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bastardmandennis · 9 months

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gasoline (you're such a tease)

neighbor!joel x fem reader

Summary: Your car breaks down in front of Joel’s driveway. Being the good neighbor he is, he offers to help fix it.

Warnings: SMUT!!! SMUTTY SMUT like so much SMUT. age gap (reader is mid-20s, Joel is late 30s), no y/n or physical description of reader, takes place in 1997 (no outbreak!), semi-public grinding (for like a second don’t worry), uhh. riding, teasing, unprotected sex (pls do not do this irl), car talk, author clearly knows nothing about how cars operate (my b), dirty talk, very light choking, reader is kind of a crybaby/brat, i think that’s it but pls let me know if i missed anything!

Word count: 4.8k (told ya it got away from me)

A/N: woo lordy….this one did me in. took forever for no reason, but it’s here! title comes from gasoline by haim/t swift bc i just recently learned how hot this song is and it will not leave my brain. anyway please enjoy the bare minimum plot and all the smut! love y’all, thank you for reading!

Read part two here

“Hey,” he calls. Nods his head to the open hood, the way Joel is clenching the dirty rag in his hand. “What happened?” “Car broke down,” Joel grunts. Your eyes flick to him–he looks pissed. Your dad tsks and opens his mouth, probably to lecture you about the lack of proper car maintenance, but you cut him off before he can say anything. “It’s alright, dad. Thank god Joel was here to help me–he’s real good with his hands.” You turn to Joel, your bright smile the picture of innocence. He’s so stiff, eyes boring into you as if to say what the hell are you doing? “Right, Joel?”

“Please, please, don’t stop now,” you beg your car. You can see your driveway not even 300 feet in front of you. Your car has been sputtering, jerking back and forth for the past mile and a half. If I can just get to the driveway, I can call dad for help.

You’re really regretting not paying attention the last time he fixed your car for you, yelling instructions from underneath as you half-listened, too focused on your hot neighbor out mowing his lawn. Mumbling an uh-huh every few minutes, mouth dry as you watched Joel Miller strip his flannel off, mopping his forehead with the discarded shirt. The way he lifted his hand in greeting when he finally saw you staring. How you quickly looked away from his big brown eyes, embarrassed he caught you creeping.

Now you’re praying Joel isn’t home to see you struggle down the street–never mind hear you, car whining and groaning in a way that anyone in a four-block radius would have to be fully deaf to miss. Fuck. You send a quick prayer up to anyone listening, please, just let me make it to the driveway. I swear I’ll never ask for anything else, ever. You inch closer and closer, the empty spot in the family driveway practically calling your name.

Whoever’s up there must have a sick sense of humor. Your car rolls to a stop just before you can reach the driveway. You yank the wheel to the side, bumping the curb slightly before the car settles with a low sputter. Your head drops to the steering wheel with an angry beep that echoes through the quiet neighborhood and you can’t help the tears that begin to fall.

A quiet tap on your window breaks your self-pity session. Speak of the devil. You swipe the tears off your face, try to smooth your hair down as best you can before reaching over to crank the window down. He’s silent as you roll the window down slightly, dark eyes unreadable.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you say, defeated.

“There a reason you’re parked in front of my driveway?” he asks slowly.

You crane your neck to look behind him. His truck is stopped haphazardly behind your car and you realize that yeah, your car would roll to a stop right in front of his driveway, blocking the whole thing and making it impossible for him to get up. Because the universe hates you, clearly.

Your face heats in a blush. “Not really, I mean, my car just kind of shat the bed here, it’s not…sorry.”

Joel stares at you. Straightens up, looks at your pathetic junker. Scratches a hand through his patchy beard with a sigh. He doesn’t look angry, which is a relief, just tired. You know the feeling.

“Okay,” he finally says. “Lemme help you. Your dad home?”

You point to your house. The lights are all off and clearly no one is home. You know you’re on your own for now–dad at his softball game, your mom out shopping with her friends. The thought of being alone now brings more tears to your eyes and you look away before Joel can see.

He looks flustered by your sudden tears. “Hey, hey,” he says softly. “’s alright, sweetheart, I’ll help ya. Got a phone inside you can use, yeah? Your dad got a cell phone?” You nod, and he looks relieved. “Good, okay, see? Not too bad. Come on inside with me.”

Joel slaps the roof of the car as he straightens up and you jump. You quickly wipe your face again and heave a sigh. His face twitches into a small smile at the sound, arms crossed across his broad chest. His hands flutter around you as you step out of the car before one lands on your back. His palm is warm through your thin t-shirt and you shiver. He rubs once, twice, and guides you up the driveway into his house.

You can feel the brand of his palm long after he drops his hand. You stand awkwardly in the kitchen as he moves around, grabbing two beers out of the fridge and plunking one down in front of you. Twists the caps off of both and brings the bottle to his lips, stopping before he takes a drink.

“Go on.” He nods to the bottle in front of you. “Y’are old enough, right? Thought your dad said you were done with college now, figured…”

“Yes,” you whisper. Pull the bottle to you, fidget with the paper label. “Yeah, I mean, I am. Old enough.”

He hums, satisfied. His dark eyes never leave you as he sips his beer. There’s a little foam on the edge of his mustache and you want to reach out and wipe it away. He nudges the cordless phone to you and you take it, fingers brushing as you grab it.

Joel clears his throat, tips his head towards what you assume is the living room. “Be right out there, ’f you need me.” You nod and he stares for just a moment, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. Rubs his palm on his jeans and nods at you, disappearing to the living room.

You take a deep breath and dial your dad’s number. The phone rings and rings and you wander over to stand in front of the fridge as you wait. A postcard from Jackson, Wyoming hangs next to a Polaroid of Joel with his arm around a dark-haired man, their grins too similar to mark them anything other than related. Another Polaroid hangs off center, Joel with his daughter, Sarah. You’ve seen her a few times, knew through overhearing your mom’s gossip that he’d moved here last summer, that Joel and Sarah’s mother were long divorced, but Sarah still stays with her every summer. Doesn’t look like she’s here now, which you’re grateful for–the less witnesses to your embarrassing meltdown, the better.

The click of the phone breaks your thought. No answer, not that you really expected one–your dad was serious about his guy time not being interrupted, no matter what. You stare at the keypad, fighting back the sudden tears. You’re tired, it’s been such a long day–all you want to do is get your stupid car home and collapse in bed and not move for the next twelve hours, but no. Nothing is ever that easy.

Your mind races as you try to figure out your next move. Imagine asking Joel, this man you barely know, to help you push your car out of the way. At first the thought makes you smile, imagining him struggling to push your beater down the street. But then you start to picture him getting so hot in the late afternoon sun that he has to take his shirt off, obviously, the muscles in his back bunching and glistening with sweat as he grunts–

You take another deep breath. Shuffle to the living room. Joel’s sprawled out on the couch, but when he sees you standing awkwardly in the doorway he sits up.

“Everything alright?” he asks.

“No one’s answering,” you mumble. You can’t look at him, picking the label off the bottle in your hand. “I’m really sorry, Joel, I’ll just–I can call…” you trail off.

The thunk of the bottle on the coffee table draws your eyes back to him. His brows are scrunched, hair wild where it curls over his ears. Your hand twitches; you want to reach out and smooth it down for him.

“Nothin’ to worry about, darlin’,” he says softly, as if he’s doing his best not to spook you. Or he doesn’t want to see you cry again. “Why don’t you stay here until someone’s home, hm? Can take a look at your car too, ’f you want.”

“I don’t want to bother you,” you say.

Joel raises his arms and gestures to his empty house, his worn t-shirt pulling across his shoulders. “Does it look like I’m doin’ anything else?”

That finally makes you smile and he looks pleased at your reaction. He stands and stretches his arms over his head. Your eyes drag to the slip of tanned skin you can see above the waistband of his jeans, the hair there that’s just starting to speckle with gray disappearing down down down. You shake your head and look at the half disintegrated label beneath your fingers instead. You know you’re a lightweight, but it’s more than the beer causing the sudden butterflies in your tummy–Joel is hot, yeah but also…surprisingly nice.

He brushes past you in the doorway. Stops to look at you, brown eyes searching yours. His eyes flick to your lips, the bottom caught between your teeth. His thumb smooths over your lip and pulls it free. His eyes meet yours again and he smiles, stepping away. You blink and he’s across the kitchen as if nothing happened.

“Any day now,” he calls over his shoulder. The kitchen door slams and you let out a shaky breath, trying to ignore the sudden heat pooling in your stomach.

By the time you compose yourself enough to get outside, he’s already got the hood of your car up, bent over the engine. A wrench lays next to an oil-stained rag, which he uses to wipe his forehead with. A bead of sweat rolls from the back of his neck down his shirt. You want to follow it with your tongue, taste the salt on your lips.

He hears your footsteps and turns, wiping his fingers on the grimy rag. “’Bout time, sweetheart. You get lost in there?”

You roll your eyes and make a face at him. He smirks and throws the rag down, turning to face you. Starts to explain what’s wrong with your car, the hose or clamp or whatever it is that you need to replace, asap. You can’t stop staring at his hands, his long fingers as he gestures wildly and points, the way he twists the caps on and off with ease. He’s still talking as he takes the rag to his fingers, scrubbing at the oil from in between as best he can. Your throat goes dry.

He’s like 40, you remind yourself, but the reminder of his age doesn’t stop your sudden dirty thoughts like it should. You take in the gray streaks in his unruly hair, the scruff lining his jaw. How the veins in his hand seem bulge when he gets really worked up about the engine fluid or whatever he’s talking about.

You can’t help thinking of the way his hands would feel on your body, how his thick fingers would feel wrapped around your neck…or inside you. Your face flushes and you shift, interrupting whatever Joel was saying about the car.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he drawls. “’M boring you or somethin’?” A smirk pulls at his lips.

“N-no,” you croak. “I’m listening. You were saying something about the engine…cap.”

He doesn’t look convinced but he nods. “See that hose there? Needs replacin’ as soon as ya can, or you’re not going anywhere.”

The engine is a mess of cables, clamps and hoses twisting everywhere. You give him a blank look and he heaves a sigh. Grabs you by the shoulders and moves you to stand in front of him, so you’re both looking down at the engine block. He leans over your shoulder and points to a rusted piece of metal in the middle somewhere.

“Right there,” he murmurs in your ear. He’s so close and he smells so good–sweat and oil and some kind of manly body wash. And god he’s so solid behind you, so warm, you just want to lean back in his arms and never leave.

“Oh, right,” you say weakly. His heart beats steady behind you as you both peer into the mess of an engine. You’re so close, what if you just… you shift your weight onto the other leg, accidentally on purpose leaning back into him. Your butt brushes the front of his jeans lightly and he freezes.

His voice is a low rumble. “What do you think you’re doin’ here?”

His hands are gripping the edge of the car, caging you in beneath him, and you grab one without thinking. Pull it up and trace the veins along the back of his hand all the way up his arm. Your finger grazes the inside of his elbow and he lets out a stuttered breath.

Suddenly he presses you against the front of the car, bending you slightly so he can press the bulge of his jeans hard between your legs. You try to muffle the whine that slides out when his hand snakes around and covers your mouth.

“Shh, gotta be quiet,” he murmurs in your ear. You can only nod, overwhelmed by the feeling of him crowding you in, draping himself over you in a way that anyone driving by would know what was going on if they saw. The thought shouldn’t send a spike of arousal through you, shouldn’t have your clit throbbing in time with your heart. You shift again, brushing against where he’s hard and he groans, a deep thing that you can feel rumble through your whole body.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel says. He sounds as wrecked as you suddenly feel. Grips your hip with his other hand and grinds his hips into yours, slow and dirty. You moan, loud even with his hand over your mouth, and his hand slides down, gripping the sides of your neck. He squeezes once lightly, a warning, and your pulse takes off like a rocket.

“Joel, please,” you whisper. Your head is spinning and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

“Yeah, pretty girl? So desperate, can’t even wait til we’re inside, huh? Fuck. You that needy for me?” His voice is low in your ear, hand settling right under your breast, spreading over your ribs. You whine and shift again, trying to get him to move his hand up where you want it, but he’s too solid behind you. Doesn’t budge until you push back against him again, rocking your hips into his. He grunts and his hand flexes, reaching up to tweak your nipple through your shirt.

You whimper and he pulls you impossibly closer, breathing heavily in your ear as he traces around your nipple until you’re squirming. “Joel, touch me,” you demand.

“Yeah dirty girl, want me to put my hands on you out here, right where anyone can see us? That what you want?” His voice is low, dangerous.

What a sight you’d make if anyone drove by right now: you bent over the hood of your car, panting as Joel stands behind you and ruts into you, his big hand covering your chest and pulling you back to grind into him. The image is pornographic but you feel greedy–you want more, more, more.

“Y-yes, anything,” you whimper. Your head drops back onto his shoulder. You want to say more, to tell him how hot this is–how hot he–is, but all that comes out is a pitiful groan.

His chuckle vibrates through your body. His other hand inches slowly down your body, catching on your hip and dragging across your stomach to land right above where you need him most. You’re slick, practically dripping, just from a few light touches–you can feel the wet spot on your panties growing the longer he stands there. You can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed, not when Joel sounds just as wrecked behind you.

Your hand rests on his, trying unsuccessfully to pull it lower to where you’re wet and aching. He doesn’t move and you huff again.

“Joel–”

“I think,” he says, brushing his fingers across the waistband of your shorts, ignoring your groan, “I think we better take this inside, yeah? Gonna let me take you inside, sweetheart, open up this pretty pussy? Fill you up with my fingers, my cock, bet you’re already so wet for me, pretty girl.”

You suck in breath, dizzy with his proximity and his filthy words. You’re so turned on you know you’d let him do anything. You reach your hand behind you and palm his cock, solid through the denim of his jeans. He grunts and snaps his hips into your hand.

“Joel, I–”

The distant crunching of tires along asphalt has you springing apart–Joel hunches over the engine, covering his hard-on from whoever is driving by, staring down at the ground with a frown. You take a deep breath and grab the abandoned wrench, nodding as if you have any idea what you’re looking at down there. A smile ghosts over Joel’s lips, so you must not be that convincing. Whatever.

The car slows next to you, the man reaching over to roll the passenger window down. He waves to the two of you and you want to groan; your dad really has the worst fucking timing.

“Hey,” he calls. Nods his head to the open hood, the way Joel is clenching the dirty rag in his hand. “What happened?”

“Car broke down,” Joel grunts. Your eyes flick to him–he looks pissed.

Your dad tsks and opens his mouth, probably to lecture you about the lack of proper car maintenance, but you cut him off before he can say anything.

“It’s alright, dad. Thank god Joel was here to help me–he’s real good with his hands.” You turn to Joel, your bright smile the picture of innocence. He’s so stiff, eyes boring into you as if to say what the hell are you doing? “Right, Joel?”

He clears his throat. Tears his eyes from you and mutters something about replacing a part. Whatever he says must convince your dad everything’s under control, because he finally leaves with a wave and a light honk. You both watch silently until he finally goes into the house.

“The hell was that?” Joel grinds out.

“What? It’s the truth,” you shrug. He sighs, rubs a hand through his beard. There’s a smudge of grease on the side of his neck.

“What am I gonna do with you, darlin’?”

“Take me home?” you suggest.

For the second time that day, he guides you into his house with a hand low on your back. The difference is this time he doesn’t drop it once you’re inside, using it to push you impatiently up the stairs, past a pink bedroom you assume is Sarah’s to a room at the end of the hall. It’s dark and manly and smells like him. It’s a surprisingly clean room–he really is an enigma, your neighbor Joel. You wander over to the bookshelf across the room, running your hand over the comforter spread across his bed, tilting your head to read the spines of the books scattered haphazardly.

“See anything you like?” Joel’s voice rumbles from the doorway. His arms are crossed, leaning back against the wall as he watches you. You feel a tug of arousal at his deep voice, his broad arms bulging, the smirk on his face, just–him.

“Hm, I don’t know,” you tease. You sit at the very edge of his bed, watch his eyes track you as you lean back on your elbows, spreading your legs. “Maybe if you were closer–”

He’s across the room before you can finish speaking, pushing your spread legs open even wider with his thick thighs. He grips your jaw and squeezes lightly, forcing your eyes up to his. You haven’t even kissed yet, you realize, and like he has the same thought, he bends down to nip your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue.

“Here now,” he drawls. “But I think we could be–closer.”

He pushes you down onto the rumpled comforter and cages you in. Lowers his hips until you can feel the hard press of his cock. The movement catches the seam of your shorts on your clit and you whine, grab at his arms.

He noses at the side of your jaw, lips pressing lightly. Bites down hard enough to make you gasp. He presses a kiss to the side of your mouth, smiling when you turn your head for more.

“Stop being a fucking tease,” you whine. Lock your legs around his waist and pull him down into you. His groan is muffled but you can feel it vibrate through your body.

Finally, finally, he gives you what you want, dipping close to kiss your top lip, then the bottom. You grab his face and kiss him again like you’ve been wanting to do all afternoon. Joel’s mouth is firm and confident and when he slips his tongue into your mouth you’re reminded of the ache between your legs. You push him away and he immediately backs away with wide eyes.

Until you tighten your legs again and roll in an attempt to flip him over. His lips twitch like he’s trying to hold back a laugh.

“Can you just–get over,” you mutter. “Wanna be on top.”

His hands tighten over your thighs. “Okay, pretty girl. Whatever you want.”

It’s a flurry of limbs and clothes as you reposition yourselves. You can only stare as he pulls his shirt off from behind, throwing it off to the side without a care in the world. He’s so…beautiful, all tanned skin and shifting muscles. His eyes drop to your chest as you pull your tank top off, groaning at the skimpy bralette you have on underneath.

His eyes are dark and wild as he grips your waist and hauls you closer, settling you on his lap with an oof. It’s like his hands can’t stay still, wandering around your newly exposed skin. You tug his hands impatiently to your heaving breasts, so warm in the cool air.

“Where do you want me? Here,” he rubs his thumbs over your nipples lightly, “or maybe here?” He trails his hand to the waistband of your shorts, thumbing the button open and dipping down to feel your skin.

“Anywhere, please Joel, come on,” you babble. You’re so turned on you can’t even be embarrassed at how ridiculous you probably sound.

His thumb slows, disappearing into your open shorts to lightly trace the outer edge of your panties. Stops when you whine and move your hips, pressing you down hard onto his cock.

“You think you deserve to come, after the shit you pulled outside? Or did that get you hot, lettin’ me put my hands all over you out there for anyone to see?” He slides a hand down your panties, feeling the slick collecting there. Pulls his hand out and slides one finger in his mouth, humming at the taste.

“Poor baby,” he murmurs. “Soakin’ wet. This all for me?” His thumb rests lightly on your clit–the lack of friction is maddening.

“Not unless you plan on doing something about it,” you grumble. His grip on your waist tightens.

“Such a fuckin’ brat, gonna fuck the attitude right out of you, sweetheart,” he swears, yanking you down into another kiss. It’s bruising and biting–no more sweet Joel. Your heart pounds even harder at the thought of him getting mean, throwing you around just because he can. You grind down on him and Joel breaks away to groan loudly. Your mouth moves down the side of his neck, breathing in the smell of his body wash and sweat. You can’t stop running your hands over his chest, his arms, his neck. You tweak one of his nipples lightly and he frowns.

“What, it’s only okay when you do it?” you tease. A grin breaks out on his face.

“You’re ridiculous,” he grumbles. “Got a smart fuckin’ mouth. You need somethin’ to fill it up, get you to just shut up for once?”

“Oh, shit,” you breathe. Move your hips even faster against his, groaning when he thrusts up. You can feel him through his boxers, hard and thick just for you. He lifts you up just enough to slide your shorts down and off and then you’re back, just underwear separating you. It’s so good but it’s not enough–you need him inside asap.

“Joel, please, can you–ngh–just, don’t stop,” you whine. His thumb is swiping over your clit and you can feel it rising, the orgasm you’ve been waiting for all afternoon, and then…his hand stills. You want to cry at the loss.

“You wanna come on my fingers or my cock, sweetheart?” he asks. Snaps the waistband of your panties against your heated skin when you don’t answer.

You’re suddenly shy for a moment, self-conscious about telling him what you want, though you know Joel would never judge. “You, I just–want you.”

“Anything for you, darlin’,” he says softly, and you can tell he means it. Pulls his boxers down over his cock, already wet with precum. You drag a hand down, circling him lightly just to hear him groan.

“Fuck, lemme–” he pushes your panties to the side, swipes a hand in your slick. Uses that hand to lube his cock, fat head bumping your clit with every upstroke. Your twin moans are equally loud in the silence of his house.

“Gonna let me fill you up with this cock, sweetheart? C’mere, right there, fuck, look at me.” The head of his cock catches your entrance, just barely pushing in, and you snap your eyes up to his. He grips your side, holding you just over his cock but not letting you get any further. “Tell me how it feels,” he demands.

“Feels so good Joel, so big, come on,” you whimper. It’s just shy of too much and he’s not even in all the way.

“Be a good girl and lemme fuck you,” he says. Leans back against the headboard, grazing your nipples with his thumbs. Lets you sink down fully on his cock, pausing when your hips are flush with his. Your clit brushes the patch of hair at the base and you can’t help the gasp, grinding forward, chasing the feeling of your long-awaited orgasm.

“Wanna come, please,” you beg, “Fuck, you’re so good.”

“Look so pretty takin’ my cock like you were, shit, like you were made for me,” he grunts, snapping his hips up. “Pussy made just for me to fill up, fuck you all day if I could. You want that, darlin’? Stay here all day, just waitin’ for me to get home and slide my cock in, all wet and open just for me?”

“Jesus, yes yes yes,” you babble. The snap of his hips, his warm hands covering your bouncing breasts, the long line of his neck when he tips his head back in a groan, it’s all too much, and you feel the wave of pleasure finally threatening to overtake you.

“Can feel you gettin’ so tight baby, you close?” he asks. Slides a hand up and over your neck when you nod, barely any pressure but enough that you know you’ll have a mark of his handprint there later. The thought of him marking you as his sends you into a frenzy, nails scrambling over his chest and down to where you’re still connected, searching for your clit.

He bats your hand away, ignoring your whine. Ghost his thumb over your clit slowly, hips snapping up hard to meet yours.

“You’re gonna come on my cock like a good girl, let me fill you up til you’re drippin’.” It’s not a question but you find yourself chanting yes yes yes and finally he drops his thumb to your clit and that’s it, game over. Your groan echoes in the room and his hand tightens on your throat, just enough that it tapers off into a quiet squeak.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, “So fuckin’ loud, want everyone to hear us, ’s that it? Want them to hear how good you’re takin’ my cock, how fuckin’ full you are, soakin’ me?” His thrusts are sloppy, desperate, and you tighten around him. “Please Joel, come for me, want you to fill me up, want everyone to know I’m yours,” you murmur, raking your nails down his chest, catching on his nipples. His hips stutter, fucking up into you once, twice, then he’s gone, throwing his head back with a loud moan as he finally comes.

You flop down next to him, groaning as he slips out of you. You both lay there and try to catch your breath, listening to the overhead fan spin lazily and a couple arguing outside.

“Well fuck,” you finally say. “Should block your driveway more often, ’f this is what it gets me.”

Joel shakes his head but you can see him fighting back a smile. “You’re ridiculous,” he grumbles. Pulls you closer to rest your head on his chest. His hand finds yours, interlacing your fingers together, the steady beating of his heart lulling you to sleep.

masterlist here

#joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #the last of us #joel miller #the last of us fic #love me some greasy grumpy joel YUP #lexi writes things #i do not know what else to say except how down BAD i am for this man. embarrassing tbh.

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