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vivwritescrappythings · 2 months

Text

Saying Thanks

Joel Miller x afab!fem!reader

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.

tw: smut, fem reader, afab reader, unspecified age gap, reader is smaller than Joel (shorter, can be picked up by him), oral (m! receiving), p in v sex, crying, fighting, blood, drinking, Joel may be out of character but I don’t care, not proofread.

Word count: 8.1k

minors, fuck off

masterlist

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Joel was seething. You’d never seen him like this, rage burning in his gaze and his hands balled into fists at his sides as he was pushed toward the door. Of course you’d seen him in fights before, dealing with raiders and infected on patrol was a bloody business at best, but the second the new guy, Jake? Jack, at the Tipsy Bison put a hand on you—just touching your arm—Joel exploded.

You didn’t even have time to blink before the man grabbing your arm was on the ground, ugly bruises blossoming on his face. You didn’t even launch into action to get Joel off of him, shock leaving you frozen. You only remained plastered against the bar, gaping at Joel’s savage expression and the way his fists bludgeoned Jack's face. The drink in your hand spilled over the sides a bit, a sticky combination of fruit juice and alcohol coating your skin and absorbing in the sleeve of your sweater.

You were already tipsy, your face hot and your eyes a bit glassy. You were more loose with your expressions, the careful filter you kept starting to deteriorate. By the time a bar fight broke out, you were already more than a few drinks in, your heart pounding in your chest along with the soft music and a thin layer of sweat starting to prickle at the back of your neck.

Joel had stayed quiet that night, sticking to the secluded booth in the back of the bar that he usually haunted. There was no acknowledgement of each other, his chocolate-colored eyes had landed on you for a moment when you walked in, shadowed over by his dark brow in its permanent scowl. As always, he didn’t speak to you despite the fact that you spent most mornings together patrolling the outskirts of Jackson.

He wasn’t your biggest fan, even going so far as to complain to his brother when the two of you had been assigned together. Tommy was giving you a shot on the patrol, you were newer to Jackson and needed a job. You could handle a gun and didn’t seem completely clueless, so he figured he would stick you with Joel to see if you made it out on the other side.

But, nevertheless, Joel was now being pulled off Jack by a few other patrons. They hauled him up by the collar of his canvas jacket, his knuckles bloodied and a snarl on his face as Jack scrambled away. You still stood wide-eyed and dopey, your voice caught in your throat as you struggled for something to say.

Joel wouldn’t look at you, eyes drilling into Jack as he was shoved toward the door. He kept hissing threats through his teeth, snippets of ‘I’ll break your fucking arm if you ever touch her again,’ audible above the music as he grappled with the men trying to contain him.

Your gaze traced the outline of his aquiline nose, the way his lips were pursed beneath his dark mustache. It was a struggle to push him out the door. You flinched when it slammed shut behind him, spilling more of your drink.

“You better get your damn dog on a leash.” It was one of the older women in the neighborhood, her brows drawn and a disgusted expression on her face as she regarded you. You finally snapped out of your shocked stupor, looking at Jack’s bloodied and swollen face as he was picked up and put into a booth.

What was Joel even thinking?

You downed your drink in a few gulps, setting the empty glass on the bar before pushing yourself away from the bar top. Wind swept inside the Tipsy Bison as you forced the door open, providing a moment of relief from the humid heat of the bar. It was starting to get cold out, dried leaves swirling in the breeze as autumn settled into the bones of Jackson.

You shivered, wrapping your arms around yourself as you peered out into the darkness. The leaves crunched under your shoes as you took a few tentative steps, the sweater you wore offering you little protection from the wind.

Joel leaned against the wall of a nearby business, his head tilted back and his throat bared to the dim light of the moon. He was sucking in deep breaths through his mouth, his bloody knuckles limp at his sides. His jacket was off-kilter from where he’d been thrown out the door, his hair mussed.

“Joel?” You approached him like you would a wild animal, on high alert and prepared for any sudden movement.

He looked at you with a bored expression, the moonlight catching on the silver hair that splintered at his temples and in his patchy beard. You hesitated, stopping your approach for a moment before pressing on until you were a few feet in front of him. His dark curls stuck up in every direction, they were a little long now that winter was approaching.

“What the hell was that?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest as your weight settled so one hip popped out to the side. You sounded more aggressive than you intended to, the words coming out like an accusation rather than a question.

It was times like this that made the age and size difference between you and Joel apparent. He stood up straight, towering over you a bit as he cleared his throat. Sometimes he made you feel like you were still just a dumb teenager instead of a woman in her mid twenties. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, his voice a deep grumble with a slight southern twang to it.

A scoff leaves your mouth before you can even stop it, the alcohol reducing your filter to near non-existence. “What do you mean, Joel? I watched you beat the shit out of that guy for what? Touching my arm?” You were a little too loud, your voice ricocheting off the buildings around you. Under different circumstances, you would have cringed and apologized immediately, but something forced you to soldier on.

Thankfully no one else was outside that night—it was too cold and still too early for the Tipsy Bison to have a last call. It felt like a standoff. His dark eyes were trained on your face, his mouth drawn into a scowl. You usually backed down to him, acquiescing to his stubborn nature.

“And so what if it was?” Joel grumbled, his attitude matching your own. The way he crossed his arms made his biceps bulge under the fabric of his jacket—your breath hitched for a moment before you glanced away.

You shook your head, disbelief coloring your expression as his words settled in. “You don’t even like me!” You can’t help but gesture wildly, your hands moving like they had minds of their own.

He ignored you regularly. There was an unspoken rule of only acknowledging one another on patrols together. The woods outside of Jackson were the only place that Joel would actually talk to you, otherwise you acted like perfect strangers in town.

His jaw clenched as he pushed off the wall, taking a few steps closer to you. “Who said I didn’t like you?” he asked, his voice lower as his head dipped toward yours.

He couldn’t be serious.

Your eyebrows shot up, disbelief making you smile incredulously. “What, so ignoring me in public and complaining about me to Tommy is how you treat your friends?” You were moments away from leaving and letting Joel find a new patrol partner.

You spent too much time defending Joel from his reputation as the town pariah, arguing that he wasn’t the animal everyone thought he was. He had a hard time blending in, bigger than most everyone except for his brother and unapproachable to a fault. It seemed that Tommy and Ellie were the only people he willingly spoke to, otherwise keeping largely to himself.

Sometimes you wondered if he heard the rumors going around about him—speculation that he used to be a hunter, a smuggler, a heartless killer. You never had it in you to ask him about it.

Not that he would tell you, anyways.

Joel’s scowl deepened, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. His silence did nothing but rile you up, it felt like an admission to the fact that you were right. You huffed, the autumnal breeze making dried leaves stick to your jeans and your breath clouding in the air.

“Well, Joel, you should really figure out how to act like an adult,” you snapped, shaking your head as you started to turn away from him. “You’re way too old to be beating up boys at a bar for touching someone you don’t even give a damn about.”

The Tipsy Bison called to you, warm light spilling out the windows and the people moving inside. Your friends were still in there, giggling with one another at the bar. You could see others nursing Jack in a booth, pressing ice wrapped in towels against his face as his blood turned them pink.

“I didn’t like how he was grabbing ya,” Joel finally said after you’d taken a few steps away. The admission made you stop in your tracks, looking back over your shoulder at the man. He looked sheepish as he admitted it, his gaze on the floor like a toddler getting scolded. He cleared his throat, taking a deep breath before redirecting his eyes to the sky. “You didn’t… you didn’t hear how he was talking about you… didn’t want you with a guy like that.”

Your eyebrows shot up, your lips parting slightly. Your head tilted up to look at him properly, eyes narrowed slightly as you evaluated him. He seemed shockingly sincere, the awkward expression on his face sealing the deal. “Careful Joel, I’m almost starting to think you care about me.”

There was something in the way his eyes shifted to meet yours that almost made your heart stop.

“Never said I didn’t care,” he mumbled, one of his baseball mitt hands coming to rub the back of his neck. The blood on his knuckles was drying, turning to a rust color under the moonlight. You couldn’t help but purse your lips, tilting your head to one side. It was hard to understand, the alcohol making you feel like you were buzzing as you mulled over Joel’s words.

He cleared his throat again, shuffling a little closer to you in the process. “When I talked to Tommy, I wasn’t complainin’ about you,” Joel said. His cheeks were flushed, making you wonder if he was cold or just from the alcohol. He was notorious for sucking down bourbon like it was water, especially on nights when he had nothing to do the next day.

“You weren’t?” you asked, probing the older man a bit. You had only walked by when Joel was talking to his brother, catching your name in their hushed whispers and Joel’s strained expression. You’d assumed it was because he was stuck with you, a newer recruit, a woman.

Joel sighed, shaking his head. It felt like you were pulling every word from his throat. “Tommy… he uh… he put us together because he thought it would be good for me,” he said, hesitating between parts of his sentence. “Thought you’d be good for me.”

“Good for you?” The alcohol made your voice soft around the edges, the question tumbling out of you before you had the sense to stop it. Joel stepped closer, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. He was close enough that you could see the scar on his ear, the scars littering his bloodied hands and the ones across his nose. Sure, you’d seen them on patrol as you walked shoulder to shoulder, but for some reason you find yourself trying to memorize every detail about him in the moonlight.

“Yeah, sweetheart, good for me,” Joel mumbled, looking down at his boots for a moment before making eye contact with you again. Sweetheart. The nickname rattled around in your mind, echoing in time with your heartbeat. You would’ve punched anyone else for calling you sweetheart, but it sounded good coming from Joel.

Your face heated up, an odd smile quirking up the corners of your mouth as you struggled to find words to say. “You’re a liar, Joel,” you manage to spit out.

He let out a chuckle, the kind that hardly made any noise and just let out a sharp breath of air. You earned one every now and then, it always made you beam when you could get him to chuckle on patrol. “Yeah? I could’ve switched a long time ago,” Joel murmured, shrugging his broad shoulders. “Tommy offered to let me switch.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, a sliver of your combative nature rising up your throat. You wanted to argue with the older man, inform him that he was wrong.

Joel must have picked up at the way your jaw twitched, your expression twisting. “It’s nice to listen to ya blabber in the mornings,” he said, his tone lighter than it had been. It was almost easy to forget what happened in the Tipsy Bison, the way you watched him beat Jack’s face into a pulp.

You huffed, shaking your head. There was a small smile on your face as the heat continued to rise on your cheeks. “Then why do you act like I’m a stranger when I see you around?” you asked Joel. You scraped your teeth over your lower lip, scuffing the toe of your shoe in the dirt.

Joel’s face fell a bit, his eyes softening as he became serious once more. “You don’t want to be around me anyways, people would judge ya.” It was like he didn’t want to admit it, his voice low and mumbling.

You hummed your disagreement, deciding to be bold and step even closer to the huge man in front of you. He towered a head over most people in Jackson, strong and wide and sturdy. You looked over his tanned, weathered skin, his dark curls that were starting to show age through scattered silver strands. “You don’t seem too bad to me,” you said, nearly a whisper.

You saw how Ellie looked at him like he was her favorite person in the world. If that girl could trust him, then so could you.

Joel’s warmth radiated onto you in the cool evening, the smell of bourbon on his breath and blood on his hands. He shook his head, maintaining the closeness you’d established. “Sweetheart, you know most of the shit they say about me around this town is true.”

You’d figured as much. You’d watched Joel kill raiders without a blink of an eye and jump into action whenever infected approached the high, protective walls around Jackson. The first time you’d witnessed it, his precision took your breath away. Now it was something that you had come to depend on.

“I assumed as much,” you said with a shrug, folding your arms over your chest and tucking your hands under your armpits to keep them warm. “Never mattered to me,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek for a moment.

You considered going back to the bar to avoid the chill, but you didn’t feel like having to answer questions about you and Joel all night. Everyone would want to know what he said to you out here, would have their own ideas about why he did it. There were a few breaths of silence. “But, I should probably go home.”

“Not gonna go back inside?” Joel asked, nodding his chin toward the Tipsy Bison. His gaze was still focused on you. You thought about it for a moment before shaking your head, glancing back at the bar. It had lost its appeal.

“Just home, Joel. Have a good night… thanks for protecting my honor and stuff,” you said with a small smile. There was a lightness in the way you spoke, your eyes sparkling in the darkness.

You started to walk toward your house, living in the opposite direction from Joel. “Make sure you clean up those hands of yours, don’t want to have to get another patrol partner any time soon,” you said without looking back, dead leaves crunching under your feet with each step.

You heard his heavy footfalls behind you until Joel fell into step at your side. “Mind helping me out? Not great at first aid,” he said, holding his knuckles out in front of him. They were blown apart.

“Jesus, Joel,” you muttered, grabbing one of his wrists to inspect his hand as you walked. His wrist was warm and thick in your hand, he didn’t pull away. The wounds overlapped a number of scars beneath them, a snippet of Joel’s past violence. “Were you trying to kill him or just teach him a lesson?”

“I don’t pull my punches,” Joel said with a noncommittal shrug, making you roll your eyes. Of course he didn’t. Joel definitely taught him a lesson. You dropped his wrist, not giving him a response as you followed the path to your home.

Your house was one of the smaller ones, the yellow paint starting to peel off the siding and the wall around Jackson casting a shadow over it in the moonlight. Joel was grumbling about your proximity to the wall as you opened your front door and flicked on the lights.

“Take off your boots before you track mud in, I’ll meet you in the kitchen,” you tell Joel, toeing your shoes off before you head to one of the bathrooms. You can still hear him complaining as his heavy boots hit the floor, his lumbering footsteps going to the kitchen. The layout for all of the homes in Jackson was relatively the same, the sub-development it had been converted from seemed fairly cookie-cutter.

Joel sat patiently at the counter as you brought in the first aid kit, setting it down on the stone countertop and flicking it open. He seemed calm and unconcerned, more like a seasoned veteran to first aid than a novice. “I find it hard to believe that you’re bad at this,” you murmured, opening an alcohol wipe to start cleaning his knuckles.

Joel placed his big, catcher’s mitt hands flat on the counter for you to work. His jaw tensed a few times as you wiped over the largest knuckle on each of his hands. “I’m here for your gentle touch, sweetheart,” he muttered, sarcasm biting his tone and making you laugh.

“I’m not a nurse for a reason,” you said, smearing ointment onto the wounds with your fingertips. You tried to be careful, not applying too much pressure to the irritated skin.

Joel chuckled, watching your movements as you pulled out a roll of gauze and loosely wrapped his wounds to cover them. He flexed his hands as soon as you were finished, the gauze stretching tight when he made fists. “Good as new,” you said, leaning against the countertop. You both looked down at his bandaged wounds, lingering in the closeness before you stepped away.

“Now, you should hold off on bar fights for a while.” Mirth glittered in your eyes as you grabbed a wine bottle from one of the shelves in your kitchen. You grabbed two glasses without asking, methodically going through the motions of opening the bottle and pouring.

It felt like you and Joel were sprinting head-first at a line the two of you had never crossed before. There was a shift from coworkers to something else, and it started the second Joel pounced on Jack. You found yourself studying his face as you handed him a wine glass, categorizing his features as you took a sip. He was handsome, but he always had been—you just didn’t let yourself recognize it.

“No promises,” Joel grumbled, taking a long drink. You watched him swallow, your eyes partially lidded before you remembered yourself. You felt your cheeks and ears heat up as you took another drink, unclenching your fist at your side and focusing on the stretch of the bones and ligaments.

“You really didn’t need to beat Jack up, I can handle myself,” you murmured, your lashes fluttering as you redirected your gaze to Joel.

He just snorted softly, shaking his head. His expression twisted into amusement, the papery wrinkles of his crow’s feet becoming pronounced. Your brows furrowed, your head tilting as you prepared to argue the fact that you could, in fact, defend yourself. “His name is Jake.”

Embarrassment made blood rush to your face so quickly you almost felt light headed. A sheepish smile settled on your features, a giggle working its way through your throat. “He even let me call him Jack like… five times the other day,” you said into your wine glass, a guilty look on your face.

“Poor boy’s got it bad then,” Joel said, smirking at you. His dark eyes appeared even darker in the lighting of your kitchen.

“Don’t worry, I think you scared him enough,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. You picked your glass up off the counter, walking out of the kitchen to your cozy living room.

Joel came to sit on the couch as you stoked a fire to life, burning some of the dried kindling you kept in a bucket near the fireplace to coax the logs to life. You could feel his eyes on your back as you crouched, the flames breathing warmth over you as they crackled. The combination of his gaze, the fire, and the wine you kept sucking down in mouthfuls made a sweat prickle at the back of your neck as you stood up straight.

He made himself comfortable, lounging on the couch with an arm draped on the back of it. He’d brought the bottle of wine, it sat on the coffee table next to his empty glass. One of your eyebrows arched as you sat next to him, leaving enough space between the two of you that you could twist and bring your knees and feet up onto the sofa.

“You really made yourself at home.”

Joel cracked an easy smile, the fire illuminating the deep shadows of scowl lines on his forehead. You felt the urge to smooth them out with your fingertips. “I’ve got a habit of doing that,” he said, his dark gaze sliding to the fireplace. One of the logs popped, sending sparks through the hearth.

There was a lapse of silence where you reached over and filled up his wine glass again. You felt surprisingly comfortable next to him, relaxing your side against the cushioned back of the couch as you faced Joel. “The ladies at the Tipsy Bison called you my guard dog.”

That made him outright snicker. “Yeah? I’m your guard dog, huh?” he asked, clearly teasing. The way his flannel clung to his shoulders was heavenly, wrapped around every well-defined muscle like a second skin. The wine was staining his mouth purple, you were enraptured as his tongue darted out to catch any remaining drops on his lips.

You cleared your throat, blinking as you nodded. “Said I should get you on a leash,” you mumbled, the heat on your cheeks spreading to your neck and ears. You gulped the wine to break some of the tension, your nose scrunching as you swallowed.

There was a shift, it would’ve gone unnoticed if you weren’t paying attention.

Joel stretched a bit, tilting his head back as he finished the rest of the wine in one gulp before setting the glass on the coffee table. When he sat back, he’d moved closer to you. Your knee was nearly touching his thigh, that inch of empty space feeling electric.

“Do you want me on a leash?” he asked, his voice deep. There was something different to his tone, the harsh edges of his voice rounded out more than usual. The question made your breath stutter in your chest. The sincerity in his expression caught you off guard. You opened your mouth to speak, only silence coming out. “If there was anyone who could convince me, it would probably be you, sweetheart.”

You choked on your wine, awkward and clumsy as you sat up straight to prevent it from coming out of your nose. Part of you felt like Joel had turned you inside out as you spluttered, confusion and self-consciousness running rampant.. Finally you got a hold of yourself, sucking in wet breaths with tears in your eyes.

“You okay?” His voice was sweet and soft when he asked, as though he hadn’t caused it. You nodded, waiving off his concern as his paw of a hand grabbed your shoulder. His touch was napalm, igniting your skin through your thin sweater.

“Just surprised me,” you choked out, wiping away the tears with the heel of your hand as you sniffled. Joel’s hand stayed where it was, his thumb rubbing along your collarbone over the black fabric. He did nothing but hum his acknowledgement, patiently waiting for you to catch your breath.

Another cough rattled through you before you could breathe again. Joel’s eyebrows were raised as he watched you, mirth sparkling in his eyes. “You are so full of shit, Joel Miller,” you finally said, pushing his shoulder lightly.

He still was touching you, leaning forward into your space as he did so. Your breaths were shallow, apprehensive and giddy in all the right ways.

“You think I’m full of shit?” he asked, smirking.

“I know you are.” You couldn’t help but flirt, batting your eyelashes and smirking at Joel. You felt electric, lightning just crackling under your skin with the potential thrill of him reciprocating. Sure, you were risking a decent work relationship, but you could get a new patrol partner.

He hummed thoughtfully, his hand creeping toward the back of your neck. The stretch of his fingers to the meat of his palm spanned nearly three-quarters of the circumference of your throat, something that should’ve chilled you to the bone. Excitement sparked in your belly as you swallowed against the firm press of his thumb on your windpipe.

“You don’t seem like an ‘on the leash’ kind of guy,” you murmured, the feeling of the gauze you’d wrapped around his knuckles rubbing against your soft skin making you shiver slightly.

“No, guess I don’t,” Joel agreed, his dark brown gaze shifting from your eyes to your mouth and back. It was so quick, but the thrill that followed made you feel like you were glowing. You slicked your tongue over your lower lip, making it shine in the firelight.

The way he spoke made you press your thighs together, the stiff seam of your jeans pressing against you in the perfect way if you shifted how you were sitting. Joel moved as well, his thighs spreading just a bit, a palm quickly smoothing over his lap in an action he probably didn’t think he would notice.

“Sweetheart, we should just get this out of the way.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion before Joel was pulling you toward him, his lips slotting over yours. A soft, startled noise was muffled against Joel’s mouth, shock dissipating quickly as your eyes slid shut. His mustache tickled your upper lip as you accidentally bumped your nose against his.

When he pulled back, there was a hint of a smile on his face. Your face felt like it was on fire, a goofy grin gracing your features as your gaze flickered over him.

Joel’s other hand crept onto your jean-clad thigh, a calloused thumb stroking along the frayed hole at your knee. “So, was that weird for you?” you asked like an insecure teenager, your teeth digging into your lower lip as you waited for his answer.

Your heart was pounding, the irrational side of your brain wondering if he was able to hear it. He surely felt it against his palm, his heavy hand resting near your pulse as he kept you close on the couch. He smiled at your question, shaking his head no as he pulled you back in for a second kiss. It was quicker, a messy stamp of his mouth over yours.

“Didn’t think you’d be into an old man like me,” he said with a chuckle. If you didn’t know better it almost seemed like Joel felt bashful. The apples of his cheeks were dusted pink, whether it was from the kiss or the wine you didn’t know.

Your eyebrow arched, a grin still on your face. “You’re not old,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. Your hands were pressed into your lap, part of you not knowing what to do with them. You looked up at Joel through your eyelashes before your gaze dragged down his torso and to his jeans. The flannel he wore was thin, the fabric well-worn and not tucked into his blue jeans.

“I should, um, thank you,” you murmured, shifting to put your empty wine glass on the coffee table.

Joel chuckled, still watching you like a hawk that set sights on its prey. “Last I checked, you were just lecturing me about fighting your own battles,” he teased, curiosity shining deep in his chocolate eyes as you got off your couch.

The wine must have gotten to your head, because you would’ve thought you were losing your mind. You moved to stand between Joel’s legs, slowly sinking to your knees on the squishy gray carpet that covered your living room. “I don’t have to thank you if you don’t want me to, Joel,” you murmured, your hands hovering over his thick thighs for a moment before resting on them.

He looked dumbfounded and giddy, his hands already resting on the black, leather belt he wore around his waist. “No, sweetheart, you’ve got a…uh… promising idea,” Joel said with a smile, shifting his legs so they bracketed you and his knees pressed against the coffee table.

You laughed softly, hands roaming up his muscular thighs to where his belt rested just under the soft layer of fat covering his stomach. “You sure? I can always get back up,” you said teasingly, working your fingers under the tongue of his belt and pulling the buckle open. It clinked as it fell off to the sides, you didn’t bother pulling it from the belt loops.

Joel shook his head, leaning back farther into the couch and shifting his hips toward you. “M’sure,” he answered, preoccupied on the way your fingers popped open the button of his jeans and worked the zipper down.

He was already hard, the outline of his cock pressing against the denim and toward his thigh. You reached into his black boxers, pulling it out of its confinement with a satisfied sigh.

He was big, bigger than any other guy you’d been with. You held the base of his cock, fingers against the curly, dark hair that covered his pubic bone and ran up toward his belly button. It was hot to the touch, the head already leaking precum that followed the path of the prominent veins down his shaft. It was more pink than the rest of him, the head a shade darker than the rest.

You licked your lips, almost embarrassed to find yourself drooling as you braced your forearm on his thigh and kitten-licked at the underside of Joel’s cock. He grunted at the contact, his hands digging into the plush cushion of the couch as his hips twitched toward your face.

“Eager,” you mumbled, a smile on your face as you looked up at Joel through your eyelashes. He was already looking down at you, his lips parted in anticipation and his breaths heavier than they were. You licked the tip of his cock again, the salty taste of his precum on your tongue. There’s something about the way that Joel lets a breath out through his teeth that makes you feel like you were set on fire.

You let out a breathy chuckle, wrapping your lips around the head of him and hollowing out your cheeks on your descent toward his lap. It was a lot to take, your eyes watering as you swallowed more of Joel’s cock. His moans and sighs were enough to keep you going, your lips curled over your teeth and your head bobbing up and down.

One of his hands found the curve of your jaw, calloused fingers tracing it before hooking around the back of your head. You were fine with his direction, letting Joel gently press your head down to dictate your speed.

The taste of him was salty and heady, a musk that was distinctly Joel filling your nose as you drooled and sucked his cock. It was slick with your spit, the mix of your saliva and his precum coating your lips and chin. You still had your hand wrapped around the base of him and moving in tandem with your mouth, ensuring you could get everything that your throat couldn’t fit.

“Goddamn, sweetheart, you suck cock like you were made for it,” Joel said, his words punctuated with soft sighs and moans. It made you want to live permanently with his praise, your gaze flicking up to meet Joel’s for a moment.

He was completely blissed out, his head tilted back toward the ceiling as he bit his full lower lip between his teeth. His Adam’s apple kept moving erratically in his throat, like he couldn’t decide whether to breathe or not. His hand still cupped the black of your head, half-thought praises falling frantically from his lips. Joel was barely speaking in sentences, some words falling to the wayside of his soft grunts.

Feeling emboldened, you moved your hand away and tried to relax your jaw as your head descended far enough that your nose was pressed firmly against Joel’s pubic hair. It smelled surprisingly clean, just the undertone of musk clinging to the dark, curly thatch of hair as you resisted the urge to choke around his cock.

It was thick and heavy in your throat as you swallowed around him, eliciting groans and his hand pressing tightly against the back of your head. Tears burned in your eyes as Joel’s thick cock twitched in your throat, your hands spread flat on your thighs as he moaned your praises.

Joel barely thrusted his hips toward your awaiting mouth, your eyes slipped shut so you could focus on relaxing your throat. Lungs burning, you finally pulled off to suck in deep breaths. Your hand resumed what your mouth had been doing moments before, taking Joel in your fist and using your saliva as lubrication.

“Look at how pretty you are,” Joel murmured, his southern accent thicker than normal as the hand on the back of your head shifted to cup your cheek. Your eyes were watery with a few tears tracking down your face, your lips swollen and saliva coating the entirety of your chin.

You smiled, stroking his cock as you struggled to regain your breath. “Didn’t know you were such a good girl,” Joel drawled, dragging his thumb through the saliva on your chin and smearing the pad of it across your parted lips.

“When I want to be.” Your voice was thick and raspy, your eyes partially lidded. Your knees were digging into the carpet, his legs keeping you where you sat.

He smirked at that. Joel gently moved your hand away from his cock, his arms winding beneath your armpits and lifted you back up to the couch. You squealed in the back of your throat, surprised by his strength as he settled you against the arm of the couch and twisted to face you.

Large hands yanked your sweater over your head to reveal the black bra you wore, a soft groan coming from Joel. He didn’t waste time, finding the back closure and popping it open. You helped him, guiding the thin straps down your arms and tossing the garment aside.

“Christ,” Joel mumbled, his thick fingers brushing over one of your nipples. A jolt of electricity traveled down your spine at the touch, warmth blooming on your cheeks.

You were impatient, panties already soaked through and feeling uncomfortable as you popped open the button on your jeans. “Joel, I need you,” you murmured, leaning forward to kiss him as you shimmied your pants and underwear over your hips.

“So impatient,” he muttered between presses of your lips, pulling away so he could look at you properly. The firelight illuminated the curves and shadows that littered your body, stretch marks and scars visible on your skin. Self-consciousness reared its ugly head for a moment, your gaze fluttering away from Joel’s intensity as he just stared at you.

He grabbed your thighs, pulling you toward him until your back hit the couch. “Joel…” you whined as he pressed your thighs apart, his dark eyes focused on your sex.

He spread the slicked lips apart with his thumb, making you cover your face with your hands out of embarrassment. “Look at you…” he mumbled, hardly even talking to you. He let go of your other thigh, his fingertips teasing your clenching hole to gather some of the wetness dripping down you and smearing it across your clit.

You gasped, your back arching at the contact against the nerves. Joel’s fingers were calloused and thick and warm, drawing tight, slow circles over your clit as his other hand pressed into the crease between your inner thigh and your pubic bone. It kept your hips from squirming away from him.

“You’re so sensitive, sweetheart,” Joel said, the smile audible in his voice. You’d kept your hands over your face, your moans muffled by your palms as you resisted the urge to snap your thighs closed. You felt vulnerable and exposed under him.

“You’re teasing,” you mumbled, your hips twitching in an attempt to get more friction from his calloused fingers. He kept his touch agonizingly light, making you whine and whimper in your desperation for more from him. He chuckled, fingers dipping to tease your entrance again before trailing back up to your clit.

“Let me see ya,” Joel said, his hand leaving the nestle of your thigh to wrap around your wrists and pull them away from your face. He held both in one hand, keeping your wrists captive against your sternum.

Your breaths were heavy, his fingers strumming over the swollen bump of your clit pulling moans from your throat. Joel’s eyes were partially lidded as he looked down at you, a smirk growing on his face at your desperate expression. “Joel, please,” you begged, your cunt clenching around empty space as you wished he would just fucking fill you up already.

He chuckled, clicking his tongue against his teeth with mock disapproval. “If you’re so desperate, get up and turn around, sweetheart,” he said, pulling you up by your wrists. “My knees aren’t what they used to be, help an old man out.”

You’d normally take that opportunity to make a joke at his expense, but you just let him move you around like a doll. He guided you so you were kneeling on the couch, your chest pressed against the back of it. You arched your back as much as you could, sticking your ass out and hoping you looked pretty as you looked at Joel over your shoulder. He didn’t even bother getting undressed, just standing up behind you and taking his cock in his hand.

His other hand still rubbed over your cunt, smearing your arousal over your swollen lips and onto your inner thighs. Much to your relief, he pressed two thick fingers inside you. The sensation made you groan, resting your weight on your elbows and your knees as you pushed back against his fingers. They slid in so easy you were almost embarrassed.

“You’ll take me just fine, sweetheart,” Joel murmured, approval echoing in his voice. He crooked his fingers to press and massage the spongy spot inside of you, making your mouth fall open and your legs jerk.

You twisted enough to glare at him, Joel covered in shadow from the fire crackling behind him. “Quit being an asshole, Joel,” you said through your teeth, making him chuckle.

“Where are your manners, sweetheart?” he asked, pulling his fingers from your cunt. He brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a sigh before grabbing your hip with a hand. His wet fingers smeared against your heated skin as he pulled you back a little more, making your back arch like a bow pulled too tight.

He slid the blunt head of his cock between your folds until it tapped against your clit, making him when you whimpered. Joel finally granted you what you wanted, lining up with your entrance and pressing his way in. His cock caught, sliding in so slow that it made you squirm.

“Relax, sweetheart.” Joel’s big hand slid up and down your curved spine, calloused fingers feeling each and every notch of your vertebrae. Your pussy fluttered around him, stretched out and so eager as he bullied his way inside of you. The breath you took in was frantic and overwhelmed, it felt as though he was pushing all of the air out of your body. The two fingers he had pressed inside of you as a test didn’t prepare you at all for his thick cock.

You could hardly breathe, you’d never taken a cock this big inside of you without any preparation–but you were too impatient to wait for him to stretch you out on his fingers. You were pathetic, whining and wheezing as your hands clenched against the cushions on the back of your couch.

You’d never felt anything better in your life.

After what felt like ages, Joel was fully seated inside of you. His coarse jeans were pressed against your soft thighs, the two of you breathing heavily like you’d run a marathon.

“You’ve gotta relax. Feels like you’re gonna squeeze my dick off,” Joel said, slowly grinding his pelvis against the swell of your ass. You nodded, trying to take in deep breaths and get used to the feeling of being stretched full.

“Sorry,” you muttered as you focused on becoming pliant, your taught muscles slowly releasing. His beard rasped against the back of your neck as he kissed you there, a moment of intimacy to calm you down. It felt like a reward, your breaths slowing as you unclenched around Joel and welcomed him deeper.

The sound you made when Joel pulled out and pressed back in was pathetic. It felt like he was sawing you in half, carving a space for his cock inside of you with each thrust. There was some caution to his movements, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips as he grit his teeth.

“So fucking tight, sweetheart,” Joel said, his voice muffled as his mouth pressed against your neck. Each thrust coaxed a gasp from you, your nails digging into the fabric of the couch as you took whatever Joel is willing to give. Your vision was blurry from the overwhelmed tears brimming your eyes.

The sound of your bodies smacking together filled your living room, the open belt still threaded through Joel’s pants clinking on the off beat. He maintained his pace like a machine, drilling into the gummy spot inside you that made your eyes roll back in your head.

Your nipples were sensitive, rubbing against the coarse fabric of the couch cushions with every thrust. The noises you made were absolutely undignified, the sounds of someone being fucked completely stupid. He was filling you up so perfectly and the knowledge that it was Joel, your hardass patrol partner who never gave affection to anyone, it made you feel like you’d touched a live wire.

“Tell me how it feels, sweetheart,” Joel said, a wide hand reaching around you to fondle your breast. He used it to bring you back, curving your spine so the back of your head was pressed against his collarbone and you looked up at where the wall and ceiling met.

You felt helpless and primal, your mind scattered a million different places. “So good,” you gasped stupidly, hardly able to form words. Your hands grabbed his forearm and fisted in his flannel behind you, an effort to anchor yourself to him.

“I know,” he murmured, kissing the shell of your ear. You were vaguely aware of tears running down your cheeks, your mouth hanging open as you struggled to stay afloat. You were already lost, a sea of sensation pulling you under with only the places where you and Joel were pressed together serving as your lifeline.

Joel’s free hand reached around your belly, finding your neglected clit with practiced ease. You moaned his name like a broken record, your eyebrows furrowing. He rubbed it hard and fast, matching the pace he was rutting into you with. You already felt heat pooling in your lower abdomen.

“Oh god,” you gasped, already shaking from head to toe and your grip tightening around his forearm. “Joel I’m—yes, yes, yes—“

It felt like your whole world shattered as you came with a shout, your muscles convulsing. You clamped around Joel’s cock like a vise, your hips twitching wildly. Pleasure flooded through you from head to toe, warm and fuzzy and all-consuming. The sensation was simultaneously too much and not enough, Joel steadily fucking you through it as your vision went white.

Joel had to pull himself away from you, letting you slump forward on the couch cushion as you came down from your orgasm. You were clenching around nothing, whining at how cruel he was to leave you empty.

The wet, sticky sounds coming from him made you turn your head as you went boneless on the couch. Joel’s cheeks were red as he tugged at his cock, a hand squeezing the flesh of your ass. His dark eyes were focused on you, all loose limbed and spent.

He finally noticed you looking, his mouth open and panting. He took in your fucked out expression, your eyelashes clumped with tears and cheeks red. He’d made a mess of you, the dazed look on your face his undoing as he let out a grunt. He sunk his teeth into his lower lip as he came, spurting thick come over your ass as his fingers dug into you.

You sighed as you felt his hot come land on your ass and back, pooling in the curve of your spine. You were still floaty and out of it, vaguely aware of him milking the last spurts of his spend from his thick cock.

“Jesus,” he grumbled, swaying for a moment before sitting down on the couch next to you. He gathered you in his arms, pulling you onto his lap and against his chest as you went perfectly limp.

You nuzzled against his neck, humming your affection as his hand rubbed up and down your back. The motion smeared his come along your skin, his fingers rubbing it in like body lotion. It was like he’d stuck your brain in a blender, the mush of the aftermath hardly able to form more than feelings as you pressed your forehead against his beard.

“I’ll beat up the whole town if this is the thanks I get,” Joel said, pressing a kiss to your temple. His barrel chest shook beneath you with a chuckle, his hands never straying from your body.

“No one’s gonna want to touch me with a ten-foot pole,” you muttered after a moment of silence, it took you a beat to even process what Joel was saying. He snickered, seeming pleased with himself as you melted deeper into his embrace.

“Good, I should be the only one touching you,” he said, making warmth bloom in your chest. “Unless I’m assuming things.”

You smiled, a sleepy look still on your face as you wound your arms around his neck and snuggled in closer. “So this wasn’t a spur of the moment thing?” you asked, sounding shy as you said it.

Joel chuckled, shaking his head. “You know how many times I had to go home after patrol and take a cold shower just because you bumped my arm or bent over to pick something up? Felt like a damn teenager.”

You giggled, picking your head up to look at Joel properly. He looked so soft and sweet around the edges, that normal fire and flintiness was gone from his dark eyes. “You gonna stay tonight?”

He pulled you in for a kiss, it was sweet and over all too soon. “If you’ll let me,” Joel said, sounding earnest.

You nodded, tucking your head back against his neck. You were starting to succumb to your drowsy state, your eyes sliding shut as you puddled into Joel. You were vaguely aware of him lifting you off the couch, his good-natured grumbling about carrying you up the stairs filling your ears.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us #tlou #the last of us x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #the last of us smut #joel tlou #I pictured show Joel but you can picture game Joel #they’re both hot #pedro pascal #tlou hbo #tlou fanfiction

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fruitsofhell · 5 months

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My other fun addition to the Hbomberguy video stuff is not just that you need to start checking everyone's sources just to make sure you aren't being duped, but to not use them as a stand in for media consumption/experiences either. Like I'm not gonna lecture you on reading sources cause I am the first one to not and that's my laziness, but like sometimes more important than checking the original analysis of something is just to... see tge thing being analyzed yourself. That's not even about misinformation or lying, sometimes people's opinions just SUCK ASS.

Like there are youtube video essayists I overall kinda respect but they have dogshit opinions on things. I used to love Jack Saint's bad faith overly critical analyses of throwaway kids films, until I realized he also saw films that in my opinion had a lot of merit, and it turned me off from him. Big Joel is cool as hell, but anytime he gives his opinion on animation save like a few points, I completely glaze over and find him annoying. The other day I watched a video essay about the "Magical Negro" trope, and the first movie sourced interested me, so I watched it and I hardly understand why they put that in, it framed the movie as something it wasn't.

Just in general, it's good practice to make sure your opinions on media are your own and experience it yourself. MY biggest takeaway from the Hbomn video wasn't to throw rocks at Somerton or start obsessively fact-checking every essayist I watch, but to make sure I have a baseline of what they talking about myself and not letting anyone throw around media examples without reckless abandon. The Celluloid Closet and Tinkerbelles and Evil Queens is on my watxh/read list now, but the first thing I did from the words he stole from Celluoid Closet was watch Rebels Without A Cause out of curiosity of this gay subtext in a 50s blockbuster. And it was a super interesting experience that has given me my own unrelated opinions. Not to discount whatever important queer reading and historical importance the film has, but I'm happy I also have more than just that cause I Watched It Myself, not someone's specific and unavoidably biased reading of it.

The video isn't about cultivating suspicion but cultivating appreciation for the skills of analytical/informative/opinion writing. So even when people aren't being lying grifters, it's just good to be your own critic and media analyst. Maybe you'll even contribute to that world yourself, or maybe you'll keep all your cool opinions in your heart and die, who cares. The point is that unlike some people, your opinions and words are your own. It's a beautiful thing to have your own creative voice.

#shut the heck up #video essays #hbomberguy #james somerton #media analysis #art mush #<- for when i get cheesy about the beauty of art and creative processes

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strang3lov3 · 14 days

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Play Stupid Games

Summary - Who woulda thought you could make Joel come by playing with his nipples? NOT ME!! (3.6k words)

Tags - implied age gap as Joel calls reader kiddo, Joel Miller Nipple Worship, almost sub!joel, for like 8 seconds max, sub to softdom!joel, unprotected Piv, nipple orgasm, premature ejaculation, come eating, thigh riding, fingering, Joel talks you through it. A/N - this ended up being something between a drabble and a fic. I don’t know what this is. God spoke to me and I listened.

Thank you thank you thank you @noxturnalpascal for cleaning this mess up, thank you @beefrobeefcal @tightjeansjavi and @joelsgreys for the encouragement I needed to finish this!

Joel’s sheets are scratchy yet soft, his walls are illuminated by the flickering light of his burning candles. Joel’s naked under his blankets, your naked body tangled up with his. Your head rests on his chest and you draw lazy patterns with your fingers on his soft, pillowy tummy as Joel reads Stephen King’s The Shining to you, turning the pages when he asks you to. This is your evening routine with him, and you’ll never tire of it. Sex first, then a shared shower, where Joel washes your hair and you wash his. He dries you off, then you go back to bed to snuggle and read a book together. You giggle at the way he always wears his glasses too far down his nose, and he lightly drags his nails along your scalp. His clean and masculine scent takes over your senses and that low, gravelly tone of his voice as he reads aloud to you usually puts you to sleep in no more than twenty minutes.

“Turn the page for me, hon,” Joel asks.

You’re not so tired tonight. You’re watching Joel’s chest rise and fall, lost in your own world and not really paying attention to his reading. Instead, you’re watching his skin erupt in goosebumps as you trace his chest, toying with his sparse chest hair, lightly teasing his nipples, they’re a dark sort of mauve-brown color. Joel’s breath hitches as they pebble beneath your touch.

He bounces his book lightly on the crown of your head. “You with me?”

“Mhm,” you hum, “Of course.”

“Mm,” Joel mumbles, not convinced. And he’s right to not believe you. You’re grinding against his thigh subtly, but not subtle enough for Joel to not notice. He smirks as you reach between his thighs, first cupping his balls and then playing with his cock, feeling him begin to thicken in your palm. “Ohh,” Joel grins, “That’s why you’re not listening.”

“I’m listening,” you reply, stroking his cock. It’s always such a satisfying feeling, running your thumb along the thickness of his head, feeling him twitch and grow harder.

“Are ya? What’s happening right now?”

“Wendy…”

“Wrong,” he interrupts, “Try again.”

“Jack–”

“Danny,” Joel corrects, “What’s Danny doin’?” You don’t know the answer to that question, of course you don’t. Because you’re too distracted by what’s happening in your hand. “Exactly,” Joel says. He sets his book down on his stomach, the pages split to mark his place. He reaches under the covers and wraps his hand around your wrist, halting your movements. “You wore me out tonight, kiddo. I don’t have it in me to go again.”

It’s true, you did wear Joel out. It had been a few days since you’d last had him, and you were missing him dearly. Joel was gone all day, and you’d watched all three Indiana Jones movies, which didn’t help your case in the least. Fuck it, you might even be ovulating. You’re not exactly keeping track. Whoops.

You practically tackled him when he walked through the door. Dinner was made and the table set, but it remained untouched as you let Joel know just how much you missed him. Scrambling to unbuckle his belt, you walked him backwards until the backs of his legs hit the couch and he sat down. You wasted no time shimmying off your pants and pulling his own halfway down his thighs. He guided you to straddle his lap, his already rock-hard cock held loosely between his fingers.

Usually he’ll tease you a bit, make you beg and ache and cry for it as he drags his tip through your folds, toy with your clit for a moment before notching himself at your entrance. Today, upon realizing the severity of your need for him, he pulled your hips down on his cock, burying himself in you entirely. He let you adjust to him, feel the stretch and the ache of him inside you. No fingers to warm you up, no tongue, he simply gave all of himself to you.

Once adjusted, he began to roll his hips, grunting in your ear as you moaned sweetly in his own. That patch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your clit, how his thick cock hit all of your sweetest spots with each of his deep, sloppy, and quick thrusts. He was relentless, just how you needed him. As he fucked you, he slid his hands up the softness of your tummy and your rib cage, then cupped your breasts, flicking and twisting your nipples with his fingertips.

Per your wishes, Joel had brought you to the edge and pushed you over it multiple times by the time it was all said and done. You came on his cock once and begged him to let you come once more, and then one more time after that before he finally let himself go. By the time you’d finished, the sun had gone down and dinner had gottencold. It could’ve been hours, and Joel was spent. He could hardly keep his eyes open in the shower, swaying back and forth as he flirted with the idea of falling asleep under the warm water running down his shoulders.

“I’ll do all the work, Joel,” you offer as you squeeze his cock. “I just need you for a second.”

“Charming. You lied to me twice just now,” Joel smirks, turning his head to look down at where your head rests on his shoulder. “Didn’t you?”

“No, of course not.”

“Oh, sure. You just need me for a second, huh? Can I time it?” You bite your cheek to hide your sheepish smile. You see his point, but you weren’t lying, just slightly misrepresenting the truth. “Yeah, and you know what else is a load of bullshit? I’ll do all the work, Joel,” he mocks, putting on his best girl voice and batting his eyelashes.

You’re definitely not lying about that, though. “It’s true,” you argue, “I’ll–”

“Yeah, right. You ain’t done a lick of hard work in your life. You got me in the palm of your hand and you don’t gotta lift a damn finger to get what you want. Do you?”

You’re not answering that. Instead, holding up your pinkie finger, you swear to Joel, “I promise, I’ll do it all.”

Joel eyes you suspiciously before holding up his pinkie finger as well. You link fingers, kiss your thumb as he kisses his own, then smush them together. “S’a deal now, my darlin’.”

Joel first takes off his glasses, then dog-ears the page of his book to mark his place in the story before he sets both down on his nightstand. He raises his hands in the air as if he’s surrendering to you. You pull down the blankets and straddle him, your already wet pussy grinding against his now fully-hardened cock. You smile mischievously, biting your bottom lip as you pin his wrists to the bed on either side of his head. “Goddamn,” he drawls, “Am I nothin’ but a piece of meat to ya?”

“Mhm,” you reply, kissing his cheek and then his lips.

Joel smiles against your lips, “Alright, sweet girl. Show me what you got,” he mumbles. You pull back and Joel waits patiently, his wrists still pinned under your palm as you decide what you’re gonna do to him. You start first by grinding yourself against his member, garnering an amused smile from him as his tip catches against your clit and you moan. “Very nice,” he praises, “Gimme some more.”

Still grinding on his cock, you kiss his lips again, then down his jaw, down his neck, biting and sucking as you do so. “No marks,” he warns, squeezing your ass.

“I know, Joel,” you whisper, continuing your trail of kisses down his chest, down his tummy and back up again. You line yourself up with his cock and sink down on him, experimentally licking a nipple at the same time. Joel shivers. You do it again, this time gently teasing his other nipple with your fingers.

“What are you doin’, kiddo,” Joel murmurs quietly.

“Nothing, Joel.”

“I think you’re lyin’ again. Think you’re causin’ trouble.”

“I’m taking care of you.”

“I don’t, fuck, I don’t know–” you hum against him, sending vibrations through his skin. You’re grinding on him as you do so, rubbing your clit against that patch of hair at the base of his cock, taking in all of him - the feeling of him inside you, how you’re pulsing around him. His smell, his warm and thick body underneath yours. He’s breathing heavily, little whimpers escaping his mouth as he squeezes your ass and your sides, his fingertips digging into your skin so hard it hurts. He seems almost desperate.

“Don’t know what, Joel?”

“I don’t - fuck, ohh god, please, please–” Holy fuck, he’s begging, and you didn’t even know he could do that. You’re not sure what he’s begging for - more, less, go, stop. “Why’re you teasin’ me like this, sweetheart, why’re–”

“I’m not doing anything, Joel,” you smile against his skin. You’re trying it all out now, with one of his nipples you’re using your fingers to twist and tease him, feeling him jolt and tremble with your touch. With your mouth, you’re using your tongue - tracing the outline of his areola, swirling your tongue in a spiral to reach his sensitive bud. And then you switch, using your tongue on the nipple previously occupied by your teasing fingertips.

“Bullshit. You’re—fuuuuuck,” Joel lets out a long groan, his cock twitching inside of you as he squirms underneath you. “I can feel you smirkin’.You’re testin’ my patience. You need, I need, Christ–you’re startin’ something you’re not gonna like finishing.”

He’s warning you that this might be a mistake, but this only fuels your fire. It’s always you who’s squirming and crying and whimpering, begging for god knows what as Joel grins above you, torturing your clit and promising you that it’ll all be okay, that you’re not gonna break.

You’ve got him reduced to a mess, he’s moaning and whimpering, breathing heavily with his eyes squeezed shut, his brows knit together. You can feel in his touch that he’s conflicted, squeezing you tighter yet itching to push you away. His skin is tingling, his balls tightening as you clench around him, still grinding yourself ever so slightly on his pelvis. You’re making a sloppy mess of his chest with your mouth, all spit covered as you circle his nipples with the tip of your tongue, rolling the bud gently and carefully between your teeth. It’s torturously pleasurable when you begin to suck and nip at his nipples and Joel thinks he’s gonna–

“Fuck, Christ, oh my god, oh my god, mmm-ohhhh.”

He’s spilling into you, surprising both you and himself. He comes loudly and desperately, all needy whimpers and cries as he pulses inside you, painting your insides with his warm, sticky spend. Grabbing you and holding you tight, his grip easing as his breaths begin to even and he eventually goes still. You rest on his chest, feeling him leak out of you. When you finally sit up to admire your work, Joel’s got his eyes closed, his cheeks are rosy. A few tears running down his face and when you wipe them away, he opens his eyes.

“You look proud of yourself,” he tells you. His tone is pointed yet quiet, like he’s bashful. “Learned a new trick, huh.”

“I did,” you smile. He’s gone soft inside of you and you get up off of him, but Joel pulls you back down. “Nuh-uh. Where do you think you’re going?”

“Just to the–”

“Sit back down. I ain’t finished with you,” Here it comes. You anticipated Joel getting revenge in some way or another, but you’re not sure how he plans to. Maybe he’ll lay you on your back, lick you until you cry the way you did to him. He might bring you to the edge over and over and over again, yet never push you past it. Or he’ll make you come until your legs twitch and shake uncontrollably, and you’re a sweaty, sobbing mess of overstimulation. He’s done it all before and you know he’s not opposed to doing it again. “You’re gonna hold up your end of the bargain. Do some hard work for once in your life.”

You begin to protest, “I already did.”

“That don’t count. You cheated and found a loophole. You wanted me, so you’re gonna have me,” You’re not sure what he means or what he wants from you. You thought you did already have him. “Get on your knees, kiddo,” Joel says, slapping his bare thigh. When you pause, Joel nudges you and guides you to straddle his thigh. “Like this,” he says.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“I’m sure you’ll figure that out,” Joel drawls, “I gave you a hint already.”

He’s placed you on his thigh. He says you wanted him, so you’re gonna have him. But you’ve made him come already, so that means–

“I can’t do that.”

“You started this, you’re comin’ one way or another,” he says. “You’re not getting up until you do it. You’d best get to it.”

His tone is serious, but you’re sure this has to be some sort of game. He watches you, how you furrow your brows in confusion. Joel sits up and adjusts a few pillows behind himself, spreads his legs further apart and holds your ass cheeks in his big, strong hands. “Rock your hips f’me.”

Slowly, you rock your hips on his thigh. You can’t feel much except for the mess you’re making on his leg, your arousal and his spend. It’s all awkward - the clunky and graceless rolling of your hips, the quietness in the room as Joel watches you intently. You shift your thighs, holding on to one of Joel’s hips and one of his shoulders as you rock your hips, trying to feel anything at all. You do - just for a second, maybe. “Keep goin’,” he tells you while drawing lazy patterns on your thigh, but you’re not sure that you can keep going. The expectant look on Joel’s face has you feeling uncomfortable. Not the bad kind of we need to stop this now uncomfortable, but just sort of puzzled. Joel could have tortured you with his teasing and he probably would have gotten a better result. He seems to know this, so he begins to guide your hips again. You’re not sure how he does it, but he finds the perfect angle and he knows this when you moan for him, squeezing his shoulders tight. “Like that,” he instructs.

You do your best to mimic the action, but it’s just not happening. He must’ve been flexing his thigh, or the way he moved your hips is a way that you can’t replicate without help for some reason. Frustrated, you slump down onto his chest. “I can’t do it.”

“You’re gonna have to,” Joel coos.

You shake your head, “No, no. I want–just fuck me. I want you inside me, I can’t come without you inside me.”

“Yeah, I know you want me inside ya. Can’t do nothin’ about that on account of what you did to me, now can I?”

You whine and groan in irritation. “Then I need you to do the w–” you press your lips in a thin line. Oops.

“Work,” Joel adds for you, finishing your sentence. “S’that what I’m hearin’? You need me to do the work?” You nod your head, it’s worth a shot. Maybe. “Not gonna happen, hon. We shook on it.” You pout, whining and groaning again. Joel strokes the skin of your back, “Oh, I know, I know,” he coos, feigning sympathy. “Let this be a lesson to ya then, kiddo. You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes.”

“Joel,” you protest.

“Joel,” he mocks. “Come on, get up. Get to work.” Joel pushes you back, forcing you to sit back up on his thigh. Generously, he helps you find that movement once more. Where your hips tilt at just the right angle and you can feel the pressure of his thick thigh against your clit. “Right there,” you gasp, holding his hand on your hip. “Nuh-uh,” Joel shakes his head and pulls his arms back, crossing them on his tummy.

It’s okay. You’re gonna figure this out. You brace yourself on Joel’s shoulders as you search for that sweet spot on your own. Within a couple of minutes, you think you find it. You’re alternating between feeling good, better, worse, then to worse, good, and better. At moments it’s great, and then it just…disappears. And at this point, you’re exhausted. It’s been god knows how long since you even found yourself on Joel’s lap in the first place. You groan, resigning yourself to defeat. You’re about to get off of Joel’s thigh when he grabs your bicep. “Aw, come on kiddo. You givin’ up that easy?”

“Yeah,” you tell him, your tone saying all that you’re feeling. Dejection, frustration, disappointment.

Joel shakes his head, “M’not lettin’ ya.”

“Joel–”

“Deep breath in and out for me,” he instructs, and you roll your eyes. He repeats himself, “Deep breath. In. And. Out. Do it now.” And so, not wanting to make this any worse for yourself and just wanting to get it over and done with, you close your eyes. You breathe in deeply, letting your tummy expand with his instruction, then exhale your breath fully. “You need to settle down,” he says as you continue your breaths. “S’it. Nice an’ slow.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, “It’s just hard.”

“Know it’s hard. What’d we talk about though, hm? Hard work, right?” you nod your head, “Yeah,” Joel says, “I know. You’re gonna work for it, sweet girl. I’ve been spoilin’ ya.” A few more deep breaths, and Joel speaks again, “M’not gonna do it for you, but I’ll walk you through it if you’d like.”

“Yes,” you beg, your eyes flying open. “Please. Help me.”

“Least you’ve still got your manners,” Joel smiles. He reaches for your knees then, spreading them wide. “Tilt your hips forward, sweetheart, and rock ‘em on me,” he tells you. “What feels good? Back and forth, left and right?”

“Back and forth.”

“Then do it.”

And so you do it, just like you’ve been doing this whole goddamn time. Joel watches in your face that you’re not quite there yet, but he encourages you anyway. “That’s it, you’re gettin’ it. Tilt down a bit.”

You’re rocking your hips on his thigh, grinding against him, and with his advice it finally, finally feels good. “Fuck,” you moan.

“Again,” he instructs, “Keep goin’.”

You grind on him, this time with more intent. Faster and harder, having found that sweet feeling that’s beginning to build in the pit of your stomach, you savor it.

“Good girl,” Joel praises. And then as if to reward you for your hard work, Joel reaches between your thighs and finds your clit with his middle and ring fingers, giving you something extra to enjoy. He’s circling your clit as you move your hips, and when that feeling in your stomach begins to build, you ride him more intensely, chasing after that high you so desperately need, that you’ve worked so hard for.

“Need it–need you, Joel, don’t stop, don’t–”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere. Take your time, kiddo, I’m right here.”

“You’re here,” you nod, your brows furrowed together and you’re almost unable to speak, too focused on the prospect of release.

Your velvety folds soaked in Joel’s come and your own arousal. “I’m– fuck, Joel, I’m close,” you moan.

“I know you are, keep goin’,” Joel coos, “You’re right there, just let it happen. Gimme a good one, sweetheart,” You feel your orgasm building to a new edge when you hear him say, “Come for me.”

All it takes is that one command, laced with Joel’s encouragement, and you’re sent tumbling over the edge. Your long-awaited orgasm begins at your core and travels through you, washing over you with pulsing waves of pleasure. “Joel,” you moan breathless and needy, writhing on top of him. You feel it everywhere, in your spine and down your thighs. Your clit twitching, your walls pulsing around nothing as you ride him.

“That’s it, kiddo, there it is. Good girl,” Joel coos. “Did so good.”

With a soft moan, you fall limp next to Joel, steadying your breath.

A moment passes. “Finish the job,” he whispers.

“What are you talking about?”

“You made your mess on me, so you’re gonna clean it up. Part of the deal, sweetheart,” Joel gestures to your combined arousal on his thigh, then swipes his middle two fingers through the mess and pushes it between your lips, “You know what to do. Lick it up,” he instructs.

It’s not lost on him, the hypocrisy of having you clean up a mess that he had you make. But like he asked, you do it. You’ll do it every time he asks. He holds your hair back as you lick the mess from his thigh, savoring that slightly salty, masculine flavor he knows you love. “Such a good girl. You ready to go to sleep?”

“No,” you yawn, and Joel puts on his glasses again, opens the book back up and reads you the story. You’re sleeping on his chest in minutes.

If you enjoyed, please please please reblog, leave me a comment, or send me an ask. Your words go a long way and keep me motivated to write 🩷

Forgot to add cat pics!!! I add these at the end of my fics now

#strang3lov3 #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #the last of us #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal joel miller #pedro pascal the last of us #joel miller x reader smut

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chronically-ghosted · 3 months

Text

i wonder if you stopped his world like you did mine

rating: teen

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

word count: 5K

summary: watching the woman he loves be with someone else is killing him, but for your sake, he manages. But when Benny's birthday loosens him up, he can't help but bear his soul over a phone call. Too bad you don't pick up and he's forced to leave the evidence in a voicemail.

tags/warnings: pining, light angst, idiots in love, country music as a catalyst, romance, tw alcohol, tw drinking, hangovers, ultimately very fluffy

a/n: Happy Valentine's Day @toomanystoriessolittletime! I hope you receive and give all the love you need and want! I've had this idea for a while, but once I saw that Frankie was your fave, I knew I had to do it!

one day i’m gonna do the series of all of my favorite country songs with a Pedro boy. This is one of them: Singles You Up by Jordan Davis. Had thoughts of Me and My Kind by Cody Johnson for our ever-fantastic Jack Daniels and Hurricane by Luke Combs for Joel. One day, my loves, one day.

🤍Masterlist | Frankie Morales Masterlist

Frankie Morales has a problem.

Given the life expectancy in his line of work – all things considered – it really wasn’t that bad of a problem. Sure, his knees were busted, his shoulder aches when it was cold out, and his ex keeps hounding him for money he doesn’t have. But on the flipside, his little family unit of friends and brothers united by combat are (mostly) all alive and healthy. He has a steady job and his little girl, whom he loves and adores, thinks the sun shines out of his ass. All things considered, there’s not much else he can ask for. He’s far better off than some of the men and women at Will’s talks, or in Santiago’s field teams.

So – really, truly, seriously – all things considered . . . he can’t classify this as a bad problem.

In fact, this is a problem he would willingly have. Gladly even. Not quite joyously, but if it’s a choice between this problem and not having the problem at all, he will choose having this consistent, thorny, kind-of-hurts-to-breathe-sometimes problem every single time.

And right now, it’s wearing a dress.

Uh, well, you’re wearing a dress. An off-white, hinging-on-cream, dress that sits above your knees, cuts flat and wide across your chest, and puffs out into cotton sleeves that remind him of those conchas his abuela used to make. Sweet, fluffy, and absolutely forbidden.

Until the time is right, at least. His abuela always made him wait to eat until the time was right.

He calls it – you – a problem, when in fact, it’s the opposite of a problem. There is nothing he would ever want to change about the warm, engulfing feeling that starts somewhere in his stomach and rises like conchas up his spine until it’s somewhere in his ribs, then under his breastbone, right by his –

He would kill anyone who tried to take that feeling away from him. It’s when he feels most alive, most present, most out of his head – like these things in the dark and sleeping corners of his mind that nip and bite at him can’t find him. He’s thrown them off his scent in his search for you and, even for a brief moment, he can step into the light.

There is no problem, in how you look tonight, how you look every night, with your bright shining smile, sweet-smelling hair, cowboy boots, glass of whiskey – you had such a fantastic taste in –

Wait.

That’s not whiskey. Not even a whiskey glass.

That’s –

“White wine?” Benny yelps as he leans forward and his chair legs clatter against the concrete floor. “If that’s Moscato, I’m calling the cops because you’ve been replaced by an equally hot body double.”

You roll your eyes as you sit down and take a long drink from your glass, as if to make a point. Frankie’s eyes are drawn to where your dress hangs over your crossed legs, exposing the curve of your thigh.

“It’s not fucking Moscato, Benjamin,” you say, eyes narrowed, completely side-stepping his compliment, like you always do. “It’s Chardonnay. Nick recognized the vineyard on the menu so he recommended it. Thought I’d give it a try, because I like trying something new, Benjamin.”

He rolls those beautiful blue eyes and leans forward towards you at the table, that grin that brings grown women to their knees plastered across his face. He knocks back his cowboy hat with a tap of his knuckle.

“Well, excuse the fuck outta me.”

“The fuck outta you is excused.”

You tug his hat back down over his face, smirking back at him, just as Nick saunters over – with what looks to be a wine glass of his own.

Okay, in hindsight, you’re not the problem.

His real fucking problem is Nick.

Your boyfriend.

Frankie, who has decided to only drink beer around you since The Almost Incident, takes three long pulls so he doesn’t have to watch Nick and his stupid hands slide across your exposed back and sit down in Santi’s empty chair.

“Happy Birthday, man, thanks for inviting me out.” Nick says briefly, raising his glass to Benny. “But I gotta say, I was a little worried when my girl here said your party was gonna be at a country dance hall. I’ve never been to one of these. I had to buy cowboy boots just for the occasion.”

He sticks his leg out, and rotates his gator-skin boot back and forth as if to illustrate how important to him this whole thing is.

But Benny doesn’t look down, doesn’t approve the boots, or Nick’s attempt at fitting in. Instead, he just smirks, his smile growing fat and lazy, a bit of the warmth fading from his blue eyes.

“Your first time at a cowboy hoe-down? I had no idea.”

Nick grins, because he doesn’t know Benny well enough to see the dig for what it is. But you do. You know him and you know he’s ragging on your boyfriend. You narrow your eyes and shame coats Frankie’s chest. Because he knows also Benny and he knows why he’s giving Nick such a hard time.

See, the problem isn’t you, or even your boyfriend – not really.

Nick is actually a decent guy. He treats you right, if a little delicately, but he buys you drinks, takes you places Frankie could never afford, in a car Frankie could never ever afford. Sometimes, you’ll say something, or tell a story and it’s obvious Nick doesn’t really understand you or your jokes, but he smiles along anyway. He makes good money and supposedly he keeps in touch with his mom. Nick is the kind of guy any brother would want his sister to date.

So the problem isn’t that Nick is a bad boyfriend, but that he’s your boyfriend.

The problem that Frankie Morales has is that he is painfully, achingly, in love with you.

And he’s your friend.

Maybe that would change, if he ever could work up the guts to say something. For fuck’s sake, he’s killed people – asking you out can’t be that much worse (as Santi often reminds him). But if the guys you’re into are like Nick, or even Nick-adjacent, then what fucking chance does he have? He never thought money was important to you, but apparently it is and that’s something he definitely can’t give you.

Or maybe you like the stability of a high-paying job with fucking miraculous health-care. And that’s two things more he can’t offer: stability and health-care.

So, maybe, maybe his problem isn’t with you or Nick or the fact that Nick is your boyfriend. It’s that he never could be. He, with one failed marriage already behind him and a coke rap sheet, has nothing to give you . . .

And you deserve the world.

You deserve more than he can offer you. You deserve better than him.

That’s his real fucking problem. And one he can't ever fix.

Will couldn’t get off work to come to this, so he owed Benny a beer and a nice steak dinner – according to Benny. Santi, despite absolutely swearing up and down for a week he wouldn’t be caught dead in cowboy boots and a hat, showed up tonight in full gear, belt-buckle included because he lost a bet with Benny over the Thursday night game. Santi, like everything else in his life, researched the hell out of the two teams, their past history, older statistics of both the players and the coach. He was confident, so confident, that he put his pride on the line.

Never a good idea with Benny Miller.

I don’t know, Benny said at the sports bar when his team was whooping Santi’s team’s ass, I just had a good feeling. Presumably, Santi did three shots before leaving and with another two in his system at the bar, all anger and frustration and embarrassment and inhibition had melted away and now Santi was doing what Santi did best, especially when drunk: dancing with beautiful women.

“The son of a bitch can dance, I’ll give him that. ” Benny muses as the three of you watch Santi, who despite having been taught the moves three minutes ago by two gorgeous blondes, complete a perfect line dance of Copperhead Road.

“Oh, shit, I could never do that.” Nick shakes his head. “Not even after a hundred classes.”

“Ah, I find that hard to believe, Nicky Boy. You seem like a natural,” Benny smirks over the lip of his beer bottle. He finds Frankie’s eyes and winks.

You are not amused. You glare at him over Nick’s shoulder for the second time tonight.

“It’s really not that hard,” you smile tightly and squeeze Nick’s shoulder. “I can teach you.”

“Oh, yeah, don’t you know your girl here?” Benny leans back in his chair, balancing against the rung of Nick’s chair by the ball of his foot. “She used to put all of us to shame. Dancing the night away, leading the crowd in line dancing. In fact, if I remember correctly, she and Frankie used to get into all sorts a-trouble on the dance floor. Isn’t that right, Frankie?”

Now he drew a glare from you and Frankie.

Don’t, man, just don’t.

Benny shrugs, swallowing his smirk with another sip of beer, hands raised. Just trying to help out.

Over the speakers, the song winds to a close and the crowd does their final spin. Across the dance floor, Santi bows, his hat sweeping the floor, to both of the girls who giggle like high schoolers.

“I’m gonna go get Boot Scootin’ Boogie over there some water before he up-chucks all over those nice ladies.” Benny stands and fixes his hat. “You guys want anything?”

Frankie shakes his head, his own hat that Benny insisted he wear, making the line of sweat across his forehead itch. You and Nick decline as well. You’ve barely even touched your drink, Frankie notes with a certain level of satisfaction.

As Benny walks towards the bar, the next song starts up and you let out a squeal. Bring on The Good Times has been one of your favorite songs since college. And Frankie should know – he introduced it to you.

“This one is the best! A classic!” You grab Nick’s forearm, but he almost immediately pulls it back.

“Ah, babe, my first line dance is not gonna be in front of strangers! I’ll embarrass you and me. Why don’t you ask Frankie?”

Fuck, why could Nick just be a raging, flaming asshole? This would be so much fucking easier.

Frankie swallows his beer empty, an excuse for a refill prepped. He hates cowboy hats, but he’d fucking set fire to the sky for Benny – he just hopes he immolates himself in the process. The giant brim makes him feel like he’s got a neon sign over his head that blinks, I Am A Giant Dork. Only further proven if he gets anywhere near that dance floor with his two left feet.

Your eyes are unreadable as he tries to coax your boyfriend into taking you dancing.

“Nah, man, you got this. Your girl’s a great teacher.” By some cowboy miracle, his voice is steady as he says those two words. On the table, your fingers curl in, your wine glass still untouched.

Nick makes a face, eyes flitting back and forth to the dancers as they start the dance.

“My feet are already killing me in these new boots. Besides, this isn’t really my song.”

Over his shoulder, you find Frankie’s eyes. He knows that look on you – he knows everything about you – and you’re trying to hide how hurt you are.

He’s on his feet before he knows what he’s doing.

You and Nick stare up at him, surprised by how he practically bounded to his feet.

The sweat at the ring of his hat runs down the back of his neck. Frankie does the only thing halfway-normal and extends his hand.

“Alright, princesa, I’ll fill out your dance card.”

He doesn’t care, or even really register, the darkly confused frown Nick sends him when you stand up, take his hand, and smile at him. He feels warm all the way up to his chest.

“Thanks, Frankie. Let’s boogie.”

That was a mistake.

This whole fucking night is a mistake. God help him, he loves Benny like a brother but he should have just said no and promised to take him out later like Will. He would have bought Benny any drink, any ridiculous chicken wing plate he wanted if Frankie didn’t have to be here, right now.

Because right now, right now, that wall of self-control that he uses to stem the reservoir, to stem the flow of whatever you cause to pour out of him, it’s leaking. It’s busted holes and now he’s drenched with it – with the scent of you, with the memory of hair down the length of your neck, the heat of your skin overworked and flushed, the sweet taste of your breath in his mouth when you leaned forward, into his space, his senses, and whispered,

“C’mon, Frankie, you’re a better dancer than this.”

But in his defense, he couldn’t feel his feet, much less make them move when he watched you with your skirt rucked up high in your fists, your cowboy boots kicking like fish in a stream, and that smile – that fucking smile – brighter and sweeter than all the whiskey in the world.

C’mon, Frankie, you’re a better dancer than this

C’mon, Frankie, you’re better than this.

C’mon, Frankie, tell me you love me.

Kiss me, Frankie. Kiss me now.

His restraint, his resolve that he will never, ever have you – he can feel it throb beneath his palms. Shudder and wobble under the thundering of his heart. It’s so close to breaking. Too close. This is why he doesn’t drink anything harder than beer around you. This is why he rarely drinks around you at all.

When Nick finally calls it a night because he’s already got a blister from the new boots, you don’t put up much of a fight. You’ve danced with Benny, you’ve danced with Santi and his gaggle of girls, Nick himself went up for a slow dance or two.

Frankie only ever asked for one.

He knows he disappointed you, has been disappointing you because you can feel him layering you away, brick by brick by brick. One of his oldest and longest friends, barely visible now, and he’s going over it with caulk to make sure you can’t touch this fragile, weak, emaciated thing he calls a heart.

The instant you walk out of the bar, Nick’s arm across your tense shoulders, he all but rushes for the bar.

“Six tequila shots, please.”

You wake up where you went to sleep: curled up on your couch, your giant Florida Gators blanket wrapped around you like a mentally-supportive straight-jacket, with Golden Girls reruns on the TV. The empty bottle of 19 Crimes explains the sticky, dry feeling in your mouth and the thundering headache accompanying swollen eyes and cheeks. You’d rather get hit by a train than have to move out of this position, but Nick has always been punctual.

Which, you assume, extends to picking up his stuff from your apartment first thing in the morning, his final threat that ended your conversation last night.

The sooner, the better, you mother fucker.

You blindly grab around for your phone, knowing that it’s most likely shoved into the deepest cracks of your couch, hoping against hope Panera delivers on a Saturday morning. There’s a distinct possibility you might start swinging if Nick shows up before you get a baguette and a coffee into your system.

The things he said about Benny and Santi last night on the drive home. This break up was a long time coming, but fuck, if this is what he’d been sitting on about your friends, what the fuck did he actually think of you?

And the things he implied about Frankie – how Frankie was in love with you and you were willingly not seeing it – ridiculous.

You fight the rancid taste of hope that anything Nick implied about Frankie might even remotely be true when you close your fingers around the shape of your phone at the far end of the couch.

22%

Just enough to order then yeet this fucking thing into another room because there is no way in hell you are answering Nick’s calls.

But, as you scroll through your notifications, maybe you should have answered Frankie’s.

He had called sporadically, starting about two hours after you and Nick had left the dance hall, all the way until four in the morning.

One text at 1AM: com e hang out wit us.i mis s you u

You smile, despite the obviously drunken text. Frankie rarely texted, only if it was dire need – and apparently, you continuing to party with the boys at 1AM was very, very dire. Judging by the eight missed calls.

Eight missed calls, but only one voicemail.

Like you’re about to settle down for some good TikTok scrolling, you lean back into the pillows, rubbing your eyes to clear the hazy fog, and press play.

First, there’s noise. Lots of it. Country music and people laughing and singing. Clearly still at the dance hall. You wish for a minute it is a video instead because you’d pay hand over fist to see those guys falling all over each other.

But then comes Santi. Over the years, you’d picked up some Spanish here and there, mostly enough not to embarrass yourself if you ever went to Miami.

But whatever Santi is saying, you’re not entirely sure it is Spanish, or any human language.

“Comotuamiga, teruegoqueselodigas porfavornopuedo hacerestopormucho mástiempo. Estaríasmásfeliz y ellaestaríamásfeliz. Nomemiresasí, sabesqueloúnico quequiereesqu labeses y la beses y luegohagasotrascosas – ¡Estúpido! ¿La llamaste?”

There’s a shuffling, hushed voices, the music still far too loud to make anything out.

“Déjame en paz, dude.” Frankie. Frankie, very very very drunk. “I’m gonna – I’m gonna say – voy a decirle. Ella lo sabrá. She’ll get it. I know–,”

“Then say something now because you’re leaving a voicemail!”

“Ah, mierda – um, baby?”

In two words and two filler words, Frankie’s whole demeanor changes. You can almost picture him curled around the phone, his hand cradling the phone to his ear as he rests his head against a wall.

“Baby, listen – fuck, sorry, I’m starting all wrong. I shouldn’t even call you that – I shouldn’t call you ‘baby’ because you’re not mine. You’re not my baby or anyone else’s because you’re so fucking independent and I love that about you but I wish you were. Mine, I mean. Not a baby.”

You don’t even remember sitting up, but your feet are on the ground. You’ve dropped the phone onto the table in front of you, staring at it as if it’s been dripping poison into your ear. Your heart is pounding.

There’s silence from Frankie for a second, the music still loud, but it’s dampened. You can hear Frankie breathing, swallow, and start again.

“You looked so fuckin’ good tonight. You look good every night but fuck, baby, that dress. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Even for a second . . . he doesn’t tell you that you look so fucking good enough, you know? You should hear it all the time. I wanna tell you – tell you all the time – he didn’t say it once. Not once and that’s a fucking crime. He makes you drink white wine when I know you fucking hate it – I know you, baby. I know you more than I know myself because you’re all I fucking think about. You’re in here, all the time, all up in my chest, my throat, my gut – and you can have it. You can have it. You can have all of me, if you just . . .”

His voice breaks and your fingers clench around the edge of the cushion.

“If you just . . . look, I know this is so fucking outta line and I wanna say it to your face and I’m gonna but . . . when that fuckin’ moron forgets how good he has it, I’m gonna be there. Gonna be right there. Because –,”

And then like someone shoved a speaker right up against Frankie’s phone, as clear as day, you hear Benny yell:

“IF HE AIN’T HOLDING YOU TIGHT, IF HE AIN’T TREATIN’ YOU RIGHT, I’MA BE THE FIRST ONE CALLIN’ HIM CRAAAZY–,”

“Benny, fuck off!”

And then the call drops, along with it your stomach. In fact, it slides out of your body, slouches off the couch and melts into the floor.

Oh, Frankie, do you even mean a word of it?

The hangover rubbing your nerves raw, tears spring into your eyes, the silence and fear and terrible hope tightening like a band around your head and infinitely increasing the pressure in your temples. You want to cry but your eyes already feel too puffy.

You’re stuck, frozen by every single possible outcome or single next step spinning out like chaotic webbing you can easily catch yourself on.

This was a mistake, it had to be. He didn’t mean to call your phone. He had accidentally called you when he meant to call another girl . . . also with a boyfriend named Nick. Frankie, sweet Frankie, who you’ve all but outright begged to take an interest in you – said it with your eyes hundreds of times – Frankie couldn’t actually have feelings for you.

Not like you had for him. Not like the ones you’ve slowly plucked out of your ribs over the years because god, even just looking at him seared a scar across your heart.

Fuck. Fuck!

You snatch up your phone, wiping your teary eyes and frantically hoping he might have said a name or anything – he couldn’t possibly have meant you – when three loud bangs on your front door sends your phone into the air and your heart into your throat.

The way he calls your name is frantic, verging on hysterical. In a daze, you glance at the clock. 9:04. Frankie’s had about four hours of sleep, if any at all.

“Please, open the door! We gotta talk – there’s something – there’s something on your phone you shouldn’t hear – please, baby, open up –,”

You stare at the phone on your floor.

Don’t they always say you can’t tell the moments that irrevocably change your life until after they’re gone?

Not this time.

You open the door and either way, everything changes.

“C’mon, please, let me explain.” His voice has quieted, no longer shaking, softer as though wounded. “Just five minutes and I’m gone. I swear. We can forget the whole thing –,”

You open the door to a hungover Frankie Morales, still in the same outfit you saw him last in, but his eyes are rimmed with black circles, his patchy beard even more patchy as if he had rubbed the bristle clean off. He reeks of beer, peanuts, and cigarette smoke. His shirt is loose, wrinkled, his belt isn’t even on all the way, and he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“What if I don’t want to forget it, Frankie?”

You see the realization strike him through the eyes, the throat, the chest, his gut, his brown eyes swimming with shame and horror. He leans over as if kicked and presses a hand against your doorway. His thumb rubs the corner and he swallows.

“So you listened to it already?”

“Yeah, I did.” He closes his eyes briefly, hanging his head, every apology in every language he knows sitting right behind his teeth. “But did you hear what I said?”

He frowns at you through those thick eyebrows. “What?”

“When I opened the door, did you hear what I said?”

“You said –,” that beautiful bottom lip parts from its sensual top and Frankie blinks at you. The oily blackness of shame has evaporated from his eyes, but that stormy fear rages on.

You inhale, breath getting caught on every knot in your spine, and step back.

“We need to talk.”

He glances once over his shoulder, as if taking in the hallway to your apartment for the last time, and he steps inside. Immediately his height and broadness fill out every empty space in your tiny living room and you’re launched back into the memory of when the boys came over for Christmas and there was hardly enough room for anyone, but somehow you all made it work and after four rounds of DDR, everyone was so tired and drunk, you passed out pillows and blankets and you spent your first adult Christmas at what could have been mistaken for a thirteen year old’s slumber party. It was one of the happiest times of your life.

His thick fingers clench and unclench when Frankie spies your phone on the floor, like a bomb waiting to go off.

Your brain struggles to default to hostess mode because you can’t think of anything to say.

Do you want coffee?

Do you want some cereal?

Do you want to–

“Tell me what happened last night.” You surprise yourself, Frankie, and your whirring brain by cutting right to it. As with the first question when you opened the door to him, there’s something inside of you that has taken on wings, spread them wide, and threatens to soar out of your body. Frankie’s here, he’s here, and he said he wants you –

He called you baby.

You breathe in, trying to scrape up some courage from the bottom of your lungs, wishing in the back of your mind under everything else that you’d chosen literally anything else to go to bed in than your Tweedie Bird shirt from Six Flags.

“I don’t understand, Frankie. Please help me understand.”

With a monumental sigh, he rubs his wide hand across his face and up into his hair, his other hand lifting his cap up off his head so his fingers can dig into his curls. It’s only then that you realize Benny’s cowboy hat he wore last night is gone and his tried and true Standard Oil ball cap is back. Meaning he must have gone home at some point. When did he realize (or remember) that he’d left you that voicemail?

“I’m gonna get my ass kicked,” he murmurs, eyes darting like a fox to your bedroom door. “Maybe that’s exactly what I deserve.”

“He’s not here.” This great thing arcs between you, the emptiness a presence and clarity all at the same time.

“What do you mean? Where is he?”

“We broke up.”

“When? Why?”

“Last night, after we left the bar. We got into an argument. He doesn’t like the way . . .”

Frankie – physically, mentally, emotionally, fundamentally – overwhelms you. He’s across the room in an instant, closer than you think he’s ever been before. But maybe this is the first and only time you’ve ever allowed yourself to enjoy it. Revel in his closeness and let this caged feeling in your chest break free. You touch his chest with the flat of your palm, the size of it, the breadth of him, staggering. You literally feel weak at the knees.

“He doesn’t like the way what?” His voice luxuriates in his throat – warm, deep. He sounds like what you imagine a hot spring feels like against your skin.

“He didn’t like the way I looked at you.” Your fingers make circles where they did into his shirt. His hands have found their way, after all this time, to your waist. “The way I always look at you, Frankie.”

His breath, subsequent to the ghost of his lips, across your forehead is so gentle it makes you close your eyes, to block out one sense to encourage another.

You feel him swallow even though he’s a foot away from you.

“Why –,” he stops, and starts again, just like on the phone call, “why do you look at me . . . when you have him?”

“Oh, Frankie.” His grip on your waist tightens as if you’re about to disappear forever. “I took him because I can’t have you.”

You blame the tears on the hangover, the headache, and the way he takes your chin between his thumb and knuckle.

Grateful.

He’s looking at you, eyes soft, mouth curved into a disbelieving smile, with gratitude.

“He’s the furthest thing from you because I tried to get you out of my system – I did – I promise. I can’t lose our friendship, Frankie, but it’s killing me . . . not having you. Nick said it was obvious the way I felt about you and that was a problem for our relationship, so he tried to make me choose between you and him and every time, without a doubt, I’ll always choose–,”

This is the right time, he supposes.

Hand over your cheek, he holds you still in silence to press his mouth to yours. The final word of your sentence dies on his tongue, muffled by a soft groan of surprise. Your breath is terrible, your skin is oily and damp, he knows he stinks like the bottom of a wet bar, but he can’t find himself to care. Your mouth opens to take him and the hand on your cheek sinks to your neck as you both move past the initial shock of I’m finally getting to do this and you’re not pulling away and into an actual, proper, deep kiss that sends sparks into his toes. Your tongue marks the bottom of his mouth, your arms going around his neck like you want more – you need more – and Frankie pulls back.

Not only because he’s slightly dizzy but because he a) won’t fuck you for the first time on your living room floor and b) absolutely will not do it hungover.

“Breakfast. Do you like . . . uhm, breakfast?” He can’t quite focus on a single spot on your face, eyes half-lidded and gaze blurred.

You giggle, letting his beard tickle your nose as you sneak your face into his neck. He sways a bit with you, his arms around your back, and you don’t think he’s even realizing what he’s doing.

“Yes, Frankie. I like breakfast. I eat it almost every day, in fact.”

He grunts, neck suddenly flushed, embarrassed. “Sorry, I mean –,”

“I know what you mean, baby.” You lean back and run your fingers through the thatch of curls at the back of his neck. Both of you are so grimy but you can’t care. “I’d love breakfast.”

Frankie smiles his Frankie smile and the thing in your chest is illuminated in gold.

“How do you feel about conchas?”

Translations:

Como tu amiga, te ruego que se lo digas. Por favor, no puedo hacer esto por mucho más tiempo. Estarías más feliz y ella estaría más feliz. No me mires así, sabes que lo único que quiere es que la beses y la beses y luego hagas otras cosas. = As your friend, I beg you to tell her. Please, I can't do this for much longer. You would be happier and she would be happier. Don't look at me like that, you know all she wants is for you to kiss her and kiss her and then do other things.

¡Estúpido! ¿La llamaste? = Idiot! Did you call her?

Déjame en paz. Voy a decirle. Ella lo sabrá. = Leave me alone. I am going to tell her. She will know.

#SpaceSistersSecretValentine #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #frankie morales x you #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier fanfiction #francisco morales #pedro pascal characters

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toxicanonymity · 9 months

Note

Stepdad!joel stepdad!joel stepdad!joel stepdad!joel stepdad!joel 🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤

Amazon 📦

2700, stepdad!Joel x f!reader. Stepdad Master List

New: BONUS SNAPCHATS, and one more (what if)

Ty for always ID-ing stepdad in the wild @gracieispunk including this pic ILYSM!!

SUMMARY: You give Joel the cold shoulder. He's sad and horny and finds a way to get your attention with a gift. He snapchats you a lot. A/N: Shout-out to @scratchietella (cum ask). WARNINGS: I8+, POV alternates twice, jacking off, stepcest, degradation, angst, reflection on cheating, a bit of whump and a hint of reader dacryphilia. Joel comes a lot (7x or so?), and I spelled it the short way for disambiguation. NO use of Y/N.

After you let Joel give you head, he thinks he’s back in your good graces despite cheating with your mom. But as soon as Joel leaves your room, you must be putting on your clothes. Because within less than a minute, you call Jacques on your way downstairs-–in earshot–to apologize on Joel's behalf for rushing him out.

Joel follows you downstairs, but your Mom is on her way in. You go out the front door, and when your Mom walks in from the garage, Joel is standing at the kitchen with his hair all messed up from running his hands through it in distress. He doesn’t know if you’re going to Jacques’s, back to your apartment, or out, but he doesn’t like it. Joel knows he has no right to tell you anything, but that doesn’t stop him from calling you. You don’t answer.

Your Mom isn’t home for long. She goes right back out, at which point Joel goes straight to his dresser to retrieve both pairs of your panties: The pair you gagged him with after he gave you a ride home, and the pair you stuffed in his pocket in the kitchen on Thanksgiving. The ones from the car are already ruined by his own cum, but the ones from Thanksgiving are all you.

Joel lies on the bed and lubes up his cock, still hard from eating you out. He puts on his glasses and looks at the screenshots he took of you before he knew Snapchat was telling on him. He whimpers as he strokes himself.

After a minute of looking at your scandalous photos, he feels pathetic for clinging to such a tiny morsel of you when he needs it all. He tosses his phone aside, closes his eyes, and smothers his face with your panties as he strokes himself. He takes in deep breaths and he grunts and moans into them, and his hips involuntarily flex like his fist might as well be you.

For the thousandth time, he imagines putting an end to his misery by just fucking your shit up. Busting in your door, grabbing you by the throat slamming you against the wall. Shoving his tongue down your throat and his hand between your legs. Tearing your clothes off as you whimper his name. Then taking you to bed, only so he can put you on your back and spread you wide open.

He'd memorize the folds of your dripping cunt as it twitches and begs for his tongue. Flip you over and shove himself in without warning, making you mewl as his girth splits you in two. Pounding you. Spanking you. Yeahh, just railing into your needy whore cunt as you whimper under him. He sees your face screwing up as he cums inside you with a harsh grunt, finally giving you what you wanted all this time, a cunt full of his load.

Cut to his own fist full of it on his bed. As he lies there breathing, the shame sets in. Not only the stepcest shame, but also the knowledge that he'd never have the balls to do any of that. It’s barely believable enough to get off to. And then the guilt sets in – the guilt of what he did, how he fucked things up with you. He feels guiltier about this than he felt for cheating on your Mom. He feels like he cheated on you.

He puts away the evidence and washes his hands. Then he stares at your text convo. He has to figure out how to make things right.

You don't respond to a single text or snap for the next week or so, and you don’t come back to the house either. Joel feels even more desperate. He’d do anything, if he only knew what might help. He needs something to get your attention. He doesn’t sleep with your Mom, and your Mom doesn’t care. She doesn’t even bring it up. He’s pretty sure she’s having an affair anyway. Brazenly. For her to confront Joel about his lack of interest would be to risk Joel confronting her about the affair. Joel isn't sure if it’s physical or just emotional, but it doesn’t matter much. He’s over it.

Joel thinks about you at night and wonders if you think about him, too. He envisions what you might look like, thinking of him. He imagines you with your spine arched, toy between your legs, closing your eyes, just soaking your sheets as you sigh his name. One night, he’s picturing this, really choking his cock. He groans then sighs as he cums into his fist. And then, when he’s recovering from his climax, that’s when it hits him. How to get your attention.

—---------

You’re lying on the couch watching TV. You’re distracted. Joel’s outreach has been ambiguous so far. He hasn’t said anything about your mom. He hasn’t begged for pictures, much less for another chance. He’s only begged for forgiveness, over text. You haven’t opened his snapchats because you don't want to be reminded about what he did. You don’t want a serious talk or a lecture or god forbid details. You don’t even want a sincere apology, unless it’s in the interest of fucking you.

You get a notification that you have a package at the leasing office and sigh in exasperation that you have to make the trip there when it's probably not even yours. You aren't expecting anything, but sure enough, it has your name on it.

It’s a vibrator. Your heart races when you read the gift message. “Thinking of you. A lot. I’m sorry. J.” Unwanted butterflies swarm in your chest and you try to bat them away. He even included an extra pack of batteries. How. . . thoughtful. Smart, too, because if it were rechargeable, you’d never plug it in. It would feel like an admission of forgiveness. But since it’s battery-operated, you can just pull the battery tab as soon as you get horny. And of course you do. You lay on the sofa where you and Joel hooked up before and you take the toy for a spin. His ploy is working, you’re thinking of him, and you’re too horny to care.

You finally open his snapchats. They're a mix of horny and pathetic videos. They start off horny, just showing you a bulge in his pants or he's jacking off with your panties.

Video: Then something non-sexual. A closeup where he’s just looking at you with messy hair, puppy dog eyes, and dark circles. “Talk to me. Yell at me, I don’t care. I'll take anything.”

Video: Then horny. Palming himself over his joggers. Whining your name in a whisper. “Please.” His desperation turns you on.

Video: A sad one the same night. He's sweating, looking like a little more of a mess, forehead glistening, catching his breath. "Don't throw this away." He breathes for a few more seconds.

Video: Another sad one another day where he doesn’t really say anything but his face says it all. He looks awful, as if he’s not sleeping. Red eyelids, might have been crying. He starts to say something, “I—” he takes a deep breath. Then he shakes his head, looks up and it cuts off.

Video: A horny one that must have been the same night. He looks the same, but his reddened eyes look hungry. His lips are parted and he's taking in a shaky breath with his arm moving slowly off screen. "I just miss you." He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He turns the camera down where his clothed erection sticking straight up in his joggers, just jutting into the air. His hand pushes it down and he slowly grabs it.

You leave his snaps on "seen," not even beginning to reply. Then a few minutes later he sends a new one. A minute after that, another one. You leave those unseen for the time being.

—------------

Joel sees you open the old snaps. That's progress, he thinks, and boldly assumes you open them when you’re horny. When he starts to second guess that assumption, he gets self conscious and thinks it might be for the better that you don’t open the last two snaps. They might have been too much. . .

Video: He’s sitting in his office chair in front of a full length mirror. He’s manspreading and his joggers are hugging him in a way that emphasizes his bulge. His big, veiny hand is slowly rubbing his inner thigh, getting closer and closer to where he desperately wants your touch. He says, “Ya know,” (deep breath) “I should be doin’ that for you.” Then he palms his arousal and says, “Ahh, fuck it.”

Video: A few minutes later, he’s slouched down in the chair. His T-shirt is pulled up well over his belly button and his hand around his cock. After just a few wet strokes, he sighs loudly as he cums all over his abdomen. It’s a lot of cum, like six or seven ropes. Then his stomach rises and falls with heavy breaths for a few seconds before he ends the video.

He’s grateful for the glimmer of hope but still beating himself up. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s not even sure what you want. At times, it feels like a losing battle. He’s not even sure what you feel. At some point he thought he knew, on some level. He thought you both knew, the moment you kissed, it felt like there was something electric neither of you could articulate but both of you knew.

It felt more than skin deep, but he couldn’t say where it went within either of you. He still can’t say. It’s not like you were in love. Certainly not batting eyelashes at each other or making future plans. Half the time you were bickering. But there was something there. Even if it was only physical, it was deep in your bones and something made it electric.

The further it gets from that moment, the more he wonders what you ever wanted. Is he your play thing? Do you get off on torturing him? Did you genuinely enjoy chatting with him? Do you get off on sneaking around or would you be into him if you knew each other a different way?

He pushes those thoughts away and keeps coming back to the physical spark between you. The hunger in your eyes. Your persistence. He wants both of you to take a leap of faith–not into a relationship–but a leap backward to the beginning. This all burned down and needs to be rebuilt from the ground up. If he lets it cool and builds it right, maybe it can become something better. Abstaining from other people feels like a good start. He can’t think about whether you’re seeing anyone else or it keeps him up at night.

—-----

The next day, you’re horny again. You get comfortable and turn on your new toy. You tell yourself opening his snaps doesn’t mean anything. You don’t have to respond. It won’t have any effect on you. But when you watch those two in his office, and oh, God. It takes you no time flat to cum, and cum hard. You don’t say anything back to him. He texts you, “did you like that?” and you don’t respond. He continues, “if not i’ll stop, sorry. Lmk.” You don’t let him know anything at all. You stay radio silent.

Over the next couple of weeks, he keeps snapchatting you. Even if you don’t open it that night, he knows you might go on a spree and open several in a row, probably when you’re using his gift.

Video: It’s a computer screen with your insta pulled up. He’s at the desk in his bedroom, the one where you found him jacking off to your pictures a few of months ago. He points the camera down at his lap and he’s wearing gray boxer briefs you didn’t know he had. You see the very clear outline of his hard cock atop his thigh, straining to burst out of them. “See what ya do to me.” He runs his hand down it with a low sigh.

Video: A few minutes later, selfie mode, breathing heavily. Hand wrapped around his shiny cock, stiff and swollen. He fists himself at a beat that’s becoming as irregular as his ragged breaths. He grunts as he thrusts into his hand. “Oh, fuck—oh—-ohhh fuck, I–nngg–” He devolves into a groan as he erupts in his hand. It shoots back toward the camera. It takes a good thirty seconds of him moaning and sighing and catching his breath before he’s finally done emptying his balls.

Video: He’s on his bed, rear camera facing his lap. cock and his hand gliding wetly up and down it. “I can’t believe. . .” (heavy breathing) “-oh, fuck—I–I can’t --I can't believe,” (moan) “I ever turned you down.” (long, drawn out orgasmic groan).

Photo: Close-up of his lap with a boner. His hand resting at his groin. His hand has no business being that hot. Caption: How’s silicone joel treating you.” You roll your eyes and begrudgingly smile just a little as you use the silicone joel and quickly tap for the next snap.

Video: He’s in the office again, standing in front of the full length mirror. He’s in boxer briefs and his thighs swell out from them. No shirt. He pans so you can see him head to toe, shirtless. Then he relaxes back in the chair, manspreading. The snap ends and it cuts to the next one.

Video: Now he’s breathing fast, stroking his raging erection feverishly in the next one “Ohh-nng-Oh–God–Fu–” (moan) “Fffuuuck” (loud, low sigh). Stringy white ropes rocket onto his abdomen as he shudders loudly and strokes himself slower. You rewatch this one multiple times and count seven real ropes before it’s just gurgle. Seven.

You think about getting your ipad out and taking a video of this one for later use, but you accidentally tap for next. By now, he's completely unashamed.

Video: He’s in his car. You can only see his lap, and the ample bulge in his joggers. “Had to pull over.” He scoots the seat back, rubs himself slowly, breathing heavily. “Just thinkin’ about” (low sigh) “the way you came all over my mouth” He pulls his waistband down, spits on his cock, then sighs loudly. That snap ends, and in the next one--

Video: He's just cumming–really hard. It’s his fist around his cock. “Oh, fuck,” (a gasp, then a soft, ragged groan) “Fu–” he cuts himself off with a long sigh as he cums into a t-shirt. You can’t see the cum but know it’s a lot. You see his cock twitch and his hips lift as he sighs again.

Photo: His big, masculine hand is holding a peach. Caption: Every fkn thing reminds me of you.

All this time, you’re still not responding. Not so much as a thumbs up or sweating emoji. But you keep watching them, day after day, until one day, he doesn’t send any. You use the toy and just think about him, envisioning his videos, and replaying your encounters. You don’t just think about him jacking off, you think about him crying, too, and that turns you on just as much. You picture him crying and jacking off and you cum instantly. Then you feel kinda bad.

In your post-nut clarity, that’s when you realize you’re pretty much ready to move on from it. Because you start to worry. Maybe he’s had enough of the games. Maybe he’s given up. Maybe you shouldn’t have punished him like this. It was fucked up, so fucked up, but the memory will fade. You detached enough in the moment that it's not that vivid to begin with.

Joel is married. He’s always been married. That's why he was always saying no. They kissed in front of you days before. Instead of insisting on a conversation, within sixty seconds you were putting your panties in his pocket. Then you made a pass at him, and he got you off on the kitchen counter. Then you kissed.

That kiss. It was so loaded. Packed full of tension and potential. A glimpse of what could be had. There's no doubt in your mind the sex would be explosive.

If Joel hasn’t given up, maybe this interlude got you a little closer to what you want, somehow. There's only one way to find out.

—-----

BONUS SNAPCHATS

the silicone Joel

STEPDAD MASTER LIST - Fandango has the most advanced smut

—-----

THANK YOU for reading and engaging. Your reblogs and comments mean so much to me, and I love when I start to see new “regulars.” It’s so exciting really. Love you guys 💙💙💙

Special shoutout to stepdad’s lawyer @milla-frenchy for expert counsel!

A/N: Based on a) people wanting her to hold out on him longer (which is what this was) and b) what i want to do on vacation, I think the vacation is going to have to be after Christmas.

FAQ: I’m not planning on pursuing the jacques/cheatbacks storyline rn, you can HC that however you want as for what she did that night (if anything). Don’t really wanna address the mom situation more, and probably won’t answer plot Qs. That way maybe you'll get the next story sooner --- I’m kinda trying to make this easier to write so it won’t take so much deliberation and weighing opposing inputs lol.

TBH it was supposed to just be sexy, smutty, scandalous, “we shouldn’t be doing this” PWP and it kinda got away from me. But I at least wanted to give a little insight into Joel’s POV with this one.

Now back to the agenda: [cock, baby!.gif ].

-------

You can follow @toxicfics and turn on notifications (click on the person at the top) for just the most major posts. You have to have push notifications turned on for tumblr on your phone.

All Joel:@ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea@evyiione@xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious@chernayawidow@ambassadortotrilliusprime@not-a-unique-snowflake-blog@jasminespringtime @romanarose@fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore@blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires@taeslarityy@str84pedro@lokanda @kyloispunk @filthfairy@fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine@worhols@fan-fiction-floozy@cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl@feministfanboi@gracieispunk@prettypartyfavor@am-3-thyst@babeincolor@milla-frenchy@switchbladedreamz@within-the-depths@am-3-thyst@may-machin@pedromania91 @sloanexx@paleidiot

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #stepdad!joel miller #dark!joel miller #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fic #stepdad!joel☠️#stepdad!joel #cw stepcest #joel jacks off #ppcu jacks off #toxicanonymity ☠️

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peterparkersnose · 1 year

Text

I Fall In Love Too Fast

Part 2 to ‘Jealousy, Jealousy’

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

word count: 6.2k (I fed you guys well!)

warnings: implied age gap, carrot penis reference if you squint, Y/N is a greenhouse girlie, mutual pining, use of y/n, fluff, alcohol consumption, mentions of sex, mentions of pregnancy, borderline bullying, stalking, attempting break in, violence, angst, description of blood (sort of), consensual cuddling, joel can’t tell his veggies apart (edited sort of)

a/n shaking rn i need to see cocaine bear asap

summary Y/N and Joel have an unlikely meeting in Jackson’s greenhouse.

masterlist

join the tag list

read time: 22 mins 43 seconds

The low hums of the generator filled your ears. The greenhouse could be very peaceful at times. Something you couldn’t explain drew you to the plants. Ever since you were a child, your friends from the old QZ you grew up in would always question why you would rather read the old book about botany you found than play tag.

When you were presented with the opportunity of working in the greenhouse in Jackson, you were more than happy to accept the position. All the vegetation calmed you for some reason. It was a sense of control in this crazy world. It was almost like it was normal inside that tented space.

After a few years of living in Jackson, Maria decided to appoint you as head greenhouse keeper. You had proved your success throughout the years, the vegetation grew by over 35% (according to Maria, stats were never your thing).

It had been a few days since you had seen Joel. It was a quick, longing goodbye early in the morning. He wanted to make sure you were home before Bradley would have to wake up. The thought of your… ex? You weren’t even quite sure yet. But the thought of him made you want to vomit. And the thought of Joel made you feel… well, safe.

The music coming from your walkman began to skip. The old CD player was old in the time cordyceps started, but nevertheless it trudged on through the pandemic. CD’s were rare, but they were often traded in the community. Currently, Frank Sinatra’s greatest hits skipped through your headphones. Ellie’s CD, presumably from Joel. You didn’t take Ellie for a big Sinatra fan. The thought of having something of his with you made the music just a little bit sweeter.

The song “I Fall In Love Too Easily” began to play clearly through the headphones. You had the headphone jack placed in just the right angle. Ignoring everything else in the world, you swayed to the music slowly as you were washing off the carrots in the sink. As the song continued, you began to hum along with the tune. The song was new to you; the lyrics weren’t mastered in your brain yet.

***

Joel trudged down the muddy streets of Jackson. Tommy and Maria were having a get together that night, and he stupidly agreed to help. Maria requested him to go to the greenhouse to pick up some produce. After Maria’s pushing and adamancy, Joel finally agreed to go. He was suspicious on why he had to go and why Maria just couldn’t go herself, but he decided to leave the possible argument alone and just do what he was told. He wanted to stay back and help Tommy with the roast anyways. That was his specialty. Back in Texas, Joel would make the best damn barbecue in the neighborhood.

Hell, he had never even had to go to the greenhouse before. He was perfectly content on living off of canned beans and coffee. And it was Sunday; the one day everyone had off. The greenhouse was sure to be abandoned, meaning he would have to forage for the produce himself. Did he know the difference between a zucchini and a cucumber? Hell no. Not even when life wasn’t shit he couldn’t figure that out.

Maria smirked as herself and Tommy watched Joel slump down the street. Joel was reading off the slip of paper Maria had written down directions on to the greenhouse. “The only person crazy enough to be workin’ on a Sunday is Y/N, if anyone is there.” Tommy said. “Why do you think I sent him?”

They both gave each other conniving looks.

“You saw the way he acted at the Tipsy Bison earlier this week,” Maria said, sucking her teeth and turning around to tend to her stew. “Don’t you want him to be happy?” She called back to Tommy. He shook his head at his wife’s antics and returned to the roast.

***

Joel let out a scoff as he realized he knew exactly where he was going. The big, white tent that sat on the edge of Jackson. Embarrassingly, he made his way towards the big landmark he mistakenly used to take for a medical ward. To his surprise, the lights were on.

Joel gave the door a few knocks before he opened it, not to freak out the possible worker who could have been behind the door. He quietly slipped in. He brushed some of the mud off his boots as he opened the second door.

A rush of heat hit his face. His eyes scoured the large facility in look for a person. And right then is why he realized Maria was so damn adamant about him going to the greenhouse.

Your hair was tied up like it was the night you stayed at his house. He recognized the flannel you had on as his own. Your jeans and boots were a classic look that almost every woman had around town. What he didn’t expect was the headphones and walkman clipped to your jeans.

Soft humms came from you. Joel was feeling conflicted; his ego couldn’t allow him to feel this way about you. But the way you do gracefully moved your hips and cleaned those carrots drove him nuts. The thought of you in his kitchen, the two of you cooking together brought warmth to the bitter man’s heart.

Bringing himself back to reality, he looked at the list Maria had scratched down for him. Maybe you could help him find a… butternut squash? He didn’t know there was more than one type of squash.

He stood in the entrance and waited for you to notice him; but you never did. You were so invested in that little sink that you never bothered to look his way. Joel took a deep breath, realizing he was going to have to get your attention.

The fearless man began to tremble with anxiety. He cautiously walked over stray hoses and tried to keep his footsteps on the louder side, so you could maybe hear he was coming.

You yelped as he tapped your shoulder. The carrot you were holding in your hand fell into the sink.

“I’m sorry I-”

“Oh thank god, it’s just you.” you said out of breathe, holding your hand to your chest. “Scared the shit out of me,”

The music played through the headphones as you wrapped the cord loosely around your neck. It played long enough for Joel to recognize the song.

“Sinatra?” he asked, your music taste peaking his interest. You clipped the walkman to your belt, it now rested against the black shirt you had his flannel loosely on top of. “Ellie loaned it to me,” you said, grabbing a towel and drying your hands.

“Must be mine then,” Joel tittered, nervously playing with the piece of paper in his grip. Your eyebrows raised in question, ignoring the confirmation of your previous theory. “I loaned it to her a few months back, thought she must’ve lost it but… I guess not.”

“Do you want it back? Here, you can…” you nervously said, struggling to get the walkman out of your belt loop. “Keep it, really. You seem to like it more than me.” he said, again. “Oh, I have this-” you said, beginning to strip the oversized flannel off your body. “Here,” you said, balling up the flannel and reaching it out to Joel. “Nah, it looks better on you than me. Trust me,” he said, awkwardly refusing the gift of his own belongings.

He could imagine drunk you saying “He said it looked better on me,” as you did a few nights ago in his bed when he called you ‘pretty girl’.

Why was he giving his things to you?

You wrapped the flannel around your waist. “What can I help you with?”

He outstretched the paper to you.

“Maria’s cookin’?” you asked, walking past Joel with the confidence that you knew where you were going. Obediently, he followed you.

“Some stew or something, she says it’s good but…” Joel said, sucking in air sharply. “Not so good?” you smirked, reaching a planter and looking up at him. He shook his head no but then said “It’s delicious,” in a forced, sarcastic tone.

You pulled out the first vegetable and handed it to Joel. Moving along, you moved to the next planter.

“Is that what your doin’ tonight?” you asked him, going through the pea pods trying to pick out the best ones. “Yup.”

He stood for a second in silence as he felt like something was missing. “Would you like to come?” he asked, praying Tommy wouldn’t kill him and Maria’s stew would taste better than it did last time.

Your heart sank because you already had plans. “I’m so sorry,” you began. Joel’s face turned bright red.

He was right. He was too old for all of this. You were just interested in being friends, maybe not even friends. He was so embarrassed, he was ready to go back in his house and never come out again.

“I promised Ellie and Dina I would come over tonight. Have a little sleepover, if you could call it that. Definitely need a rain check though, I would love to some other time.”

That damn kid stole his date.

“Oh, yeah. No worries.” he said, the rejection ruining his confidence.

“I mean it though, rain check.” you said, piling more veggies into his grasp. That built back some of his shattered rizz.

You made your way to the front of the greenhouse, getting ready for the last produce. Potatoes.

You chuckled as you looked behind you. Joel’s presence seemed to fall back. He was struggling to keep all the produce in his hands.

“Would you like a bag?” you asked, slowly moving towards the woven bags hanging on the wall. “Would be nice,” he awkwardly chuckled, grabbing a falling bunch of broccoli from his hands.

“Here,” you said, opening the bag in front of him as he layed everything in. “Shit,” he mumbled as a stray carrot stalk fell. You both bent down to retrieve it.

His hand accidentally layed on yours for a brief second. It should have been a minuscule moment, but time seemed to freeze. You looked up into his gaze as you both stood up, still both holding the carrot. You never wanted this moment to end.

“Potatoes?” Joel asked. Trapped in his gaze, you answered “Huh?”

“Don’t I need a few potatoes?”

You blinked a few times, bringing yourself back into reality. “Uh, yeah. Follow me.” you said, trying to calm your heavy breathing. You could almost feel your heartbeat pumping out of your chest.

The green tops of the potatoes reached out of the grass. Inspecting each top, you slowly and carefully made your decision. “You sure know what your doin’,” Joel commented as you looked up at him from the leaves. “Botany is my passion,”

“By the way your looking at those potato stems, I believe you.” “Maria’s stew has to be good this time. I can tell this one is a good one because of how thick the leaves are. The bugs haven’t gotten to it yet because it’s in the middle, you see. They are full grown, these are the ones planted around the spring. There full grown and…”

You looked up at Joel and found him with a sly smile. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“I like ramblin’. Could listen to it all day.”

He wanted to say he could listen to you all day; Even if all you talked about was potatoes.

“At least someone enjoys my rambling.”

Memories of Bradley point blank telling you to shut up because you were explaining how herbs could be used in medicine once plagued your mind. Then, the memory of his face bloodied scurrying on the bar floor replaced those. And you felt that warm feeling again, safe with Joel in the greenhouse.

Selecting the perfect one from the middle row, you began to pull. And pull some more. “God dammit,” you muttered to yourself. Giving up, you moved some of the dirt around the root.

“Can you help?” you asked kindly, as pulling on it one more time was unsuccessful. Joel placed the bag of produce down and moved to a different angle.

You expected them to pull out easily when he went for them, but he was struggling too. “What you do to ‘em?” he asked, wiping his hands off on his jeans. “Locked in or something,”

You angrily decided to try pulling again.

“Let me,” he said. To your surprise, his hands came to your shoulders to ease the suspense of touch. Then, he moved forward bringing you into his embrace. His hands rested below yours. Your shoulders matched up almost perfectly with his broad chest.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice sending chills down your spine. You could tell how warm he was, even with the heat of the greenhouse making the both of you sweat. His arms flexed on yours as he began to pull the potatoes up along with your grip. He pushed back and you followed his grip. Within a few seconds, the potatoes freed from the dirt and sent the two of you flying backwards.

You two landed back first on the dirt ground. The feeling of his arms were still around you, he was still holding you on the ground. He had let go of the potatoes and they were thrown down the isle.

The two of you burst out in laughter, staring at the ceiling of the greenhouse. You genuinely didn’t want to leave this moment; and neither did he.

“I totally loosened it for you.” you bragged, sitting up and looking down at him. One hand rested under his head, the other layed comfortably on his stomach. “Sure ya did.”

He took your hand as you helped him up. His knees cracked, and he prayed that you didn’t hear it. The two of you made your way to the washing station at the other end of the greenhouse.

“Potato,” you said in a stern tone. He placed one in your hand. “Brush,” you requested. He handed you the brush. You turned on the water and scrubbed the dirt off the potatoes. “Towel,”

“Yes ma’am.”

The two of you laughed as he played along into your antics. He was standing so close that his hips seemed to connect with yours. “Is that the last one?” he asked, drying off the fifth potato. “Unfortunately,” you sighed.

“Your welcome back any time to wrestle some potatoes again, if you’d like.” you said, following him to grab his original bag of produce. “Why don’t we take on the corn next week?” he asked, not wanting to leave. He just knew Maria would be bombarding him with questions about what took so long.

“It’s a date!” you said, mostly serious but in a joking manner.

Dina froze at the door. Ellie was making homemade pizza for that night and sent Dina to get some tomatoes. She was frozen, peeping through the door she watched. Dina had just gotten a front row viewing of you and Joel struggling with the potatoes, your awkward impromptu cuddle on the ground, and the romantic potato washing.

As Dina saw the two of you finishing your… encounter, she made her way quickly to the side of the building.

Ellie is going to love this.

***

“Ellie, your never going to believe-”

“Where are my tomatoes?” she asked, disappointedly. Dina burst into the kitchen of their small house frantically. ��Forget the tomatoes, El. You’ll never guess what I just saw.”

“What, another stray cat? For the last time, no stray cats.”

“Joel and Y/N.” she said astonished. She took a place on one of the barstools next to the counter.

“What about them?”

“No- Ellie. Joel and Y/N, they were cuddling in the greenhouse.”

Ellie looked up from her dough she was making. “Dina, did you breathe in some outhouse gas?”

“No! I promise you. I was going to get the tomatoes, but they were just laying there. Then they got up and washed potatoes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone wash vegetables so… sensually before.”

“I think your bullshitting me. Who cuddles in a greenhouse?” Ellie questioned, turning around and looking through the pantry. “Old stuff is going to have to do,” she sighed, pulling the old can of marinara sauce out from the back of the pantry.

“I wonder…” Dina began. “You remember how I told you about Bradley,”

“You remember how much I want Tommy to banish him?” Ellie reminded Dina. “Joel knocked that dude out!” Dina exclaimed.

“Yeah, but that’s just Joel being Joel. I’m sure he would do it for any one of us.”

“He walked her home!” Dina complained. “Your going to tell me there’s nothing going on there?”

“I think we should wait and ask Y/N. Not make assumptions,” Ellie sighed, giving Dina the side eye.

“They’d be cute, that’s all I’m saying.”

***

The sun was at the end of setting, the sky was a deep purple. You noticed Joel’s boot marks in the mud and how big they were compared to your feet. “Damn,” you whispered to yourself, stepping in one of his prints. Another pair of prints seemed to circle around the greenhouse. They were similar in size to your feet and had a different shape then the bottom of your shoes.

Following the odd marks, they moved to the side of the greenhouse. And then made a straight line towards where you were going: Ellie and Dina’s house.

“Oh no,” you sighed, following either Ellie or Dina’s footprints. You prayed one of them didn’t see you with Joel.

You tried to imagine Ellie’s reaction to it. What would there to be mad about? You were just friends with Joel. Even though you had admitted to yourself he was just your passing patrol crush about a year ago, you were taking things slowly with this new found interest.

And he was older than you, there was that. Adults can make adult decisions, you reminded yourself. You and Joel were both adults that had experienced a lot in life, even though yours was a bit shorter than his.

Would Ellie be mad? Her… Joel and her best friend (besides Dina of course). You shoved the idea to the back of your mind as you knocked on their door.

Dinner had an odd vibe to it. Dina had already had a few too many glasses of wine, and you were avoiding the alcohol at all costs. The other night was enough for this week.

“Your not drinking?” Ellie asked, chewing down on her pizza. “Nah,” you said, briefly commenting.

“What, you pregnant?” Dina laughed, filling her wine glass up again. You almost choked on your pizza. “God Dina, no.” you chuckled. “I haven’t fucked Brad in… four months? I think I would know by now.”

“Gross!” Ellie cringed. “I’m trying to eat!”

“Sorry, sorry.” you jokefully apologized. “Anything… new? With you know, Bradley?” Dina asked. Something was up with her.

“Not since Joel kicked him on his ass,” you said.

Dina gave Ellie a strange look. “Yeah, I remember. Did he get you home alright that night?” Dina asked. You swallowed a bit of your pizza. “Mhm,”

You hated lying to your friends. Without the truth, you felt miserable. You wanted to tell them all about Joel and how you have been secretly borderline obsessed with him since that night, but word getting back to Joel might scare him off. And you didn’t want Ellie to freak out.

“Then how come I didn’t see your porch light on when I left with Maria?”

You froze in your seat.

“I’m just fucking with you,” Dina teased, pushing her hand into your arm. “You like him though, don’t you.”

Lying is one thing you were never good at. “He’s a nice man.”

“You like him though, don’t you?”

The lack of response and the quickening of your breathe didn’t help your case. “Dina,” Ellie said, stepping in to Dina’s drunken antics.

“He took you to his house, didn’t he?”

“I…”

The whole town of Jackson seemed more quiet than usual. Ellie looked at your face and could see the panic. Her eyebrows rose as her stare widened, watching you squirm in your seat at Dina’s question.

“Holy fuck! Did you fuck Joel?” Ellie asked, now realizing the reality in Dina’s games. She was right; Dina totally saw you two at the greenhouse.

“No! No.” you defended yourself. That was the truth at least. “I… I didn’t want Bradley coming around and…”

“Oh my god,” Ellie said, standing up from the table. “We’re just friends! He’s a nice man Ellie, you know that.”

“Then why did I see you two cuddling in the greenhouse today?” Dina muttered from behind her wine glass.

You sighed and buried your head in your hands. So the shoe prints belonged to Dina.

“Y/N.” Ellie said sternly, standing at her place at the table and crossing her arms. “Tell me the truth.”

You grabbed Dina’s wine glass and took a large gulp.

“I- I like him, okay? I think he’s handsome, and kind and considerate. Everything Bradley isn’t and everything I deserve.” you said angrily, getting out of your seat and slamming it back in the table.

“Dina, your a dick when your drunk.” you yelled, grabbing your coat and heading for the door as Dina giggled at her spot.

“Y/N,” Ellie said, grabbing your hand. She closed her eyes and took a long breathe. “Your being for real?” Ellie asked, her look turned more sincere.

“As real as a bite,” you sighed.

***

The three of you, now in pajamas, sat in Ellie and Dina’s bed. Dina was braiding your hair as Ellie layed flat on her back and stared at the ceiling.

“Y/N Miller,” Ellie said out of the blue. Your head whipped over to where she was sitting, pulling your braid Dina was working on. “Jesus, El. A little too soon for that? I doubt it even,” you giggled. “In this world?” Dina asked. “I can lend you my white dress. With the embroidered flowers?” Dina suggested.

The memory of her embroidering those last summer resurfaced. “It is awful pretty,”

“And I can do your hair, hold on.” Dina said, undoing the braid she had been working on.

You felt her hands begin to work. “I just don’t know if he likes me back…” you sighed.

“Y/N. I know Joel. He wouldn’t just lay on the dirt floor with anybody.” Ellie assured you. “He barely speaks to anyone in Jackson as it is,”

“Would he even say anything? If he liked me?”

“Jesus, Y/N. This isn’t high school. Just tell him.” Ellie teased, sitting up in bed. “I’ll talk to him. Work some of my magic-”

“You better not!” you seethed, giving Ellie a glare. “Don’t embarrass me!”

“Ta da!” Dina announced, finishing putting a pin in your hair. You jumped off the bed and moved to the mirror.

It was in a low bun with a few stray hairs framing your face. It was so effortless and so elegant. “Dina,” you gasped, carefully cupping the bun with your hand. “I can make it ten times better, but just a thought.”

“I love it,” you gasped. “If I ever get married, you two are in charge of the wedding.”

***

Joel ate awkwardly at the table with Maria and Tommy in silence. The only noise in the whole house was the scratching of silverware.

“How was the patrol? Yesterday.” Maria asked both Tommy and Joel. “Alright,” they both said in unison. They definitely were brothers, men of very few words.

“Any news on the power plant improvement?” Tommy asked Maria. “I had some guys there today. So nice, working on their Sunday off.” she added.

“You know who works on Sundays?”

Joel’s fork stopped moving.

“I hear Y/N is running the greenhouse real nice.” Tommy said, already knowing the answer to Maria’s question.

“How was she, Joel?”

Joel looked up at Maria with a side eye. “Fine.”

“They’ve got blueberries now! Damn blueberries, I haven’t had any since before this shit. They were good,” Tommy mused, reminiscing on the delicious fruit.

“She’s a good chef too,” Maria commented. “Made some amazing salad dressing for the winter party a few weeks ago. Did you try her cookies too?”

“I remember,” Tommy added. “She’s gonna make a real nice wife some day.”

Joel’s fist hit the table a little too hard as he set down his glass. Both Tommy and Maria looked at him shocked.

“You alright?” Tommy asked.

“Can we change the subject?” Joel asked bitterly. “Why so angry? What’d she ever do to you?” Tommy pushed. “Goddamit Tommy,” he yelled, shoving his chair in.

“Thanks for the wonderful meal, Maria.” he hissed, lying and abruptly leaving their house. The picture frame on the wall shook a bit as he slammed the door.

“He’s down bad.” Tommy laughed. Maria sighed, her hands rubbing her temples. “Why do the two of you always seem to ruin a good night?”

“Hey, I barely did anything.” Tommy resisted with his hands in a defensive pose. “You know he likes her. The sheer mention of her makes him leave.” Maria commented. “God, I hope those two idiots find each other again. I don’t know how much more I can take of this.” Tommy sighed, chewing away at his roast.

It was dark outside now. Joel could hear the whisps of the wind blow in the trees. Creepy if you’d ask him, but Joel wasn’t afraid of much anymore. Almost all the houses were dark; with the exception of a few porch lights.

He turned down the main street and looked at all the lights still on. Maria’s guys must have fixed the power plant, pls business signs were flooding the street with their light. He glanced up at Ellie and Dina’s apartment; it was over one of the textile shops in the downtown department. The lights were out besides the one outside the entrance.

He took a double take when he saw someone standing out there.

Moving closer, he recognized the crouched down figure trying to pick their lock.

Bradley.

He reached the bottom of the old metal staircase before making himself known. He cleared his throat loudly.

“What in the hell are you doing?”

Bradley recoiled in fear, dropping the pocketknife on the metal landing. “It’s not what it looks like- I swear it Mr. Miller.”

“Then what does it look like?” he asked, slowly walking up each step. “I-I… Y/N invited me over. You know, lighten up the time with them. T-they had left over food she said.”

Bradley’s cowardly tone made Joel smile. He cracked a few of his fingers, intimidating Bradley farther and farther.

Joel knew Ellie. There was no way she would ever have leftovers; let alone invite anyone besides Dina to share them.

“You got about five seconds to tell me why-”

Joel was older and tougher, but Bradley was sly. He jumped up, grabbing the knife he dropped and swiped at Joel’s face with it.

Joel quickly ducked as fast as he could and kneed him in the gut. Bradley let out a loud oomf as Joel grabbed both of his hands and held them behind his back. “Nice try,” he whispered in his ear.

Now behind Bradley, Joel gave him a rough push down the metal stairs and took great pleasure in watching him flail down.

Unfortunately, the front door flung open and he was met with a shot gun to his face. He sighed, waiting for Ellie to realize who it was.

She cautiously lowered the gun as she recognized Joel’s face in the dim light.

“I taught you too well,” Joel sighed, moving the barrel of the gun out of his range.

“What’s wrong?” Dina asked, peeking out from behind the wall. You weren’t far behind her, hopping on your tippy toes to see what the matter was.

“You fucking fuck!” Bradley yelled from the ground. He was rolling around, clutching his leg. “You broke my leg, you asshole!”

Ellie looked at Joel in confusion. “Caught your peepin’ Tom on my way home.”

Emerging from behind Dina, you recognized those two voices from anywhere.

“Joel?”

His eyes met yours.

“Y/N, I dunno if you wanna look.” Joel advised. Ellie stepped out of the way as you poked your head out the door. A small gasp came when you saw your ex laying on the concrete. “Bradley, what the fuck!” you yelled.

“Please, Y/N. Take me back, I promise to treat you better than that old, violent grandpa!” He yelled, still in a ball on the ground. Joel let out a small breath of air from his nose. ‘Grandpa is really the best you got?’ he thought to himself.

“Your fucking pathetic.” you called back down to him. “How did he know I was even here?” you said, turning around to ask Ellie. She shrugged. Your hands began to tremble. “Hey, hey.” Ellie said, recognizing the panic arising in you.

She gestured for Joel to come in. She flicked a lamp on as you sat on the couch. “I can go get Tommy and a few other guys, we can deal with him.” Joel suggested.

Ellie looked at you for confirmation. Your eyes darted from her to Joel and back to her. She knew what you needed in that time. You needed him.

“Let me and Dina go get Tommy. I doubt Brad is going anywhere anytime soon.”

Joel opened his mouth to resist, but then saw you shaking on the couch. He knew Ellie was more than capable of fucking this guy up, and he rather stay with you. Even if the fucking up of Bradley sounded oh, so appealing.

“Alright.” he nodded, watching the two girls pull on their coats.

“May I?” he asked, outstretching his hand referencing to the couch spot next to you. You nodded your head. He sat next to you, not touching you. Joel was unsure of how to approach this.

“Joel?” you asked, turning to look at him. Your breathing was shaky and your eyes were glossy. “Yes?”

Without his consent, you moved closer to him on the couch. Your thighs were touching. The need for him to hold you right then was strong.

Joel let out a sigh of relief as he took your invitation of affection. His arm wrapped around your shoulder. You found comfort in his body, cuddling in and moving your arms closer to your body as he held you.

“Everything is alright,” he re assured you, taking his thumb and started slowly running circles into your shoulder.

“I’m sorry about what he said.” you sighed. “What- the grandpa comment? Pfft,” Joel chuckled. Your body moved against his as he laughed. “Doesn’t even phase me.”

“Well, he’s wrong.” you said. Joel looked down at you. “About what?”

“There is no way he could treat me better than you.”

A soft smile rose to Joel’s mouth. He wished he could hold you like this every night. The sweet smell of the rationed out shampoo filled his senses as he took another deep breath.

“Your damn right,” Joel whispered, leaning down and placing a soft kiss to the top of your head. Your arm stretched along his torso, holding him tightly as the sounds of Bradley’s wails came from below.

***

At least an hour had passed. You had dozed off, leaving Joel alone in Ellie’s apartment. You were still connected to Joel at the hip, but your grip had loosened on his waist.

He looked down at you adoringly. He thought of almost every scenario as he waited for Ellie and Dina to return.

He had to ask you out. He wasn’t quite sure how, he figured Tommy could maybe give him some pointers. Or maybe Ellie, she seems to know what women like. And then dating you. He wanted to take you out to the fields outside of Jackson. A nice picnic maybe, you two could maybe bring some food from the greenhouse. He remembered how when he was a child he used to eat cucumber sandwiches (there better than they sound, trust me).

You could teach him the difference between a zucchini and a cucumber. You could be that balance in his life; something he had been searching for since he was a teenager.

He noticed your hair was in a falling out low messy bun. He imagined a veil coming out from it, and a luxurious white gown on you. Sure, he was getting ahead of himself. Little did he know you were discussing the topic of marriage just hours prior.

The fantasies about a lavish, non infected world wedding were diminished as Ellie and Dina made their way through the door.

“Shh,” Joel said, silencing their conversation.

“Aww,” Dina said, still a little tipsy from the night before.

“You should take her home. Bradley won’t be bothering her anymore.” Ellie said sternly. Joel noticed the bloodied knuckles on Ellie’s hand. Dina placed her baseball bat next to it’s resting place at the door.

“Hey,” Joel whispered, rubbing your shoulder. You groaned, holding him tighter. “Good morning,” you muttered. “Still night time, doll. Let’s get you home.”

You slowly woke up in Joel’s embrace. The scent of him sent you back to the first night you spent in his bed. “You wanna go home?” he asked you again. “No,” you protested.

“I’m sober,”

Joel looked at you in confusion. “Remember? ‘Talk to me when your sober’, or something like that?”

The memory clicked in Joel’s mind.

“I want to stay with you.”

Joel couldn’t resist. He helped you up from the couch. He grabbed your jacket from the coat rack and helped you put your arms through your sleeves.

“Is that a yes?” you asked him as he silently closed Ellie and Dina’s door. He sighed. “Sure,”

Walking hand and hand down the abandoned street, you began to humm the Frank Sinatra song from earlier that day. Joel listened to your sweet tune the whole way home.

As you reached his house, you kept the tune going again and again. Joel led you to his bedroom with his hand in yours. His alarm clock read a little after three.

“Get comfy,” he said, throwing his jacket in the corner. You dropped your jacket, leaving it by the bedroom door with your boots. All that was left was your jeans and your black tank top.

“You don’t care if I slip into something more comfortable, do you?” he asked. “Not at all.”

Joel stared at you awkwardly. “You want me to go to the bathroom or…”

“It’s your house. I don’t mind,” you said, boldly sliding off your jeans and kicking them into your pile. Your gray underwear was left on as you sat on the edge of his bed.

“Alright,” he chuckled, adoring your boldness. His pants came off and hit the ground with a thud. His heavy belt buckle made the noise. He opened a drawer and took out a pair of red flannel pajama pants.

“Look! They match the flannel,” you exclaimed.

He turned around, completely enamored by you. Your excitement, your pep, and everything else about you was just what he was lacking in his life. For the first time in years, Joel felt himself feel genuinely happy. It was scary for him, but he was ready to let go.

“Can I just say…” he said, walking up to you sitting on his bed. His right hand slowly cupped your left cheek. His thumb slowly, softly ran across your cheek. “You really do look better in the flannel in than me.”

He slowly bent down, giving you enough time to resist. To his surprise, you began to rise off the bed and connected your lips with his. Rising off the bed, you continued the kiss as you both took a few steps. His hand reached around your waist, finding a comfy spot on the bottom of your back. Your hands had moved to his hair, slowly playing with the locks in your fingers.

“I’ve been waiting for you to do that,” you smiled, still in his embrace.

Joel’s body melted into yours. “I… I really…” he struggled to say. “‘I really’ you too,” you said, expressing to him that it was okay to be afraid. But you were there, and was ready for anything at any pace. His soft eyes seemed relieved at the confirmation of the now mutual feelings.

“Let’s get some sleep, hm?” you asked, sitting back down on the bed and breaking from his embrace.

His body held yours. Joel’s arms protectively kept you in his embrace. The four legs intertwined and kept each other warm underneath the blanket. You pushed into his figure, making yourself feel more secure than ever.

As he held you in bed, the tune began to sing again in your head. In a before sleep epiphany, you remembered the lyrics.

“But I still fall in love too easy, I fall in love too fast,” you whispered. Joel’s head burrowed in the nape of your neck. A tiny kiss was placed there in confirmation of what he had just heard.

Happiness consumed the both of you.

tag list: @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @samanthacookieone @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry @scoliobean @avengersfan25 @rosie0611 @vivalasv3gan

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kedsandtubesocks · 1 month

Text

seasons of you (year 1 - spring)

Farmer!Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: it’s your very first spring living in the valley & you’re very sure Joel Miller already wants you leave

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, stardew valley AU, reader is a new farmer & has a family but no physical description, mentions of unspecified age gap (reader’s age is not mentioned but Joel is older & in his 50’s) very light use of gendered language, handyman & farmer!Joel, grumpy!Joel, wound tending & blood imagery, discussion of family loss with light navigation of grief, Ellie being Joel’s daughter, secret softie!Joel, alcohol consumption mention, use of nickname, budding romance

word count: 5.4k

a/n: our first ‘Joel’ fic for our stardew AU series! Here’s to starting this new aventure with y’all! I couldn’t have the strength to post this without @swiftispunk @lowlights @ahauntedcowboy @burntheedges @perotovar you angels don’t know how much I appreciate y’all and am so grateful for you babes…and to you, if you read this - I’m so thankful for you too ♡

No one in Pelican Town hates you more than Joel Miller does. George, the crabby older elderly man in town, might be a close second, but Joel has him beat by miles.

For someone so incredibly handsome, almost beautiful in a rugged wilderness way with his misty mountain gray hair and sharp lovely nose, his glare could wither your entire family farm’s field.

“He’s just an ass sometimes.” Your Dad had told you with a sigh over the phone. “Been that way even when your gramps was around.”

At first you didn’t want to fully admit it but yeah, Joel is a prickly cactus of a man.

He owns a farm further down the path from yours. You love walking by it when you take the long way home and getting to spot all the sheep roaming around his fields. He’s also the town’s handyman.

“A jack of all trades, more like it.” Pierre, the main store owner, snickered that to you while Joel was in the store fixing a light fixture.

After that Joel helped you set up your first fencing gate. Then he fixed your sink. And then your water heater.

It’s been a lot and you know it. You feel guilty at how bad you can’t seem to get a hang of this new life yet. Your grandpa did it, thrived even. You can too, or you hope you can.

Until Joel glares at you like you’re a bug ready to squash, then you feel incredibly small.

Once you physically and accidentally ran into him walking out of the blacksmith’s shop when he was heading in. You sputtered out an apology, but without a single word Joel walked past you as if you weren’t even worth his time.

One night you went to the town’s saloon hoping to maybe mingle and get to know everyone better. But simply seeing him sitting inside made you turn on your heels and scramble out.

From that point on you’ve been avoiding him.

But now unfortunately, a few paces away from Joel Miller’s farm, your hand bleeds out a bit aggressively.

“Shit.” You hiss, slipping off your backpack to search for your mini first aid kit.

Yesterday you stubbornly tried fixing your fence and accidentally scrapped your hand pretty bad against the wood. Earlier you believed you wrapped it good enough but now the blood soaking through the bandaid mocks you.

“You alright?!”

The sharp accented drawl rings out loud in the early morning and fear collides into you.

Of course Joel hadn’t left for the morning.

You yell back that you’re fine but scramble frantic now trying to find the damn first aid kit.

“Is that blood?” Joel snaps, sounding closer, as his boots rush against the dirt.

“No, I spilled paint.” You grumble to yourself annoyed.

“M’old but I fuckin’ heard that.” Damn.

He’s much closer now, so close his shadow falls over you but you refuse to look at him.

“What happened!?” He barks confused.

Sighing, you give up hope on finding the poor elusive first aid kit.

“Just cut my hand, that's all. It isn’t deep. I’m fine.” You reassure him.

Joel sighs angrily.

“Come on.”

Now you turn and discover his soil eyes stare at you with such a steeled intensity you almost want to scurry away.

“Fixin’ this up inside.” He doesn’t even ask or let you leave. With one yank Joel Miller pulls you towards his farmhouse.

“I’m fine.” You snap back.

“What? Just wanna let it bleed ‘n get everywhere?” An edge in Joel’s voice silences you.

Any argument you wanted to hiss out immediately floats away the moment you cross the threshold into his house. Your eyes go wide. You never once thought you’d ever see the inside of Joel Miller’s place.

It’s larger than your grandpa's.

Joel deposits you into his kitchen. The lingering smell of breakfast, possibly oatmeal with its warm cinnamon notes, hangs in the air. Yet you feel like a caught feral cat that doesn’t know how to react being inside a house for the first time.

So you let your eyes wander.

Beautiful wood cupboards line the walls. A fridge is covered with various papers held up by sweet colorful cartoonish magnets you never would’ve expected from him. A worn cozy, well loved, couch peeks out from the slight view of the living room you spot being inside the kitchen.

Joel’s house seems knitted together by a rustic weathered comfort. Yet, there’s a hollowness to the house, like it’s waiting for more spirit to fill the halls. You can’t pinpoint or describe the stillness here in this place, but you sense it.

After rustling around a drawer, Joel yanks out a rather impressive medical kit. Largely bulky and intimidating, like him, it’s no surprise a handyman and farmer has such a first aid kit.

“How’d it happen?” Joel asks gruff and quiet as he rummages around the bag.

You tell him and his seasoned face scrunches up frustrated.

“Why didn’t ya call and have me go fix it?”

You thought about that. But you couldn’t handle the thought of asking him to help again, to deal with his frustrated sighs and gruff annoyance. He barely said a word to you last weekend when he went to check your sink again.

“Don’t need you to fix everything.” You tell him composed while Joel pulls out various things to wrap your wound.

“Besides, I can fix things on my own.” You add firm.

“Not all the time.” He replies.

You stay quiet and watch his hands, large and callous, gingerly dab away all the crimson from your cut.

He’s never been this close to you. You catch the faintest smell of wood and of something clean crisp, his laundry detergent maybe. It threatens to fog your senses knowing he smells this lovely.

“Y’dont ask for help and shit like this happens.”

Your face hardens at Joel’s words. You even childishly want to yank away your hand and storm off.

“Look I get it, you barely tolerate me and think I can’t do shit. I know I’m still new, but this was an accident. It happens.” Your words come out harsher than you intended, sharpened scythes that cut through the room, and Joel freezes.

“I don’t think that.” He replies clear as a spring blue sky.

You want to bark a laugh of disbelief, but instead you simply stay silent.

Joel sighs, keeping his eyes on the medic tape he readies.

“And I… tolerate you.” He sputters like he’s trying to muster the words out.

A moment passes. Then Joel sighs, ancient and heavy.

“Don’t mind me. M’just some grumpy old fuck-”

“Hey you’re not old. You’re just grumpy.” You interrupt trying to ease the mood and your heart jumps hearing him snort.

“M’old.” He clarifies. He is older, older than you, and that fact creates a strange flutter in your chest you don’t want to explore just yet.

“And…don’t want ya feelin’ like shit.” He continues with a curt softness.

You never knew his voice could sound this layered, so tough but tender.

“Just tryin’ to look out for ya like your gramps asked me too.”

There’s a strange apology shaded in his words but you manage to catch it. A rush of emotions drown you in their current.

“You were close with my grandpa.” You comment with a curious question lingering below the surface.

“Yeah,” Joel answers low now tenderly moving to wrap your hand. “His ol’ ass used to keep me in place.”

You smirk fondly. That sounds like your gramps.

“Miss seein’ him walk by this place and hearin’ him complain that he likes the sheep more than me.”

Joel’s fond and aching voice digs its hooks into your soul. You miss gramps too, so much.

“Used to fish a lot together out by the lake.” He adds.

This is the most Joel Miller has ever spoken to you and you worry the sun might fall out of the sky soon.

“I bet he out fished you.” You tease soft.

Joel snorts. “Damn right he did.”

You can almost picture it clearly, your gramps and Joel laughing together, having a friendship.

“He’d be proud of ya.” Joel mutters but his words chime clear.

Your attention flickers to Joel. He keeps his focus steady on your hand. However his words crystallize deep in your heart and you blink away tears. You ever expected Joel Miller to almost make you cry like this.

“Thanks…means a lot.” You truthfully tell him while you swallow back the heartache and love threatening to spill over.

“He’d also say you’re a fuckin’ stubborn thing for not askin’ for help.”

You snort at that.

“Well you knew the old guy, it runs in the family.” You reply.

Joel chuckles.

It’s small - like the faint flash of seeing a cardinal in the trees. But you heard it, his amusement, and it’s lovely for a man quietly layered as him.

“Alright, all fixed up.”

The wrap is tight, secure, and speaks of his many times previously doing this before.

“Thank you Joel, appreciate it.” You do.

“Can't be a handyman if I can’t fix up people sometimes.” He shrugs but there’s a deadpan charm to his words you’re slowly catching now.

“Doctor and a handyman, no wonder the town keeps you around.” So you dryly joke back.

This moment isn’t much. Yet it feels like gaining a good step in the direction of something right and solid.

Gathering your things, you decide to head out. Even though curiosity claws at you to take in a few more moments being inside Joel Miller’s home, you have seeds to buy.

“Where ya headin’’ to?” Joel asks.

“Pierre’s.” You huff. “Need more parsnips.”

He hums a noise of acknowledgment.

Back outside the mid morning sun’s warmth soaks you in its gaze. Maybe you could fish for a bit before you head to the store. After all, the weather is so nice.

“Hey.” Joel barks out and before heading back on the road, you turn to him.

He’s a sight on his porch. You think of the typical romance movies of the handsome farmer trying to woo the newcomer in town and how right now he puts them all to shame.

Hands crossed over his chest, his broad shoulders seem like mountains against the doorway, so striking and large taking up the entire focus.

“Don’t hesitate to call y’hear? Don’t fuckin’ care what it is or what it’s for, call me.” Joel’s face is hardened and serious, reflecting the unwavering tone in his voice.

Something heated crawls up your throat and makes you dizzy. You blame it on the blood loss.

“Besides, s’what neighbors are for, right?” He adds a bit awkwardly.

It hits you. He’s the closest homestead to you. You are neighbors with him.

“Alright will do, promise.” You nod and mean your words.

“Thanks again neighbor.” Those words tingle on your lips.

Joel nods and with that you head out.

You’re on such a strange high you simply float straight to the pier and fish. It’s comforting being among the crashing waves, the sea breeze, and the wonderful weather. You also think of your gramps and Joel here.

But by the time the sky starts to turn into a ripe tangerine you realize in horror you forget to buy more seeds.

You almost scream in anguish when you find Pierre’s doors locked. Accepting momentary defeat, you head home.

When you reach your porch, there against the steps a bundle of parsnip seeds and a small pack of bandaids sit waiting for you.

- ☼ -

Your hope to quietly enjoy the egg festival, your true first event here in the valley, is diminished when Mayor Lewis practically drags you into the egg hunt saying it’s a rite of passage.

His deadly polite politician smile said there was no way you could worm your way out of participating. So you simply start the hunt thinking of the strawberry seeds you can’t wait to plant once this is over.

You’re not overly competitive, but these eggs are getting harder to find. You want to finish at least with some dignity.

Besides the area around Stardrop Saloon you scan every inch like a hawk. Someone coughs, clearing their throat, and it catches your attention.

Under the shade of the building, nursing a cold drink, Joel slightly turns towards you.

Now instead of a hawk you feel like a surprised field mouse caught in his gaze.

Without saying anything Joel flickers his eyes a couple of times towards the corner of the building. Is he giving you a hint?

Heading to the spot his eyes vaguely guided you to, you discover a colorful egg.

You almost want to keep it as proof this happened. Joel helped you.

By the time the egg hunt ends everyone already seems to be packing up and the mysterious Mr. Miller has vanished from the commotion.

Abigail wins the egg hunt and you aren’t even upset. In fact you walk home feeling like a champion.

The next morning on the help wanted and errands bulletin board in town you spot Joel’s name. Below it is a request asking for a small pack of wood.

You readily answer it and drop off the bundle eagerly, a way to help pay him back for everything.

The pretty decent payment he gives you is nice but the crooked soft hint of a grin on his face when you arrive to deliver the request is worth iridium.

A few days after that he mails you a recipe. The letter is so simply Joel - a straightforward recipe then a scribbled JM below it. You hang the letter up proudly on your fridge.

Spring blooms more and more before your eyes.

You decide to take advantage of it by foraging for the day.

“Where y’heading?”

You’ve been taking the long way to the forest these past few weeks in hopes of seeing him again. Now that you’re not actively avoiding him, you discover, small town or not, Joel is a surprisingly busy man.

When you catch glimpses of him, instead of glares being thrown your way, Joel Miller simply nods acknowledging you. Comforting as it is to know he doesn’t outright detest, you don’t like how much you hope to run into him more.

Now he’s here sliding on his backpack while moving to lock his gate.

“Just heading to the forest, gonna forage and walk around for the day.” You answer him.

“Works out, hafta head that way myself.” Joel explains falling into step besides you.

Alone with Joel Miller once again.

The small talk comes - asking each other how your days have been, anything new or interesting happening. The heat is starting to pick up announcing summer’s close arrival. Thankfully it’s still not unbearably hot as you and him fully enter the woods.

Cindersap forest is tranquil. A beautiful glimmering evergreen haven you enjoy simply strolling through. You never thought you’d ever be here with Joel.

“No new crops coming in?”

“Nothing exciting.” You shrug. “I’m more upset that I didn't plant any tulips this season.”

“Those your favorite?” Joel asks, surprisingly curious.

“Not mine, my gramps.” Your memories of the farm might be hazy, but you always remembered fresh tulips in the kitchen.

“They’re for the fairies.” Gramps would tell you with a wink.

You were bummed after realizing Pierre had flower seeds and it was too late to see them bloom in your kitchen.

“Damn,” Joel sighs. “Ain't your fault. Pierre’s an ass and hides all the good shit, flower seeds included.”

You’re almost positive Pierre doesn’t do that, but you burst out laughing.

A giddy twinkling glee consumes you and fills you buoyant. He’s trying to comfort you in his own Joel way. And it’s dangerous how fast you’re growing to enjoy the company of this grumpy cactus of a man.

You move to snag a few dandelions and wild horseradishes. You make a face at one that smells a bit ripe and decide to leave it for the forest.

“You can eat those y’know.” Joel comments.

“Yeah so I’ve heard.” You tried your first ever daffodil this month. “A wild horseradish might be a bit too much right now though, but who knows. Maybe one day I’ll try ‘em.”

“My kid used to eat these all the damn time. Never took a likin’ to ‘em myself.” Joel grumbles kicking the disposed horseradish.

Kid.

“You have a kid?” You ask curiously.

Joel blinks to you and there’s a gleam in his earth eyes of something reserved slowly revealing itself.

“Uh… yeah. A daughter. Ellie.”

A daughter. He’s a dad.

It fits him in a way that you never would have expected.

“She doesn’t live here?” You ask but then quickly apologize for pressing the subject. Joel waves you off, casual and unbothered.

“She did, just graduated highschool this year. Wanted to do the whole college deal. She lives out west now.”

So he’s an empty nester.

Delicately, wanting to know more about him and his daughter, you ask about her.

Joel inhales deep then exhales slowly, as if an immovable weight on his shoulders rattles deep to his bones.

“She’s a headache, my Ellie.” Fondness trickles out of Joel a steady stream.

“Stubborn, damn near impossible to argue with cause she’s so fuckin’ smart. Got a good heart. Good head on her shoulders too, wants to be an astronaut.”

“An astronaut?! That’s incredible!” You exclaim in brilliant excitement.

Like the proud dad he is, adoration tugs at Joel’s lips.

“Yeah, been wantin’ to be one for years. That’s why she’s going to school.”

“She sounds incredible, Joel. You must be proud.” You earnestly tell him.

“I am…” His voice is thick, and you don’t miss the way his eyes gloss over distant and misty.

You decide not to press the subject any further. He instead does it for you.

“She loved livin’ here until the damn flower festival rolled around. Then she’d swear up ‘n down about how much she hated this town and was gonna leave the second she could.”

The flower festival is just days away. The town swirls in a controlled chaos for its arrival.

You laugh warm. “I’m guessing she’s not a fan of dancing.”

“Takes after me.” Joel nods.

“Ahh…so guess that means you’re not asking anyone to dance this year.” You comment lightly and Joel snorts.

“Ain’t danced with anyone in a very long time.”

A wistful ace now twists your heart thinking of Joel alone in his home, alone watching the others in town pair off.

“You gonna ask anyone?” Joel turns the question around to you and you almost choke on an inhale.

Not wanting to get flustered or react wildly you focus on the wild springs among the lush forest.

“Uh no. Don’t think anyone wants to dance with the newbie in town. Which is fine.” You answer.

There are lovely and gorgeous people in town. Some have caught your eye. However, you didn’t feel brave or interested enough to ask anyone to dance. And no one seemed intended to ask for your hand in the dance, and you find you’re not too upset about that.

Joel hums low, a sign you’re catching on means he’s listening without having to reply much.

“Hopin’ someone will ask ya to dance?” That question takes you by surprise.

You shrug not wanting to fully answer the question either.

Someone suddenly calls out to Joel from behind. At the edge of the forest leading back into town stands Maria, the town’s legal counsel and assistant mayor.

“Caught playing hooky, busted.” You snicker and Joel scoffs.

Maria yells out Joel’s name again.

“Can you come back to town and help us with something? Thought you’d be at home seeing how it’s your day off today. I’ve been trying to call ya but nothing went through.” She yells.

The service here in the forest was awful compared to the town, a hard lesson you’ve learned quickly.

But you also don’t miss Maria’s comment.

Joel had today off. Yet he decided to stay a bit with you. That thought has teeth and you can’t stop their bite from sinking into your heart.

Joel groans but doesn't hesitate to head towards where the assistant mayor stands. Maria of course spots you and a wonderful grin lights up lovely her face.

“It’s good to see you.” She calls out.

“You too!” You reply back thankful your voice is level.

Joel glances over his shoulder to catch your eye.

“Good luck foragin’. Don’t eat any weird shit.”

You sputter out a squawk at his casual comment.

“Next time I see you, I’m giving you a wild horseradish!” You playfully snap the ridiculous reply before you can even stop yourself, but Joel thankfully rolls his eyes unbothered.

Maria’s eyes however flicker curiously between you and Joel. Too many emotions heat up your skin now. So bidding Joel and Maria a quick goodbye you stomp back into the forest to continue foraging.

Now along in the woods, your thoughts still think of Joel. The bag of parsnip seeds, the bandages, and the recipe, come to mind. You never once discussed any of it with him or him with you. It’s something you keep locked in your heart, just like today will be.

Soon the day melts into early twilight. You snag a couple of dandelions and a few other forageables before deciding to head home.

Joel’s farm house looms quietly still with no lights. You can’t bring yourself to open the gate to his farm and walk up to the house.

So instead you place a few dandelions along with a nice fresh large wild horseradish on top of the mailbox by his gate then head home.

Even when you unwind for the night, you mind still feels like it’s snagged on Joel Miller, still there with him foraging in the forest.

- ☼ -

The flower dance, as strange of a custom as it is, is rather ethereal. So many vivid floral arrangements decorate the space with dynamic colors and the air even smells fresh.

The flower dance honors the legacy of celebrating the final days of spring. But it also is a celebration of love blooming.

“It has roots dating back to fertility rituals.” Demetrius, ever the town scientist, told you while you were chatting with him and his wife.

He was right of course. The flower dance is the opportunity for someone to extend a hand of romantic feelings towards another. Those who hope to participate in the couples dance, or possibly win the crown of Flower Queen, are dressed in glorious attire. Soft light fabrics and flowers woven into crowns create a scene conjured out of a fairy’s kingdom.

Compared to the others in lovely attire with flowers in their hair, you didn’t even dress up or change out of your messy dirt covered jeans. And the only flowers in your hair are actually twigs and leaves from cleaning up more of your property.

With no need to worry about someone asking you to dance, you instead simply enjoy the various foods prepared for the occasion.

“Be careful, the salsa actually has a pretty good kick.” You’re about to go in for a second helping when a gentle accented voice floats out to you.

Besides you is a man with the kindest eyes you’ve seen. Faintly you recognize his face and can recall seeing him around town.

“Tommy Miller.” He reintroduces himself seeing your slight hesitation and your eyes go big.

“Oh, Maria’s husband!” You fully remember her introducing him to you. But now something else clicks.

He’s Joel’s brother.

“Yup.” He grins proud at his wife’s mention.

You apologize profusely for not remembering him sooner and with a kind understanding smile Tommy reassures you it’s fine.

“Been a busy first month for ya, I get it. You’re a tough cookie handlin’ it all.”

Even though his twang mirrors his brother’s, Tommy already radiates a much different energy than Joel. He’s warm in a way that reminds you of a soft summer day welcoming everyone with his vibrant energy.

You thank him earnestly. “The town’s been good to me.”

A part of you wants to add Joel has been good to you. Weeks ago, you would’ve laughed at just the idea of Joel Miller showing you an emotion other than annoyance. But now you and him seem to slowly be warming up to each other.

“Don’t go stealin’ all the good stuff, y’little shit.” Joel arrives with a gruff grumble of a voice and quickly nudges Tommy.

Yet his eyes remained glued on you.

You also seem to notice how striking Joel looks in the crisp light jean button up shirt he wears.

“Speak of the devil… was just about to ask our new farmer here if ya haven’t scared her away yet.” Tommy jokes.

Joel’s face flickers with a scowl fighting to form but he keeps himself surprisingly composed.

Guilt sinks in your gut. You know he’s hard to read and you even feel bad for thinking he’s mean. Because you’re learning fast Joel is earnest in his own way.

“Nah,” you tell Tommy, answering for yourself and Joel almost. “His sheep are actually scarier than he is.”

Tommy busts out laughing and you grin. Your eyes flicker to Joel but see he isn’t grinning. Instead Joel’s handsome aged face stares at you guarded and you can’t read the emotions shimmering in his eyes.

Shit.

You might have overstepped and upset him. So to physically stop yourself from saying anything else you take a bite out of the delicious cornbread on your plate, wave a weak goodbye to the Miller brothers, and scurry away.

Now alone under the shadow of one of the lovely cherry trees, you’re aware of how new you still are, a fresh bud still trying to foster roots in this new ground. You wonder how your gramps dealt with this every year.

Soon enough, the music starts and Mayor Lewis claps excited ready to begin the dance.

At least this will be over soon.

The couples slowly sway to the soft melody then rustling arrives at your side. Gently your eyes turn to the source and you almost collapse seeing Joel move in besides you.

His eyes though stay on the couples dancing among the blooms.

“Could’ve at least picked better music to dance to.” He mumbles bored.

Your lips press hard trying not to smile ridiculous and wide.

“Could you imagine if someone played the wrong song?” You whisper back. “Like, some heavy metal rock song suddenly started screaming out?”

Joel snorts, masks it with a few coughs, but you did it. You made him laugh.

Golden soaked triumph fills you and it feels like the first morning you woke up and found a sprout peeking up from the dark tilled soil.

He’s a complex man and you’re barely even scratching the surface of him. But it’s a tender start you want to continue kindling.

For all the commotion and production given to the festival, the dance only lasts a few moments. It’s over thankfully fast.

“Bit anticlimactic.” You mutter under your breath.

“Yeah it’s dumb.” Joel deadpans.

Your lips fight from letting out a laugh.

Everyone claps joyously at the couples concluding their dance. You wonder, even as silly as this is, if one day maybe you’ll dance with flowers in your hair. But you don’t give that thought too much attention. Just imaging yourself next spring already seems so far away.

“Headin’ home?” Joel asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You hum, narrowing your eyes at the gorgeous meadow.

“I’m kind of tempted to maybe see if I can steal some of the leftovers but yeah, I’m heading back.” You reply.

“Tell me which food you’re eyein’ and I’ll grab it. No one will tell me no.” He offers and you laugh.

“Tempting as that is, I’m just gonna go home.” You wish Joel a warm good night.

He continues walking alongside you.

Your heart jumps until you realize he lives in the same direction. The chatter from the festival still lingers in the air even while you walk further away from the meadow.

“How do you deal with that every year?” You ask with a sigh.

“Alcohol.” Joel dully answers and you snicker at his reply.

“Maybe one day you’ll be dancin’ out there.” Joel comments like he’s trying to continue the small talk. But the suggestion makes you skin itch for a reason you can’t pinpoint.

You only reply with a simple ‘maybe’ and a shrug.

“I’d pay a hundred bucks to see you dance though.” You joke, but also quickly imagine Joel a picture of softness with a flower behind his ear resting beautifully among his silver curls and it makes your knees weak.

Joel however rolls his eyes.

“Next year we’ll just sneak in and take over the music. See what happens.” You offer.

“Now that sounds like a plan.” Joel agrees gruffly.

It sounds like a promise.

You bid him good night until his eyebrows crinkle so classily grumpy Joel.

“Whadya doin’? Ain’t lettin’ ya walk home alone, sprout. Now come on.”

He continues walking as if nothing while your mind tries to recover being tilted on its axis for a bit.

Joel is walking you home.

And he called you sprout.

You want to cradle this new nickname so tenderly in your hands.

Joel quietly asks about your plans for the upcoming season, almost as if he’s trying to keep you focused.

To settle your flutter heart, you manage to ramble about the new incoming seeds you’ve heard about. You talk about your hopes of going to the beach more, not just to fish but to simply enjoy the ocean.

Among all that discussion, in a blink you’re back at your farm.

Instead of Joel rushing home, he lingers.

He checks your porch almost like he’s making sure the thing still stands.

“Hope one day to see that dang greenhouse up ‘n runnin.” He points to the broken greenhouse and you can’t help but sigh at the sight. You hope so too.

Then Joel moves to stand next to you on the land.

It feels different seeing him here.

Just a few weeks ago he was shouting every profanity known to man trying to fix your ancient water heater. He also glared at you the entire time.

Now he stands next to you suggesting on what to grow for the upcoming season.

“You could plant the tomatoes over on this side, give ‘em more shade to grow.”

Joel already reminds you of a back alley cat, one that hisses and refuses to let others near until he decides when to warm up to others. And, like a fresh new sprout, you want to soak up this warmth of him up.

“Also… Don’t forget to plant flowers.” He adds with a soft grumble.

“I won’t.” You grin impressed he remembered.

When you bid him goodnight and thank him again, you almost want to promise you’ll stop by with coffee tomorrow morning.

However that feels too much, like you might make the wrong move and spook him. But you do want to know if he makes it home okay. You can’t even bring yourself to ask him for his phone number.

So you watch Joel leave until your thoughts move fast and you blurt them out.

“Wait how will I know you made it back?”

Joel suddenly stops then glances back to you.

A very soft twinkle comes over his face and he gives you a crooked grin. It colors him with such a boyish expression. This new face of Joel feels sacred, special, and it steals your breath away.

“Hang outside for a bit. I’ll give ya sign, don’t worry.” He nods then melts into the darkness.

You stay frozen on the spot, not wanting to miss whatever it is. You wait, hoping he makes it back safe. Then out from the darkness, far down the path, you see it.

A light from Joel’s house blazes alive.

Then it flickers on and off, like someone flipping the switch a few times. The movement of it against the darkness even feels like a wave of some sorts.

You wish so badly to wave back.

Reassured that he’s home, you head back feeling as light as a feather.

Stepping onto your porch, something catches your eye.

Resting on the main railing barrier are a batch of tulips that were not there when you left.

Your heart jumps into your throat. You didn’t even see Joel place them there.

Delicately placed, the tulips so brilliantly colored sit warm and bright for you - the most beautiful end to your spring.

Though, in your heart, these blooms feel like something closer to a beginning.

#I blame this on the Stardew valley update and thinking of sheep farmer Joel and here we are lol #but wow this au means so much and im so grateful to write this and if you read this me & Joel love you & are giving you a stardrop #joel miller x f!reader #farmer!joel miller #Joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #Joel miller x you #stardew valley au #seasons of you fic series #Joel 🤎#pedrostories

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psychedelic-ink · 10 months

Text

𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐇

pairing: joel miller x webcam model!f!reader

genre: no outbreak AU, explicit smut, minors dni

word count: 9k

summary: Joel, only now starting to feel the impending sense of loneliness, decides to listen to Tommy and sign up on an online streaming service called Ravish.

warnings: joel is bi in this, sex toys, paddles, nipple clamps, pillow humping, self-spanking, female/male masturbation, piv, dirty talking, possesive!joel, cum eating, oral (female receiving), size kink

additional warning: alright so there is a short moment in this where reader smacks herself with a paddle that has a heart-shaped hole and gets a heart mark on her skin, I don't use any descriptions (like calling it red or pink etc) but I'm also not oblivious enough to think everyone would get a mark when getting spanked so I wanted to let you know in case that would put you off and wouldn't want to read and that's completely fine!

a/n: this definitely ended up being longer then it needed it to be bfgbfg I want to take the anon who requested this, and the rest of you who chimed in and voted on the polls. I hope you all enjoy 💜 oh, also a special thanks to @missredherring who gave the idea of a more in-depth reason as to why Joel likes honeysuckle flowers 👀

edit!!! this has more than one part now! click here for the masterlist

Joel was lonely.

He hadn’t really thought about it until Sarah went off to college.

Since the day she was born, he had one thing and one thing on his mind only—to give his little girl everything that he could and make her happy. The rest didn’t concern him. He didn’t really care about dating, he didn’t have the time to think about how lonely he was. He had been on a couple of dates, all of which were initiated by Sarah as she entered her teenage years, pleading with him to go out and have a life.

But now that she was gone, studying what she always wanted to study and being happy, the emptiness began to spread like a nasty infection. Every creak and groan of the house sounded like mockery to him. He started keeping the TV open all night, most of the time falling asleep, only to wake up in the middle of the night startled by sudden shouts from a randomly playing film or show. He hated it. This wasn’t how Joel imagined his golden years to be like.

Maybe that’s why he decided to use the damn website. Ravish. He’d heard it from Tommy first —which was an uncomfortable conversation as one could imagine— and after that, he kept on hearing the name.

Ravish

It was like a shitty pop song, stuck between his teeth like toffee, impossible to get rid of. The name made a home in his brain, making its presence known whenever he was doing anything, no matter how mundane the task was.

Ultimately, he gave in. What was the worst that could happen?

Joel groans. He stares at the screen with his brows drawn tightly together, the text cursor blinking as it waits for him to type out a username. It’s been almost ten minutes. A brief thought of asking Tommy passes through his mind but he quickly pushes the thought away and leans over the keyboard.

JMiller. That should be alright. He doesn’t need anything fancy, and J can be any name. It can be Jack, Jacob, Jonathan, John, Jeremy. There are a bunch. Besides, Miller is a pretty common last name, so if someone asks if he's JMiller, he can just deny it. Not that anyone would. Everyone would be too busy jerking off to pretty people. The last thought anyone would have would be of him.

He quickly decides on his password and he’s immediately overwhelmed. There are too many things happening at once. His eyes widen, heart beating a bit too fast as he moves his mouse around. In the corner, there’s a little pop-up begging for his attention, and on the screen, there are multiple thumbnails of women and men. When he drags his mouse over a thumbnail it starts moving and he jumps.

“Holy hell,” he mutters. “I’m in way over my head.”

Joel gets up to pour himself a glass of whiskey. After that, he sits on the couch again and takes three deep breaths. The ice clicks together as he takes a swig, the amber liquid pleasantly burning as it goes down his throat. He looks around some more, looking for the profiles that pique his interest the most.

While he scrolls, he sees one of a man with the username NicolasCageFreak, which he finds odd, but the man is pleasing to the eye with soft brown curls and natural honey highlights in between. The man has a small bullet vibrator pressed against his hard length, a cock ring at the base of it. Joel presses like and saves it for later.

Joel has to remind himself a couple of times that the people who stream can’t actually see him. The more he scrolls the more relaxed he feels. There’s a woman with pretty green eyes he saves for later and another man with the username CammingBravo. He has his face hidden, Joel can see the red ribbon circling the back of his head as he bends over, granting the viewers a delicious sight of his ass that has a shiny buttplug.

Liked! Added to your queue for later.

Until now Joel was fairly certain he was straight, sometimes he’d get the occasional same-sex dream but he figured everyone did at some point in their lives. He’s not so sure anymore.

Some more scrolling and Joel starts getting restless. His cock strains against his sweatpants, aching for his rough touch. He takes a deep breath. The next live stream he sees that he likes he’ll click and that will be that. He’s starting to get worked up and, unlike NicolasCageFreak, he’s not a fan of edging himself.

Then he sees her. A woman wearing a delicate chain vest with rhinestones that sparkle whenever she moves. His eyes flit to the username; Honeysuckle. He loves that flower, he has many memories of picking them with Tommy and sucking the sweet nectar hidden inside. He wonders if she tastes just as sweet.

Not one to break a promise to himself, Joel clicks on the thumbnail. His eyes are instantly drawn to the live chat. There are so many people asking her to do something all at once—Jesus Christ. There are also a couple of them just chatting as if they were friends with her. He sees that everyone calls her Honey, which is fitting and a bit on the nose, he thinks.

Noticing that he has the stream muted, Joel unmutes it, a pleasant tingle running down his spine as soon as her voice comes through the speakers of his laptop.

“Wow, Eric47 I’m so happy you got that promotion!”

“Don’t worry everyone, I’ve been thinking naughty thoughts all day and I’m ready to put on a show.”

“Patience everyone.”

“Thank you for buying a private chat, SarahBelieves! I can’t wait to be your good girl. . .”

Joel is too focused on her tone, the smooth lilt of her voice, to hear the words she’s saying. The only thing his ears pick up on is the words private and chat. He wasn’t aware you could buy some extra time with the streamers. He loves that—

He shakes his head. Loves? Is he already planning on paying? At the thought, his cock twitches with interest, his reserve quickly crumbling to the floor.

Joel decides to focus on the stream first. He can decide later on if he wants a private session or not. He cups himself through the soft fabric of his sweatpants, groaning as a spike of relief shoots through him. His eyes are glued to the screen. Honey’s hard nipples poke through the chains, her hands delicately kneading the tender mounds as she rises slightly by lifting herself onto her knees. She’s on a bed, wearing black panties and a matching garter. Joel’s mouth waters. The things he would do to her. . .

His tongue pokes from between his lips, soft tendon moving with muscle memory as he thinks of eating her sweet cunt out.

“Today my sweet bees,” she addresses them. “I was thinking of fucking myself with the biggest dildo I’ve got, how does that sound?”

Joel’s eyes drift to the chat. Everyone seems to be cheering and asking her to show them how much she can take. There’s also a bunch of them calling her their favorite size queen. She chuckles.

“I love all dicks, in any shape or form,” she purrs. “I’m just in the mood for a bit of pain.”

Pain. That captures Joel’s attention. It makes him curious about all the other things she might be into. Perhaps she enjoys getting spanked, or she would enjoy the feeling of someone dragging their nails down her pretty back. He wants to know. He wants his imaginary scenarios to be as accurate as possible.

He’s about to pull out his cock when he hears her voice again.

“I do have one question though,” she says innocently. “Should I keep these pretty black panties on or off?” she grins into the camera, her eyes shining with mirth. “Let’s see those answers, my bees.”

What do you want? Joel wants to ask. But this isn’t that kind of scenario so he thinks. The answers come flying in, there’s a fifty-fifty ratio. Joel’s mind blanks for a moment, the corners of his lips twitching. He wants her to keep them on. He likes the idea of her sliding them to the side and fucking herself deep, it feels more animalistic, more raw. He enjoys the idea of claiming someone, a curiosity he hasn’t yet fully explored yet.

He types exactly that. His wording and grammar a bit too neat compared to the rest, but he gives Honey his answer. He wants her to keep it on. Maybe play with herself some more until the fabric is basically see-through, then she can fuck herself with the biggest cock she’s got.

Joel watches intently as her eyes go over the live chat, there are so many answers coming in, he doubts she’ll see his comment. Still, he likes to believe she’ll see it.

Honey’s eyes still briefly, hunger swirling in them as a canine sinks into her bottom lip. Her smile is bashful and shy, much different than the character she’s playing. Her eyes move back to the camera. Joel watches her breasts as her chest heaves, nipples grazing against the cool metal.

“Well, well, JMiller. . . you certainly have a mouth on you,” she tuts and Joel’s eyes go wide. The satisfaction he feels leads to goosebumps coursing over his burning skin, being noticed. . . it’s surprisingly thrilling. “Are you new? I haven’t seen your handle before.”

Joel swallows, his hands shaking as he types in a quick “yea”, Honey smiles, “Welcome to the hive then, baby. Keep the comments up,” she sighs, cupping both her tits. “I love a man who knows how to dirty talk.”

A knot forms in his throat, his skin tight. He wasn’t expecting to be this affected. Now he understands why so many people enjoy live streams. They don’t see you, not actually, but still, it almost fills the void. Almost. He’s excited now, eager to type in more of his thoughts, eager to hear her answer him. Joel pulls out his cock, the waistband of his sweats hugging his thighs. He gives himself a firm tug, his spine straightening at the burn gathering in his lower stomach. It feels fucking good.

“Since it’s J’s first time, and because he got me all hot and bothered, why not leave the panties on for this time?” Honey says. Joel observes the chat, there are a lot of congratulatory messages addressed to him, welcoming him. He doesn’t care. “You want to see these panties soaked, huh? You guys know how much I love making a mess.”

Honey shimmies back, revealing more of her bare legs. She spreads them for the camera, the soft sound of delicate metal filling the air whenever she moves. Her fingers start to move lazily over her clothed clit, her head falls. Joel can see a subtle dark patch growing, his own hand starting to move slowly up and down his throbbing cock. A drop of precum dribbles down, easing the glide of his rough palm. She doesn’t look at the chat as frequently as she did before, too focused on her pleasure. Her glossy lips part and her eyes scrunch up. Her moans are loud and breathy, signs that she lives alone.

Joel doesn’t think as he fists himself. Normally when watching porn he would think; he would think of a scenario, or what he would be doing differently, or the things he would want to do. This is different. He’s just watching, inhaling what’s being given to him. He sucks a sharp breath, his hand moving faster, the side of his fist smacking against his pelvis, dark curls damp under his palm.

“Fuck,” Honey moans, eyes peering toward the screen. Her fingers move faster, her hips grinding to meet the graze of her palm. Joel groans, his eyes rolling back into his skull. “I think I’m going to come,” he breathes out. “Should I?”

Joel doesn’t bother with typing until he hears his alias.

“JMiller, since you’re new the decision is yours. Should I? P-Please answer,” she sounds desperate, her hips rutting the air as she presses her fingers hard against her clit. “O-Or do you want me to come on your cock?”

Joel’s hips stutter, filling the tightness of his fist, “Fuckin’ hell.”

With sticky fingers he types his answer, telling her that she should come with his cock deep inside her. Joel also adds that he wants to hear her, telling her to be loud.

“O-Okay,” she whines, almost tearful as she reaches to grab her dildo off-screen. Joel can’t help the grin that makes its way across his face. He types again, telling her not to cry and that she’ll be coming soon enough. When he presses enter, he notices that his name is highlighted in dark orange. “You’re kind of an asshole,” she answers playfully. “I like that.”

You're the buzzing heartbeat of Honeysuckle’s live stream! You are picked by the streamer as the treasured Drone Bee, your unwavering loyalty and vibrant energy create an electrifying atmosphere. Your presence is a key ingredient in making the honey even sweeter!

A growl echoes in his throat when Honey shows the camera the dildo she had picked out. She wasn’t kidding when she said it was her biggest. It’s bigger than his own dick, and Joel is by no means a small man. He squeezes his cock and looks down, with a sudden need growing in his chest, he purses his lips and lets a long trail of saliva drip between his lips. He shudders when it reaches the head of his cock. He swipes his palm over it and continues to stroke himself, he wants to come.

He wants them to come at the same time.

Honey pushes the dildo in slowly, giving her viewers a clear sight of what’s happening. The toy stretches her wide, the ache of it pulling a gasp from her pretty lips. Joel breathes heavily, his nostrils flaring as his hand speeds up.

Oh, how he would love to be the one fucking slowly into her, to hear those little gasps coming from her in person rather than his shitty speakers. He holds his breath. It’s buried fully inside of her now. She slowly looks down, her eyes looking directly into the camera.

“I hope the view down there is good,” she says with a smirk. Joel doesn’t type anything. He focuses on the way his cock drools for her, aches to be buried in her cunt. Honey pulls out the toy until it’s only the tip that’s inside and then shoves it all in one smooth thrust. She cries out, her voice unfiltered. Joel’s stomach jumps at the sound, his pupils dilating like a wolf seeing its prey for the first time.

She fucks herself hard, whimpering and crying out every time she fuck herself deep. Joel sees the way the plastic surface shines with her slick, he bets she tastes fucking sweet.

He knows she’s close when her thighs begin to shake—he also knows thanks to the live chat going completely berserk, cheering her on and telling her to squirt. Joel, despite her own release close enough that he can taste it, rolls his eyes.

“This one is for you JMiller,” she whimpers and Joel’s eyes go wide, his cock pulsing in his wet fist. “Hope you’re gonna fall down the edge with me, big guy.”

Joel doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until she’s coming—she does so with a loud moan, her cunt fluttering around the large cock. Her head falls back completely, giving a clear view of her heaving chest, nipples fully erect under the see-through armor.

His fall from grace is less pretty. He lets out a grunt, his hips fucking into his hand helplessly as come spurts from the slit, it’s almost painful. His heart beats aggressively while he tries hard to keep his focus on the screen, he doesn’t want to miss anything. Joel makes a mess of himself and his surroundings, the rug underneath his socked feet stained with his release.

Joel’s cock stops throbbing and with a pleased sigh, his shoulders drop.

“That felt fuckin’ goood,” he groans, staring blankly at the ongoing live stream. Vaguely he notices Honey pulling the toy out, an equally fucked out expression on her face. The live chat is still going wild, he manages to lean over and type in one last sentence before going offline.

Good girl.

Joel is a weak weak man.

Watching Honey quickly became a routine for him. She would start streaming around the same time he would come back from work and it was the perfect way to let off some steam. Tommy had asked if he checked out Ravish, to which Joel promptly said no. He didn’t need his baby brother making fun of him.

Besides, some primal part of him didn’t want Tommy to know about Honey. It’s an odd thought, he realizes, since she’s enjoyed by many many people. Still, he didn’t have an explanation for what he was feeling.

Once she had brought in a guest, and his body had immediately rejected it. He was ready to close the stream and head to the bathroom for a quick shower—however, he stopped when he noticed who the guest was; CammingBravo. Another streamer who had caught Joel’s attention when he was scrolling through the endless amount of entertainers for the first time. He watched Honey eat out his tight little asshole, then he watched Bravo fuck her senseless, making her soak the sheets.

Joel never came that hard in his life before— It was exhilarating. He tipped handsomely that night and Honey mentioned how JMiller was one of her best viewers. Bravo’s smile, which was surprisingly kind, was infectious.

He would be lying if he said his chest didn’t puff up a little.

And, of course, he ended up buying a private chat with her after that. He just had to. It would just be this one time, he told himself, just one hour without the live chat. Just him and her.

He turns on the laptop, already knowing that he’s kidding himself. There’s no way this will be a one-time thing. He’s too. . . smitten to leave it with one private chat.

Maybe he can limit himself to once a month. That seems reasonable.

The familiar website of Ravish loads and he clicks on the little gray person in the corner. He finds the section that’s titled “private chats” and clicks. Her username, Honeysuckle, pops up. On the screen, it says she’ll be with him shortly.

A minute later the screen goes black and her face comes into view. She’s wearing a pink see-through bra with strawberries on it, Honey’s smile is bright as she looks into the camera.

“Hi there J!” she greets him, his stomach warms at the sound of her voice. “This is your first time doing a live chat right?”

He nods absent-mindedly while typing. Honey reads his answer and gives him an empathetic look.

“Okay, so you don’t have to show your face—obviously—but if you want you can click the tiny microphone in the corner and talk to me directly. But if that’s also too much you can continue to type what you want me to do.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise. Talk to her. . . with his actual voice? The thought both excites and sends cold fear down his spine. What would he even say? What if she doesn’t like the sound of his voice?

“Are you there?” her voice comes through. “Is everything alright?”

His fingers tense and rigid, Joel types in the questions that swirl in his head. Luckily the questions sound cheeky without any tone indicators so Honey smiles, her eyes narrowing while her lips curl seductively.

“You can say anything you want, big boy,” she licks her lips. “And don’t worry about your voice, I’m yours for the hour. You might as well have the most shrill voice in the world, I would still tell you how sexy you sound.”

You always call me that. Why? . . . Also, it doesn’t make me feel any better when you say you’ll tell me how good I sound regardless but I get what you mean.

Joel aggressively chews the smooth inside of his cheek. Honey reads his messages, a grin stretching across her beautiful face, “Let��s just say streamer’s intuition,” she winks. “As for the other thing, I mean that you don’t need to worry. I doubt you have the most shrill voice in the world.” she thinks over her words before adding. “Of course, it’s up to you. If you don’t want to use voice chat that’s completely fine.”

Joel sighs, his curser hovering over the tiny microphone. Closing his eyes, he clicks.

“Can—Can you hear me?”

Her eyes sparkle.

“Crystal clear,” she answers with a wide smile. “You sound hot.”

She sounds genuinely impressed. Joel can’t help but chuckle with the shake of his head. “Don’t sound so surprised but thanks, I think?”

“Oh it’s definitely a compliment,” she says rolling her tongue. “Is there anything you want me to call you or should I just call you J?”

There’s a brief moment where he thinks of just telling her his name but he bites his tongue at the very last moment. His heart does a little jump when he answers, “You can call me. . . sir.”

“Understood, sir,” she repeats, her voice dripping with lust. A shudder crawls up his spine and he has to brace himself by holding his knees. “There is also a matter of safewords, I don’t do everything as I’m sure you don’t as well. Red is for stop, yellow is for slow down and green is for go. I think that’s the simplest one but if you want to use a different word I’m okay with that.”

Joel blinks before answering, “Uh, yeah sounds good.”

“Also the website doesn’t allow screen recordings—which I appreciate— so you can’t film these sessions in any way. I’m just letting you know because no one reads the terms of service and one client was very unhappy when he got a cease and desist.”

“I. . . okay, I wouldn’t even think of it.”

She smiles and Joel’s heart feels a bit lighter, “Good,” with the rules established, a sense of relaxation washed over both of them. “So, do you have anything planned for me?”

Joel clears his throat as a warning and her eyes glimmer with amusement.

“Sorry,” she breathes heavily. “Did you have anything planned for me, sir?”

“Would you laugh if I said no?”

“Sir, I would never laugh at you,” she pouts, brows turning upward. Momentarily she looks off screen and when her eyes find the lens again she smiles giddily. “Would you want me to show you the toys I think you’ll like?”

Joel smiles at how genuinely excited she sounds, it’s hard to remind himself that this is all an act and that this is her job. He wants this to be real. He wants her to actually be excited to show him all the things she wants him to use.

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he answers not missing the way her lips part with a soft gasp. “Show me what you got.”

Honey shows him a handful of her toys. She has a lot. Dildos of various sizes, vibrators, nipple clamps, kegel balls, anal plugs, anal beads, floggers, collars, paddles. . . she might as well have an entire sex shop in her room. Joel takes mental notes of all of them to use during their next sessions.

“Anything that you like, sir?”

“The paddle,” he murmurs, feeling a bit flustered now that they’re actually getting into it. “The one with the heart-shaped hole and. . . the nipple clamps—”

“The heart-shaped ones?”

Joel swallows thickly, “Y—Yeah.”

“No need to be shy, sir,” she grins. “It’s only you and me.” Honey picks out the toys Joel requested and raises an eyebrow while her gaze searches the pile. “So, no dildos? Or vibrators?”

“I . . . had somethin’ else in mind, if that’s alright.”

“Ohhhh, a mystery,” she purrs, winking into the camera. “I love it, sir.”

Honey is slow to rid herself of her bra, sliding one arm out and then the other before moving both hands to the back to unclasp herself free of the dainty fabric. Her chest nears the camera, giving him a full view of her fully erect nipples. Joel’s breathing grows heavier by the second. He can feel his cock stiffen, pleasure stirring in his gut. He quickly kicks off his shorts, leaving himself bare on the couch as he watches her secure the clamps over each nipple. She lets out a tiny sigh of bliss, pulling her arms back and planting her palms firmly against the mattress, she shows her newly decorated nipples.

Joel groans and wraps his hand around his cock. She does a little wiggle, the soft sound of bells making his cock twitch.

“Are you touching yourself, sir?”

“Yea.”

“Good, I want to hear you get off,” she quickly adds. “Sir.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweet thing,” his eyes flutter closed as his fist moves down, and he opens them back up after giving himself a firm squeeze. “Turn around,” he grunts. “And don’t forget the paddle.”

She does as she’s told, which in return gives Joel an immense sense of control and satisfaction. Precome drips down his length, he uses it to lube himself further, paying extra attention to be loud for her. Just like she wanted.

His eyes follow the movement of the paddle, she drags it over the right cheek of her ass, caressing her skin. Her panties disappear between the crease of her gorgeous ass, leaving little to the imagination. “Is this okay, sir?” she asks, her voice thick. “Am I being a good girl?”

Goosebumps rise over his skin. He’d called her, wrote to her, good girl after every stream—his smirk is laced with something dark when he realizes that she must’ve enjoyed it.

“You’re being very good,” he answers. “Now hit yourself with it, I want to see a heart tattooed on that pretty flesh of yours.”

“Southern man into branding, why am I not surprised?” she purrs and lifts her ass closer the camera. “You like seeing your pretty girl all marked up by her owner?”

Fuck.

“Don’t get full of yourself,” he orders, adding a bit more venomous tone to his voice. Honey stills, and briefly Joel worries he’d overstep. He stops breathing, not wanting to miss even the smallest hint of the safeword.

But then she shudders, hitting herself lightly with the paddle. “How’s this, sir?” she says, her lilt indicating that she’s highly aware it isn’t enough.

“Harder.”

She spanks herself harder, her body jolting. Joel can hear the bells. He circles the head of his cock with the pad of his thumb, groaning as he makes himself more comfortable on the couch.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think you’re listenin’,” he inhales slowly, enjoying the way her muscles tense. “I want to see those hearts on your skin. I thought this was supposed to be a show.”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

He loves how breathy her voice has gotten. Heat licks the base of his spine, his cock begging for release.

She raises the paddle, smacking her plump meat much harder than before. Her asscheek ripples and Joel can finally see a faint trace of a shape. But it’s not clear enough to be a decent heart. “Again,” he orders.

It takes about six to nine times before the heart takes shape on her skin. She’s whimpering, tremors moving up and down her body as she fights the urge to collapse. She loves seeing his mark there, she might’ve placed herself, but it was his doing and he revels in it.

“Good,” he says, swallowing thickly. “Good fuckin’ girl. Lookin’ so pretty for me.”

“S-Sir,” she mutters. Joel doesn’t know what to expect until her hand comes between her legs, sliding the thin line of her panties to the side. Her cunt is a sopping mess. Joel leans further towards the screen, his tongue licking the roof of his mouth. “Do you see how wet I am? P-Please, I want to come—Can I, sir?”

“Fuck, ‘course you can,” his neck feels warm, burning almost. “Turn around, grab one of them pillows behind you.”

“P-Pillow?”

She sounds dazed, Joel almost feels bad for her, almost. “Yes sweetheart, pillow,” he coos. “I want you to grind that pretty cunt against it. . . honey.”

“Shit, say that again.”

“Honey,” he groans again, his hips thrusting into the air, burying himself deep into his fist. His voice drops further as he begins to chant, “Honey, honey, honey, honey—”

She visibly clenches at that, her entire body tight with arousal. With shaky hands, she brings the pillow between her thighs, straddling the soft cushion. Her head falls back as she gives it an experimental roll of her hips, Joel’s breath catches in his throat. She looks delectable. Her hands come up to her chest and tugs at the clamps, she jumps, a wanton moan echoing from the back of her throat.

“You’re so worked up aren’t you?” Joel continues as she grinds herself further down, leaving a wet, darkened patch behind. He’s preaching to the choir. His own arousal drooling over his knuckles. He closes his eyes, allowing his mouth to roam free. “Stuff three fingers in your mouth, want you to choke darlin’.”

With a whine, she nods and pushes three fingers between her lips. Joel smirks, “It ain’t nearly enough but at least you can get a feelin’ of how much my cock would stretch those pretty lips, honey,” he rasps. She shudders, her hips moving wildly over the pillow. “You love havin’ your mouth full don’t you?”

“Yesh, sur,” she moans around her own fingers, she move acutely, and with every jerk of her hips, Joel can see her throbbing clit. He’s teetering on the edge of his release, heat pools between his legs, his balls go tight.

“I’m gonna come, honey,” he groans, his tight shaking. “Come with me, show me how wet your get that pillow.”

With a hint of mischief in her eyes, she loudly gulps around her fingers, giving Joel a clear few of her cunt before rolling her hips down against the smooth surface. His eyes go wide and before his brain can register the coil snapping, he spills over his hand. Heavy strings of come dripping down his hard throbbing length. He makes a choked sound as he tries to breathe in and out at the same time. Honey pulls out her fingers from her mouth and grins, her hands drop in front of her and she bounces up and down, mimicking the way she would ride him.

The action manages to squeeze one last rope of come from him, his lungs collapse, his body burning. She comes right after, her thighs squeezing around each side of the pillow before gushing around it. Joel can see the shine as she continues to grind her hips.

“Show me,” he pants, his next words quickly shifting into a growl. “Show it to me.”

Licking her lips, Honey pulls the pillow from between her legs and shows it to him. His cock twitches with interest. “Wanna taste you,” he says without thinking.

“Sadly technology hasn’t improved that much yet,” she answers. “But I’ll tell you this much,” she leans in and flattens her tongue against the soaked fabric. Joel’s jaw tightens, his molars digging together painfully. She moans. “I taste sweet. Like honey.”

You hate visiting home.

You hate the heat, the crowd, staying at a home where you’re still treated like a child when you haven’t been one for a long long time. But you didn't really have a choice when your dad hurt his leg, which meant that you had to help around with the tiny bookshop your family owned. It was a miracle that it was still standing, but people did love their old, dusty bookshops. You had to admit, you enjoyed the aura of the place.

Your mom had asked you to bring over two coffees before coming in, she opened up shop early which you were grateful for. Now that you were home, you didn’t have the luxury to do as many private calls as you wanted to. You still streamed late at night, keeping silent, your audience didn’t mind. They thoroughly enjoyed the whispering and the “we can’t be caught” act. You only indulged in one private session, a session that you couldn’t bare letting go of.

JMiller.

You thought a lot about what his real name might be. Jacob, Jeff, Jeremy. . . none of them felt right. It was disappointing because you wanted to scream his name when you had your hand between your legs. But since you couldn’t decide on a name, you whimpered a string of sirs over and over again.

You eagerly counted down the hours until you could finally spend time with him. This was a funny thought on its own because you boasted about how professional you were. You kept things clear, not allowing for any miscommunication or—potentially—feelings. But there was just something about him that got your entire body yearning to hear his southern drawl. Maybe it was the nostalgia of it all. You did grow up in Austin after all. But still. It was odd how excited you got before going online.

You briefly mentioned you were going back home, you didn’t tell him where, obviously, but you did tell him that there could be scheduling issues. He understood.

Of course he did, he was perfect.

Pulling yourself away from your thoughts, you impatiently drum your foot against the clean marble floors. This line is insane. You let out a groan, sending your mother a quick text that it might take you a while. A second later your phone buzzes with a thumbs-up emoji from her. You sigh again as you shove the phone down your back pocket, you hate waiting, it gets you anxious and even though you don’t have a boss that will yell at you, you don’t enjoy being late.

Then, as if he popped out of the concrete like a weed, a man pushes himself between you and the other person that was waiting in line in front of you.

Your heart races, your eyebrows knitting together, no way in hell are you going to allow someone to cut in line.

“Hey,” you call out. The man ignores you and you tap his shoulder, he turns sharply, his eyes glaring daggers. “You can’t cut in line,” you say defensively. “You need to move to the back of the line.”

“Look lady I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about I was always here.”

“Ummmm, no you weren’t,” your chest heaves, heat rising to your cheeks. You don’t like confrontation—you’d do it, but you’d hate it. Your legs are already shaking slightly. “I’ve been staring at the pink paint stain on that guy’s shoulder for about half an hour so I know what I’m talking about.”

He rolls his eyes, an ugly snarl taking shape, “Just leave it. I ain’t gonna budge. I have places to be.”

“And the rest of us don’t?” you snort, eyebrows raised. He shrugs, makes a face, and turns his back to you once again. It takes you everything not to stomp your foot like an angry bull.

You’ve had enough. You’re tired of the assholes of the word, you don’t care if you’re not allowed into the coffee shop ever again. Puffing up your chest, you open your mouth wide, ready to give this rude stranger a piece of your unfiltered mind.

“You know what—”

“Is that any way to treat a lady, moonshine?”

You turn towards the source of the voice. It’s a man you’ve never seen before. He’s rugged looking, the salt and pepper in his beard endearing. He has a deep crease between his brows, his brown eyes dark as he stares down at the rude stranger. You take in the sight of his broad shoulders, thick neck—your heart does a little flip. You don’t know why but you’re drawn to the man, he has a nice voice.

The man, however, isn’t as pleased as you.

“What’s it to you? She your girlfriend?”

You’re not but you kinda wish you were.

“Get in the back of the line, I saw you cut in front of her.”

The tension in the air is thick enough that you can cut it with a knife. You hold your breath, your lungs starting to burn as electricity crackles between the two men. Finally the asshole caves and sighs, going to the back of the line. You let out the breath you’ve been holding, your shoulders sagging with relief right after.

“Thank you,” you say, your gaze finding the kind strangers. “I was right about to blow my lid before you stepped in.”

He doesn’t answer and just continues to stare at you. Worry builds in your spine. Why isn’t he saying anything? His softened gaze flits across your face, taking in every detail before looking away. He pushes his hands down his pockets, looking almost boyish with the way he drops his gaze to the floor.

“Don’t mention it,” he mutters.

You raise an eyebrow. His voice still sounds familiar. Your curiosity getting the better of you, you shove the thoughts of familiarity into the back of your head and grace him with a wide smile. He blushes profusely, eyes slightly going wide, he takes a sharp inhale.

“How about I pay for your coffee. . . or whatever you’re buying?” you ask.

“You don’t have—”

“I insist!” you chirp, glad that the line is finally moving. You extend your hand with enthusiasm, which he accepts a bit tentatively. Your smile never wavering, you tell him your name and an emotion akin to guilt washes over his eyes. He releases your hand, lips a tight, frigid line. “Is something wrong?” you ask. “You don’t like the name?”

“N–No, it ain’t that,” he shifts from one leg to the other. You nearly look down, curious to see how tightly his jeans hug his muscular thighs. “I’m. . . Joel.”

The world around you falls into a complete silence. Joel. Joel. Something electric and searing shoots up your spine, your lashes fluttering. Your heart starts beating a mile a minute but you’re not sure why. The only thing you do know is that this is a significant moment. An important moment.

Your rake your brain for answers.

Why?

Why is it important? What piece are you missing to complete the puzzle?

His lips break into a soft smile, he gestures towards the counter with his head. “We’re up.”

“O-Oh, yeah,” you swallow, barely able to pull your gaze away from him. “Sorry.”

You tell the kind barista your order and she writes it down on both your cups happily. The two of you move away from the line to wait for your drinks; a black coffee for your mom, a caramel macchiato for you, and an iced quad espresso for Joel. You raise an eyebrow.

“I have a long day comin’,” he says with a small smile. “And I didn’t do much sleepin’ last night.”

Your mind immediately flashes you memories of last night. Legs spread wide with two dildos stretching you, JMiller really enjoys it when you test your limits. Your pulse pounding in your skull, you look down. “Don’t I know it.”

“You had a late night too?” there’s a teasing lilt to his tone. Your stomach churns and you sink your teeth into your bottom lip. It looks like he’s about to say something else but the barista calls your name and both of you head towards the counter. He takes his death juice with a grateful smile, his demeanor more relaxed compared to when you introduced yourself.

“Thank you, honey. I appreciate it.”

Oh shit.

Shit shit shit shit.

It is him.

JMiller—J stands for Joel.

Fuck.

“You. . .” you begin, panic raising in your voice. “You’re. . .”

He nods, “I think we both know why I didn’t sleep much last night,” he extends his hand again. “Huge fan by the way. You’re great and this is awkward as hell.”

“It is,” you whisper. Still, you take his hand. “It is.”

“You’ve never had someone come up to you on the street before?” he asks, curious. “I would assume you get recognized a lot.”

“Not as much as you would think,” a cruel, humorless burst of laughter drops from your lips. “People don’t exactly want their partners to know they’re watching me. But if they’re alone yeah. . . sometimes they’ll say hi.”

Or they’ll ask inappropriate questions and be weird about it but he doesn’t have to know that.

Now that he’s mentioned you bumping into others, you’re not sure why it felt like the end of the world before. You feel embarrassed, flustered even, two emotions that a client shouldn’t be making you feel.

“Well,” he breaks the silence, moving his jaw as he opens the door for you. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“Technically you bought it.”

“Right. . .”

The two of you are out in the street now, staring at each other, contemplating what to say. He scratches the back of his head, then his fingers move to rub at his jaw. Arousal gathers between your thighs, it’s not your fault, now that you know that it’s him, your body acts accordingly.

“Are we still on for tomorrow?”

You still for a moment before answering, “Yeah.”

He turns and leaves, you do the same, only in the opposite direction.

After learning your name, Joel completely abandoned his rule of you calling him 'sir', making you moan his actual name as frequently as he could. His name stuck to your tongue. It might as well have been tattooed under your bottom lip. He was possessive in the way he asked, in some instances even begging for you to say it—and you fucking loved it. You loved this sick claim he had towards you now that you two had officially met. You loved how much more eager he was to see you make a sticky mess between your thighs. You love how cock dumb he made you feel without actually being there to fuck you himself.

He even started doing his version of online aftercare. Mostly he would just talk, tell you about every-day things as you came down from your high. Or he would murmur a song. You never asked if he was a musician, he had a nice voice.

It’s the beginning of the session and you’re getting ready. He says he enjoys watching the preparation you do for him so you decided to start streaming five minutes earlier, allowing him to watch. You really need him today. You had a rough day with an order mix-up, and your mom isn’t the best at dealing with mishaps. He clears his throat, which draws your attention to him.

“Is something wrong?” you ask.

“No no, everythin’ is fine, sweetheart. I just. . .” he sighs. “I want to ask somethin’.”

“Ask away.”

“Can we—Would you want to—” he groans in frustration and you start grinning. His frustrated pout is adorable. All you want to do is smooth the crease between his brows with your thumb and give him a kiss.

“Joel Miller,” you tease, not missing the way his breath catches in your throat. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

Oh god, you hope your intuition is right. If it isn’t this call is about to get really awkward.

He flushes, eyes dropping as he nods.

“Is that okay?”

This is highly unprofessional, “More than okay. I’d love to go on a date with you.”

His grin is infectious.

“Good,” he lets out a breath then settles back against the couch. “Now show me those pretty tits, honey.”

You can’t believe you’re actually in JMiller’s, aka Joel’s, home.

The date had gone better than you expected. He was kind, charming, and chivalrous which were all qualities you haven’t seen for a while. Ever since you started streaming you hadn’t been on many dates and frankly, after a while, you purposefully avoided them. It just felt like asking for drama that you had no intention of dealing with. But Joel wasn’t like that. He could be blunt, a bit grumpy, yet also kind. He had taken you to one of his favorite pubs. Beers accompanied by the best jalapeno poppers you ever had equated to one of the finest dates you’ve ever had.

He was a contractor, had a daughter in college, and a younger brother. His mother and father had passed a long time ago and ever since Sarah left, he’d been feeling lonely. He’d admitted shyly that that was the reason why he signed up on Ravish. He wanted company.

You found it incredibly charming.

As soon as Joel closes the door behind you two, you fall into each other’s arms. He kisses you with fervor, tongue slipping between your lips as he breathes you in at the same time. You feel him everywhere. Large hands squeezing your hips, waist, breasts—it’s intoxicating. You moan wantonly into his mouth, your lids falling when he sucks your tongue into his mouth. He tastes like beer and you’re pretty sure you do too.

Joel pushes you up against the wall, knocking the air from your lungs while you continue to chase his lips with an insatiable need. You can’t bear to be separated from him, not even for a second. He drags his lips down your neck, mouthing at your jugular, sharp teeth nipping the sensitive flesh. Your hips jerk to meet his and with a growl, he pins you back to the wall.

“Don’t,” he grunts. “I’ve been waitin’ so long for this honey, so fuckin’ long.”

Your lips curl, a challenge lingering in your eyes, “Show me then, big boy. Show me how bad you want to fuck your slut.”

“Fuck,” he hisses, gripping your chin harshly and pulling you in for another kiss. Your teeth clink together, he pulls back just as quick, the muscle in his jaw twitches. “Fuck,” he breathes out again. “You have quite the mouth on you, darlin’.”

You have no recollection of how the two of you clamored upstairs, stripping one another in a lustful haze. The time you realize you’re naked is when you feel the cool air of the room caressing your burning skin, he leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses down between your breasts, fingers eagerly working your nipples as he forces you to walk back until your back of your knees hit the bed and you fall.

Not wanting to give in so easily, you wrap your fingers around his heavy cock. It juts angrily between his legs, answering your touch by drooling all over your palm, slickening your movements. You jerk him until he’s fully hard, his breathing heavy as he rolls his hips to meet the tightness of your fist. He sinks his teeth into your neck, the pain that blossoms coaxes a moan from you, your own wetness growing between your legs.

“I knew you’d be fucking big,” you whisper, tongue toying with his earlobe. “So huge—makes me wonder if I can take it. . .”

“I’ve seen you take bigger,” he groans, hips stuttering. A whimper drops from your lips, you want him, you want to feel him inside, want to feel his come dripping out later. You feel thick fingers spreading your soaked folds, he drags down a middle finger between them, licking himself into your mouth as he draws circles around your aching clit. “So wet for me,” he rasps. “Gonna make a mess in you, honey.”

You gasp, “P-Please.”

He lines himself against your entrance, teasing you, stretching you subtly with the bulbous head of his cock. Your head falls back and your back arches into him. He draws a hard nipple between his lips, closing them as he sucks. Heat rushes all over your body, arousal thick on your tongue. You clutch the sheets. He smiles as he pushes in, filling you inch by inch with a lax jaw and a dazed gaze.

He stops and waits for you to adjust to him. Joel’s forehead drops against yours, dampness growing between the skin. You feel his breath fanning your face, so warm. There’s a hint of pain, the type that makes you flutter around him. He feels it too. The way you tighten against him, your body begging for more. He obliges. Pushing further and further until his hips are flushed against yours. His jaw is clenched tight, his breathing heavy.

“Fuck you feel so good,” he presses fleeting kisses all over your face. It’s ticklish and if all your senses wasn’t narrowed in between your legs, you would’ve giggled.

Your body jerks as he pulls back, the pleasure you feel is instant and overwhelming. You’ve missed the feeling of actual flesh inside of you. Joel snaps his hips forward, locking your breath in your throat, with a moment of desperation you wrap your arms around him and pull him closer. He fucks you in earnest. Every thrust desperate. Every thrust needy. He seems lost in you, whimpers, groans and grunts trembling in his throat and chest. You spread your legs wider, wanting more of him, wanting your cunt to take the shape of his cock.

“Harder—” you cry out. “Take it—Take what you want—”

Your arms fall limp, his body moving up and towering over yours. Joel grips your thighs tight before lifting them, he jackhammers into you, tugging and pulling at you like a brand new fucktoy. He splits you in half. The force of his movements making you scream. You don’t miss the way he grins wildly, dangerously. Something dark and haunting washing over his face.

Your eyes grow wide, your heart beating in your throat, making it hard to swallow. It happens all at once, you clench around him, arousal pouring between your legs in a way it never had before. The look, the cock, the man behind it all—everything combined pushing your mind into the deep stages of want and need. Your eyes roll back, your hands coming up to pinch your tight, tingling nipples. You sob his name, your voice hoarse as you beg him for more and more and more—

“W-Wait, darlin’ if you squeeze me like that I’ll—!”

A series of curses drops wildly and unintelligently from his lips. You feel him. The heat of his seed filling you to the brim, his cock throbs and twitches, spurting into you again and again. Your lips break into a satisfied smile. Instinctively, Joel pushes deeper, shoving your combined slick even deeper.

“Shit,” he says catching his breath. “I-I’m so fuckin’ sorry. I usually last. . . longer than that. I—”

You shush him and cup his cheek. You’re so pliant right now, floating happily in the air. You let out a sigh before willing your lips to move. Has talking always been this taxing?

“It’s okay Joel,” you slur your words, smiling lazily. “I take it as a compliment, that felt fucking good.”

“Yeah?” he sounds so innocent and hopeful that you can’t suppress your giggle. His eyes twinkle under the dimmed light. “Well, I’m glad you felt good, sweetheart but I’m not done yet.”

Your breath hitches when he pulls out, your brows furrow as a chill settles between your legs. You wanted him to stay inside longer. But you’re pleasantly surprised when he slides down your body, kissing every patch of skin before settling between your legs.

“Let’s see if you’re as sweet as you’ve been tellin’ me.”

He kisses your cunt, lips moving in tandem with your wet folds. He drags his tongue up between them, curling it as he takes himself into his mouth, tasting both of you at one. You go limp at the pressure of his tongue, your walls fluttering and squeezing for more. With a groan, he shoves his fingers, the wet sound makes your toes curl into the mattress. It’s like torture, a very pleasurable torture. You gasp when he pulls you flush against his face, the bridge of his nose bumping against your clit as he licks you clean.

Your build up is spontaneous. You feel it coming, the taste of your orgasm at the tip of your tongue. Joel curls his fingers, sucking your clit between his lips and gently nipping at it. You hips chases his mouth, his mustache chafing the tender skin. Your hands come to each side of his head, threading your trembling fingers through the soft locks, his fingers brush against an especially sensitive spot and you tug at his hair. His throat shakes with a groan. His eyes closing.

“Do it again,” he mutters. And you do. He starts moaning into your cunt, his hips, despite just spilling inside of you, rutting against the bed. Your nails bite into his scalp and he flicks his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

The tension coiling in you finally snaps, your entire body locking up as you gush into his mouth. He gulps you down loudly, fingers still moving deep inside you. Your throat is dry as ou shout his name, hips stuttering helplessly, he pins you down with both hands, moving his head up and down as the fat strokes of his tongue becomes more wild.

When he’s finally done feasting, he pulls away with a wet mouth.

“Wow,” you murmur, curling into him when he lays beside you. “That was. . . wow.”

“You really had low expectations, huh?”

“Not low,” you grin. “But not that high either.”

“Well,” he says, guiding you so you’ll lay on his chest. “I’m glad to prove you wrong.”

You smile, heart fluttering.

“Me too.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #tlou fanfiction #hbo the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters

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macfrog · 2 months

Note

Just me up at 2am wondering how many times Joel replays that wedding hotel room night in his head 🤔

warnings: breeding kink, pregnancy, m masturbation, desperately horny joel word count: ~600 words

i think he thinks about that entire night and wonders what the fuck even happened there. the way the world tilted ever so slightly the moment he pulled open his front door and saw her on his porch – sunlight twinkling from her earrings, satin draped over her breasts in pale waves; the shameless flirting under the cover of rosé wine and beer, string bulbs and rainbow disco lights.

i mean, one minute he’s waving his newspaper at her like a grumpy old man, counting down the seconds until she’s skipping back over to her own fucking porch – the next he’s caging her against the bed in her hotel room, thinking if he doesn’t fuck her here n now, he might tear the entire place apart.

between the wedding and three weeks later? yeah, he might think about it – just a little.

might think about her dress, the shape of her body beneath it. the way it fell from her hips – just slipped down over her curves and pooled at her feet like venus emerging from the ocean. might think about her naked body: how, until that night, he’d only ever wondered about it – stealing sideways glances over the fence at her little shorts and tight vest tops. but now…now, he knows what she looks like. he’s seen her undress for him.

and i bet he thinks about her soft gasp when he first pushed inside, after she finally caught her breath again; feeling the size of him inside her, how he knew she didn’t expect him to be so big and so fucking hard for her. how much he had to focus on not coming within five thrusts, she was so fucking tight.

bet he thinks about it in the shower, one hand against the tiled wall, the other jacking himself furiously. mouthing the words he whispered in her ear as their bodies rocked together: how good she is for him, how pretty she looks all full of his cock. bet he still hears the echo of her moans, the sweet little laughs lilting from her lips.

and when he finds out she’s pregnant? shit.

when he’s watching the evidence of what they did grow right before his eyes? her body blooming: stomach swelling, breasts growing, her cheeks plumping and her skin glowing? knows that he’s the one who changed her forever? knows that it’s his baby she’s growing?

sure. he probably thinks about that part a normal amount, too.

and i bet he thinks about how he shouldn’t be thinking about it. about her.

not when he’s sure she wouldn’t look at him ever again, if not for their parallel driveways and the parallel lines on that pregnancy test. not when he’s trying to act his fucking age, date someone actually appropriate for a forty-eight-year-old with backache and still two decades off retirement.

but it makes it worse – the fact he shouldn’t be doing it. shouldn’t be relieving the heavy weight between his legs in the morning with the memory of her lips closing around his fingers, playing on a reel behind his eyelids.

shouldn’t be staring into space while he’s driving, hearing her giggles once they’d finished; feeling her nails as she drew shapes on his sweat-sticky chest. shouldn’t be thinking about her wandering around with his baby inside of her; her body growing ‘n changing all ‘cause of what they did together.

he shouldn’t be. he shouldn’t he shouldn’t he shouldn’t but jesus, he is. you fucking know he is.

dear reader, joel has absolutely wrecked the tape, the number of times he’s replayed that night. the vhs player is smoking.

#thank you for putting thoughts in my head and distracting me for the afternoon #i got zero work done from 1pm onwards :-)#chats w max #anon #sweet child o' mine #tw pregnancy

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aurorawritestoescape · 4 months

Text

BAD BLOOD - Part II

Pairing: step uncle Joel Miller x f!reader x stepdad Tommy Miller

Summary: your step uncle Joel visits you in your bedroom and then you have a chat with your stepdad Tommy.

Tw: +18, mdni, smut, step-cest, big age gap (reader is 22, Joel and Tommy are in their late and mid-40s), everyone is still horrible, perv!Joel, dark!Joel, dark!reader, darkish!Tommy, slight somno, m/f!masturbation, fingering, cum eating, degradation, tiny bit of praise kink, daddy kink, blackmail, that chin caress but make it filthy, swearing

Word count: 3,5k

A/n: thank you for giving pt 1 such a warm welcome❤�� special thank you for your comments and rbs- your kind words mean the world to me🫶 I hope you’ll like this one!😘

Series masterlist || Part I || MASTERLIST

*******

You wake up feeling a hand on the back of your thigh. You’re lying on your stomach, legs tangled in the blanket. The hand slides down, caresses the back of your knee, then trails up your thigh again, reaching your ass. You feel strong fingers squeeze your ass cheek over your skirt. Still half asleep you imagine a faceless man lying on top of you and piercing you with his cock. You bite your lower lip, while bliss and arousal are spreading all over your body. In your mind the stranger turns into your stepdad and you slightly push your ass out into the hand with a soft moan.

“Naughty girl,” you hear a gruff voice and immediately open your eyes and turn on your back. Your heart is ready to pop out of your chest when you see Joel, your step uncle, sitting on the bed next to you and watching you.

He’s wearing a tight-fitting gray henley and dark blue jeans. His muscles are bulging under the sleeves and a lot of his chest is showing. He looks annoyingly hot.

“The hell are you doing here?" you rasp, covering your thighs with the blanket and straightening your top. You remember you don't have any panties on and squirm under Joel's intent stare.

"Just checkin' on you. Wanted to make sure you got home safely yesterday," he says as his gaze slides over every exposed inch of your body.

"Cut the crap, Joel. I felt you groping me in my sleep," you grumble furrowing your brows at him, "I know you're a scumbag but you still manage to surprise me."

He smiles at you, his eyes dark and icy, "Don't act like a fucking prude all of a sudden, angel. Tommy told me how big of a slut you were."

"Oh, so now you're gonna lecture me on the importance of celibacy or something?" you giggle rubbing your sleepy eyes.

"Not before I fuck you, sweetheart," he replies and the air in the room gets heavy.

You don’t wanna laugh anymore, your pussy tingles and you squeeze your thighs together. Joel notices the movement under the blanket and smirks,

“Need something, angel? Maybe this?” he turns away from you and reaches for something on the bed. When he faces you again you see your vibrator in his hand.

“Give it to me, Joel,” you stretch your arm and open your hand waiting.

“Is it better than a real man?” Joel asks, leaving your words without attention.

“Less annoying for sure.”

“You think of your stepdad when you torture your clit with this?” his gaze pierces you as he’s rubbing the toy with his thumb.

“Fuck off, Joel,” you spit out at him and he smiles, the emotion not reaching his eyes. “Where’s he by the way? Tommy,” you ask, chewing on your lower lip.

“Don’t know. Haven’t seen him since yesterday. You scared him shitless with your ‘yes, daddy’, ‘bye, daddy,’” Joel makes his voice higher, imitating you and you roll your eyes, “he left the bar soon after you. Probably fucked his fist at Walmart’s parking lot, poor guy.”

Joel laughs and you smile dreamily imagining Tommy jacking off to the thought of you. The imagery makes you space out for a moment until you hear Joel’s murmur, “Thinking of daddy’s cock, angel?”

You scoff and bite back, “What about you, old man? You got all riled up too yesterday. Were drooling like a hungry dog all over me.”

“Come on, sweetheart, you can’t blame me, when all your skirts look more like belts,” he returns his gaze to the part of your legs not covered by the blanket and licks his lower lip.

You can’t help but glance at your toy in his big hands. What if he uses it on you? Just this thought makes your core warm and tingly.

“Can I have it?” You sit up reaching for the vibe but he pulls his hand away and you grab air instead. Your chest is pressed to his shoulder now and the mixture of his cologne and sweat makes you gush. Your desire blooms and gets overwhelming.

His gaze slides from your eyes to your lips and chest. You glance down noticing your perked up nipples visible under the top and look back at him not hiding away,

“Like what you see, Joel? How about you show me what a real man can do for me?” you purr while your hand snakes to his thigh and trails up closer to his bulge. He grunts and pushes you back down on the bed with his hand splayed on your chest.

He tosses your toy away. “Open up, angel,” he says with a calm yet stern tone. You hesitate for a second, your heart is pounding, and he raises his brows as a signal to hurry up.

You pull away the blanket and slowly bend the leg that’s further from him. Your skirt slides off your thighs and he takes a deep breath when he sees your wet folds.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he grunts reaching for his belt. He unbuckles it with one hand and unzips his jeans. Your eyes follow his every move, hungry and desperate for anything this perv gives you. He tugs down his boxers and lets the band stay under his big balls.

You see his cock as he takes it out and you grunt through your teeth realizing that you’re fucked. Whatever power he’s had over you by now triples when you see what he’s packing. His cock is thick and long, more gorgeous than anything you’ve seen, both in real life and in porn. Two thick veins on the shaft are calling for your tongue. You desperately want to trace them and take that angry fat head to the deepest part of your throat. You want his cock in every hole you possess.

You lock eyes with him and see him smiling proudly,

“Like what you see, angel?”

Holding his dick in his big veiny hand Joel looks back at your desperate pussy and his warm palm glides up your thigh. He pushes your skirt completely out of the way and grazes your shiny seam with his knuckles. You feel a slight pressure on your clit and take a shaky breath.

“Pretty pussy,” he mumbles, “not the prettiest I’ve seen but she’ll do.”

“Asshole,” you whimper watching his thumb and index finger spread your folds.

Joel whistles. “Have you been this wet the whole time? Dripping on the sheets and talking to me? Naughty girl.”

His cock is fully hard now and he’s slowly stroking it. The sight of it along with his gentle touches send a new surge of arousal to your center and your wetness beads at your entrance and slides down toward your asshole.

Joel catches it with his thumb and brings it to your clit before gently rubbing it.

“Fuck, you’re such a slut, letting your uncle do this to you,” he murmurs pleasuring you and himself.

“Step.. uncle,” you moan, fluttering your eyes shut and arching your back.

The degradation, the depravity of what you two are doing make your pussy clench around nothing over and over and you open your blown eyes desperately looking at his weeping cock.

He notices your hunger and asks motioning to his member, “Want it, angel?”

You nod but it’s not enough for him.

“Say - ‘please, give me your cock, uncle.”

You whine scrunching your nose and his hand leaves your pussy and rests on your belly.

“You’re not my uncle,” you whine, bucking your hips in search of his hand.

“Let’s try again. ‘Please, give me your cock, uncle’.”

Not being able to contain yourself any longer you repeat it through gritted teeth and he tuts, “that’s not how good girls ask. I know you’re far from that title but you can act like one. I saw you do it in front of Tommy. Was cute.” While he’s talking to you his palm is rubbing your mound making you squirm while your pussy’s throbbing for him.

“You’re disgusting.”

He chuckles, torturing you without shame.

You look up at the ceiling feeling anger boiling up in your gut, but your pussy aches more and more and you want him inside you so badly you might cry.

“Give me your cock, uncle, please”, you mewl and his mouth twists into a smirk, your humiliation creates wrinkles around his eyes.

“Good girl,” he praises you sarcastically and leans down to your face. You put your palms on his biceps and he kisses the tip of your nose. His facial hair tickles you, his breath smells of cigarettes and beer.

“I’ll give you my cock when you keep your end of the deal, little slut. And after I’m done with you, ya gonna be so desperate for more, you’ll drag your cute ass to Austin following me like a stray dog.”

You wince ready to snap back at him but suddenly he grabs your pussy and pushes a thick finger into your hole. You gasp and lift your hips into his hand with a whimper.

Joel starts pushing his digit in and out of you, quickly adding the second one and your soaked pussy squelches with every pump of his hand.

“Listen to this sloppy cunt. She wants a nice juicy cock. Or maybe two cocks, angel? Will you take mine and my brother’s dick at the same time?”

You mewl as the image of your stepdad and step uncle ruining your pussy flashes in your mind. The third finger slides in and Joel sits up watching the pleasure twist your face and ripple through your body. Then he starts shaking his hand pushing on the spongy spot inside you with the pads of his fingers as the heel of his palm is hitting your clit at the same time. Your whole body is shaking and a loud moan leaves your lips. He quiets you, covering your mouth with his big hand,

“Shhh, angel…, you’ll scream for me but not today..need you to be quiet…or your daddy will get jealous.”

His words tip you over the edge and you cry into his hot palm, sound muffled and desperate. He’s fucking his fingers into you while you shiver and tremble clumping around his thick digits.

“Yeah, just like that, my little slut,” he whispers, talking you through your high and drinking in your ecstasy.

When your climax subsides, his hands leave your mouth and pussy and not granting you a respite he grabs you by the arm and pulls you up.

You stand up on weak legs and Joel slides his hand through your wet folds. You whine with overstimulation while he gathers your creamy cum. He spreads it over his cock and pushes you to your knees.

You kneel between his thighs, ready to please him and give him the sloppiest head. His throbbing cock is bobbing in front of your face and your hand darts to take it from him but he slaps it away groaning, “Hands off, slut. You don’t deserve it yet. Show me your tits.”

Your anger rises up again and you glare up at him sitting back on your heels. No one has ever said ‘no’ to a dick sucking from you. You still follow his command, yanking your top down and exposing your breasts. “Good girl,” he praises you, starting vigorously pumping his cock and panting heavily, “Gonna come on your pretty face. Want my cum, angel?”

“Yes,” you mumble, mesmerized by his fingers gliding along the thick shaft and over the tip.

“‘course you do, cock hungry slut!” he hisses, grabbing you by the back of your neck and pulling your face closer to his length.

It takes a few more strokes and he curses and begins shooting the ropes of cum over your mouth, nose, chin and cheeks. You lick the bitter liquid off your lips staring up into his half lidded eyes.

When he stops coming he doesn’t let go of your hair. Still holding you close between his legs Joel starts spreading his cum all over your face. You take a sharp breath and close your eyes hastily as his hand covers every inch of your skin with his milky spend.

“Joel,” is the only thing you could utter, and the humiliation makes your pussy tingle again.

You carefully flutter your eyes open as his index finger and thumb slide down your jaw, caressing your chin. “Much better” he comments, looking down at you with a smirk. Then he wipes his hand on your bedsheet and gets up. You’re watching with your mouth agape as he tucks his cock back into his jeans, pats your head and leaves your bedroom.

***

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Tommy..” Tomorrow morning my ass! You curse yourself inwardly for telling Tommy that you’d see him the next day wearing his favorite pjs. Of course the fucking weasel left the house as soon as he could to avoid meeting you.

You were so excited to inform him that he would get to fuck his hot stepdaughter and now you’re in the house all alone. Joel left as soon as he came all over your face and your mom is out too probably with Tommy.

Jealousy and anger are eating you alive, you hate them and yourself. On top of everything you are horny. You replay the images of Joel’s hand on your pussy, his fingers stretching your little hole over and over again. You watch a couple of stepcest porn videos imagining Tommy and Joel in place of the actors, listen to the bar recording and come a few times on the couch in the living room - on Tommy’s favourite spot. You don’t clean your creamy slick off the couch after yourself, wishing he’ll notice it.

The sun sets and it gets dark but you don’t turn the lights on in your room. You're lying on your bed, waiting for Tommy to return. You nearly fall asleep a few times but you’ve decided to talk to him today so you slap your cheek to wake yourself up and continue waiting.

Just around midnight you hear a car driving up the street. You glance out of the window and see Tommy's car pulling up the driveway. Excitement and anticipation make your stomach flutter but the happy moment blows out like a balloon when you see your mom getting out of the car as well.

Disappointment twists your face shifting into rage and you grind your teeth.

They enter the house and you hear Jess laughing loudly. “Drunk bitch,” you think and jealousy returns in full force.

They go upstairs and head to the master bedroom. You hear nothing for a while and then the sound of a shower starting. You sneak up to the bedroom and peek through the door.

Tommy’s standing at the foot of the bed taking his shirt off, revealing a white tee underneath which is strained by his broad shoulders and muscular back. His arms look massive as he’s been working out a lot recently. His butt also looks perfect in his dark sweatpants. You drive away your horny thoughts and decide to act while your mom is taking a shower.

You walk into the room, your steps muffled by the carpet and glance at the closed bathroom door.

Knowing Jess you have 15-20 min. You come up to Tommy from behind and snake your hands around his big torso.

“Out already?” He asks, apparently mistaking you for his wife and you smile when he lets you hug him. You nuzzle your face against his nape breathing in the piney scent of his soft hair.

Tommy puts his hands over your forearms and only then realizes his mistake. He turns around rapidly, pushing you away.

“Fuck! What’re you doing?” he hisses as his eyes dart nervously between your face and the bathroom door.

“We need to talk, daddy. Been waiting for you all day,” you pout fumbling with the hem of your silky pj shorts. The ones he likes.

“The hell you’re calling me daddy for?” he asks and shakes his head. “I can’t. We shouldn’t,” he mumbles hurriedly, “let’s talk tomorrow, ok?” He grabs your arm and tries to lead you to the door but you plant your feet on the floor and don’t barge.

Instead you pull him closer to you by the hem of his shirt and open your hand showing him an earbud.

“Sit for a second and listen to this,” you motion to the bed with a warm smile, “please, It won’t take long.” He's glaring down at you, his lips pressed in a tight line.

Slow so as not to spook him you raise your hand to his head and put in the earbud. Still clutching his tee with one hand you take your phone out of your hoodie and play a recording. The recording.

The moment it starts playing his expression changes. His eyes get wide, plush lips part. You drink in his fear and gush seeing him listen to the filthy things he said about you. His eyes are looking through you, concentrated on the dialogue in his ear.

Suddenly his hand darts to your phone, and he commands, “Give it to me!” You’ve expected it so you hide the phone behind your back but he’s reaching for it pushing you with his torso and making you stumble backwards. Your back hits the dresser and his hand clasps your wrist, his face inches from yours, “Give me the phone!”

You look up at him with defiance and say, “Even if you delete it off my phone, it’s in the cloud, daddy!”

You know well that these old men know nothing about the cloud and you see with satisfaction the way his face falls.

You’re enjoying yourself too much. He’s crowding you against the dresser practically hugging you into his strong body. His size, his strength, his scent overtake any sense you have and you buck your hips into him with a whimper. You feel a hard shape of his cock against your lower belly and your heart sings at the realization you’ve given it to him. As if burnt Tommy pulls away from you, his fury replaced by fear. You take a deep breath collecting yourself as you don’t have much time.

“Relax. Take a seat,” you coo, stepping up to him and pulling the earbud out. You push him towards the bed and he obediently sits on its edge, eyes downcast.

You use his shock as a distraction and stand between his knees. Then you carefully perch your ass on his thigh and wrap your arm around his neck, placing the other on his chest. He glances up at you, asking quietly, “what do you want to do with it?”

You feel his stiff length with the side of your thigh, and purr smiling, “it’s a great audio, right? I listened to it twice yesterday. First time live in the bar bathroom…and then again later on my big pink bed. I came so hard listening to you talk about my tight pussy…” you nuzzle his cheek and he flinches but doesn’t push you away. His mustache tickles your face and you giggle.

You bring your lips to his ear and whisper, “I want it too, daddy. I need a real man. And those silly boys…they can’t give me what I want.” Your lips graze the shell of his ear and he shudders. He puts his hand on your naked thigh and for a moment you’re scared he’s going to push you off his lap but instead he gives it a light squeeze.

You're soaking your shorts and probably his sweatpants and moan into his ear, “I…I wanna be loved, Tommy. And I feel loved only sitting on a nice fat cock. You have a perfect one, daddy. And you’re so caring and sweet. Fuck me and I’ll delete your confession. Mom will never know how much you want this,” you look down and he drops his head as well watching your fingers move your shorts to the side exposing your wet pussy. Tommy breathes in sharply and curses. You slide your middle finger between your folds and swirl it around your pulsing clit as the other hand clasps his shoulder, “Just a sneak peek, daddy,” you whimper softly. “And a little taste,” you add, leaving your aching pussy and raising your hand. You show him your middle finger, shiny with your slick and bring it closer to his lips.

Tommy looks at it, eyes dark and hungry under the furrowed brows, glances up at you and mumbles, “you’re sick.”

You shrug your shoulders not putting the finger away. You wait. A gasp leaves your parted mouth when he takes the tip of your finger between his lips and you feel his tongue dance around it licking off your juices. His cock twitches and pulses against your naked thigh and you squirm on his lap, desperate for any pressure.

With a sigh you remind yourself that your time is almost up so you pull your finger out, peck the corner of his mouth and whisper, “I’ll text you the details.” With that you get up, walk to the door and leave just in time before the water stops.

*********

Thank you for reading!💖

Comments and reblogs will make me very happy!💕

Part III

General tag list: @nervousmumbling @harriedandharassed @bbyanarchist

Tag list for the series: @milla-frenchy @missannwinchester @koshkaj-blog @survivingandenduring @nana90azevedo @mermaidgirl30 @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff @obscurexsorrows @tammythr @cherriescream

If you want to be tagged for this mini series or everything else of mine please let me know!❤️

#joel miller #dark joel miller #joel miller smut #dark!tommy miller #pedro pascal #dark!reader #joel miller x you x tommy miller #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us #joel miller tlou #joel x reader x tommy #dark tommy miller #tommy miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #tommy miller smut

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divinehedons · 10 months

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call it fate, call it karma

next: hard to explain | masterlist

pairing: bd!joel miller x f!reader

word count: ~4.3k

summary: it’s summer. and on a weekend visit to your college beau, you meet a texan contractor with wandering eyes. what he sees is what he wants. what happens if he wants you?

warnings: this is a dark, explicit fic, minors DO NOT interact. big, girthy age gap (reader is in her early twenties, joel is in his late 40s to early 50s), masturbation, possible dubious consent, explicit p-in-v sex, fingering, cheating(? but it's mutual HAHAHA). please let me know if i missed anything!

reblogs and comments are much appreciated, please let me know what you think!

Finals, madness, nights of mindless regurgitating, and finally, peace. Emerging from your last exam and into the allure of summer break, you try and picture the weekend you had planned with Christopher: a weekend at his father's house, with the promise of a pool and actually, finally spending time together, and driving you home by Monday while he returns to his mother's place.

The two of you pull into Texas, discussing what to have for lunch, whether or not you should bring some for his father. "It'll be nice, no?" you tell him as you add the extra box of pizza. "And hey, if he doesn't want it, let's devour it over movies in your room." He smiles at you, and you ruffle his hair just as he parks in front of the familiar house.

When you're reintroduced to the older mister Miller, you see him at the tail-end of a phone call just as your presence is announced. "You've met before, we had her at Thanksgiving," Christopher reminds, carrying your bags in.

You hear a woman's voice, just slightly, from the phone (... mean it, no strange women…), mister Miller looking up with a rushed, "I got it, I got it…" before finally setting the phone down. He offers you a warm smile, nodding in recognition before welcoming his son with a shoulder squeeze. He says your name, and you try not to smile at the way he says it with that almost-indistinguishable drawl of his. "Still not tired of him, sweet pea?"

You remember that Thanksgiving. How you and mister Miller bonded over when you drove Chris's car back and panicked over a flat tire you caused while he was off with some buddies. You bonded because he taught you how to fix a tire that afternoon, him laughing at your small hands struggling with such big boy paraphernalia as you coined it.

You smile back at him and shake his hand. "Thanks for letting me stay over the weekend, sir," you say just as your partner disappears upstairs to set down your things. Just then, he tuts, taking a slice out of one of the pizza boxes, along with a newly opened bottle of beer.

"Told ya, doll. It's just Joel. Don't have too much fun, yeah?"

—

Joel didn't mean to stare when he last saw you. When you were kneeling over, lowering the jack after he taught you how to change a tire. You were in your colleague sweater, but your pants… dear God, your pants. Your pants that perfectly hugged the curve of your ass struck him dumb. He barely managed to shake himself out of it to tell you that youbdid a good job.

But since then, he had been imagining your ass. It's as if the sight of a college girl turned him right back to a drooling, horny teenager that never had enough. He did keep his hands to himself, never making a move. And he would've been happy to let you and Christopher be if he didn't start picturing you in those lonely nights when the house is quiet and he has his cock in his hand.

But it was impossible.

Just the thought of your ass cheeks red, bearing a handprint that perfectly fit the contours of his own hands, your curves, your flesh, the smell of your skin— such was the callings of his desire as he bursts, imagining that glass-eyed look on your face if you were taking his cock.

There was no shame in it, when he did finally give in to his desires. How could he not? You had fuck eyes for days, eyes that, if he was being completely honest, would damn God himself to the very gates of hell. There was no shame, too, when he realized just how much his own son wasn't taking care of you.

So seeing you again, now sprawled in a lovely little swimsuit as his own son holds you by your waist as you wade into the pool. He watches from the kitchen, knowing his looks would go unnoticed in the shade. It was burning outside, and it was still Friday. The street was quiet with everyone still away for school and work. He just couldn't stay away from you. When Christopher told him you were with him, he had cancelled plans, even work, on a Friday, under the pretense of bad health and multiple other excuses. He knows, for a fact, that he'd take every chance to see those fuck eyes of yours even if you never asked.

He knows, too, if he was getting you in his bed, he had to be creative about it.

Still, Christopher could be a little more discreet. Instead, there you were, nodding to him as he corners you in his own pool in his own house, reaching down to pull your bottoms aside to fuck up into you. He's gotten to know your quirks enough. How your creased brows indicate your frustration. Or how your shoulders tense from apprehension. And right there, where Christopher attempts to find his own orgasm without even a care in the world for your own, you're so frigid he would think you bathed in the Arctic.

The charade doesn't last long. Three minutes, by his count, until you're pulling away, swimming to the nearest floatie to lounge while Christopher tires himself out with a few laps. It's then that Joel pretends to swoop in, bringing out a few drinks in service of the two of you, slipping on some sunglasses so you wouldn't notice him ogling your willing body as you thank him.

"Got you that grape drink you liked last time, doll. Help yourself to more in the fridge if you want it."

"Thanks m-" he lowers his glasses to playfully raise his brow at you, "J-Joel. Thanks, Joel…" He flashes you a smirk, placing his glasses back on as he seats himself on the nearest spot, pretending to be in need of some sun.

"Chris, your mom's waiting for you to call," he reminds his son, leaning back as he sips from his beer. Just then, your beau sits up, wiping his mouth as he stood, beelining for the nearest door inside.

"Thanks for reminding, dad!"

Alone, with you, like this, Joel notices the way you rubbed your thighs together, the way you sighed after each sip. The hidden frustration as you floated about on his pool, displayed like a delectable centerpiece. It was clear as day: you didn’t get to cum and it’s bothering you. It took a few more minutes before he spoke.

"So why'd you fake it, sweet pea?"

The question comes to you out of nowhere. Your head shoots up and you look at him with those wide, bewildered doe eyes as you immediately stammer to try and find the right words. You try and play it off with a chuckle, but you feel your cheeks warm up. "What- wha…"

He chuckles himself, sipping from his bottle before leaning back with crossed arms. "It was three minutes of him wriggling, darlin'. No one was going to cum from that." He watches you sit up completely, every fiber at rest jumping into action.

"You saw that?" Your sweet voice, Joel noted, trembling from what he only assumes as embarrassment riddled with shame. "I… I-" You clear your throat momentarily, biting your lip gently before sighing, turning over. “You kind of answered your own question, Joel.” There is a beat of silence, palpable and tense as you feel his gaze wash over your vulnerable body.

The two of you hear Christopher, blundering his way back to the pool now that the phone call was out of his way. Joel sighs,getting up with a stretch as he passes by you again to disappear into the house.

“Our secret, doll. I’m nice that way.”

–

Over dinner, Joel speaks to you with a smile, perhaps he was feigning interest. Perhaps he truly was interested. Whatever it was, you feel the palpable weight in the air at the knowledge of what you shared with the older Miller. Christopher, clueless as he is, spends most of dinner with his hand on your thigh, chiming in every now and then between bites.

“So what was the exam you took before the two of you drove here?” Joel had been asking while you sipped through your drink, your brows raised as you smiled.

“It was some English Literature course," you said, meek as ever, managing a small smile up at him as he hums with interest.

"Ah. So that Shakesword guy or something? What did'ya like from him?"

"Shakespeare, actually… And I loved Macbeth."

"When we met, she was nose deep in Hamlet, if I remembered right." Christopher soothed his hand up and down your thigh, to which you nodded in agreement.

"Tell me about Macbeth."

You take a deep breath, feeling both eyes on you as you carefully swallowed down the lump in your throat. "It's the usual things. War, misery, curses, witches. But Lady Macbeth… that was where it was." He tilts his head to the side, nodding at you to continue. "She demanded divinity to transform her into a man. To take up the mantle from her weak husband. To take charge."

He chuckles softly, almost teasingly and knowingly, even. "Shit, doll, didn't think you had that many words in ya."

The rest of dinner goes by in relative ease, with Christopher letting you know he's meeting with some buddies tomorrow after he drops you off in the center of town. He promises, however, that he'll pick you up at three in the afternoon.

As you lay in bed that night, you glance haphazardly at your phone as it lights up in the late night silence. A message from Joel, a contact you saved under Mr. Miller back when you met over Thanksgiving. The message was simple enough.

Sweet dreams, Lady Macbeth.

—

Three in the afternoon on Saturday, you're seated where Christopher says he'll pick you up, bearing a bag for the sweater you bought him. You messaged him fifteen minutes earlier. On my way to the bench, bubba! Without a response, you think he's driving.

Above you, dark clouds seem to gather where once it was only bright summer sun. You quietly grip your bags tighter as you count in your head. He'll be here soon… I'll be out of the rain in no time.

You quietly count down the seconds. Six hundred. Five hundred ninety-nine. Five hundred ninety-eight…

Three P.M. turns to four, then four-thirty. You message Christopher two more times.

It might be raining soon, I have an umbrella!

Make sure you're not in the rain too much!

You stand under the umbrella, pacing every now and then, trying not to appear skittish, specially when the thunder and lightning began to roll across the sky, making the hair on your arms stand on edge. It was troubling, to be outside during a thunderstorm like this.

You count in increments of six hundreds. Ten minutes pass by again. Then twenty. Then thirty.

A particularly raucous lightning makes you jump out of your skin, and you swallow your pride, dialing the next person nearest you. The nearest person you'd think would answer.

And he does, in a record of two rings. He says your name and you audibly sigh in relief. "What's the matter, doll?"

"Joel, uhm… has Christopher answered your calls? We were supposed to meet at three-"

"Christ, doll, it's storming. He still hasn't gotten to you?"

You hesitate. You wonder if you were going to be too harsh on your beau if you admitted he wasn't. Just then, another strike of lightning has you confessing. "He… he wasn't answering my texts, I don't know where he is."

You hear him cuss at the other end, along with the sound of his keys and his heavy steps.

"Stay put for me, sweet pea. Where are you waiting?"

You tell him, and you don't even count to three hundred before he's pulling up in front of you, opening the passenger door and yelling at you to get in.

"Christ, doll, you're freezing! How long were you out there?" You feel his gaze on yours as you attempt to say your thanks, still visibly shaking from being out in the rain so long, combined with the fear of lightning. He immediately reaches back to retrieve the towels he had brought exactly for this scenario, covering you up in them as you finally manage. “Thanks, Joel. D-did… did Chris leave a word, or anything? I’ve been trying to reach him…”

You don’t miss the way he tries to hold back a smirk, buckling your seatbelt as he sighs. “He said he’s drinking with some buddies, doll. But I thought he already told you. He didn’t mention you’d be needin’ a ride or anythin’.” He pauses, as if for dramatic effect. “Actually, it sounded really loud when he called." You look right back at him, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you processed his words.

Oh. Oh.

“H-he probably just forgot. Or something,” you try to justify as Joel begins to steer the two of you through the storm and back to his house. “I just hope he doesn’t get sick from the weather or anything…”

“God, sweet pea, you’re just so goddamn sweet even if he’s an asshole, huh?”

It shuts you up for the rest of the ride. He escorts you inside, telling you he’ll hand you a set of clothes. That you should be rinsing off immediately. You do not see the way he stares at your soaked shirt, your skin so fucking close and yet so far. You obey, so quickly that it makes his cheeks hurt from smiling. It was so natural for you, and it makes him absolutely feral. Most of all, you’re so vulnerable right now. And it hatches a wretched plan in his head before he could stop it.

He takes a shirt and boxers from his own closet, under the guise of wanting to keep yours and Christopher's stuff private. And he opens the door, expecting to see you mostly naked. Oh, God, sweet pea, I'm so sorry! Feign innocence, caring and comforting.

What he didn't expect was you seated on the counter, a photo on the screen of your phone. One of his son, your beau, holding another woman that was so clearly not you, posted by some friend. He didn't expect to see you teary-eyed, cheeks bright red as you hiccup.

"I… I guess that's why… he wouldn't pick up…"

He sighs, tilts his head to the side. "Oh, sweetheart…" He rushes to you, embracing you gently, damp clothes and all, into his warm arms as he shushes you gently. You try to resist him when he begins to help you with your clothes. You try to resist him when he offers tenderness. But it's all so rare, so careful, with such gentleness that you find yourself agreeing with anything he asked. Let me draw you a bath, doll, meaning he'll watch you soak. Let me help you with that, meaning he wanted to be the one to strip you down.

"He never treated you like this, doll, did he?" The look on your face is enough to answer him. He clicks his tongue, leaning his ear close as he slips your unclasped bra down your shivering frame. "Oh, darlin'. Let me show you how a lady should be treated."

It's how you end up in the warm bath he had prepared, settled between his legs with his mouth on your neck, his hands running up and down your sides until you were shaking and giggling from the touch. "Pretty li'l thing like you shouldn't be neglected. He's a damn fool."

He begins to ask for things while he's already doing them. He drifts his hands to your breasts and whispers, "Okay if I touched ya like this?" He pinches your hardened nipples and says, "Feels good, doesn't it, darlin'?" You wriggle in his grasp, ticklish and alight, tethered in the receeding waves of emotion as he draws you into some semblance of relaxation, smoothing out each tense muscle as he speaks to you with such unabashed softness.

Your first moan escapes you before you could stop it. One hand flies to your mouth as you immediately attempt to pull away from Joel. And yet, he holds you, chuckling right against your ear that you feel the smirk on his face spreading against the curve of your ear.

"I bet he never made you feel that good, baby doll."

You try and argue, left stammering just as his left hand holds your left leg up against your torso, his right hand moving down to cup you by your cunt. You feel him hardening behind you, pressed against the small of your back, grinding against your skin there. He kisses the back of your ear, chuckling as you struggle to hold back the rest of your moans. "Come on, doll, make some noise for me… otherwise, we'll be here all night, because I'm not stoppin' 'til you use that fuckin' mouth of yours to prove I'm better than him.

He dreamt of this. Your willing frame whining and moaning from every touch he gives you. You could not even conceal the fact that you were on edge and you were wet. He spreads you with his fingers, pausing as he nibbles on your earlobe before finally, finally sinking his fingers right where you're pink and lovely and warm. The fact that you felt bursting from just two fingers had you shivering with excitement, a surprised squeal escaping your mouth.

"J-Joel… Joel…"

"You can take it, sweet pea, stay close to me…" His left arm relaxes its hold on your left leg, drifting closer to begin rubbing soft, languid circles right on your aching clit as you lean your head back and sigh dreamily, feeling that familiar ascent into almost-forgotten bliss. It was something you only felt when you fucked yourself. It was something that eluded you in your sex life. You feel Joel's eyes on your face; when your features contort with the pleasure, when your hands palm at his beard, pulling at him needily to plant a kiss to your wanton mouth.

It's almost too quickly that you're cresting, feeling your sides burn from want as you grind into his hands in an effort to cum faster. And just when it was three seconds away, he tears his hands off of you, revelling in the sounds of your protest, your whining as you looked up at him. Already, too, he's getting out of the tub, draining the water as he picks you up in his arms.

"I know, I know what you need…" Still, you whine, thighs rubbing together. "But if I'm making you cum, sweet pea, I'm doin' it right by making you cum all over my sheets. Got it?" You nod, wrapping your arms around him as he carries you, bath water dripping and all, taking you to his bedroom with his slept-in sheets and oscillating fan to the side. He lays you among the sheets, smirking as he trailed one hand down your front, against your skin with butterfly caresses. Like an observer in some strange gallery, the fount of art and beauty exhibited for his own decrepit sensual pleasure.

“Y’wanna tell me what’cha want, dollface?” You try. You try to look away from his fingertips running up and down your stomach, knowing the power beneath that skin. You feel the restraint on his face, along with that smirk you just can’t seem to wipe off of him. “Yeah… you’re just absolutely desperate for me, no?”

“Want you… please…”

“Where d’ya want me? Here?” He drifts his hand to your neck, giving the slightest squeeze. You whine, and he drifts his touch to your willing mouth. Two fingers, delving into the warm wetness of your tongue, the softness of the inside of your cheeks. “Certainly not here… you’re certainly not mouthy.” Then he drifts his touch to your stomach, drifting lower, lower, and lower… “That’s it. I’m getting warmer, yeah?” He chuckles, his free hand moving to turn your face towards him as he looks at those softened features, your willingness laid bare before him. “What do you want from me? My cock? My mouth?”

It’s so much attention, all-encompassing, and all at once. You wonder if his touch strikes like lightning. And if it didn’t, then why does he make you quake to your very bones? He continues his teasing, pushing and prodding at you so closely where you want him, but never close enough. The charade continues before you eventually find the courage, eventually pushed to the brink of such wanton need.

“Both.” You grit your teeth, feeling the warmth coating your cheeks as you whine. “Both, Joel, please.”

He chuckles darkly, rewarding you with a bruising kiss, beard digging into your cheek, your chin, your body spread eagle and willing. “That’s a good, fuckin’ girl…” He rewards you by settling between your legs, spreading you wide open, and fucking his tongue on your weeping cunt. His growls emanate against your willing flesh, making you tremble, the vibrations otherworldly as he pushes you right through your first orgasm that weekend. One, you hoped, that wouldn’t be the last. “You’re so fuckin’ easy and he can’t even make you cum? Fuck, doll…” You squeal, fingers tangling into his hair as your hips grind, chasing waves of that sweet release until your eyes roll back, your body surrenders, and you are left limp with from his minstrations.

“We’re not yet done, doll. Think y’can handle more of me?”

It’s when you see that dark look on his face, A shadow hard to miss once you saw it. He kisses his way up to your face, wrapping your legs around his waist. He does not waste time, immediately pinning you down so he can fuck his hard cock into you, letting your moans and whines echo into the empty house. The stretch is glorious, his cock hitting places you did not know could be reached before. And all the while, he’s watching your face and your body contorting to the sensations you could not explain. Body electric magnified, body electric divine. He thrusts once, twice– and already, you were reeling in another orgasm.

He calls you beautiful, and he makes you understand that you are– that the iniquity of others was not your doing. That you deserved to feel good and light and wonderful. All while he sinks his teeth against your shoulder, your arm, sucking hickeys throughout the expanse of your skins, marks you would not be able to explain. It would have continued that way, and it should have, had Joel not heard the crunching of gravel on his driveway.

He pauses, shushes you gently, cupping your face as you whined desperately, clawing against his bare chest as he clears your hair from your face. “You’re gonna have to keep quiet f’me, doll. Think ya can do that?” You nod desperately, taking one hand to press against your mouth, anything to make him move again and give you one more release. One you were so desperately close to. “You don’t want him to hear us, did’ya?”

It’s when you realize, when you recognize the familiar heavy footsteps of the man who abandoned you, the lover who should be doing this. You looked up at Joel with a panicked gaze, his palm pressing harder against your mouth when you began to make some noise.

“I don’t have the patience to tell ya again. Don’t make this harder for yourself, baby doll.”

It’s when he fucks you with abandon, barely concealing his own moans as you tremble in his hold, locking your legs around his waist as he thrusts. Despite only one or two light groans escaping him, you see how tense his jaw had become, clenching, grinding beneath the skin. You know he’s close, and yet he waits for you, reaching down to rub your aching little clit. He rubs you repeatedly until the riptide of pleasure swallows you whole. Your eyes gloss over, a singular, weak whimper escaping through your self-censorship, your warm breath absorbed by Joel’s palm.

Just a few moments more, and his cock buries deep into you, silencing himself by sinking his teeth into the curve of your shoulder. It is a way to silence himself, to relax, to completely surrender his orgasm to you. His warm spend fills your aching walls, his body falling against yours as he sighs.

Just then, you hear, right across the hall. You hear Christopher. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” He steps out into the hallway. It’s followed with him raising his voice. (Hey dad! Have you heard from her?) Joel manages a soft chuckle into your ear. “Fucking asshole, no?” he whispers against you as he takes a deep breath.

“Thought’cha were meetin’ her at three?” he manages, and you’re shocked at how composed he was still was, and yet how possessive his hold on you had become.

If he gets to have you for five more minutes, he’ll take it. The truth was, it felt like you belonged right there in his bed, sheltering his cum within your warm walls as you demand affection, soft in aftercare. Call it fate, even if it’s such a loose term. Were you really fated for him when he took you for himself?

When Christopher leaves, he chuckles, collapsing against you again as his breath escapes him in ragged increments. You fall asleep almost immediately, as if you found home in his week-old sheets.

Call it fate, call it karma. He’d still fuck you again if he had the choice.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #boyfriend's dad!joel miller x reader #boyfriend's dad!joel #bd!joel #joel miller fic

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tieronecrush · 6 months

Text

🎃 trick or treat 🎃

summary: it's halloween and joel's taking your girls trick-or-treating with you in a family costume. feeling uncomfortable in his clothes and his skin, he's on edge most of the evening but does his best to disguise it in order to not spoil the fun. back at home, when his girls lightheartedly tease him about everything he already thought about himself, you're sure to end the night showing joel exactly how you feel about him and his body.

wc: 10k (oops?)

warnings: established relationship/married, canon divergent (no outbreak, ellie & sarah are both his kids, sort of obscure with if they're both his bio kids/your kids - basically y'all are a cute lil family either way! also joel is ~40, no age mentioned for reader!), halloween, family/group costumes, DOMESTIC JOEL!!!, fluff, body insecurities, age insecurities, joel has minor sensory issues?, his kids poke fun at him, sensitive joel, SMUT. it kind of is a thing for the basically the second half, descriptions of joel's body, tummy & thigh worship, oral (m receiving), cowboy rule (for a costume), unprotected piv, lowkey sub!joel for a lil bit, reader is "giving cunt" according to bestie el, then quickly gets back to dom!joel as he gets his confidence back, joel gets that strength in an adrenaline rush that moms get lifting cars off babies but his is for chasing a nut, also, dirty talk!

a/n: my contribution to spooky season, basically at the buzzer lol. this started with me thinking how cute it would be for joel to dress up and go trick-or-treating with his kids, and ended with wanting to s*** his d*** big time. anyways, enjoy my version of halloween with joel, and thank you to @kiwisbell for screaming about this scenario with me and as always a big thanks to my sweet, sweet girlfriend @northernbluess for beta-ing!!!!

Brought on much later than the northern states, fall in Texas is not quite an impactful sight. The one thing that can’t be beaten though is the Texas sun; shining across expansive horizons all times of year, temperatures of the light shifting with the seasons. Orange evening sun stretches across the sky and seeps down in between the leaves speckled with changing colors while Joel’s truck coasts down the neighborhood street. Kids retreat from running around in the road when his car approaches, returning right back to their gameplay when he’s through. Half are dressed up, a medley mix of witches, zombies, vampires, Power Rangers, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Disney Princesses, and countless outfits that he has no idea what they’re referencing.

Fibrous, white faux spiderwebs litter the front porches of the houses lining the street, Jack-O-Lanterns carved and lit up stack on the stairs or create a path along the front walkways. Some of the pumpkins’ faces are wrinkly and sagging, signs of overeagerness from when the fall season started earlier this month. A handful of scarecrows find themselves pitched in the middle of yards with hay spilling out of them, and some of the houses have turned out an expense to get those motion-sensor decorations — the ones really intended to scare the kids that will be unleashed on the neighborhood to trick-or-treat this evening.

Rolling to a stop as he turns into the asphalt driveway, throwing the truck in park, he sits in the cab for a still moment, staring at the signs of life scattered around his family’s house. Four pumpkins, gutted and showing off their faces, a family feud that reached a compromise when it was decided that yes, they would carve pumpkins but no, they would not sit to rot on the front porch all month long; the corn stalks wrapped around the posts of the porch, tied with burlap twine and arranged with sprigs of fall foliage; pots of colorful mums framing the path up to the house, carefully selected by your eye and less delicately planted in their terracotta vessels by Joel’s hands.

Aside from the seasonal decorations, the usual markings of the Miller family were easily spotted: chalk drawings on the shared sidewalk in front of the yard and along the driveway, replaced every weekend by Sarah once the old was washed or worn away; Ellie’s bike discarded on the front lawn, small tire tracks digging up the grass, no matter how many times Joel and you have asked her to put it away when she’s done; the porch swing that Joel built for you, swaying in the breeze and now unoccupied — unusual for the evening routine around the time that Joel comes home from work. He’s normally greeted by his girls, not merely their artifacts. But tonight is a different night, much busier than the slow, molasses life Joel gets to enjoy in the colder weather.

Gathering his lunch bag from the bench seat and bunching up his jacket in the same hand, Joel climbs out of the car and walks into the open garage, leaving his tools behind in the flatbed to be dealt with tomorrow morning. Passing your parked car, he shakes his head with a subtle smile as he closes the driver’s side door of your SUV left open. He can picture you now, running around after picking the girls up from school, mental space occupied by getting everything and everyone together to make it out the door before the sun went down completely.

There’s a trail of evidence to support his musings: a lonesome plastic bag filled with groceries left on top of the car, Sarah’s purple jacket looped through the handle of the garage fridge, probably left behind after she went looking for a juice, and Ellie’s army green backpack tossed on the ground in front of the shoe racks lining the wall next to the door. None of that would fly had you been your usual focused self — more often than not, you’re the parent to put their foot down and keep the girls in line while Joel is the total pushover.

Along his way inside, he picks up all the left-behind items, balancing everything in his hands while he steps into the mudroom. Ellie’s backpack gets shoved into her designated cubby, and Sarah’s jacket gets wrapped on a hook screwed into the wall as Joel kicks off his work boots. After depositing his own belongings in their spots, lunch bag in his cubby and jacket on the hook next to Sarah’s, he grabs his boots in one hand, leaning out the doorway to place them on top of the shoe rack. Closing the door behind him, he picks up the singular bag of groceries left on top of your SUV and pads across the tile further into the house. Immediately, he’s embraced by the warmth radiating from the kitchen, the smells of tomatoes, onions, garlic, and more wafting into his nose causing a smile to stretch across his face and his stomach to rumble.

Every year that he’s known you, without fail, you use Halloween night as an excuse to cook up your family-favorite chili recipe. Sure, it doesn’t get too cold for October in Texas, but damn, does he look forward to the night every year simply for a bowl of it. Laboring over the prep and slow-cooking it all day long, anyone who tries it can taste the care in each bite; like a warm blanket wrapped around his shoulders that lasts with him for the entire evening spent outside with the kids.

The pleas of his stomach lead him straight into the kitchen, his smile growing wider when he sees you standing over the kitchen counter, affixing a sheriff badge to the cow print vest laid out in front of you. He strides over to your side, resting his palm on your lower back and swiping his thumb against the material of your shirt while he leans in to press a kiss to the top of your head, drinking in your scent and feeling the ache of missing you all day. Losing focus from your task, you turn toward him with a bright smile, a quiet sigh leaving your lips, and your shoulders relaxing from their tensed position. Wordlessly, he folds forward, catching your lips in a lingering kiss. Heat pushes against his chest through his denim shirt, your hands skating from his pecs, up and across his shoulders, and down his arms to rest on his biceps. The motions raise goosebumps in their wake, trailing down his spine with a tepid drip.

Joel steals another kiss before he stands up straight again, voice rasping from yelling over powerful tools all day and volume low to keep the semblance of a private moment between the two of you for as long as possible; anything louder would expose his arrival, bombarding him with questions and conflicts to resolve between his daughters.

“Hey, baby.” He greets you with one fleeting kiss pressed to your forehead, hand at your lower back now rubbing side to side, fingers carefully lifting the fabric and pressing the tips of them into your deliciously soft skin.

Turning back to the vest, you drop your hands from his arms not before giving them a gentle squeeze, “Hi, Joel. Good day?”

He shrugs, unable to step away from you just yet, “It was fine — much better now. And I take it yours has been a busy one?”

Joel holds up the plastic bag of groceries with two fingers, one corner of his mouth lifting in a teasing smirk. His hip pops out as he leans against the counter, the smirk turning into a smile when you grimace. His heartbeat skips when your laugh fills his ears, the sound still exciting him after all these years, and you stand over the bag to take a peek inside.

“S’all good. Non-perishables.” It’s Joel’s turn to laugh, shaking his head with a breathy chuckle as he places the bag on the counter, unloading its contents into the pantry while you go about recapping your day for him.

In the midst of you speaking, the tumble of footsteps down the stairs draws his attention away, eyes focusing on the open threshold that leads from the living room into the kitchen. As the quickened steps grow closer, Joel turns to you and holds up three fingers, counting down with them. When he lowers his last finger, a mop of curly hair, a bouncing ponytail, and a whirlwind of chaos disrupts the initial peace of his return home.

“Hi girls, how was today?” he starts before a cacophony of noise fills the kitchen. Skidding to a stop in front of him, he exchanges a look with you before facing his daughters, already overwhelmed with their two voices talking over the other.

“Dad, Dad, Sarah said—”

“Dad, Ellie’s saying that I said—”

Holding his hands up, he flicks his eyes between his two girls. Sarah, the older of the two at eleven years old, stands in front of him with her arms crossed and brow furrowed — a look he is all too familiar with, the similarities between him and her emphasized with her annoyance. Ellie, your youngest, stands with her fists clenched at her sides, her mouth twisted up in frustration and the same furrowed brow as her sister. She looks so much more like you at the moment, only a nine-year-old version, calling back on times Joel can remember of you giving him that very look.

However, with their tempers, there’s no doubt that they’re his kids.

Dropping his hands back to his sides, he rolls his shoulders and takes a deep breath before addressing them.

“So, what’s going on now?” he asks, brows raising and head tilting when the girls each take a sharp inhale, about to speak over each other again, “One at a time. Ellie.”

Sarah rolls her eyes at her younger sister being called upon first, expectantly looking at her sister with annoyance still painting her face. Ellie shoots her a smug look before turning back to Joel, drawing a pout onto her lips to sell her story. He can’t say it doesn’t work for a second, it always will with these two and they know it, but with a quick glance in your direction, he sees you turned away from your task, watching the drama from the sidelines. Mustering the strength to stand his ground against the sweetness of his girls, he clears his throat and listens with his best poker face as Ellie begins explaining.

“Sarah said she wouldn’t trade all her Skittles for my Three Musketeers even though she knows I hate Three Musketeers and she said last week when we were getting our costumes that she would—”

“I never said that, Dad! She’s lying—” Sarah gestures with her hands as if to physically point out the obvious falsehoods in Ellie’s story. Spiraling back out of the fleeting control he had over the situation, the kids get riled up again, yelling over each other, and inching closer. The dad-instincts kick in and he grabs one of each of their shoulders, separating the two of them and turning them to face him again as he puts on what you affectionately call his ‘no-bullshit’ voice.

“Okay, okay, okay! Enough arguin’ about candy that you don’t even have yet. Ellie, you don’t even know if a single house is gonna give ya Three Musketeers, and you don’t even know if Sarah is gonna get any Skittles. Save the trade negotiations for tonight or tomorrow morning. ‘Sides, you gotta pay the Dad Tax before either of y’all get to trade around your pickings.”

“What?”

“No way!”

Joel smiles, waving his pointer finger between his daughters with a single nod of his head. “See? Something y’all can agree on. Now go get washed up for dinner and plot how you can hide your candy from me and Mom.”

As quickly as they came in, they rush right back out, this time a united force scheming against their parents. Joel huffs out a breathy laugh, shaking his head to himself as he turns back to face you. Met with a growing smile, you unravel your arms crossed in front of your chest to pick up the vest from the counter.

“Nice conflict resolution there, hon. Now I won’t see a single piece of candy.” You throw a pout at him, bottom lip jutting out as he steps over to you, one hand splaying on your hip and thumb rubbing languid circles.

“Don’t worry, baby, I think I know every single one of their hiding spots from how many times they had to move their candy last year. They won’t even notice anything's gone.” With a quick wink, he leans in for a kiss, short and sweet. Standing up straight, the smile on your face mirrors his, your left index finger reaching up to fit into the valley of his dimple.

“Are we bad parents to be scheming how to steal from our children?” you question, biting back a laugh.

“I think that’s just part of parenting, darlin’.”

The laugh you held back escapes you, rolling your eyes playfully at his facetious answer; the vest in your hands catches his eyes again, and he sighs to himself as he holds a hand out for it.

“So you really did find a cow print vest for me? How lucky.” Sarcasm coats his tone and you lift the material, depositing it in his open palm.

“It is lucky, isn’t it? I think you’re going to look great in your costume. Got all the perfect parts, plus you can wear your own jeans and boots. Economical.”

“You sure you need me for this group costume?”

“Joel. You’re literally one of the main characters from the damn movie. And the girls really want you to dress up and take them trick-or-treating. Plus it’s probably going to be one of, if not the last year that we get to do all this as a family. Our kids are growing up.”

“Don’t remind me, means m’getting older too,” he grumbles under his breath, eyes falling to the fabric in his hand.

It’s true what they say about having kids: the days are long, but the years are short.

At times, Joel wishes he could pull each hair out of his head instead of dealing with the shit his kids bring to him sometimes — “Dad, I got called into the principal’s office.” “Dad, I threw a softball and broke the window.” “That’s so unfair, Dad! Why do you have to be so mean?” It’s easy to get lost in the mess that is his family, but it’s a mess he loves. It feels like it was only yesterday that he was becoming a father when Sarah was born, getting a grasp on the whole thing and then Ellie came along. What he would do without you there by his side, he doesn’t have a clue.

Like flipping through a scrapbook, he can remember every year prior for his girls. In a flash, they’ve grown from dressing up as princesses and unicorns — a dragon for Ellie — to being Spy Kids and vampires. His oldest is verging on becoming a teenager, and if he knows his daughters, he knows that once Sarah quits dressing up each year, when she asks to go to her friends’ houses instead of spending the night with Mom and Dad, Ellie will want to do the same as her older sister, always looking up to her despite their differences.

There’s only so much more time for his kids to be kids, even if they may always feel like the tiny baby girls he held in his arms. All he wants to do is to protect them, keep them under his eye as long as he can, but he can hear your voice prying his grasp away from them, encouraging him to let them grow, let them experience the world as he got to do when he was younger. You’ll remind him that you were a teenage girl once, reassuring him that they’re always going to need him. He knows it’s all going to sneak up on him; one day, he’s going to pull into the driveway and notice the lack of chalk drawings. He might even be happy at first about Ellie’s bike being put away, but when he goes into the garage to work on some of his projects, he’ll notice the smallest bit of dust on it from disuse.

Stepping away from him to shuffle across the kitchen, you reach on your tiptoes to pull out four bowls from the cabinet. Joel steps over behind you, a hand on your back as he intercepts your movements, grabbing the ceramic dishes and handing them to you.

Like a shadow, he follows behind you as you walk over to the pot filled with dinner, eagerly watching over your shoulder with his chest pressed against your back and hands on your waist as you lift the lift. Aromas waft with the steam rising, the delectably rich dish slowly bubbling as it finishes melding altogether. It smells like home, always the mark of the changing of the seasons in the Miller household, and one of the little traditions that he so appreciates you creating for your family. Just like the way you make crinkle cookies and still sign presents from Santa at Christmas, despite the fact that your daughters found out about that a couple of years ago from a yappy kid at school.

Joel was very close to driving over to his house and letting his parents know how he felt about their kid murdering the magic of Christmas for his girls.

All he can hope is that these little traditions continue even when the girls are grown up; the four of you gathering around the table for your annual chili dinner before they head off to hang out with friends and you two are left to watch cheesy Halloween movies and hand out candy to children that remind you of your daughters.

With another deep breath, warmth surrounds him. Joel’s lips find the spot just under your ear, kissing gently before he rests his chin on your shoulder, “Smells so good, baby. Have I told you how much I love you?”

A breathy, incredulous laugh falls from your lips as you stir the pot’s contents around, your smile sticking around as you counter, “You’re only saying that ‘cause I’m feeding you.”

A dramatic, exaggerated gasp sharply inhales into his lungs, standing up straight and patting his hands on your sides, “Absolutely not, darlin’. I love you all the time—”

“But especially when I feed you,” you finish, turning out of his arms to grab the stack of bowls. He stops your motions by wrapping his arms around your waist, feeling the press of you against his torso and relishing in the heat of your body against his. Curling up like a cat in the sun, he nudges his nose against your hairline, peppering kisses along the contours of your face.

In between kisses, he says word by word, over and over, “I. Love. You. My. Beautiful. Wonderful. Incredible. Wife.”

“Alright, alright! Gosh, you’re clingy,” you tease, leaning back to look into his eyes with a playful glint in your eye and a smirk held tight in your lips, “I love you too, my beautiful, wonderful, incredible husband.”

Your free hand smooshes his cheeks together and tugs him down gently to exchange a tender kiss. It ends much too soon for Joel, him chasing your lips and pouting when you turn away to start serving up dinner.

“Better go tell the girls dinner’s ready before they’ve finished plotting how to stow away candy in the floorboards.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answers, punctuating the conversation with a cheeky smack to your ass, scampering away quickly before you can pretend to scold him.

Tugging at the material across his stomach, Joel combs his eyes over his reflection in the mirror of your en-suite bathroom. Rolling his shoulders back, the fabric of the yellow and red plaid flannel pulled taut, lifting the hem a couple of inches and showing off the skin of his softened tummy. Dark curls of hair litter the center of the sliver of skin, trailing down under the waist of his dark wash jeans. He doesn’t bother tucking the shirt in, giving himself the breathing room of the few inches at the hem. Fingers grip the thick fabric, sharply pulling it back down to lay over his jeans again.

Picking up the cow-print vest you were adorned with the plastic gold Sheriff badge downstairs in the kitchen, he’s taken back to a few weeks ago at the Halloween store.

You and he had opted to spend Saturday morning taking Sarah and Ellie to pick out their costumes for the holiday, letting them run free until they decided on a shared costume for once. Sarah quickly picked out her size in the Jessie costume, and all of the family agreed to be different characters from the Toy Story movie.

Ellie wandered the aisles, searching for the perfect combinations to create her ideal costume, which was, of course, the mechanical spider toy with the baby doll head that the kid Sid builds in the film. She returns to where Joel is standing with you, staring at the walls of costumes to find something for the both of you; he looks down at his youngest, jumping minutely when he’s faced with a mutilated baby doll mask, shiny plastic reflecting him in the surface.

“Ellie. You can’t be the creepy baby doll,” he sighs, hand falling to his hip as he rests his weight on it, the other leg stepping out while he slowly shakes his head.

Tipping the mask up to the top of her head, Ellie stomps her feet, shoulders falling and head leaning back as she groans in complaint, “Why not, Dad?” She draws out his parental title, kicking the toe of her shoe against the buffed tiles of the storefront that remains empty eleven out of twelve months of the year.

“You’re gonna scare the little kids, and it’ll be your mom and I who are dealing with the angry parents.”

Ellie huffs out a breath, reaching up to snatch the mask off, turning on the heel of her sneaker, and stomping off to go find another costume. Turning his attention back to you at his side, he notices a cheeky smile on your face as you find your size in a woman’s Buzz Lightyear costume.

“What? What are you laughin’ at?” he questions, his lips tugging up in a grin.

“Oh, nothing. Jus’ that you told our daughter she can’t be the creepy baby doll 'cause you’d be the one scared of her.” A laugh takes over the end of your sentence, a flash of your bright smile widening his own.

“Did not. It’s ‘cause we’d have a bunch of crying little kids and judging parents to deal with.”

“Sure, honey, sure. It’s okay if you’re scared.”

Stepping closer to you, he pinches your side playfully, wrapping an arm around your waist to tug you against his side. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, speaking softly, “Know me too well, baby…”

Your free hand pats his chest affectionately and you unravel from his hold. Joel takes your hand before you get far, intertwining your fingers together while you both shuffle along the wall of costumes. The plastic bags shine, displaying cartoonish outfits of various characters. The exaggerated smiles of the models give him the heebie-jeebies, shuddering his shoulders at the thought that any grown person would be that excited to wear itchy polyester once before letting it collect dust in their closet and giving it away before next Halloween.

Halting in front of the costume you were looking for Joel, you bend down to flick through the sizes, your lips pulling together in a thoughtful pucker. Standing back up straight next to him, your teeth toy your bottom lip left to right, eyes scanning for any other options before you turn toward him.

“Can’t find what you’re lookin’ for, baby?”

With a shrug, you respond, “They have the costume the girls wanted you to wear, but they don’t have your size. Think I can find some stuff at the thrift store or TJ Maxx or online to make the costume up if that’s okay—”

“Whatever you need to do. S’fine.”

“I’m sorry, hon, but you don’t need to worry about it, I’ll find everything.”

“Said s’fine, darlin’. Don’t even need to dress up, really.” A small seed of shame is planted in his gut, insecurity watering it and causing it to grow, branching off to tangled in his chest. Comfort eases him out of the spiral when your hands find his chest, rubbing softly and tilting your head to meet his gaze with pure affection.

“Still gotta dress up with us, hon. Who’s gonna be the Woody to my Buzz if it isn’t you? Can’t dress up as one half of the best friend duo without my best friend,” you grin, standing on your toes to catch his lips in a gentle kiss, which ends too soon for his taste despite being in the middle of the shop.

Vest shrugged onto his shoulder, and he gives himself another once over in his full outfit, the same insecurity from a few weeks ago pouring down to cultivate his shame. He doesn’t look the same as he did when he met you, even the same as he did last year. Graying hair and salt and pepper beard, lines next to his eyes and across his forehead, only deepened when he furrows his brow at the look of him in his costume.

He looks ridiculous.

Better to get this night over with, let his girls enjoy themselves, and attempt to forget his discomfort in the outfit. Picking up his cheap cowboy hat that arrived in the mail earlier that week, he avoids another look in the mirror before he slips out of the bathroom, eyes focused on the toes of his boots while he walks out the door of your bedroom, past the full-length mirror next to your closet and the small round one on your vanity.

No need to foul his mood and spoil the fun. It’s for his girls.

The screams and laughter of children echo into the deepening night sky, the street bright from the lamps lining it along with porch lights staying on, open garage doors, all signaling a welcoming to the trick-or-treaters to come and grab their haul from each vast bowl or cauldron of candy.

Blurs of costume cross below Joel’s sightline as he walks hand-in-hand with you, kids running around blindly, the safety of such a crowd in the small neighborhood blanketing them with trust that they’ll be able to find their way home wherever they end up. Sarah and Ellie are ten paces ahead, moving quickly and efficiently to “maximize their candy collection”. Ellie’s words, after she presented her hand-drawn map of their neighborhood and the one across the main road, highlighting which houses are notorious for King Size treats and noting which ones give out toothbrushes or nothing at all.

The collar of his flannel is tightened around his neck from the string of his chestnut cowboy hat. Pulled down to rest on his clavicle, the body of the hat swings against his back as he walks, only adorning the top of his head for a few photos that you insisted on dragging out the tripod and self-timer for in the middle of the living room. He took the rest of the photos you wanted, maybe a bit too eagerly getting out of the frame and relaxing the slightest bit behind the camera. Photo evidence of how laughable he looks does not need to exist en masse. With a sigh, he reaches a hand up to tug the string down for what feels like the tenth time in thirty minutes of walking, relief felt for a few seconds before it slides back up to the base of his throat, flipping up the collar of his shirt with it.

Denim from his dark wash bootcut jeans starts to dig into his hips, roughening the skin there from his strides and their inch-too-small size from the year prior. These were deemed his “nice” jeans, per your request, only pulled out a handful of times a year for occasions that he was meant to look nicer than his raggedy Levi’s, covered in spots from paint, wood stain, oil, or dirt, the fraying, white strings hanging from the hems and ripping when caught under his step — all the signs of his day-to-day life. What he’s comfortable in.

These — these are not comfortable, not worn in enough to feel buttery against his skin, and not returning to his size even after washing and line drying. These are stiff, formed to his skin and resisting a tightness with each swing of his legs. The fresh material rubs against his bare skin underneath, the waist of his boxers falling an inch or two down to create the perfect space for the waistband to chafe. He’s tempted to pause the two of you walking along, long enough to tuck in the material of the flannel, but quickly decides against it when he thinks about the exaggeration of his stomach with the form-fitting, tucked shirt stretched over it.

Occupied in his thoughts, he barely notices that you've slowed down until you come to a stop at the end of a driveway, two streets over from your own home, waiting as your daughters wait in line for their packaged sugar.

You hold onto his bicep with your opposite hand, leaning your weight against his side. Like a weighted blanket, in the interim of a hug from you, he takes on the change to his equilibrium, relishing in the comforting press of your body against him. Easing away his anxieties and his insecurities that, of course, had to be present for this wholesome, once-a-year family night; he rests his chin on your head, breathing in the smell of your rosemary and mint shampoo, tingling his nostrils and drinking down the scent he’s so familiar with.

His focus draws to Sarah, hair in a French braid pulled away from her face and cherry red cowboy hat on her head, and Ellie, lime green face paint that she insisted on and an antenna sticking up from the top of her head and exaggerated, pointed green ears all attached to the same headband. The two of them are near the front of the queue for candy at this particular house, the process a bit more involved with a haunted graveyard required to pass through to earn your sweet reward.

All she’d been saying the whole night since getting dressed had been “The claaaaaw!” or “I have been chosen!”. She screams the latter in the face of a teenager who pops out from a bush to scare her, completely unphased as she sneaks past him, grabbing a handful of candy for her and Sarah, running back down the path with her older sister before they pause to distribute the goods.

Joel lifts your joined hands, hooking his arm over your shoulder and laying your arm across your chest as he gathers you closer.

“So how many cavities do you think we’ll be paying for ‘cause of tonight’s candy haul?” he wonders aloud, a smile ticking up the side of his mouth when you giggle at his joke. It never gets old, being able to make you laugh, and it’s like a weed whacker to the strangling vines of his insecurities growing tightly in his chest. A looseness that gives him the chance for a deep breath, gratitude wilting the branches as he studies the grin on your face, the admiration twinkling in your eyes.

“Probably should be callin’ the dentist to see if they have a two-for-one discount.” It’s his turn to laugh at your response, tautening his arm around your shoulders to tow you closer to him, your head tilting back as you swing your front toward him. Joel bends his neck, pecking your lips with a smile before he looks back toward his daughters walking back to the two of you.

Annoyance thumbs the bruise of shame, driving his frustrations higher; his hand reaches up again with a huff, yanking the string away from his neck, “Thing’s like a damn noose…”

“Jus’ take it off, hon, I’ll carry it for you,” you sweetly suggest, swinging your joined hands between your bodies.

“But, you got it for me…” he mumbles guiltily, a worry in his voice over your potential irritation with him. Ever the masochist, Joel argues with you, not wanting to disappoint. He knew he should have just kept his mouth shut—

Pausing in your steps, you hang behind him long enough to snatch the hat off his back, releasing it from around his neck and depositing it on your head in one smooth movement. Taking his hand again, you continue, unphased by his complaints and happy to hold onto the new accessory.

At the next house, the two of you wait at the end of the driveway for the girls; Joel taps the side of his pointer finger on the brim as you look up at him, a cheeky smile growing on his face as a thought distracts from his festering doubts. His voice lowers, rasping as he speaks only to you, attempting to disguise the conversation from all the people milling about.

“Y’know, there are consequences for stealing a cowboy’s hat, baby.” Wetting his lips with the quick swipe of his tongue, his hands drift to your waist, fingers stretching to skim the top of your ass, dangerously close to grabbing a handful in front of everyone.

“M’well aware of those consequences, cowboy. Why d’you think I took it?” You shoot him a wink that goes straight down below the belt, a brazen flash of mischief in your eyes, the reflections of yellow lamplight lighting them up further.

Gripping his biceps, your nimble fingers squeeze gently while your thumbs rub massaging circles into his slightly flexed muscles. A nearly inaudible hum of a moan rolls from your chest, one of his hands gathering the polyester material of your dress tightly at the sound. Beckoning him to fold forward with one look, he molds his lips to yours in a supple kiss. It lasts only the length of an inhale, drinking in the taste of your lips before your warmth is fleeting, hands patting his chest in a signal to wrap it up.

He grumbles, irritation heating under his collar as he itches to get home and for the night to be over, now for more than one reason. You laugh softly at his annoyed pout, poking his chest as you tease, “What? Mad ‘cause you got a snake in your boot?”

“More like in my jeans…” he mumbles under his breath, loud enough for you to hear and playfully jab his arm, shaking your head as you breathe out a chuckle from your nose.

“Nice, Miller. In a costume for a kid’s movie no less.”

He matches your laugh, shrugging when you turn in his arms, back to him as you await your daughters to make their way back to the both of you. His arms drape around your hips, tugging you into his chest to press against him comfortably, the plush-filled wings of your costume padding you against his torso. Lips find your ear, chin resting on your shoulder as he responds, “What’s the saying from the movie? To infinity and beyond? Reckon that’s where I’ll be takin’ you by the end of tonight.”

“Joel!” you attempted to chide, your laughter exposing your real feelings over the suggestive comment, laying your arms over his. The girls walk toward the two of you, and he takes a second to press an open-mouth kiss to your neck, nipping at your skin before unfurling himself from you. A light smack on the side of your ass is the punctuation to the teasing, Joel standing up straight and taking your hand.

“Giddy-up, partner,” he murmurs before turning his attention to Sarah and Ellie, overly excited and completely calm. “Whatcha y’all get this time? Anything good?”

They answer over each other and he nods along, corralling them to start to walk to the next house, “Alright, mission accomplished at this house. Onto the next, we gotta get this wagon a-movin’! Only got another hour in me, girls.”

Protests whine against his announcement and your daughters start to walk faster, determined to complete their hit-list for the houses with the good stuff. You laugh to yourself, shaking your head as Joel looks over at you, feigning innocence.

“What? Got a bad back, bein’ out in the cold makes it worse.”

Now back at home, the four of you are gathered in the living room, costumes all on still as you seek out the comfort and warmth of the soft furnishings and blankets. Joel lounges on the couch, you next to him, back leaning against his side while your legs stretch out on the rest of the sofa. Ellie and Sarah have taken to the floor in front of the coffee table, massive pillowcases dumped out and beginning to be sorted. Every so often, you or Joel get up with the sound of the doorbell, passing out candy to the dwindling number of trick-or-treaters. Eventually, the intrusion stops completely, the TV playing a bad, kitschy Halloween movie per the request of the girls.

They trade their earnings, and you and Joel steal on the sly, both from the bowl you were handing out and from Sarah and Ellie’s piles. Wrappers are strewn around the floor and across the surface of the coffee table, the sound of another torn open by the girls making you sigh and sit up.

Holding out your hand, you shake your head, beckoning for the treat with your fingers, “Okay, Ellie. No more candy. You’re not going to be able to go to sleep if you keep eating it now, it’s too late.”

Ellie whines, rolling her head back with a groan before pleading her case, “Please, Mom, just this last one! And then I’ll be done, promise. Please.”

Joel chuckles when she shoots you the same puppy dog eyes that he gives to you to get what he wants, knowing his smirk grows wider when you fold easily. Shooting your head over to him, you announce to the whole room, “No more candy for anyone. C’mon girls, put it all back in your bags.”

Calmness finds itself back in the room once all the complaints are lodged with you, the girls lying down to watch the movie while you continue to sit with Joel. Spaced out as he focuses on the film, his attention is grabbed when he hears the crinkle of wrappers and glances around to find all three of his girls indulging further.

With the remote from his lap, he pauses the movie, pouting as he exclaims, “Hey! What happened to not havin’ any more candy? If I can’t have anymore, y’all can’t either.”

Sneaking the last bite of her fun-size Snickers bar, Ellie giggles and shrugs, always the smart aleck, “Well, you are gettin’ a little pudgy, Dad, maybe less candy’ll help.”

Sarah and you giggle at her lighthearted teasing, and Joel waves it off with a breathy chuckle, leaning back against the cushions as Sarah chimes in with her jests, “Yeah, think you’re getting a little fluffy, Dad. Better to lay off now than at Christmastime with all Mom’s cookies.”

Joel attempts to defend himself from the teasing by threatening their candy supply, eager to end the conversation as the back of his neck heats up, “If m’already gettin’ pudgy then I guess that permits me to eat all your candy.”

They both are in a fit of giggles, continuing to tack on silly comments as Joel sits quietly on the couch, trying to mask the way the words worm their way in, feeding the shame and insecurity that was already festering in his chest from the last few weeks.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head with a smile as you laugh softly, “Alright, alright, enough. Think that’s the sign that it’s time for bed. C’mon, up up up.” Before standing, you pat Joel’s thigh and shoot him a carefully concerned look, but he wipes away your worry by sending you a warm smile back, laying his hand over yours and squeezing gently.

Joel stays downstairs to clean up, the girls both saying goodnight before you follow them upstairs to get them ready for bed. Gathering candy wrappers in his fists, he throws them away in the kitchen, stomach rolling as he replays the small comments from minutes ago. He knows it was teasing, all in good fun as it always is between his girls and you, but he can’t shake the heaviness inside of him, the hot prickles of shame when he passes by the mirror in the hallway on his way back to the living room.

The bowl of extra candy you were handing out gets placed back on the coffee table, his silly cowboy hat from the evening deposited on top of it to hide the contents. Not that he was going to eat anymore, he couldn’t stomach even the thought of anything else when all he could think about was how much he desperately wanted to shed his skin at that moment. Breathing shallows when he settles on the couch again, one of his hands pressing onto the left side of his chest and willing his heart to slow down, for his brain to silence itself.

The skin of his palm meets the scruff of his beard, scratching against the roughened, worked skin. Grays in his hair, salt and pepper beard, wrinkles on his forehead and at the side of his eyes, softened tummy from years of love and care, from an easy life with you.

He certainly isn’t the same Joel that you met all that time ago, that you fell in love with. Have you noticed the changes as much as he has?

He swears you haven’t aged a day; all the more beautiful with each passing day.

Light steps carry you back downstairs, the sound shaking Joel out of his thoughts as you swing around from the staircase and through the entrance to the living room. Joel relaxes on the couch, the same spot he was occupying before, only sinking further into the cushion, shifting to pull the fabric of his shirt away from his stomach. Glancing up at you, away from whatever was playing on the TV that did nothing to distract him from himself, he sends you a tight smile, stretching an arm over the back of the couch to welcome you in.

Accepting it, you sit next to him, curling up into his side with your legs under you, leaning against his frame with your comforting weight. Your hand rests on his chest, your head on his shoulder while you both watch the TV movie playing. Silence falls between the two of you, minutes passing by with only the noise from the speakers, the volume turned low so as not to disturb the kids upstairs.

Joel feels your hand move against his chest, curling up to leave your pointer finger extended, the pad of it skimming against his flannel. He ignores the feeling, figuring it’s you fidgeting as you do while you focus. The same thing as twirling your hair while you’re reading, tapping your foot as you cook.

But when your hand stairs to wander, his eyes flick down to watch its path, your gaze still facing forward and quiet. With your thumb and index finger, you work open the first button on his shirt, trailing down with the rest undone in your route. Slipping under the material, your cold hand presses against his chest, nails scraping against the skin there. With a sigh at the contact, Joel finally uses his hand to gently caress your chin, turning you to face him.

Low and rasping, he questions, “What are you doin’ exactly, darlin’?”

Innocently, you shrug, bottom lip bit down on while your touch moves lower again, skimming across his stomach and reaching the waistband of his jeans, “Well, I still have to face the consequences from stealin’ your hat, cowboy.”

Fingers dip below his belt line, toying with the elastic band of his boxers. Slipping away, he almost protests at the loss, biting his tongue when you move next to him, sitting up on your knees while both hands reach for the button and zipper of his jeans. When his button pops from its secure place, he warns with a breathy exhale, “Baby…”

“Mhm, yes, honey?” you reply, words trailing up at the end, feigning naivety. Through your lashes, you send him a pout, tongue poking out to dampen your plush lips that he stares at, his mouth parted with heavy breaths. His blood is rushing from his head, leaving him feeling light, as it all pumps to his cock, your delicate and teasing touches getting him half-hard.

Before you can tug down his zipper, you pause, taking your hands off of him; he holds back a whimper, the sound dying as a low hum in his throat.

“Don’t worry, baby, m’not done yet. Let’s go to our room, yeah?” Your voice is soothingly saccharine, an eager nod being his only response.

Shutting off the TV, you stand from the sofa and take his hand, snatching the cowboy hat from the coffee table before pulling him to stand and follow you across the main floor, down the hallway into your first-floor bedroom. Joel shuts the door behind him, your nod toward the handle serving as a reminder for him to flick the lock.

“Y’know, honey, you’re always showing me how you feel about me. I think it’s time we had a night that’s all about you…” He’s holding in a breath as you stalk closer to him, shaking his head as the back of his neck heats up.

“No, baby, you don’t—I don’t…” he stutters before trailing off, ashamed that he can’t think of any other excuse than the truth of why he does not want the attention on him tonight.

“You don’t…?” Running your hands across the expanse of his chest, he drops his shoulders in, curling around to make himself smaller, one foot stepping back but he doesn’t move from under your touch.

Shaking his head, he avoids your eyes, faintly confiding, “I don’t feel like I deserve it. I jus’, I’d rather give to you, baby.”

“Oh, Joel…you deserve it and more, honey. Why wouldn’t you?” Your fingers graze up, skating across his skin and carding into the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I’m not…not the same. I don’t look like who you fell in love with. Everything’s changing, catching up to me. Got gray hair and white in my beard and wrinkles and a beer belly startin’ and my back hurts all the time. M’not who I used to be but you—”

“Have changed, too. It’s not just you, Joel. Everything’s a little softer now, I’ve got wrinkles too. Found like four gray hairs yesterday and had a mild panic attack before I got into the shower. M’curvier and—”

“And you’re fucking beautiful, baby. You’re as beautiful, if not more beautiful than the day I met you.” He’s quick to defend your negative self-talk, his hands running delicately along the curves of your sides and around your lower back. Enveloping you in his arms, he presses your foreheads together, nose notched next to yours.

“That’s exactly how I feel about you, Joel. Don’t listen to us teasin’ you, especially me, ‘cause I wouldn’t change a thing about you…” As you tilt your head back, your nose grazes against his cheek, feeling a rush of heat from your breath as your lips hover over his, deliciously close to a kiss, “Can I show you what I think about you, honey?”

Joel nods, wordlessly waiting in anticipation; in the next breath, your lips crash into his, drinking him down deep while the hand at the back of his head tangles further into his hair and tugs. He moans, parted lips allowing you to lick into his mouth, whining at the taste of him before you push the flannel material from his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor as you continue to dominate the kiss.

Pressing your hands against his strong chest, you push him back with a step. Joel follows your lead, carefully moving backward, your tongue melding with his. All he can focus on is the taste of you — sweet, fruity, with the tang of citric acid from all the sour candies you stole from the bowl, the softest hint of chocolate as an aftertaste from his indulgences. The flavors of you coat his mouth, the scent of your perfume and shampoo mixing in his nose, and the feeling of your soft skin in his rough palms when he hikes up the skirt of your dress, grabbing a handful of your ass; it all stirs together, creating an intoxicating cocktail of you that he can seem to taste enough of. Joel’s legs hit the edge of the bed, and he’s being pulled away from your mouth with a pop when you ease him to sit down. Curiosity flashes in his mind, the sight of you over him with kiss-swollen lips growing the bulge in his undone jeans. Eager hands find your hips, grazing over to your ass as he looks up at you standing over him.

“Whatcha wanna do, beautiful?” His voice is lecherous as it comes out in a rasp, dripping with desire and a bit of wonder over what exactly you’re going to do with your night in control.

You shake your head at him, standing up straight and reaching for his hands, placing them at the hem of your dress, “Go ahead, baby. Take off as much as you want.”

His choice is obvious, tugging the fabric over your head with your help, a hand around your back yanking you to stand close, between his spread legs, while his fingers work open the clasp of your bra. Sitting back on his hands, he observes greedily as you let the straps fall down your arms, dropping the bra entirely onto the floor.

“These too?” Your thumbs hook into the waistline of your panties, doe-eyed and biting down on your body lip teasingly. Cotton-mouthed, Joel nods slowly, lips parted with shaking breath as you strip completely, sinking to your knees in front of him before he can reach out for a handful of your curves.

He lets you work his jeans down to his thighs, his boxers following in their wake, his cock springing free against his bare stomach. You keep eye contact as you kneel in front of him, his keen stare unblinking as his tongue pokes out to wet his lips, the need to see every single one of your movements outweighing the drying of his eyes with his slow, infrequent blinking. Scooting to settle comfortably on your knees, you stand up straighter, gaining enough height to bend your head over his lap, lips meeting his soft tummy and hands gripping onto his thighs. Delicate kisses and ghosting touches on his skin raise goosebumps, a warm shudder trickling down his back at your tenderness.

“So handsome…” you whisper, grazing your teeth into the flesh of his torso, biting down to nip. “Y’know I think about doin’ this all the time, baby. Every time you take off your shirt, jus’ wanna sink my teeth into you.”

His cheeks heat with sincere attention, muscles in his abdomen flexing when you litter lovebites and heated, open-mouth kisses all over him, the gentle touches and desire to relax his anxieties slowly. The focus on your mouth drops to his thighs, turning your head to the side when you sit back on your haunches, licking a stripe up toward his aching cock, a quivering exhale from his mouth drawing your eyes to his face. A satisfied smile stretches across your face, kissing his inner thigh before mirroring the actions on the opposite side. His fingers curl into the duvet, gripping hard as your lips wander closer to where his stiff cock drips needily, throbbing for any kind of reprieve.

“You’re so pretty, baby. So strong, solid.” The sweet nothings tickle at the back of his neck, words that he’s sure you’ve spoken before, but at this moment, they raise his body temperature and lighten his head, the only thoughts being how much he needs you.

Standing on your knees again, you bend your neck over Joel’s lap, eyes flickering up to his face to look at him through your lashes. Your lips part, spit dribbling from your mouth and onto his waiting cock, the sensation making him hiss with urgency. One of your hands wraps around him and strokes slowly. He looks down at you with hooded eyes, mouth opening in a small gasp at the languid stimulation. One swipe of your thumb across his tip drags the beads of pre-cum from where they’re leaking, melting them into the mix of your saliva that lubricates your motions.

Searing needles pierce into his skin when you finally give in and press hot, open-mouthed kisses against the soft skin of his swollen length. Your thumb brushes against his tip again, another hiss of pleasure escaping from between his teeth. One of Joel’s hands finds the back of your head, tangling fingers into your hair. He doesn’t move to guide you, simply wanting to touch a part of you to ground himself.

Your free hand gently cups his balls as you press a featherlight kiss to the tip of his hard cock. A kitten-lick swipes up the fresh dribbles of pre-cum that have collected and Joel’s fingers tense against your strands. Humming satisfied with the reactions you’re drawing from him, he looks down at you meeting his gaze, feeling the splotches of redness growing across his cheeks and neck at the frustration of your light teasing. He groans out your name as your mouth works to tease him more, not having taken him fully in.

“Fucking hell, baby, quit teasin’, please.” Joel rasps as he watches your methodical seduction. He applies the smallest pressure against the back of your head when your lips finally wrap around just the tip of him, a moan of relief rolling from his chest.

Your eyes stay glued on his face, and he’s lost in the delicious warmth of your mouth, unabashed in every response that he’s having to your mouth working him. Starting a slow bob up and down, he moans at the weight of him on your tongue, saliva coating the underside of his cock as he feels you curl the muscle against every vein. With half of him with your mouth, your hand working what isn’t initially fitting inside. His noises grow louder and in quicker succession, hyperaware that his cheeks are likely visibly warm and eyes dark with a craving when he looks down at you again.

“Such a sweet girl. Look so pretty with my cock in your little mouth. Think you can take more, baby? Think I can fit in your throat?” You shift in your position slightly, thighs rubbing together and a chuckle rolls from his lips, smug in the need he’s drawing from you simply from enjoying his pleasure. A sigh exhales around him in your mouth as your thighs rub together to relieve some of your aches.

The rhythm of your head brings his cock deeper, his tip brushing the back of your throat. You swallow around him and it squeezes him just right, a loud moan rumbling from his chest, the reverberations sending aftershocks to the tips of his ears. At that point, he gets lost in the high feeling, his composure leaving him when his large hand at the back of your head pushes you down onto his cock, taking him down your throat further and causing you to gag. Tears spill from your eyes and spit drips from the sides of your mouth, the blow job quickly turning sloppy as Joel takes more control.

“Fucking hell, darlin’. Taking me so well on your own, being such a good girl for me,” he whines, heading tilting back as his eyes squeeze shut, shallow thrusts meeting the rhythm of your head. “Gonna fuckin’ come, baby, holy fuck, I—”

A moan around him gurgles to nothing when he thrusts again, hand tangled in your hair pulling you back until his tip rests against your lips, “Don’t wanna—please—” His words are lost on the tip of his tongue, pleasure hazing his mind as he searches for the plea he wants to make with you.

You giggle from your knees, swiping your fingers to wipe away the drool from the corners of your mouth, a satisfied smirk on your face. Bracing yourself on his thighs, you push yourself up, standing in between his legs while your hands find his shoulders, scraping your fingernails against the curve of them.

“You wanna come inside of me? Not my mouth? Is that what you were trying to say, baby?”

“Yes,” he exhales, relieved to find the word he needed, blinking open his eyes to look up at you. Your thumb skates across his bottom lip, holding onto his jaw as you study his features.

“I’ll give you whatever you want, Joel. Anything for my perfect, doting husband. D’you know how fucking good it makes me feel to make you feel good?” you question curiously, tilting his head as he lets you mold him whichever way you want. “Tell me how you deserve to have me like this. ‘Cause you’re so fucking good to me, tell me that you’re gonna let me fuck you, let me take your come inside of me.”

“Baby, I don’t think that—” he starts, palms pressing into the backs of your thighs as he looks up at you.

“Tell me, Joel. You said you wanted to be the one giving to me tonight. That’s what I want.” You use his earlier, shy request against his negative thoughts, and the intensity in your eyes bends him to your will.

“M’gonna let you have my cock, gonna let you fuck me and show me how much you love when I take care of you.” The words roll foreignly on his tongue, unconvincing coming from his mind to his mouth. You bend a knee, bringing it up to rest next to his thigh, nodding along to encourage him to continue, “I give you whatever I can give to you, and always gonna, baby. Now’s your turn to take care of me, right?”

“That’s right, honey. I should show you how much I appreciate you more often…you work so hard, give us exactly what we need, and provide for us. My big, strong man. You do so much for me, baby. Gonna show you how thankful I am for you, how grateful I am that you’re lettin’ me have this cock,” your words breathe hot against his ear, your other leg now straddling him on the bed, cunt hovering over his waiting cock. A hand leaves his shoulders, reaching between your stomachs to wrap around him, guiding him to your entrance. His breath catches in his throat when you ease down onto him, pushing through the wet seal of your slit.

Wet heat envelopes him, taking in a few inches of him; Joel groans under you, head falling forward onto your breasts, forehead pressed into your sticky skin. One hand tangles into his curls, dragging his head back to look into your eyes. Your hips start to move, adjusted to his size easily and taking more of his cock, letting it split you open inch-by-inch. His eyes wildly search yours, seeing the pleasure overtake your mind, lips parting to match his as you both breathe out shallow, hot breaths.

“Fuck, Joel, so fucking big…” you whine for the first time tonight and the sound goes straight to his cock, twitching him inside of you as his hips jerk up, giving you another inch. Lust clouds his mind, nodding confidently as you take him, desperate to feel your tight, dripping cunt around him entirely.

“I know, baby, I know. Should’ve let me get you ready. But I bet you like the stretch, like a lil’ bit of pain, huh?” he coos, arm snaking around you to hold you closer, your eyes fluttering closed above him as you nod languidly.

“Fuckin’ love it, makes it feel even better,” you whimper when his arm tugs you down further, only an inch or two away from him being fully sheathed.

“C’mon, be my good girl, baby. Show me how you sit on my cock.” He leans forward, bending you backward with his force and holding you tight, his lips attaching to the soft, velvety skin of your breasts and biting, “Gotta face your punishment for stealin’ my hat. Take a cowboy’s hat, gotta ride the cowboy, babygirl. I don’t make the rules.”

You giggle, eyes clearing as you’re pulled out of your cloud of pleasure, gripping onto his shoulders and holding eye contact as you finally sink completely down, burying Joel’s cock inside your soaked pussy. Moans echo in the room, bitten down before they get too loud, your hips immediately finding a quick, sloppy pace to chase your highs. The slick glide of your walls grip his cock lusciously, your flooding arousal coating his balls as thighs as you ride him. Little noises slip from your mouth, simmering the coals burning in the base of his gut as he feels the familiar bliss building.

“Is this what I’m supposed to be doin’, cowboy?” you wonder, hips continuing their pace and mouth twisting as you hide a smile. Joel is unashamed, a wide grin on his face as he unravels one arm from you, picking up the hat from the corner post of the bed, and setting it loosely on top of your head. Giggles erupt from the both of you, your pace faltering as the muscles in his stomach cramp from use.

Recovering from the interlude, your thighs rub against the outside of his as you bounce, nails digging into his shoulders as your rhythm picks back up, the slap of skin against skin the only noise save for your airy breaths that get shallower and shallower. Flames have ignited in his gut, licking inside and burning hotter and hotter the closer he gets. Nearly at the edge, he needs more, body taking over and lifting you with him as he stands, holding you up on his cock as he thrusts hard and quick into you, dripping for him and gripping him tight to keep yourself up while he fucks into you.

“Oh—fuck, Joel! Right there, m’gonna—oh!” Your desperate pleas in his ear pitch up as you moan, cunt tightening with a flutter around him as you come, soaking his dick as he continues his hard pace, selfishly chasing his high.

A growl rolls from his chest when you come, his fingernails biting into the flesh of your ass, the slap of his balls against your skin as they draw up. His eyes squeeze shut as he moans your name, the first rope of his come released into your cunt, smaller whimpers following in its wake as he fucks one, twice more, filling you up as deep as he can.

Limbs feeling heavy, he turns you both around, pulling you off of him and dropping you gently onto the mattress. He flops down next to you onto his stomach, blissfully out of it as you move to straddle his back, fingers working the knots and soothing the aches growing there after a long week of work, and a night spent corralling your kids.

The warm press of your body against his back makes him hum contently, your breasts at his shoulder blades as you lay on him, one of his hands reaching the rub his fingers softly against the outside of your thigh.

“You know I think you’re the most handsome, right, honey?” you ask with a hint of worry in your voice, barely above a whisper. He nods, rolling over to his back underneath you and meeting your eyes, brow furrowed with concern.

“I know, baby. Jus’ was feeling weird this whole week. You made it a lot better, though.” A knuckle nudges your cheek, and you take the hat off, Joel chuckling again as you throw it off to the side of the bed. Laying down on him again, he strokes your hair while you hug yourself to his torso, both your eyes and his fluttering shut with exhaustion, from tonight and life in general.

Before drifting off, Joel speaks up, cheekily asking, “So…can I wear this costume next year, too?”

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