skin with his hands while he did.

You leapt back against the headboard, almost cracking your skull on the wood.

“Joel— Joel,” you hissed as the heels of your feet dug into the mattress below, and Joel just sank even further.

Then he was slowly, scrupulously pinching the fabric of your shorts between each index finger and thumb, gaze trained close on your lower half to make sure he never touched you, and he started pulling it down.

“This isn’t—” you started again, only to be offered a soft shush and an even quieter rustle of the cotton material sliding down both your legs.

You dropped your head on a pillow and probably could’ve burned a hole in the ceiling with the wide-eyed look you fixed on one spot, in utter disbelief of what he was doing.

“No panties, huh?” Joel observed. Gentle puffs of his breath were now fanning across the whole bare expanse of your lower half, and your pyjama bottoms were shortly discarded. His face was just hovering there, and you could tell that he knew you knew by the way he lowered his voice and brought his head to have only the tips of his chin stubble grazing your abdomen, “You needed this.”

Some lone remnant of ire flashed in your eyes.

“I don’t need shit from you, Miller. You need me. And you’re gonna lose this.”

Even though your gaze was still trained to the ceiling, you could feel him grin against your delicate skin.

“Hey,” he mumbled, “You said tongues are fair game.”

Fuck me, you wanted to keen the second his lips made contact with your…lower ones, and Joel swiftly got to kissing you there just as he’d done to you above. Hot, soft, and tender as the first rays of morning sun heralding a new day, he sponged his lips across the seam of your heat and made as if to massage the place, gently.

You could hear as well as you could feel that effusion of desire leaking out of your cunt and pooling around the man’s mouth. How eager he was to lap it up with his tongue, to grace your ears with those delectable squelching sounds, he caressed every inch between your folds and only sank deeper when you whined above him.

“Joel.”

Right now you couldn’t look down. Not with the way your legs were already trembling around his head, your chest heaving with the fastest, most frenzied breaths. You’d sooner die before you watched him unravel you like this.

“Darlin’, you’ve got a man soaked.” Some sound almost resembling a chuckle reverberated between your thighs and sent a brand new shockwave of pleasure in its wake, “You like it when daddy uses his mouth on this needy, wet cunt, don’t you?”

Yes, yes, you did. But your answer was nonverbal: a sharp curl of your toes and a grip between your fingers so tight across the sheets that he saw you veritably could’ve torn the linens in two.

Neither of you had laid a hand on the other.

Joel was perfectly content to make do with his mouth for now.

“Got those sheets all balled up, you’re fixin’ to rip ‘em.”

“My tongue make ya feel that good, honey?”

“Poor thing can’t even breathe it feels so nice, right?”

So he’d seen you hiccup, try to steady your breaths, and fail before succumbing to a string of lewd moans. Joel saw you, and knew how you felt, as if he’d had his own secret gauge for how good his mouth was doing you in.

Surely, he could’ve sensed the words before they ever came out of your mouth.

“Touch me, Joel, please.”

His tongue was just then making a lazy circuit around your clit, mouth saturated in your juices, when he smiled.

“Nah.”

Curt and cruel as ever. Then:

“No matter how fuckin’ perfect this pussy is, I ain’t losin’.”

He completed the arc with his tongue and took your bud between his lips, sucking in. You almost screamed.

“Motherfucker.”

“Miller, baby, Miller. Close, though.”

And just when you thought he’d had his fill of cheeky games, Joel sucked your clit even harder and flicked the tip of his tongue against your bundle of nerves until you were writhing, crying on the bed above him,

“JoelbabypleasebabyfuckmefuckohfuckitfeelsoGOOD.”

It was a bit tough to decipher through your strangled, desperate moans, but Joel got the picture. Heeding your requests, he kept at that pace above your clit and slid his tongue back and forth, over and over, lapping up your honeyed glaze like it was the finest thing he’d tasted. Scruff harsh against your thighs, lips soft in a perfect suction, Joel Miller had your head swimming in desire and your better judgment dissipating before your eyes.

At the first sign of bliss, your muscles clenched, and the last linchpin of your resolve crumbled right along with it.

You carded your hands through Joel’s hair and grabbed hold of those locks with a full-throated moan, using his head for shameless leverage to buck and rut your hips into his face as you rode out the peaks of your high.

And, ever the gentleman, Joel fought like hell to keep his lips and tongue connected to your core while you writhed above him—this time at liberty to work his arms under your thighs and hold them since you’d given up the game. He would’ve smiled if he weren’t so narrowly preoccupied, seeing you thrash about and moan out loud and fuck his face like it was the last thing tethering you to earth. He liked seeing you come undone beneath him.

A bit too much, if he were being completely honest.

While you made the languid descent from ecstasy and your breaths were still slowing in your chest on the bed, Joel was back on his feet. Padding toward the bathroom door, slamming it shut behind him as he had before. When he returned in a minute or two, he was clothed. He fished for his keys in the pockets of his snug, stonewash Wranglers and made a face. He didn’t look at you.

“I’ll be back,” he said, starting toward the door.

“Back?” You sat up, perplexed, “The hell ya goin’?”

“Out.”

This motherfucker.

“Did I miss something? Were we not just seconds away from getting down to some how’s-your-father?”

Joel visibly grimaced at your choice of sex slang. Under the circumstances, you would concede it wasn’t ideal.

“O-kay, sorry,” you returned, crossing your legs out in front of you, “I mean…don’t you want me to get you off?”

Again, Joel’s expression twisted into something just shy of overwrought, weary, and repulsed—a look that you couldn’t begin to understand, for the life of you—and you watched him flit his eyes from the bed to the door, again and again, seeming to be pining for the sweet release of leaving your shared motel room as soon as possible.

You’d been with your fair share of emotionally avoidant fucksticks, but most of them didn’t ghost until after they’d gotten their nut and felt no reason to stick around. Joel’s exit seemed premature. Strange.

“So you don’t want to fuck?” you asked, deadpan. You’d never been one for beating around the bush.

“Can’t,” Joel shook his head, bringing one hand to rest on his hip while the other fiddled uncomfortably with his car keys, “Your dad…that’s just— that’s crossing a line.”

“And being nose-deep in my cunt isn’t?”

You stared him down, incredulous.

So now he decides to claim the moral high ground, after coaxing you to soak every inch of his beard and cum all over his tongue? How very fucking charitable of him.

“That’s different,” Joel retorted, rubbing his knuckles in a nervous tic, “That was a game. I won. We’re done.”

You set your jaw just tight enough to keep your tongue in check and refrained from firing off a brash, unsavory remark. It wouldn’t do either of you a lick of good.

You let him leave. Joel had told you that you could keep the bed, he didn’t mind, and then he slipped out the door without another word. Leaving you cold and alone on the soiled, tawdry floral bedspread of Room 102, wondering what the hell had gone so wrong in the span of the last five minutes. From the center of the bed, you could see Joel’s Bronco pull off into the silent, frigid night.

You were still hungry as shit.

Rolling onto your side and rummaging through the bags at the end of the bed, you found nothing even remotely edible—save for, literally, one of Joel’s brownie edibles—and you groaned out loud. You threw your shorts back on, stepped into your old Luccheses, and did a quick circuit around the room to find your jacket before you left. As it turned out, you’d forgotten it back in Joel’s car.

You dropped to your knees and went back to tearing through luggage, searching for some suitable outerwear.

By the end of that second suitcase foray, though, you found you had nothing of your own that was hefty enough to brave the below-freezing temperatures outside, so you had to settle on a dark brown, fleece-lined coat from Joel’s bag. It was durable enough but about four sizes too big—and reeked of cigarette smoke.

You trudged outside, not really knowing where you were going or what you were hoping to find. Your stomach growled, and a few cool gusts of wind came to lap at the bare skin of your thighs where Joel’s spit was still drying.

You stepped a few feet out and turned toward the road.

Bal-ma-ceda’s, you read the seedy neon sign and heard Joel’s enunciation of the name ring between your ears.

What you wouldn’t give for the greasiest, girthiest, barely-FDA-approved 7-Eleven corndog to kill your thoughts about that sleazy little fucker right now.

You started toward the convenience store across the street but quickly found that it was closed—along with every other establishment on that stretch of road. You glanced toward the front office and caught a glimpse of your old friend dozing behind the counter. The speakers outside were playing a tinny rendition of ‘Piano Man.’

Just as you tried not to barf in your mouth at the sound and silently primed yourself for a long, long trek through the boonies to the nearest gas station, you stopped.

In a compact little breezeway that cleaved the motel in two, you saw light pool around an old vending machine.

You almost fell over yourself trying to get to it.

Never mind the fact that there were about half a dozen ragtag teens decked out in camouflage and comically tattered denim cutoffs crowding the area. All absently smoking and blowing o’s, or else sipping on cans of beer in the cramped, concrete passage, they looked bored. A couple lazy smiles broke out upon seeing your approach.

You nodded back and sidled up to the snack dispenser.

Then you zeroed in on the first sugar-packed products you could find: a pack of sour gummy worms and a bottle of Sprite—no, Mountain Dew—and a chocolate bar. Maybe a bag of Cheetos or Fritos thrown in for good measure. All of the snacks were probably stale as shit and hadn’t seen a replacement since dinosaurs roamed the earth, but you didn’t care. You were prying singles out of your wallet and salivating before you could think.

“Gotta kick it a couple times ‘fore it’ll spit anything out,” one of the boys lounging around you piped up.

You’d just inserted a couple bills and were waiting for the machine to dispense your gummy worms, when the thing appeared to stall. Stuck in its tracks, like he’d said.

You raised a brow and tapped the toe of your boot to the appliance, turning toward the one who’d addressed you,

“Like this?”

“Nope. Nuh-uh.” The redhead got up and strode over, where his much bigger, square-toed boot delivered a kick to the vending machine that almost toppled it.

A bag of Trolli Sour Brite Crawlers dropped out.

The kid—who actually happened to be nineteen years old and a student at some college a few states away, along with his whole group of friends—was kind enough to repeat the same ritual for all of your treats. You’d just gathered your stuff together and were about to thank him for his services, when the guy presently stuck a hand in your direction and introduced himself as Connor.

Then Blake. Then Micah. Then Wyatt. Then Trent. All traveling with their team for a tournament that weekend.

Then a beer was held out to you. You declined. A little homemade deer jerky? No, thanks. How ‘bout some Oreos? I’m good on snacks, really. Well, shit, you seem a little high-strung, why don’t you take a hit right here? And Connor pulled his dab pen out from his pocket.

Well.

You hadn’t smoked in a minute. You might’ve decided to take a bite out of Joel’s brownie back in the room, but you hadn’t known how strong it was—or where the fuck he’d gotten it. The pen this stranger was offering you was one that looked similar enough to the kinds you’d seen passed among your friends a hundred times before that you felt comfortable taking one hit, maybe. Two max.

You felt stupid as soon as you’d sucked in every breath, but you ended up taking four hits in total.

You hacked and sputtered and blinked up at Connor, who was grinning big.

“Alright, hardass,” he chuckled, taking back the device.

“Daddy know you smoke?” Wyatt cut in with a sneer.

Daddy?

There was no fucking way Joel looked that old for everyone to think he was your father. You inwardly cringed.

“Y’all been spying on us?”

“Ain’t shit else to do around here.” That was Blake.

You tried to swallow but found your throat much drier than it had been before. And not just from the weed.

“He doesn’t care,” you said, managing a shrug.

It wasn’t entirely false. Joel did give no fucks about you.

“Dude looks like a— a fuckin’ DEA agent or something,” Micah said, amused.

“Like that guy from Narcos,” Trent snickered.

You’d never seen the show and didn’t particularly care to know what law enforcement archetype Joel appeared to embody—in fact, you didn’t want to discuss him at all.

Just as the first fuzzy beads of warmth began to roll into your head, you were already planning your exit strategy. Thank Connor for his selfless assistance and cannabis, bid the group a good night and the best of luck in their upcoming lax tournament, and be done with this shit, ASAP. You were still trying to steady your tongue in the bone-dry cavern that had become your mouth when one of them kicked at a near-empty case of beer at their feet.

“We’re about out.” Micah announced.

Seconds later, Connor was turning to you.

“Wanna…restock in our room?” he asked, the corners of his lips twisting into a smile as he looked down at you.

You crinkled your nose and shook your head. Connor leaned his whole weight against the vending machine between you, seeming unconvinced by your answer.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, “I think you wanna come.”

“Do I?”

You only entertained the backtalk because your brain was currently swimming in a far-off, pleasant void of contentment and indifference. Every sharp edge dulled in your mind, to an extent, and your body at ease. You didn’t have to be home to anyone, anytime, and Joel was probably halfway plastered at a dive bar down the road. You didn’t move back when Connor stepped forward.

He wasn’t even that close. You could leave whenever you pleased.

“For sure. I think you’d enjoy our shitty beer and even shittier company. We can smoke some more, too.”

The man certainly had a way with words. He muscled in a bit closer.

“You think so?” you hummed.

“I do. I really do.”

“And you’re willing to risk the wrath of my dad if he finds out where I am?” You made it sound like a challenge.

“Wyatt can fight.”

Connor motioned toward his friend, who was mindlessly chomping on deer jerky in his lawn chair off to the side, glossy-eyed and hammered. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, but make sure he’s ready. I can only stay for five.”

Connor seemed wounded as he put a hand over his heart in mock dismay.

“Only five minutes?” he griped, “Why not ten? Or twenty?”

“Six.”

“Fifteen at least.”

You folded your arms over your chest and felt an opaque haze beginning to settle over your brain. It wasn’t quite a high, just a lightness of being that drove tender little streaks up your spine. Like Joel, tickling at your sides while you writhed around in the front seat of his car.

This time you took the beer Connor offered and cracked it open. He seemed pleased—and taken by surprise—to see you down the drink in spite of the overflowing foam.

“Ten,” you returned once you’d swallowed it all.

“Twenty.”

“Honey?”

The last voice didn’t belong to anyone in the group. You turned on your heels and almost coughed up your beer.

It was Joel, of course.

Standing at the threshold of the breezeway like a surly, disconcerted parent, of all things, watching you like he’d just caught you red-handed in the most horrific of acts.

Clutched in one hand was a Burger King takeout bag.

“Daddy. Hi,” you breathed.

Apparently your attempt at casual came across more slurred than anything else, because Joel stepped closer.

‘Let’s go’ was all he said. No accusations, no threats, no outward displays of emotion found anywhere on his face. Just a gruff ‘Let’s go,’ and a free hand reaching for yours.

Instinctively, you recoiled.

“We’re just talking,” you said, gesturing behind you. If you could have seen the uniform looks of discomfort and agita, damn near treading on fear, among them all, you probably wouldn’t have bothered.

“Good. Now you’re leaving,” Joel supplied in a moment.

He was blissfully indifferent. Asserting his will in a space where, less than one hour ago, he couldn’t bear to share a room with you, much less impart a shred of dignity or care to your condition. He had nerve, that was for sure.

“I’m not leaving,” you said, a touch more venom in your voice than you intended.

Joel raised both eyebrows.

“No?”

His expression, directed to you, was infuriating.

“Fuck no,” you answered.

A few of the guys behind you sucked in a breath as if to say, ‘Okaaaaay, time to go!’ but then Joel pressed,

“For someone who wants to be treated like an adult—”

“Adult?” you scoffed, “You treat me plenty like an adult, Joel. Just whenever the designation suits your needs, huh?”

No one moved.

Well, Joel flinched a bit. Then he squeezed your wrist.

Truly, you never failed to underestimate the man’s brute strength when it came to carrying you off at will—but there you were, being yanked behind the big, bad Joel Miller as he hauled you off to who-knows-where. You scowled but didn’t bother to steal a glance behind you at the beer, boys, or vending machine treats you were being forced to abandon. All you could do was stare a hole through Joel’s skull and tug back—largely ineffectually.

“You’re an ass,” you spat, digging your heels into the gravel terrain as he pulled you along.

“You’re a brat,” he fired back.

In a minute, the exterior of Room 102 was coming into view; Joel was practically toting your ass like a knapsack.

“You just abandoned me back here, Miller. You— you don’t get to pretend like you give a fuck now.”

“I was getting you Burger King, for Christ’s sake.”

Joel was fiddling with the lock now. Simultaneously juggling your hand, the paper bag, and a set of keys that didn’t seem keen on cooperating, he huffed, disgruntled.

“Even got you those—” Joel grunted, thrusting his shoulder into the door, “—fuckin’ curly fries you wanted.”

Your jaw slackened. That was supposed to make it okay?

“Joel, FUCK your curly fries!” you cried, “Are you seriously still trying to play good guy right now?”

“If that’s what you—”

“No. You don’t get to tonguefuck your friend’s daughter and buy her a goddamn Double Whopper and act like it’s all good. Sure as hell don’t get to dictate who I talk to.”

Like he had before, Joel cringed to hear your crude language—particularly as it related to what he had done to you but didn’t seem capable of owning up to just yet. You couldn’t bear another second of that look.

“Fuck this. I’m sleeping in the car,” you grumbled.

You thrashed your arm out of Joel’s hold and started off in the other direction. Picked up your pace when you heard the bag of fast food drop to the ground and Joel trotting after you. Calling your name.

Even at your most brisk, you knew you couldn’t outstrip those big, beefy legs of his. He gained on you in seconds.

So you took off running.

Joel gripped his side, thinking, ‘Aw, hell’ before breaking out in a sprint just as fast.

You were pissed at how far he’d parked this time around. You caught sight of the old Bronco perched a ways away from your room and almost opted to change course on the spot, to the front office—maybe dive behind the counter and beg that poor old woman to give you another place to stay—but you kept at it, anyway. For once, you were glad to have had Joel beat by so many years, because the man’s endurance was, evidently, shit.

“Hey, s— stop!” Joel shouted after you.

Fat chance, Miller.

You closed in on the car. Joel rarely ever locked it.

Your hand secured a grip on the door and jerked it back. It swung right open.

Just as Joel was pulling up the rear, you had the driver’s side slammed shut and your palm laid flat on the door lock knob—shoving the little black lever down each time Joel tried to unlock the car.

It was a fruitless endeavor, you knew; you couldn’t keep the man out all night so long as he had the car keys in his hands. You could piss him off some more, though.

“You won the fucking game, just take the bed!” you said, straining against the door with your weight pressed hard on that knob. Joel was furiously working to get it open.

“I mean it, Joel, I-I don’t wanna sleep in there wi— shit.”

You leapt back in your seat as Joel flung the door wide open. You scrambled across the center console, made a desperate grasp at the passenger door to climb out the other side, but your ankle was taken between two hands. Just as you tried to slink out on the opposite end of the vehicle, Joel pulled you right back in. Flipped the center console up so you were sprawled flat across the bucket seat at the front of his car and pinned underneath him.

Then he pulled you over his lap.

Not into it—nestled on top of his crotch, with your ass pointing up in the air. Joel’s big ass Carhartt jacket was bunching up around your torso, collar crowding you up to the chin. Your twisted just far enough to meet his gaze.

“What do you want from me?” Joel demanded, “What?”

You stared up at him, poring over your options in the span of what seemed like two milliseconds. Wondering, silently, why he wasn’t touching you anywhere.

“I want you to fuck me, Joel,” you replied at length.

Seated between driver’s side and shotgun, Joel looked perfectly unperturbed, raking a hand through his silver-flecked hair and letting his gaze trail up to the ceiling, as if considering something of grave importance.

“And what after that?” he asked, still staring at the roof.

Before you could reply, though, he was forging ahead,

“What happens when I can’t even look your dad in the eye knowin’ I’ve been balls deep in his little girl, and every fuckin’ time I’m over at your house or you’re over at mine, I’ll be thinkin’— no, dreamin’ of what it was like to have you wrapped around my cock, screamin’ my name and takin’ it so deep inside you like I know ya want it?”

You paused a beat. Had to bat your eyes a couple times to rid your head of those filthy thoughts he’d planted.

“We could, uh— fuck…then…too,” you ventured quietly.

Joel grinned at the spot he was watching, humorless.

“That easy, huh?” he mumbled.

Again, before you could speak, Joel continued,

“I can’t even cum with you on my mind,” he said, and for a split second you thought that might mean he wasn’t attracted to you in that way, when he swallowed hard and closed his eyes, “I’ve tried beating off twice today—in the bathroom and as soon as I left earlier—and I can’t…even get close with you here. You fuck with my head.”

You fuck with my head.

Without meaning to, your hips stirred over his, and Joel audibly groaned. At last, he dropped a palm to your ass and gave it a taut smack, and your whole lower half reverberated with the sensation—and a welt of pleasure.

“You think I want it to be like this?” Joel said, voice strained, fingers kneading over the flesh he’d just struck, “Think I enjoy havin’ the biggest set’a fuckin’ blue balls known to man whenever I’m around ya, honey?”

You winced when you were spanked again, letting out a whimper into the seat’s charcoal-colored upholstery.

“I can help with that,” you hissed, feeling him massage the spot once more. You arched your back into his touch.

“No. You’d make it worse,” Joel shook his head, “Once I get a feel inside this sweet cunt I’ll never wanna stop.”

At the soft rumble of his words, you felt yourself growing aroused. Noticeably so. Your skin broke out in broad swaths of gooseflesh every place he touched, and in the wake of those hands grew a pool of dull warmth. Sticky, slick, soak-straight-through-your-shorts sort of warmth.

Joel’s hand hovered about an inch from the source.

“We’d get bored eventually. It’d be fine,” you said, words crawling off of your parched tongue with some difficulty now. That faint, heady feeling from before had become a high, finally, and it seemed every sense you possessed was ablaze with desire. You were barely able to breathe, much less speak, but there you went, rambling anyway,

“Soon enough, you’ll get over the thrill of screwing me, and I’ll find a nice, polite, age-appropriate boy to spend the rest of my life having nice, polite sex with, and we can both pretend like this never happened. Deal?”

It was quite possibly the dumbest offer you’d ever made.

Joel slotted his hand between your legs to rub against that dampened patch of fabric. You almost jumped.

“Yeah? Just fuck around and forget about it?” Joel spoke, and you truly couldn’t tell if it was a sneer or real sincerity, as your eyes were squeezing shut, “Is that all you want from me, sugar?”

His fingers slipped beneath your shorts and made swift, easy contact with your heat. You buried your face in the seat and tried to muffle the sounds that were clawing their way out of your chest, while your hips tilted up.

“Please, Joel,” you whimpered.

By now, your head was spinning, in a daze, that you almost didn’t notice him tug your shorts down your legs. Or take them off at your ankles. You did get a sense of when he was breaching your folds—taking two, meaty fingers and trailing them up the slick glaze of your cunt.

“Doesn’t seem like this pussy wants ‘nice and polite’ to me,” Joel murmured, eyes gradually fastening to that lovely, exposed spot pointed up to him. He wet his lips, “Needs somethin’ else, doesn’t she, darlin’?”

Speaking of your pussy in third-person wasn’t something you ever thought could be hot, but coming from Joel? While his fingers traced up and down the seal of your entrance, tips circling your tight, hot, throbbing hole? Arousing didn’t even begin to cover it.

You pushed your ass back, and Joel chuckled above you.

“Wanna fuck daddy’s fingers? Is that it?” he taunted.

No, no, no—you wanted his cock buried inside you. But now you just needed reprieve from that ache, and your senses were practically on the fritz trying to get it.

Your hips rocked back and forth over his fingers—sliding the two digits in and out of your cunt with each motion—and, as much as Joel would’ve liked to make you beg and wait a little, your desperate pleas as you fucked his hand were more than enough to satiate him. He worked his free arm under your body and pinched hard on one nipple, eliciting a soft moan of ‘Joel’ underneath him.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, watching you rut your hips for more friction, “That’s it, baby, fuck daddy’s fingers. Use my hand to make yourself feel good— that’s my girl.”

At the last, you probably could’ve cum on the spot, and Joel could tell by the way you clenched around him. He nudged a third finger between your plush, sensitive walls and heard your moans take on an even higher pitch.

“Hurts,” you whimpered, with no real indication of pain. You just felt stretched out, stuffed, and aching again. The only ‘hurt’ was not having even more of him in you, “Need more of you daddy, please. It hurts.”

Joel wanted to see you cum on his fingers. He really did. But when you got down to begging and pleading for his cock like that, the man’s whole heartbeat throbbed in his jeans, and he simply didn’t possess the resolve to refuse.

He hoisted you upright in his lap so you were straddling his hips. The fabric of his jacket hung loose off your frame and both of your arms as you latched around him.

“Are you high?” Joel asked, voice evening out all of a sudden to pin you with a serious look.

“Yeah.”

“How high?”

“I can consent, Joel.” Your thighs tightened around his sides, and your hips had already begun to stir.

“Not just can consent—do consent. Do you want this?” Joel’s hands moved from the small of your back to cup your face. You gave him a squished-together pout.

“Yes, I want this,” you managed through pinched cheeks. When Joel released you, you lowered your own hands to the buckle of his belt.

It felt foreign and familiar at once—this age-old ritual of fumbling for each other’s clothes and wrestling to get them off, like your bodies might catch fire if you didn’t act fast enough. Joel was a tad more graceful as he shrugged his jacket off of you, peeled your tank top off, and helped you maneuver your bare limbs around him. You, on the other hand, felt half-feral and every bit the wide-eyed novice while you stripped his body garment by garment and wordlessly told him just leave the jeans, I can’t wait another fucking second. Joel bit back a grin and had to steady you above him, feeling his cock twitch against his tummy but still slowing down enough to remind you, shhh, shhh, honey, it ain’t goin’ nowhere.

You had a tough time remembering that as you rubbed your wet centre over his shaft. Feeling so good you feared the feeling might escape any second, you whined.

“I know, baby, I know,” Joel cooed as your head fell in the crook of his neck, “Still hurtin’ somethin’ awful, hm?”

The tip of his cock just barely grazed over your clit and you buried your face even deeper, nodding furiously; Joel leaned forward to grab some item out of the glove compartment behind you and braced your body to him.

He tore something with his teeth. You craned your neck just slightly.

“Don’t laugh,” Joel muttered, voice momentarily stifled by bright, metallic wrapping.

“Is that…” You straightened up enough to cock a brow at him. Joel’s tongue rolled across the inside of his cheek.

“Cobwebs and all.”

Beneath your gaze was the flimsiest, dust-ridden, damn-near vintage condom—a decade old, at least.

“You buy that before or after the Great Depression?” you teased.

“Shut up.” Joel was already working it onto his dick.

“So Prohibition-coded.”

“I can find something to shove in that mouth, y’know.”

You were having too much fun at the old man’s expense, blissfully unaware that Joel was about one Gen X joke away from making you suck three of his arousal-soaked fingers. When you opened your mouth to speak—to try another wisecrack or else question the integrity of this ancient relic of a rubber—Joel crashed his lips against yours and made you mute with his tongue instead.

At the same time, he slowly eased himself inside you.

Your mouth fell open when you sank down on his length, fully, but no sound came out. You just gripped Joel’s shoulders and peered into his face as if to say, ‘Shit.’

No way any man was ever meant to feel this good.

No shot your walls were fitting his cock like a glove.

Joel soaked in your gaping, wordless stare with a nod.

“Good?”

“Great.”

You’d give all eight inches of the man a goddamn standing ovation if your legs weren’t feeling like jelly. Joel let out a small grunt when you clenched around him.

“Nice and…easy,” he said, as much to himself as to you. He pinched your hip in one gigantic hand and held you there, “Let ya take a second and adjust, alright, darlin’?”

“But Joel—” you whined, already trying to slide back up.

His grip kept you impaled on his dick, anchored in place. With the other hand, he brought a thumb to your clit.

“Just feel me, sweet pea,” Joel said, slow and languid as molasses while he touched you, “Ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

You couldn’t be sure if the man was a sadist or the world’s biggest fan of cockwarming—or just polite.

The bare, slightly-less-sexy truth was that Joel hadn’t done this in a very, very long time. Even the sex he’d had, close to a year ago, was something more of a flashbang than a bona fide carnal experience; he’d just bent a perfect stranger over the bathroom sink and drilled her. This was a fever dream, a first to end all firsts, and at present, Joel felt himself toeing a razor-thin line between self-restraint and bliss by just your presence alone.

In short, he didn’t want to fuck it up by busting too soon.

When you rolled your hips and squeezed your eyes shut above him, well, Joel almost fell into a panic.

Think of golf. Differential equations. The weather in Kuwait. Anything to get his mind off of how tight your pussy was holding him in, how lithe your body worked to grind above him while he sat there, so helpless and—

“Big,” you whined, stretched to the fullest you’d ever been. Unable to bounce up and down like you wanted but still squirming for more friction, “So big, daddy.”

Hockey. Geometry. Wind patterns around the Maldives. He held you even tighter, but your motions were growing desperate. You had to start moving.

“Joel, please,” you begged him.

“Baby, I’m—”

About to cum. I am two seconds away from cumming.

“Need you now, need you so—” your voice broke off in a moan as you sank your nails into his muscly shoulders, “So bad, daddy, please, please, please—”

On the seat beside you both, your phone lit up, buzzing:

Dad 💙

Fuck.

FUCK.

Your eyes locked on Joel’s in a shared look of panic and horror, and for once, your bodies stopped, perfectly still.

You knew your dad too well. Just as much as Joel did.

Your father wasn’t the type to call late at night unless something was up. And he wouldn’t stop calling until someone picked up.

“Should we…?” That whisper came from you.

Joel was frozen in fear, eyes now glued to the screen.

“Just…give it a sec,” he breathed, “Might be nothing.”

But his tone couldn’t mask the dread behind his words. He gritted his teeth and watched the phone ring.

It stopped.

Then started again.

The pair of you clung to one other in the old Ford’s bucket seat like your dad might veritably hear the two of you having sex from 1,300 miles away if you moved.

It stopped once more.

The screen stayed black.

You let out a small sigh and felt your eyes start to close.

Then the trill of a ringtone under Joel’s ass started up the second they’d fluttered shut, and suddenly your gaze was wide, and frightened, and freaking the fuck out when you realized that your dad was trying to reach Joel.

“Answer,” you hissed.

“What?!” The whites of Joel’s eyes were bigger now than you’d ever seen them.

“He’ll know something’s up! Just—” you slipped your hand under Joel’s rear, completely devoid of any sexual insinuation this time, and yanked his old iPhone 6 out of his pants, “Answer it. Now. Be cool.”

Joel’s expression was still paralyzed with terror, but he brought the ringing phone to his ear anyway. Gingerly tapped ‘answer’ once you’d smacked him on the bicep.

“He-e-y man.”

You were so fucking dead.

Your face hovered mere inches away, and you could almost hear the warble of your father’s voice on the line.

“Great,” Joel answered, stilted as a puppet with someone’s hand up its ass, “So good. How are you?”

A beat.

“She’s good, she’s good.”

For a moment, Joel’s gaze flitted to the spot where your bodies were still connected and you saw a flash of desire, followed by guilt, then his head tip back to close his eyes as he tried to concentrate on the conversation at hand.

“In the bathroom…Uh-huh…Phone must be dead…”

“No, she’s been a trooper—just fine…”

“Somewhere just shy’a Bedford, I think…”

You listened to Joel drone on and clench his jaw, and every now and then you’d feel a squelch in that tiny space between you two when one of you moved, and it occurred to you then that it probably was not in your best interest to stay seated on his dick while he talked. You shifted your legs underneath yourself to get up.

When you started to slide up Joel’s shaft—the first time you’d ever really moved, mind you—you felt a knot in your tummy start to tighten. The friction was to die for.

You sank back down and heard a hoarse little cry spill out from your lips before you got the chance to swallow it.

At the same time, Joel groaned. Then stopped himself. Then coughed—profusely.

“Sorry, just got a little—” Suddenly, a fiery set of eyes were searing holes in your head, angry as they were desperate, “—tickle in my throat is all.”

You ignored the strained Southern drawl and the eyes that looked ready to put a bullet between your own, and you rocked your hips again. The sensation was just too good. Your body practically acted of its own accord, and suddenly you were bouncing up and down in Joel’s lap.

The man beneath you looked enraged. Aroused.

Ready to wring your neck and maybe spit in your mouth.

“World’s movin’ too. damn. fast,” Joel seethed, trying to communicate to you semi-covertly while you rode his cock, “She’s one hell of a— firecracker, man, I’ll tell ya.”

You heard your dad’s laughter on the other end. While the sound subsided to chuckles, Joel grabbed your neck. He covered the mouthpiece for a second, then, in a murmur,

“This is not a fucking game.”

He squeezed your throat so tight you probably could’ve lost all circulation going to your head, but you smiled.

In spite of the hot, glowing embers of pleasure taking shape at the pit of your stomach and the coil that kept twisting and swelling inside, you grinned down at him. Then you mouthed, softly, ‘Yes, it is,’ and you rocked your hips against him even harder.

Joel drew in a breath through his teeth and watched you ride him with bleary, half-hooded eyes—keeping one hand on your carotid as the other hand cradled the phone to his ear. The man was transfixed.

By the pinch of just one set of fingers, you knew you were done for. A dwindling supply of oxygen, combined with your high and the hundreds of nerve-endings being brushed by Joel’s cock every other moment, you were spiraling toward release and didn’t know how to stop it.

When Joel pursed his lips and lifted his hips to start fucking up into you, you had to let go. Couldn’t hold on. You grabbed hold of his forearm, still hovering across your throat, and you moaned as the bliss washed over you. You slid your needy lower half back and forth, squeezed that tanned, tough arm practically bulging with veins above you, and you came around Joel’s cock. You whimpered his name, again and again, feeling him stroke your walls and fuck you through a euphoric high.

The next thing you felt was the seat cushion behind you—and the shift of Joel’s body weight pinning you down.

His cock hadn’t slipped an inch when he flipped you over; his grip was still secure on the phone.

The only thing that had changed was that look: malicious and vindictive with the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Joel felt you pulse around him, starting to come down from your high, and he just decided to fuck you even harder.

“Shouldn’t be much longer now…” Joel hummed aloud, lowering a hand to your throbbing clit and muttering a soft ‘Uh-huh’ to your father while you clawed at his wrist.

“Joel,” you choked.

Now the feeling was too much. You were still so wet, raw, and sensitive that the pad of his thumb almost drew a shriek from your chest when he moved his finger in circles. You heard them chat about football. Joel shared a short, strained laugh with the man on the other end and pretended not to hear your whines as he continued to rail you senseless in the front seat of his car.

With the diversion of the phone call keeping his own climax at bay, Joel was free to fuck you as rough as he pleased—and couldn’t be more in awe seeing you veer close to the edge, again.

“Please, daddy, please,” you beseeched him, tears springing to your eyes as Joel’s thrusts kept shaking you.

He just shook his head and smiled as if to say, ‘Hold still.’

“It’ll be fine,” he said, “Mahomes is next-level. Best they can do is keep their heads down and take it, y’know?”

Your own soft, aching hole was taking the beating of a lifetime, and somehow, you managed to meet Joel’s gaze with a look that almost struck him as loving. That blissed-out, cockdrunk look of pure debauchery crossing your eyes in a way he hadn’t come to find in ages, if ever, was intoxicating. He felt the first fluttering pulses of your orgasm squeeze around him again, and suddenly he was pumping you faster, drilling you harder, gripping your throat and starting to sense his own climax draw near.

He couldn’t finish off like this.

Not talking shop and Super Bowl to your father—no.

Joel had to do something you might rightly hate him for for the rest of your life, and never forget, or forgive.

He lowered the phone, and right before he did, said,

“She just stepped outta the bathroom, actually. No, yeah, she’s right here. Wanna say hello?”

Your heart skipped a beat and nearly jumped into your throat. You tried to shake your head—fast—and even went so far as to try and dodge the phone when Joel brought it down to your ear, but that motherfucker had a grip like you couldn’t believe and wouldn’t stop stroking inside you or holding you down. You hated that you found Joel’s total dominance and control…kind of hot.

You flashed him the most nasty, bratty, ‘I’ll get you for this, Joel’ look you could muster anyway, and when he pressed the phone to your cheek, you mouthed a few more silent expletives before changing your air entirely:

“Hey, dad!”

Joel knew he was cooked from the second you said hello. Something objectively malevolent inside him got a rush to hear you speak to your dad in such a contrived, high-pitched tone of voice, knowing the unspeakable things he was doing to your body the whole fucking time. He could focus, now, with no need for any strained civilities of his own, but deep down, he knew it wouldn’t last long. He would not last long.

Might as well make it fun while it lasts.

“He…did,” you hummed, flitting your eyes up to Joel when he brushed your lower lip with his thumb—still holding the phone up for you while he rutted into you, “No, nuh-uh…Mr…Mr. Miller didn’t mind, no sir.”

Shit, the sound of you saying ‘sir’ was something that made Joel’s whole body lurch with pleasure. He made a mental note to have you call him that later and stroked your lip once more.

You tried to turn your face away—telling Joel, wordlessly, that you couldn’t keep up this conversation with your father if you had a thumb in your fucking mouth, but Joel didn’t care. He watched you pause for a moment, let just the tip of his finger press into your tongue, then, battling your better judgment, wrap your lips around the digit almost cautiously and suck. He knew you liked it, too.

He knew it by the way you bobbed your head, hummed, and nodded every time he thrust inside your aching walls and dragged his cock back out. The way your teeth clamped hard on his thumb whenever he grazed a particularly sensitive spot and how your lips held him in like a gag, or some other thing to keep you quiet amidst the moans and the whimpers bubbling up in your chest.

Suddenly, Joel was at your other ear, lips grazing skin and tongue praising your every move.

“My sweet girl.”

“Doin’ such a good job stayin’ quiet.”

“Takin’ daddy’s cock so well, aren’t ya, darlin’?”

From that point on, every single one of your father’s words over the phone fell on deaf ears—all you could hear was Joel. All you could feel was Joel. Your lips parted as if starting to speak, but all that would come out were small puffs of air, perfectly in sync with each one of Joel’s thrusts.

“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad pressed. A hint of concern rose from his end of the line.

At length, Joel gripped both of your legs and brought them up over his shoulders, and he grinned before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.

“Yes!” you yelped as you crushed the phone to your ear, hoping your father couldn’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”

The sick, smug fuck currently wedged eight inches deep inside you almost burst out laughing. If you weren’t so perilously close to your fourth orgasm of the night, you would’ve told Joel to take a long walk off a short bridge.

“Just worried about grades a-a-and all,” you stammered.

Joel leaned forward and almost tore a scream out of your chest—his tip was kissing the edge of your cervix now.

“Yes, sir. I will.” You tried your hardest not to whine and almost let out a sigh, “I’ll…ask him about it, for sure.”

As bone-crushingly fun as this all was, Joel was close.

He could feel it in the furthest recesses of his stomach; he was about to blow his load.

So, leveraging his weight to strike just the right angle and pushing his thumb in to stifle your moans, Joel sped up and drew even closer, face-to-face, so he could see your every expression from a hair’s breadth away.

He was so near he could hear your dad’s droning voice. See you struggle to take cock the closer you got to your release. You hadn’t cum in such quick succession…ever, really. All but one of the guys you’d let between your legs before seemed like amateurs compared to Joel, and to be honest, you weren’t sure if you could make it to four.

You popped his thumb out of your mouth and mumbled some ‘Sure, okay’ or other to your dad before casting a pleading look up at Joel. His hips were working up to a ruthless pace.

You covered the mouthpiece.

“I can’t, Joel.”

“Sure you can, sugar.”

“Joel,” you hissed, and tried to grab his wrist, when you felt your stomach start to cave. Every exposed inch of skin gave way to waves of heat, and your toes curled in. Worst of all, Joel was letting out sounds you hadn’t ever heard—short, ragged breaths that broke off in low groans—and it felt as though he were cradling your head. Holding you to him. Your eyes were locked on one another, your mouths practically panting in time, and what parts of you had not yet become commingled with him were practically coated with sweat. And shaking.

Then, in tones that rang like music to your ears:

“Alright, I’ll let ya head to bed, then. G’night, pumpkin.”

Your dad hadn’t even fully hung up the phone before you flung it across the car. Heels dug deep in Joel’s back.

“Cum for daddy,” Joel coaxed, “Cum all over this cock.”

You didn’t need much more instigation than that.

You came. He followed.

And it probably split his eardrum in two having his name screamed so fucking loud, but frankly, Joel hadn’t seen a reason for going deaf that he could’ve enjoyed so much.

Then, he didn’t sink so much as simply collapse on top of you while you both kicked back and let the waves of ecstasy roll over you. You adored his warmth in spite of the heat practically suffocating you both in that car.

Until it was in you.

Sticky, sweet dripping inside you.

You pushed Joel hard in the shoulder.

“Did it…”

“What?”

“Joel!”

You flipped your legs down and tapped his abdomen furiously, telling him, pull out, pull out right fucking now, and Joel gently obliged. Dragged his cock three-fourths of the way out when a frail, tattered condom came loose around the head of his cock and almost fell off entirely. That damn prehistoric rubber had broken inside you.

“JOEL!”

“I’m sorry! Fuck, I— fuck.”

Joel scrambled to get his cum-drenched cock and what remained of the condom away from your body, but the damage was done. You started throwing on clothes.

“I’m ovulating this week, I am so fucking fucked!”

Joel swallowed, shimmying his boxers and jeans back into place and scoping the front seat for his shirt.

“What’s…ovulating?”

You wanted to tear your hair out at the root.

There was no way this man had survived half a century on earth and didn’t understand the menstrual cycle.

“It means I can get pregnant if we don’t get a Plan B up in this bitch immediately. Let’s GO!”

That part seemed to click. Joel almost fell over himself trying to find his keys, while you slid out of the Bronco.

“Where are you going?!”

“To— to try and get some of this shit out of me first!”

Joel bounded after you, and within the first steps, you were sprinting across the parking lot. Your sweaty, half-naked companion tried—and failed—to slow you down.

“Are you not on birth control?” Joel huffed.

“Are you not capable of buying condoms more than once every fucking decade—or three?” you snapped.

Your strides were growing wider and more frantic by the second. Joel clutched his side and struggled to keep up.

“I’m…sorry,” he grunted, more embarrassed and worn-out than anything at the moment, “I’m sorry, darlin’.”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t get your cum out of me, daddy.”

Your words couldn’t have gotten any more caustic or merciless—or inopportune—if you tried.

As it was, you were passing by the breezeway where all the bored lacrosse players were still lounging around, cracking cold ones, and craning their necks to see what the fuss outside was all about. The sounds of your feet racing fast on gravel and you and Joel’s raucous, bickering back-and-forth had caught their attention, and shortly, Connor was sticking his head around the corner. His expression—along with all the faces behind him—had twisted with horror. Confusion. A visible look of disgust.

Joel had just slowed down to catch his breath. He doubled over and braced both hands on his knees.

“I’ll fuckin’…duct tape my dick next time I hit it, honey!” he wheezed, barely loud enough for you to hear but perfectly audible to all the terrified guys around him.

Joel turned his head and almost groaned.

Then he was straightening himself back up, starting to retreat from the group who had him pinned with genuinely frightened—and nauseated—looks.

Joel normally wouldn’t care. This time, though, he threw his hands up and thought, fuck it, I’ll clear the air.

Over his shoulder, he grinned, yelling back to the guys:

“I’m not actually her dad!”

All of them stared back. Half-jealous, half-awestruck, Connor stood up, raised his beer, and called after him:

“I SURE FUCKIN’ HOPE YOU’RE NOT!”

#NO ONE SPEAK TO ME FOR AT LEAST A WEEK #THIS IS DISGUSTING #I AM DISGUSTING #DO NOT PERCEIVE ME PLEASEJE HAHAHAHAH #brain rot ❤️ #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fic #joel miller x you #dbf!joel

[talaok]

Like a Virgin

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

summary: It's been a really long time since Joel has felt the feel of anything else besides his own fist, and once you remind him how good the real thing is... let's just say it's hard for him to live up to his full potential.

warnings: smut| unprotected p in v sex, premature ejaculation, very touch-starved Joel, and allusion to oral sex (f receiving)

a/n: I don't know what to say lmao this is a thing for me ok, don't judge (and also you can't tell me this isn't accurate, like this man hasn't gotten laid since the moon landing probably, and you expect him to last? no way babe). Also I'm sorry about the title it's funny to me lol

Now this wasn't like him.

He hadn't done this in a long time.

The last time he had sex with a woman he'd just met (or any woman to be completely honest) he was 25 years younger and the world hadn't gone to shit yet... so yeah, a long time indeed.

But you were so fucking beautiful, such a pretty face with such pretty eyes, and god but that mouth of yours-

And plus you were new to Jackson, you didn't know yet about all the scary stories folks liked to tell about him, and you were kind and funny, and... did he mention hot already?

Just one night of letting loose, that's what he'd told himself, and then he was gonna go back to his old closed-off self, but for now... for now, he was too busy throwing you on his bed to think about anything else.

You were getting rid of your clothes and he followed your lead more than willingly, almost ripping the buttons off his flannel in the rush.

He bent down to kiss your neck as his hands hurried to your tits.

God, he'd forgotten how good it felt to touch a woman.

And when you let out a little whimper, he swore he had ascended to another universe.

"Joel please"

Fuck him, but he wasn't inside of you yet, and he was already feeling far too close to coming.

Guess fucking his own fist for two decades really does something to a man.

"need something?"

He was acting wayy too smug for someone who was feeling like a virgin all over again.

"Please- I need you inside me, Joel"

fucking damnit- he shouldn't have asked that, his dick was now really suffering the consequences.

He didn't risk saying anything else as he got rid of his boxers, but of course, you just had to come out and say:

"oh wow, you're big" with the sexiest fucking voice he'd ever heard.

"want me to stop?"

For some reason, those words elicited a criminally hot smirk on your lips  

"Definitely not"

You were looking at him like a starving woman and he had to look down to where he was moving his tip to your entrance to get away from you and your dangerous, dangerous gaze

He pushed into you slowly and god fucking damnit but the sounds that you made... those sweet little moans and whines you let out as your warm pussy stretched around him and hugged him better than anything he'd felt in years... he had no words for it- no coherent sounds could make it out of his mouth except for a few groans coming deep from his chest.

"Good christ"

that's the only thing he managed to murmur as he bottomed out and had to take a break to try not to bust his load right there.

"fuck you feel so good" you moaned, as your hands gripped his sheets "please move" you begged, your voice breathy and pleading, and godfuck he should have really thought about it before doing this.

"Joel please-"

"I just need a moment darlin'" he explained, closing his eyes to try and remember how he used to manage to last and coming up completely empty.

He could feel your expectant eyes on him so even if he sure as hell didn't feel ready, he did as you asked and started to move.

The regret reached him extraordinarily fast as he felt your walls tightening around him and as you cried out for him like an angel sent straight from heaven.

"fuck-" you moaned, looking up at him with doe eyes that made him wonder if you really just knew what you were doing, if you actually enjoyed torturing him like this

"god you're so deep"

Yeah, you definitely knew

"and so big-" you cried

He gripped your waist to try and ground himself as he thrusted into your fucking perfect cunt.

"oh my god-yes!" you moaned, your back arching from the bed as his thrust got harsher in the hopes that that would make you talk less.

"just like that Joel- oh-" 

And Joel was tough in a lot of ways and he wasn't one to give up easily, but shit you were making it hard for him.

"Please don't stop- fuckfuckfuck" you begged, shutting your eyes close at the feeling.

And that was it, he couldn't do it anymore

"please stop talking" he breathed, his eyes resuming their tour of your eyes, mouth, and bouncing tits.

"why?" 

"nothing it's just-"

And before he could answer you had grabbed his shoulder and forced him to bend down to meet your mouth with his.

Goddamnit.

"you just feel too good Joel" 

"fuck." he groaned, not able to stop his hips from moving no matter how much he wanted to "shit"

"what is it?"

"Jesus Christ I-"

"is there something wrong?"

"n-no just- fuck I'm sorry sweetheart"

And that's all he could say as he abruptly pulled out of you, his spend covering your stomach not even a second after as he growled so loud his neighbors probably thought he was getting killed.

"shit" again, he sighed, his forehead falling to your shoulder.

"oh" you couldn't help but smile as everything came together

"I'm sorry darlin'" he breathed, leaning away and standing up as shame filled every inch of him.

"It's just- It's been a long time since I've done... this"

You sat up, your legs still dangling off the bed, as you admired his handy work on your belly.

"And you... you're just real fucking pretty" he huffed a half-laugh "I'm sorry"

You looked up at him then, meeting his mortified expression.

"No hey" you smiled, placing a hand on his torso "It's fine, I understand"

"god this is embarrassing, I feel like a sixteen-year-old all over again" he shook his head

"stop" you cooed, gently caressing his skin, as a mischievous spark lighted in your irides "It's fine, really" you promised, "and besides..." you bit your bottom lip as you slowly spread your legs "you could still make it up to me, y'know?"

He groaned again, falling to his knees between your thighs

"that I can do"

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fluff #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #fluff #joel miller imagine #joel miller blurb #joel miller angst #fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo

[joeldjarin]

me and the joel miller girlies

#pedro pascal #the last of us #joel miller #tlou #tlou hbo #joel miller fic #joel miller hbo #dbf joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller imagine #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller hbo x you #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller pedro pascal #my post

[nexusnyx]

my fellow, my guy

Joel Miller x f!Reader [5.3k] Summary: All his attempts at faking nonchalance about anything are gone out of the window just like that. Four words and Joel's changed. In his bones, the very chemistry of his brain. "'Cause he's my guy." How did he ever manage to not claim you in front of the world? He has no clue, but Joel's changing that. Tonight.

— A/n 📝I wanted to try something different. What if possessive!Reader brought out the possessiveness in Joel? Reblogs and comments make all the difference. — Warnings⚠️ mature content—explicit depictions of sex, so minors dni. | 🏷️ age gap, established relationship, rough sex, possessive!Joel, dirty talking, thigh riding, spanking, soft!Dom!Joel, possessive!Reader, oral (f receiving), penetration, creampie.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤmasterlist | read on ao3

In the middle of what seemed like a sea of infinite, boring nothingness, Joel is hooked by the magnitude of your nature's force — the power in the way you stand; your presence.

His favorite thing ever since he met you. Everything about you.

Since he arrived at Jackson's community with Ellie two years ago, he's been blinded by it.

Your light, heat, glow. Joel might as well be a moth, and it amazed him now that he thought of it, how long he managed to pretend he was anything by mesmerized by your flames. In the middle of the meeting, you utter the words that snap something inside him, and Joel feels his inner workings shifting. Four words and Joel's changed:

"'Cause he's my guy."

All his attempts at faking nonchalance about anything are gone out of the window just like that. In his bones, the very chemistry of his brain — Joel feels a snap, and he sort of... embraces it.

There's silence around the table for only a second.

Nathan had asked: "But why does he get to go if it's that dangerous? I get it when you go by yourself 'cause we know you're different, but I've asked you multiple times, and it's always no. I just — I don't get why he's going."

And you had answered.

Loud and clear.

"Not that you have to get anything, Nathan, since you don't have the ground knowledge to be second-guessing my decisions of any plans, but — it's simple. I'll answer you. 'Cause he's my guy. And I'll take him to wherever I please."

You had paused, lifted both eyebrows in question, and Nathan remained silenced.

Joel freezes at first, too. When you say 'he's my guy' the words shoot like a freezing spell that hits his blood, but even with almost all eyes turning shamelessly to him, Joel can feel his shoulders relaxing further back the more you stare at him. In only a second he sees a lot of words running through your eyes, and all he can think back is a litany of — yes exactly yes—

He leans back on the chair's backrest. Both of his feet slide a few inches further, his legs spreading wider.

He is your guy.

Has been for a while now. A year — almost a year a half, if he was being really accurate. While both of you managed to keep that hidden for the better half of that time, lately the nosy (and delusional) jackasses like Nathan were prodding into your business with jabs here and there. Tauntings about the 'nature' of things between you and him. As if they couldn't see it in both of your eyes. Your postures. The way you walked side by side.

No matter how private you two tried being, you two almost had rings gravitating the bubble created around you, like Saturn in the sky.

Joel knew they frowned upon him. Talked about him on his back — about him and his daughter, about his daughter's personality, and the way Joel Miller seems to 'have only smiles for his Ranger neighbor'.

The silence around the table's broken by his own voice, letting the words slip out of his tongue. "Don't worry, Nathan. 'm not decorative. I've got good aim. If you're worried about her safety, don't be."

What a jackass move. That's what the smile on the corner of your mouth said to him. "See? So helpful. We'll all be fine, and once we're through there and come back, everyone else can be fine too knowing there's nothing to worry about."

With a sigh, you get up before Nathan can finish collecting his patience from the floor, or wipe away the humiliation of being rejected for what is far from the first time since he's unable to accept a refusal without embarrassing himself.

"Are we all clear?"

After a round of verbal agreement from the table — one of which comes through gritted teeth — you nod once, put on a smile, and sigh loudly. "Excellent. You're all free to go."

It was so, so — hot. Enticing, and hypnotizing.

The power you had over people that came not because of something futile, but because of how capable your hands were. Joel was an imbecile if he was being honest with himself.

How did he ever manage to not claim you in front of the world? He has no clue, but Joel's changing that.

Tonight.

He sits back and waits while the room empties out, slowly.

Some people linger back to talk to each other, to him, to you. He answers all of them without ever turning his body away from you, and when there are only a handful of people left, Joel remains seated, with no rush to gather his jacket or things since he's leaving with the person who's closing the whole building.

He's leaving with you.

Tommy, Mercedes, and Max are the last ones hanging around, and while the two latter go exchange a word with you — "good gods, can we do a round table vote to kick fucking Nathan out of here? I know he's a master engineer or whatever, but fuck, man, he's annoying", starts Max — his brother knocks his elbow on his side.

Joel looks up to find the smirk on Tommy's face.

"If you had feathers, you'd be peacocking all over the goddamn room," he whispers for Joel's ears only.

Joel laughs under his breath. "Shut up."

Tommy shakes his head, laughing as well. "Nah, I won't, actually. I happen to like seein' that stupid look on your goddamn face."

"Is that so?" Joel wants to sound a little more sarcastic, but with the huge smile he feels imprinted on his face, it's impossible to do so.

"Damn right it is," Tommy chuckles. "And you know why it's the best seein' that smile puttin' even a glint in your eyes, huh?"

Oh, god, here he goes. "Why?"

"Because this is the best damn I told you so on the planet. Well — one of the best. There's space for more," Tommy pouts, looking up with a musing look. "A couple of really big others." He looks down at Joel again, smiling from ear to ear. "I've gotten really smart in your absence, and I wanna hear the day when you'll admit it."

Joel's amused by the confidence — if Tommy's right about many other things Joel will find out eventually, but this, he owns.

Tommy introducing Joel to you with only a nudge in the right direction was all it took.

"We'll see about those," Joel answers and Tommy huffs good-heartedly in response, an image most familiar to Joel.

Now again, after almost decades without it.

Joel's happy for many reasons, it seems.

He sinks his feet in the feeling, not wanting to track back to things he's unable to change.

Tommy opens his mouth to say something, but Joel catches a cue from across the room:

Keys. Your set of keys when grabbed from the table make a known sound, and it's like an alarm — a triggering sound that connects to routine. He hears them and Tommy turns around, seeing how Max and Mercedes are leaving.

Joel and Tommy move in sync toward you, and everybody — with the exception of Joel and you — bids their goodbyes at the door outside.

As soon as they're out of sight, Joel turns to find your eyes already waiting for his.

He never had this type of relationship before. Never saw in someone's eyes the thoughts running through their mind at that exact moment, and it was exhilarating.

You knew your words had affected them.

The only thing you were probably unaware of was the epiphany that accompanied them — the moment his mind came to a halt.

The inner fight over faking being empty.

It was so silly. Joel was full.

"If I kiss you here, we're not gonna stop," Joel informs you.

A breathless chuckle leaves you, and you take a step, falling gracefully into his hold. "Really?"

Joel loves sultriness in your voice. "Really." He goes back to the words he's been letting your mind soak up. Closes his eyes, leaning his forehead on yours as his arm locks around you. "How could you do that to me, hm?"

His own voice is wrecked. Sounds like something out of a ridiculous sex tape, or one of those Star Wars movies from back in the way.

Seemingly content with what you've done, Joel feels your giggling more than hears it—the huffs of breath on his chin and cheeks tickle. "I wasn't really thinking when I said it? It's just — it was the third time he questioned me choosing you to team up and I know it's stupid to let it get to me, I know Nathan's just — jealous, which is even more ridiculous than anything, but I hate the way he speaks over me sometimes. I hate it! And when I saw... it'd slipped out."

It's the coyness at the end of your ramble that gets him to open his eyes.

"Slipped out," he echoes.

You nod, smiling up at him. A little shy, a little devious. "Yeah."

The worst part is — he believed you. "I believe you." Truth does that. It slips out. It's uncontainable, like sunshine or water or rain.

Then, you're happier, and whenever your smile widened like that, Joel was always taken over by the desire to kiss you. This time, he embraced the hunger with open arms and leaned to capture what he wanted.

None of you discussed the lack of control of doing this only seconds after he just said there was no controlling him, but this was more than a need — or delicious, wet evidence —, it was breathing.

Joel inhales deeply while his tongue tangles with yours, his hands finding their path easily to your hair through your favorite spots and detours on your neck. He kisses them just to breathe.

He went without addiction for so long in this world.

When your throat vibrations with a low moan, Joel knows why.

He'd been weak before. No room in him for addictions if there were no higher parts of him working. No real thinking, feeling, existing.

People turned to things that gave them a thrill because existing demanded too much. A strenuous task with little to no rewards, which made everyone to need an escape.

Thankfully, you were no escape.

And as far as vices went, the taste of you was an infinite, healthy, and powerful source for one.

He pulls back for oxygen, breathing out slowly the warmness you leave in his chest.

"So I'm your guy." Joel needed to hear it again, maybe. He liked how the words sounded on his lips, too.

"You are."

Sweet Jesus.

He needs to get you home before starting this shit. "Fuck," it slips out. You laugh, resting your forehead on his sternum, and Joel nods to you and to himself. "'kay. We need to go. Let's go?"

"Yeah".

"Alright. No distractin' me while I'm drivin', ya hear me?"

Despite having already done everything tonight, you still have the audacity to whine at his request. Joel ought to slap your ass right there in the middle of the street. On the sidewalk outside where both of you work, often.

He takes advantage of the hand on your hair, making a fist with it — as carefully as he can be — and grips just right.

Putting his mouth to your ear, he whispers. "I'll spank ya 'till your ass is red if you whine again before my tongue's buried in your pussy." Joel lives for the way you gasp for him. He presses his whole body flushed with yours, and hears the repressed groan in your throat when you feel it. "I've been half hard since what you said sank in. Calling me yours like that, claiming me for everybody to hear. Had to fuckin' stop myself from thinkin' about fucking you on that table for everyone to see. Don't make me crazier than I already am, I swear to—" his final words end muffled on your lips.

Instead of finishing, he just gets another little taste of you.

One for the road.

For safe keeping.

Joel had such a distance between his mind now and the memories of his young adult years that every time this happened, he felt a little choked up:

nostalgia.

True, genuine nostalgia.

For him, it came in waves.

It smelled of his first trip to the beach, and the taste of gelato sticking sweet on his tongue. Showing him real sweetness for the first time.

That's what driving home to you feels like.

Joel's still not used to your eyes on him. Being looked at with so much hunger scared him at first. Joel thought these days were past him. He imagined luxury, lust, adventure, and the nice, saccharine-type of adrenaline all belonged in his past.

To a Joel that died when Cordyceps wrecked the world.

It turned out that your fingertips on his thigh touched the parts of him that proved his wonderings wrong.

Sure, he had trouble getting hard all by himself if he wanted to jack off on a random weekday, but — put you biting your bottom lip on the passenger seat, and Joel was bulging inside his jeans, stiff as a rock and with no rush to see the end of it.

The silence that blanketed the car comfortably is thrown out of the window when you two enter his room, fully clothed.

You are so good for him.

When Joel kicks his bedroom door closed behind him, you are still. Waiting for it.

Knowing exactly what he needs.

A shiver runs through his whole body, and Joel sits on his armchair to remove his boots. He turns on the soft light on the interrupter behind him, feeling around the wall for it so his eyes can remain on you. When the room's illuminated by yellow, warm light, Joel kicks off his shoes and spreads his legs, making himself comfortable.

"Take off your shoes." He loves this part. "And your pants." Joel's hand comes up to his beard, rubbing the patchy hair. "Then get here," he pats his lap, and watches as you do as he asked.

Slowly. Exactly how he likes it.

Joel keeps smoothing out the hair on his face as he watches you do it. The right word for what awakens inside him every time his eyes land on more and more skin, and more of your body, is adoration.

He'd been attracted to some people since the outbreak happened, it'd be impossible for him not to — Joel pretended for a long while to be devoid of feelings, not being dead.

Attraction and primal, raw desire might belong in the same family, but they lived on almost opposite ends of the spectrum. The first was the beginning of 'Interest' while the second was the furthest point of it.

Joel desired you for things that went far beyond your looks, but gods—

The looks.

He was painfully attracted to you, and he knew it dripped out of him.

When you strip off from all the item he asks for and walks to him, Joel puts his legs together to give you space in his armchair. His arms open up to welcome your body straddling his, then wrap around you, pulling you as close as possible.

As if he wished to trap you.

You wished he would.

For a while, all he does is feel you up.

His hands run over every exposed inch of your skin while his face rubs on your neck and your face, beard leaving the first tingles of what later will be red burns. Meanwhile, your body ignites as if fuel is being added to fire.

The longer Joel touches you, rubs on you, leaves trails of his mouth and his kisses on the skin it passes through, the hotter you burn. It starts as a fire in your brain — Joel started as a single flame somewhere in your mind, one you were unable to pin a finger on and eventually put out, and it grew, and it took over. His heat spreads from a fog around your thoughts to your neck. It descends to your neck, then it warms your chest.

When his tongue and teeth scrape a spot in your jugular, the storm he caused settles in between your legs, causing them to rut against his lap, rocking against the bulge inside his pants.

Joel hums in your neck, pulling back to look at your face. His smile is smug, and you say it you hate it every time you see it. "Stupid cocky smile." The words are ineffective as always — in face of how breathy you sound, the way your hips are moving in circles on top of him, they're empty.

"You love my cocky everything." Stupid cocky bastard.

Your mouth crashes against him, landing in a bruising kiss.

Joel never minded your roughness.

He embraced it however it came, whenever it came. Joel liked it. In all its forms, it was beautiful to him.

It matches the despair inside him. Joel enjoys how he's able to devour you, sometimes whole, because you feast on him as well. You tongue is hot and heavy on his, and your moans awaken the words from the meeting back to him.

Joel kisses even harder.

His hands — one on the nape of your neck and the other grabbing at your back, your boobs, your stomach — both move to your waist and guide your moves to slow it down.

When you pull back to breathe, Joel wants to feel everything.

He takes off your shirt in one swift motion, throwing them off somewhere without care. He removes your top as well, then takes a moment to appreciate the view.

"Take my clothes off, baby." He hates to have you off his lap for even a moment, but for this, it's worth it.

Since the first time he slept with you, Joel chooses to let you undress him if he can. If he's not in a rush to have you, if it's not one of those incredible moments when he already wakes up with you naked and him still only in boxers — if he can, Joel picks this—

Your fingers sometimes are desperate. Buttons are your worst enemy when all you want is him naked for you, but most of the time, you take your time. Do it slowly, taking off each item with the care he never seems to have for your clothes because all Joel cares for is your skin.

"I like taking them off."

"Why?"

"Remember how I asked you that first time to do it?"

"Yeah."

"So — I wanted to do it for so long. I—don't laugh at me, or — look at me weird, but. I thought about it. A lot. Thought about... all these layers you're often using. And — I'm crazy about your body. You—I know you complain about the aches and joke about being old and frail, which is — bullshit. Ridiculous, and everyone knows it. It's just... I like that you let me do it. I like that I get to undress you. It's hot. You're hot."

The memory strikes him again — as it does when he's in this position — and Joel feels a little raw.

Now that he knows how you feel, it makes it more real.

How you peel off his shirt by running your palms across his chest all the way through his back. Undoing the zipper of his pants, you palm the outline of his cock, then get down on both knees to pull them all the way off. Joel helps by lifting his hips a little, and seeing the way your eyes snap to his groin makes him burn.

Joel knows exactly what you'll go for — he watches you remove and throw his jeans to the side, hands running up his calves while you stand on both knees to nibble little bites on his thighs.

He hisses, feeling his dick twitch the closer you get to it. He lets you have your fun, no matter how much it feels like torture.

Your tongue touches the muscle of his inner thigh, sucking a bruise in there, and Joel gasps. "You ain't gonna do what you think you are."

You muffle what he images would be another whine by sucking a bruise on his other thigh. "Please?" You blink your gorgeous eyes, gazing straight at him.

Joel cups your face in one hand, smiling again. He refrains from answering because he likes what comes next.

The kisses that inch closer to his cock. The innocent, and yet siren eyes that stay steady on his while you whisper. "I've been good. Why not?"

"'Cause I have other plans for you."

You perk up. "What d'you want?"

Joel pats his lap. "Get back here."

You do as he says in a second, but instead of straddling both of his thighs, Joel guides you to one of his thighs. It's a tight squeeze in the armchair, but he makes it work. He pulls your panties to the side and pulls you down, feeling the wetness of your cunt at the first movement of your hips.

"That's it," he coos, tangling one hand in your hand to pull you in for a kiss. "Wanna see you get off on my thigh, baby," he kisses your neck, and smiles when you moan at his words and grind harder on him. "Just like that. Gonna use me? Hm?"

"Yeah."

"Gonna use your guy?"

"Joel." Your movements back and forth create a path of slickness in his thigh, and for someone who occasionally needs a little hand from you to get fully hard, he would believe the horniness in his mind that says he's just as young as ever. He feels he's never this hard — this desperate; the wet patch in his boxers only amplifies the louder you moan for him, and with your mouth back on his, Joel can imagine he's a mess.

Not as much as you. Nonetheless — a mess.

With a red, plump mouth, you pull back from his kisses to hold onto his face. Your other hand is gripping the back of his head, and Joel loves the look of pure lust on your face.

The look of someone who's in another dimension of feeling good.

He did that. Joel groans low in his throat when he thinks of it, and assaults your neck with kisses. One hand comes down to slap your ass, and you yelp — the look of surprise that flashes across your features is replaced by one of absolute pleasure within a split second, and Joel growls at witnessing it.

He slaps the other side with his other hand, and you cry for him.

"You're gonna cum like this." He knows you can. Joel's tested several different ways he can bring you to the edge, and this is one of his favorites. "Then, I'm gonna fuck you with my tongue."

"Oh, god." Your cries are accompanied by whimpers at every push of your hips on his thigh, and the slick sounds covering the air are taking away Joel's ability to think of anything other than you.

"Yeah — 'm gonna fuck you so hard, baby, goddamn it."

"Just like — like you want to? On the table?"

"Yes. Fuck—just like that." Joel sees you're teetering on the edge. He recognizes the trembling of your hand fisted in his hand, and the desperate way your hips start moving, almost losing balance. He leans to capture your bottom lip with his teeth, wanting so badly he could eat you. "Cum for me. If I'm yours, then you're mine, right?" Your hips falter at the words, losing their rhythm due to the shiver that runs through you. "That's it. Show me you're my lady. All fuckin' mine. Always so good for me, so fuckin' perfect—god, yeah. Like that — so damn good. Cum, baby. Don't stop. Keep cummin' for me."

Between your first and second orgasm, Joel gets lost in his mind and the moment.

It's rare for that to happen.

For someone who was used to panic rising so fast in his chest that it led to his heart trying to run out of his chest, or at least beat fast enough for it to feel like that, having no other thoughts but the present one and to submerge in what he's feeling.

He had to stop running from it — he feels.

Life never stopped, even if it felt like it did. No broken watch would stop time, and it was you who brought him the realization.

Joel shows his gratitude in one of the few ways he knows to.

One of the few ways he's at least certain he's good at.

By bringing you white bliss, and making you drown in nothing but good, for as long as he can. He carries you to bed and eats you from behind at first. That way Joel can fuck his tongue deeper inside you — he can bend you as far as you'll go and use his tongue until his jaw aches; until it stings and then burns because the reward tastes sweet on his tongue. It washes away all the hurt and gets his humming against your wet and pulsing core.

When he turns you over to do the same thing again but with you on your back, Joel gets lost in the middle of the way.

Your hands make grabby gestures at him.

Legs shaking, your skin covered in sweat, the way you say, "Please get on top of me." It's all too much.

Joel loses his last piece of clothing in one motion, and does something he should know better than to risk.

Grabbing his cock by the base, he drags the head between the lips of your cunt, pulling a moan from both of you. This is where he usually would grab a condom — after teasing you, giving you just the head, making you spread your legs wider or lock your legs behind his ass just to pull him closer.

Not this time. This time, he leans down until his mouth is on your ear and asks. "Can I? I understand if you don't want to—"

"Please. Yes, yes," you interrupt, hooking your legs around him and already pushing his hips closer.

Joel slides deeper, grunting on your neck. "Always so tight," he sounds drunk. "Lemme in, baby... Like that. Breathe deep." Joel's a big man, and the way you slowly relax to take all of him gets to his head every time. "Atta fuckin' girl, jus' like that."

"Joel this feels even better." The whine around the words makes him cry on your shoulder. He knows this is far from being the last time now.

He pulls out and slams it back in. "Fuckin' hell — it does." He thrusts his hips hard, but not fast. He likes to enjoy your sounds.

The filthy ones that fill the room.

If you sense that something shifted in Joel — something in his core, a foundation that he painted a coat of invisible ink over it as if such a thing existed — nothing about you lets that out.

You always held his face in your hands as he buried himself inside you.

The way you look at him — nothing about it is new, either.

Only this time, Joel lets himself feel it all the way through.

He is your guy, after all. He can feel all the good things you bring out in him because you want him to. It matters to you if he's happy or not. If he's safe, and fed, and not in pain. Joel buries himself in you the same way he buried all his hopes long ago — you found it in him, anyway. Years later, somewhere between all the grief and dust, you picked it up and gave it back to him even if he never asked for it.

Joel's usually harsher with you, not because he's trying to be mean, but because you like it when it hurts a little.

"Wanna feel you tomorrow—" are words he's heard a lot coming from you. Today, you say, "You gonna let your cum drip out of me?"

And it fucks with his head. He nods in answer, snapping his hips harder. Joel glues his forehead on yours and nods, grunting with the effort and the delicious drag of your tight cunt squeezing around him.

"'m close, Joel — feels too good."

That's his favorite song. How out of breath you sound, voice higher than ever. "'m gonna cum when you cum. 'm right behind you, baby. 's ok. Take your time. Feels good? Hm? Taking every fuckin' inch of me?"

"Oh god, Joel." Your hips are pushing back on his, and your arms use his shoulders for leverage as you hold onto him.

He laughs, kissing you through gasps and his own sounds. He shares the same air as you, wanting to fuck you so fast and hard that both of your hips will be hurting tomorrow, but he wants this to go on for a long time more than he wants to lose himself in you.

When your begging for "More, please Joel, more—" starts, Joel sits both of you up, pulling you back to his lap. He puts a pillow behind your back, supporting you against the headboard, and sits on his kneels and heels even if tomorrow they'll be aching.

You give him massages when he's hurting.

Joel needs to be as close to you as possible. Like this, your bodies are one.

Like this, you can plant your feet against the bed and fuck him back, as hard and as fast as you want to.

Joel gets a face full of your boobs bouncing up and down and your screams muffling his moans.

He feels it coming — you cling your arm around his shoulder and pull his face to yours again, your mouth hanging open in a perfect O until your eyes close shut.

Joel seems to lose all notion of time as you fall apart on top of him. He feels it all over your body. The orgasm shakes you whole, the trembling only losing for the way your cunt squeezes so hard around him, making it even harder to pull out. He fucks you deep and hard then, and it takes only a few more thrusts before he's moaning in your ear as he fills you up.

Coming down from a high is always difficult.

With you in his arms, it never happens.

Joel plays with his own cum leaking down your thighs, and smiles to himself when you tremble in sensitivity at his minor touches. He'll take a warm cloth and clean you both later, but first, he'll make a mess.

"All mine," he tells you. His fingers graze your clitoris, drenched in the mix of his own release and yours, and something in your eyes tell him you know what he's talking about.

While he may be unable to say some things — and your existence is challenging even that — he can say this much.

He agrees with you.

"All mine," you echo. Your kiss on his lips taste sweeter than before. They taste like I'm yours and you're mine, and for now, that's all he needs.

Joel has you, and you have him. It's all he needs to start.

🏷️ @sakuralikestars — @mostardentily — @thegreat-annamaria — @leiticia — @polyglot-noodle — @casssiopeia — @earthtocharlene — @levylovegood — @simply-sams-things — @lavenderhhze — @gracie7209 — @waywardwolfbonklight — @shadytalething — @yesimwriting — @celestialstar111 — @averysblog — @pedrostories — @fleursirvart

⚠️ if anyone being tagged would like to not be, just let me know in my inbox (which you can also use to talk to me about all the appeals of Joel Miller with his hair slicked back. Just saying hehe.

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