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alltheirdamn · 2 months

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DECLINED | Mechanic!Joel x f!reader

PART 2

Summary: After a summer away, you decide to pay a visit to your favorite mechanic. Rating: 18+ Explicit Word Count: 3.7k Warnings: Pre-outbreak (AU), mechanic!joel, car sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, squirting, semi-public sex, multiple orgasms, slight overstimulation, light nipple play, unprotected piv sex, size kink, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (darlin', babydoll, cowboy), cock riding, rough sex, creampie, joel once again being irresistible and disgustingly sweet, light sprinkle of fluff, porn with no plot (kinda) A/N: I have zero self-restraint and couldn't stop thinking about mechanic!joel soo... you could say, it was so nice she had to come twice ;)

PART 1 | Masterlist | Ko-fi

It wasn’t like you were actually planning on pulling off the highway to head toward that mechanic shop… except you totally were. Summer came and went, and after a few months spent in Tallahassee, it was time to go home. You weren’t in a rush this time, though, so you could afford a quick pit stop at a small mechanic shop. Nothing needed to be fixed in your car, but maybe you’d pop a screw loose just for the hell of it.

Pulling into the familiar garage, your heart thumped in your ears as you threw the car in park and nearly ran inside. The waiting room was disappointingly empty minus a handsome man standing behind the counter…one that wasn’t Joel.

His black curls were slicked back, and with just a white tank top and flannel on, you could tell he was built just like Joel. At your sudden entrance, he glanced your way, giving the cigarette in his hand a quick flick over the ashtray on the counter he leaned on.

“Can I help you with somethin’, miss?” He asked. He had that same drawl in his voice as Joel did.

Taming down your flyaways from the humidity, you walked over to the counter with a friendly smile. You didn’t miss how his eyes did a once-over on your body.

“I was just coming through town, thought I’d stop in to say hi to Joel,” you explained.

He took another drag of his cigarette, the cherry burning at the bottom. After a long inhale, he puffed out an air of smoke, filling the space with that stinging smell of nicotine. You weren’t completely opposed to the smell, and you most definitely appreciated him blowing it to the side so that it didn’t creep up into your nose.

“Joel’s just up at the mini-mart grabbin’ some beers. M’sure he’ll be back soon,” he shrugged. “I’m Tommy by the way, his brother.”

He extended his free hand, and you met him halfway to give him a friendly handshake, introducing yourself as well. Tommy donned that same lopsided grin as Joel; it must be that Southern charm and hospitality.

“So,” he drawled. “How y’know my brother?”

You shifted your weight between legs, trying to come up with some stupid lie to explain how you did know him. Short answer: he fixed your car. Long answer: he gave you the best orgasms of your life.

“I, uh, came through town a few months ago to get my car fixed, and—.”

“Hey, Tommy! Come help me with the beers, man!” A voice shouted from the side door.

Tommy gave you an apologetic grin, rounding the corner to meet his brother outside. You leaned against the counter, drumming your fingers against it as you waited for them to reemerge. Tommy was walking back through the door moments later, a six-pack of beers in hand and Joel in tow.

“C’mon man, I told you no smokin’ in the damn shop,” Joel grumbled, smacking the back of Tommy’s head.

Tommy only laughed at his brother's annoyance, walking around the counter to give Joel a clear view of you standing there. As his eyes set on you, Joel stopped in his tracks, a wild grin splitting across his face.

“Well, would y’look at that,” he beamed. “If it ain’t my favorite customer.”

A warmth crept up your skin, your cheeks blushing at his words. He approached you, leaning against the counter to mimic your stance. He still wore that worn-down black t-shirt, the fabric thinned out and stretching over his muscles. You wondered how long those scratches stayed on the skin of his back after you both…

“Ohhhh,” Tommy interrupted, forcing your eyes to tear away from Joel’s. “You’re the girl that’s got my brother out $500!”

Snapping your head back to Joel, you smacked his bicep in embarrassment.

“You told him?!” You shrieked.

Joel doubled over in laughter, clutching the arm you had just whacked.

“Calm down, darlin’. I ain’t ever think I’d see you again! S’all in good fun.”

You buried your face in your hands, letting out a small groan. Of course, he’d tell his fucking brother about you; the girl that didn’t have any fucking money for a car and slept her way out of the debt. You could bet Tommy probably didn’t believe Joel when he told him the story, either.

“Aw, c’mon now babydoll,” Joel crooned, peeling your hands away from your face. “I ain’t meant no harm in tellin’ the story.”

“He hasn’t told another soul,” Tommy said. You glanced over to see him raise a hand in defense. “Scouts honor.”

You smack Joel again for good measure, eliciting a howling laugh from Tommy on the other side of the counter.

“Tommy, I’ll close up the shop tonight,” Joel said, raising an eyebrow at his brother. “Why don’t you head out and grab Sarah for me? M’sure I’ll be back in time for the game.”

“Fuckin’ better be,” Tommy tossed back. “Ain’t tryna lose my money to you again.”

“Seems like he needs that money,” you chimed in, rolling your eyes.

This time Joel shoved at you playfully, a hearty laugh rumbling through his chest.

“Now she’s got jokes!” He teased.

“Ha ha very funny,” Tommy said, scooping up the six-pack into his arms. “Nice meetin’ ya miss. Don’t run up your tab too high while you’re here.”

Tommy was just as good with the jabs as you were, so you threw him a quick smile and wave before he slid out the back door and disappeared. With only Joel and you left, that nervous feeling crept back in.

“Got another tire blown out or did y’miss me?” Joel teased.

“Don’t let your ego get too big, cowboy,” you said. “I’m just rollin’ back through town.”

“Pretty sure I’m big everywhere, babydoll, but y’already know that.”

Joel took a step towards you, twisting a strand of your hair through his fingers. You could see the midday sun reflecting in his brown eyes, making them sparkle the longer he stared. Your gaze flicked down to his lips, that pouty bottom one quipped up into a slight grin.

“You’re just so sure of yourself, aren’t you?” You laughed.

“Sure enough to know that pretty pussy is just soakin’ your underwear right now,” he drawled.

He grabbed your hips, pinning you to his chest with an arm braced around your back. Dipping his hand between your bodies, he slid a finger over the seam of your zipper, teasing your already throbbing clit. Your eyes fluttered shut at the feather-like touch of his finger, your body aching for him.

“Fuckin’ knew it,” he whispered in your ear.

Your breath hitched as he popped open the button on your jeans and tugged down the zipper. Slipping two fingers between your skin and underwear, he drew lazy circles over your clit, watching you with rapt attention as you tried to stifle a moan.

“Mhmm,” he crooned. “Been dreamin’ ‘bout this pussy ever since you left town, darlin’.”

“Yeah?” you exhaled, rolling your hips against his fingers as they worked faster.

“Ain’t ever had my cock so wet.” Joel pressed a kiss against your neck as his fingers slid between your wet folds and teased your entrance.

“Christ, Joel,” you exhaled. “Maybe we should take this somewhere else.”

Joel glanced around the empty waiting room and shrugged.

“No one’s here, darlin’.”

“Your shop windows are glass,” you argued. “Anyone can see us if they drive by.”

Teasing your wet folds, Joel slid a finger inside you, slowly curling it in an attempt to shut you up—which did work, unfortunately. You leaned into his broad chest, your head resting on his sternum as he continued the movement in slow strokes.

“Joel,” you whimpered, clutching the fabric of his shirt.

“What, babydoll?” He asked innocently as if he didn’t fucking know what he was doing to you.

“Take me to the garage,” you breathed. “Please.”

“Only ‘cause you asked so nicely, darlin’.”

Pulling his hand out of your jeans, Joel bent to scoop you up, drawing your legs around his waist to carry you out of the waiting room. You wound your arms around his neck, dipping your head down to kiss along the stubble of his jawline. His hands squeezed your ass as he walked you both through the door to the garage, situating himself at the workbench. Still positioned in his lap, you wasted no time and pulled him in for a long, passionate kiss. You could feel the smile on his lips as he kissed you back, his hands roaming up and down your body as you devoured one another.

“Jesus, babydoll. Y’really did miss me, huh?” he muttered against your open mouth.

“Maybe I did, cowboy.”

Grinding your hips on his lap, you felt the strain of his cock beneath the worn-out fabric of his work jeans. Joel nipped at your bottom lip, groaning as you circled your hips harder.

“Easy now, darlin’,” he warned. “Don’t wanna ruin my jeans like some middle school boy.”

You laughed and doubled down on your movements against his cock, each drag of your body forcing him to tense up. Joel’s hand came up to cup your breast through your bra, squeezing hard enough to make you whimper.

“Y’gonna be a good girl for me, babydoll?” he questioned.

You snuck a glance at his face, seeing his pupils blown wide with lust. Nodding quietly, you stilled your movements and focused on the feel of his fingers pinching your hardened nipple through the fabric. Your jaw went slack as he toyed with you, coaxing humiliating sounds from your lips with each twist.

“Hmm,” he mused, leveling you with a dangerous stare. “That's how I get you to behave, huh?”

“Joel,” you whined breathlessly.

“Use your words, babydoll.”

“I need you to fuck me,” you begged, leaning into his touch.

“Where’s those manners, darlin’?” he taunted.

Giving him the biggest pouty face you could muster, you pushed your bottom lip out and sealed the deal by batting your eyelashes at him.

“Please, cowboy?”

Joel rolled his eyes and chuckled, bringing his hand down on your ass to deliver a sharp slap. Hoisting you back up, Joel spun your body back against the wall of the garage, shoving your shirt up as he pressed you against it. He wasted no time in dragging down your bra, ravishing your skin with kisses and bites, leaving a trail of marks down your breast and sternum. You ran your hands through his curls, feeling the humidity of the air dampen them the longer you both stayed in the garage. Neither of you seemed to mind, though; you were so wrapped up in each other there was no telling of what was happening in the outside world.

He took your nipple between his teeth, biting it softly and rewarding your behavior with another trail of kisses back up your chest and neck. He mumbled a slew of curses under his breath as you mewled against his touch, his mouth hot against the underside of your jaw.

“Quite the mouth on you, cowboy,” you teased.

“Y’already know what this mouth can do, darlin’. Don’t tempt me.”

“Why don’t you remind me?” you asked, a smug grin teasing your lips.

“Fuck, babydoll,” he groaned.

Setting you back down on your feet, Joel nodded towards his black truck, silently instructing you to move. With the truck bed already down, you did a little hop and shimmy onto it, settling back against the warm metal. Joel grabbed a clean towel off his workbench and stalked towards you with a devilish grin.

“Afraid to get your truck messy?” You smirked.

“I already know you’re gonna have the entire bed of it soaked in damn near a minute,” he responded.

Letting impatience get the best of you, you worked yourself out of your jeans and underwear, slingshotting it directly at Joel’s chest as he neared the edge of the truck. Catching it with one hand, he pocketed the black lace effortlessly, offering you the towel to situate yourself onto. Sliding your body into the towel, you dropped your legs open, giving Joel a perfect view to ogle at.

“Like what you see, cowboy?” You giggled, trailing your fingers down your abdomen and towards the wetness between your thighs.

“Damn right I do, darlin’.”

Joel pressed up against the truck bed, bending over to kiss down your stomach where your hand laid against your aching clit. He brushed his lips over your fingers before drawing them into his mouth, sucking on them gently. Your breath hitched as your eyes connected, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief. Joel pulled your fingers from his mouth and guided your hand through his hair.

“Give them curls a tug if y’need it, darlin’.”

Then his mouth was on you. Devouring you. Lapping at you. Every flick of his tongue sent shockwaves through your body, your veins coursing with an indescribable need to explode. Joel didn’t let up for a single second, his tongue and jaw working at you until your thighs quaked around his neck. He was pushing you closer and closer until that coil inside your stomach was ready to snap. You cried out as he flattened his tongue against your clit, putting pressure at just the right spot to make you see stars.

“Right there… oh my God, Joel,” you whispered, panting as you felt that build-up in your body begin.

With another long draw of his tongue and the brush of his nose against the sensitive bud of your clit, that coil snapped. Hot, warm liquid gushed out of you, covering the entirety of his open mouth and chin. Joel groaned as he continued lapping at you, the disgusting sound of your wet cunt drowning out the heartbeat thudding in your ears. Aftershocks of your orgasm coursed through you, your body pulsing with pleasure with each press of his mouth against you.

You tugged at his curls as he instructed, and Joel lifted his face to reveal what a dripping mess he had become. Your cheeks reddened at the sight of his hooded eyes and wild smile; the look of sheer bliss painting his features. Exhaling, you sagged against the metal of the truck, your chest rising and falling as you tried to regain some semblance of control.

“God, I sure did miss this pussy,” Joel hummed, nudging his nose against your dripping cunt.

You squirmed against his face, too afraid another orgasm would surge through you and drench him again—which he obviously wouldn’t be opposed to. But you needed his cock buried inside you, now.

“Joel, climb up here,” you said, patting the metal beside you.

“What if I ain’t ready yet?” he argued, kissing the inside of your thighs.

“Joel,” you demanded.

“Alright, alright,” he sighed. “Don’t get all impatient on me now, darlin’.”

Hauling himself onto the truck bed, he crawled over your limp body, kissing up the side of your neck. Using what little strength you had left, you maneuvered yourself over him, flipping you both until you straddled his lap. Joel’s hands came up to your bare hips, his thick fingers squeezing and kneading the supple flesh as you rolled against his hardened cock.

“Gonna let me ride you, cowboy?” You asked.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he groaned, his eyes rolling back. “Boutta be the best ride of my goddamn life.”

Giving him a wink, you hurried to undo his belt and jeans, letting his cock spring free. Christ, you forgot how big it was. Joel chuckled at the way you stalled a moment, bucking his hips upwards in an attempt to get you moving.

“Calm down, cowboy,” you warned. “I’m gettin’ there.”

Wrapping your hand around the base of his cock, you positioned it at your entrance, slowly sinking down until your clit brushed against the curls at the base. Even dripping wet, you were forced to stretch around him, the fullness leaving you breathless for a moment.

“Y’look so pretty like that, babydoll. S’fuckin full of me,” Joel hummed.

You whimpered at his words, moving your hips up and down finding the right tempo that sent you both into oblivion. The press of your knees against the metal wasn’t the most comfortable thing, but you could ignore it so long as he enjoyed himself. You picked up the pace, your body bouncing up and down as you forced his cock deeper inside you. Joel’s jaw went slack as he watched you, enraptured with the way you moved above him. Your bodies slapped together with each drop of your hips, and his fingers flexed against your waist as he pushed and pulled your body until you were grinding against him.

“There ya’ go, babydoll,” Joel murmured. “Feel how deep I am?”

You only gave him a pathetic moan, letting his hands guide your body as you pulsed around his cock. You were so fucking full, the tip of his cock spearing up into you with each drag of your hips. Snaking a hand down your body, your fingers found your clit, drawing desperate circles as you tried to chase the orgasm threading through your muscles.

“Fuck,” Joel groaned. “You’re just desperate to cum again, huh?”

“Yes, Joel,” you whined, putting more pressure on your clit as he drove himself deeper.

“S’fuckin’ pretty like that,” Joel exhaled. “Gonna drench me again, huh? Let’s see it, babydoll, cover me with it.”

Your mouth opened with a soundless cry, your cunt flexing around his cock as another orgasm ruptured through you, soaking your thighs and seeping into his jeans. Hauling you down against his chest, Joel positioned his knees upward, pistoning his hips against yours at a violent pace.

“Fuck!!” You sobbed as more liquid gushed out of you, the strength of your orgasm amplified at this angle.

“Good fuckin’ girl. That’s it, c’mon,” Joel praised, his lips pressed against your ear. “Keep goin’, babydoll. I know y’can give me more.”

“I—I can’t!” You stammered.

Your orgasm wouldn’t let up, though. Joel’s cock drove into you with such force, that you continued soaking him over and over again despite your wailing protests. Joel continued praising you and talking you through each ripple of your orgasm, hushing you as you cried harder.

“Just like that, babydoll. Shh… Doin’ so fuckin’ good for me.”

Joel kept a brutal pace, wrecking into you as he chased his own release. His hips snapped up one final time before he was spilling into you with a choked groan falling from his lips.

Falling limp against his body, you stared at the sides of the truck bed with glazed eyes. Tremors still wracked through your body as you settled into his embrace, his hand rubbing soft circles over your shoulders. Craning his head to the side, Joel captured your lips in a soft kiss, his tongue dancing over yours slow and sweet.

“Doin’ alright, babydoll?” he asked, breaking away from your lips.

You nodded mindlessly, too blissed out to form words. Nestled into his body, you let your fingers wander up his bicep and over his shoulder. Joel placed a soft kiss at the crown of your head, his muffled words lost in your hair.

“Hmm?” You asked.

“S’nothing,” he whispered. “Just enjoyed the ride, that’s all.”

You rested your head on his sternum, giving him a questioning look.

“Sounded like you said something else,” you said, cocking a brow.

Joel huffed a laugh, his head falling back against the metal with a soft thud.

“I don’t know, darlin’. Guess I kinda like you.”

“Guess I kinda like you too, cowboy.”

Rolling off of him, you situated yourself against the side of the truck bed, resting your legs over his stomach. Joel’s hand kneaded into the tight muscles of your calves, working at the knots in your legs. His head leaned to the side to catch a glimpse at you, a smile breaking across his face.

“How long are y’staying in town?” he asked.

“I was only passing through,” you sighed.

His smile faltered a moment, that glimmer of hope flickering out in his eyes. Suddenly, the thought of leaving didn’t sound so nice.

“Why don’t y’stay the night?” he offered. “Got myself a big enough bed to sleep in, babydoll.”

“How much is it gonna cost me?” You teased, rubbing your foot over the softest part of his lower stomach.

“I’m thinkin’ a good blowjob,” he mused.

“Whatever you want, cowboy. Count me in.”

You spent a few moments in harmonious silence, basking in the circumstances’ simplicity. After a while, you found yourself climbing off the truck in search of your jeans and underwear. Joel worked his way down, too, stuffing his cock back into his pants and gathering the damp towel off the truck bed.

“You still have my underwear,” you grumbled, shaking out your jeans to slide into.

“And I’m gonna keep ‘em, darlin’,” Joel said, grabbing you by the waist to reel you in for a kiss. “Need me a lil’ souvenir.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you chuckled.

Foregoing underwear, you stuffed yourself back into your jeans and followed Joel to the passenger side of the truck, where he had the door already propped open for you. Helping you in, he reached over to secure your seatbelt, kissing your cheek softly before shutting the door and walking to the driver's side.

Turning the key in the ignition, Joel glanced over at you, his eyes roaming over your messy hair and rosy cheeks.

“Y’sure are beautiful, babydoll. Wish I could keep ya here,” he sighed.

You rested your chin in your hand, leaning over the center console.

“I don’t know, cowboy. Your negotiating skills are pretty damn good. Might talk me into staying with all those sweet words.”

“Oh yeah?” he perked up. “Y’know you still got a hefty bill to pay off.”

“Shit, you’re right,” you agreed. “I might have to stay a while to settle that debt.”

Joel cracked a smile, lifting up the console to haul you closer to him. Backing out of the garage, he navigated the truck onto the main road and towards wherever home was for him. Settling into his side, your fingers danced over the zipper of his pants as you waged your brows at him.

“Think I should start paying off that debt now?” You asked.

“I ain’t arguing with that, babydoll,” Joel grinned.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller one shot #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #mechanic!joel #joel x reader #tlou #tlou fanfiction #one shot #joel miller pre-outbreak

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soullumii · 10 months

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this is trouble | joel miller x f!reader

part 2

summary: it's been three weeks since joel last fucked you. tonight he finally has the time.

warnings/tags: 18+ smut mdni, filth. was meant to be plotless but sort of has plot now oops. fem!afab!reader, fwb, semi-public sex, vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, secret fwb, dirty talk, bratty!reader, grumpy!reader, dom!joel, soft!joel as fucking always (i’m a romantic, what can i say?) little bit of feelings oops, some angst at the end oops, pet names, no use of y/n

word count: 4.6k-ish

a/n: couldn’t find a gif of joel stroking that damn guitar so i made one. lowkey hate this but i needed to upload something so here i hope u enjoy

so when you give that look to me,

i better look back carefully cuz this is trouble, yeah this is trouble

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

It’s been a good few weeks since you last fucked Joel.

Since this whole friends with benefits thing started between you.

And tonight you’re kind of set on getting his dick back inside you again. Since, y’know, it’s been so long.

You’ve been craving it for a while, but tonight it’s kind of all encompassing. Kind of been the only thing on your mind since Tommy and Maria invited you out tonight. You and Joel, the latter who for the past three weeks has been busy with god knows what.

You’re kind of pissed at him. Kind of really pissed. And your horny, pent up brain doesn’t help much with keeping your cool.

At least you’re a few drinks in now, which has cooled your temper down some (though has spiked your libido quite a bit). Maria and Tommy are totally not picking up on your bad mood, though, thank god.

You swirl the last few dregs of wine in your glass, hardly listening to what Maria is practically shouting to you from the other side of the booth, since it’s so fucking loud in here. Your mind is caught on Joel standing at the other end of the Tipsy Bison.

You’ve been eyeing the way his hands curl around his glass of whiskey. The way his flannel stretches over his broad chest. The way his mouth moves as he talks to one of the stable hands named Harry.

You remember the feeling of that mouth between your thighs.

Fuck, how much longer is he gonna make you wait? Another damn week?

He looks over at your table, eyes catching yours from across the room. You glare at him, trying to convey the frustration and lust and want you feel.

His lip twitches in a smirk, seemingly having received your message. He pats Harry on the back, and then he’s sauntering back over to you and your little group of friends.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” He slides into his seat next to you in the booth. His scent of pine and sandalwood envelops you, a silent torture in and of itself. “Harold doesn’t know when to stop talkin’.”

Tommy laughs boisterously. When he’s had one too many drinks, he’s impossibly loud. “Man, I remember when he kept me at the greenhouse for an hour talkin’ about some bullshit.”

“He's a good guy. Just likes to talk." Maria glances at the radio perched in the corner, a new song playing through the speakers sprinkled throughout the bar. “Oh I love this song! Let’s go dance!”

Joel looks over at you, and you’re still kind of out of it, eyes fixated on the way the sleeves of his flannel are rolled up above his forearms, showing off the veins that snake across his skin, the muscles that shift with each drum of his fingers on the table top.

You’re not in any condition to dance at the moment, and Joel is certainly aware of it.

“I think we’ll stay here,” he says. “Y’all go enjoy yourselves.”

“Suit yourself.” Maria drags Tommy out to the dance floor, leaving you and Joel at this little booth tucked in the corner all by yourselves.

Alone.

In the dark.

And you’re drunk. Joel, probably on his way there.

This is not going to end well. Or maybe it will. For you, at least. Just…not for any poor suckers who might stumble across whatever is about to take place.

Joel lazes in his seat, casually stretching an arm over the back of the booth, pressing in close to you.

“Howdy,” he says.

“Hi,” you say.

“…You doin’ alright?” There’s a hint of amusement in his voice rather than any real concern, and you know he knows exactly what’s wrong with you.

“I’m fine,” you respond coolly.

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“I’m havin’ some trouble believin’ that, since you’re poutin’ like crazy right now, sweetheart.”

“I am not pouting-“

He laughs, full on fucking laughs at you. “Uh yeah, ya are. You’re actin’ like a lil brat. Givin’ me those goddamn eyes from across the room.”

“Eyes? What eyes?”

His voice dips into something dangerously low, only for you to hear. “The ones practically beggin’ me to eat your pussy. Those ones.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Joel!” you hiss, turning your head to hide your embarrassment. You drain the rest of your drink and immediately wish you had more. Or some water, at least, to cool down the warmth settling high in your cheeks.

“That’s what you want, ain’t it?”

“I don’t fucking know. Are you actually going to do it? Or are you just gonna leave me high and dry again?”

He sighs heavily, his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose and why is he the frustrated one here?

You’ve gone three fucking weeks without his dick in you! After he and you made a deal! You should be mad. Not him!

But maybe…maybe that’s just it. Maybe he isn’t fucking you because he just doesn’t want to anymore. And that, scarily enough, makes your chest ache and your eyes get all teary and wow you are so drunk right now.

“Listen—“ he starts.

“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep, Joel,” you snap, folding your napkin into little squares to distract yourself from how upset you are.

He pulls back, and you think he might just get up and leave you to stew angrily again. You could afford to throw yourself another pity party. There’s a bunch more napkins on this table that need folding.

He doesn’t leave, though. Instead, his hand settles warm on your thigh. Your fingers stall around the napkin.

“I know I’ve been busy, but I intend to keep my promise this time,” he says softly, his hand squeezing your bare flesh, your sundress already having ridden up your thigh. “Don’t think you’ve been the only one cravin’ this.”

His hand caresses down your inner thigh until his palm is cupping you through your panties, his knuckles brushing over your clothed entrance, and you’re grateful that the booth is angled the way it is, that you’re tucked on the inside, because it makes it a lot harder for anyone to see what he’s doing.

And it makes it a lot easier for you to give into it.

Your legs fall open, providing him more access to where you’re slick and ready for him, your knee pressing into his jean-clad thigh.

“Mm, there we go,” he smirks, stroking you through the fabric, and a tiny whimper escapes you. He leans in, his warm breath ghosting over your ear when he murmurs, “You’re such a drama queen when you’re horny.”

Motherfucker…

Okay, yes. You can be a bit dramatic. But it’s not only your body that’s horny for him…your heart is kind of horny too. Joel is your best friend and to not see or talk to your best friend for three weeks is practically torture, especially when they’ve been giving you the good dicking down that you deserve. You have a right to be dramatic.

You send him a scathing glare but it melts the moment his fingers pull your panties to the side and slip beneath the fabric.

You’re wet as hell. You know it. He knows it. But you’re still mad at him, and kind of drunk, so…

“Don’t you say fucking shit.”

“I wasn’t goin’ to.”

It’s a damn lie. He loves commenting on how wet you get for him. While it’s a bit humiliating for you, it only boosts his ego. Like hell he needs an ego boost, though.

His finger lightly swipes up your folds, and he bites down on his lip to try and hide the arrogant grin on his face at the way you thrust your hips forward needily with a breathy pant, but he’s failing. It’s practically impossible for The Joel Miller not to make things about himself.

“How often did you touch yourself thinkin’ about me while I was gone?”

Case in point.

“Hmm…I don’t think I ever did.”

He circles the pad of his finger around your entrance, and stares you down with dark eyes, looking straight through your core, his voice dipping into something sultry and ragged and downright criminal. “You’re such a damn liar.”

You feel like you might melt into the faux leather booth. Your thighs are already sticking to it, why not just become part of it at this point?

He slowly sinks his finger inside you, his thumb stroking your outer lips as he does so, and you’re boneless against the cushioned back of the booth.

“I’ll be honest for the both of us. Practically came to the thought of you every night,” he mumbles against your ear and lightly bites your earlobe. “Was thinkin’ ‘bout how much I missed you… ‘bout your body… ‘bout this perfect pussy.” He emphasizes each word with a pulse of his thick finger inside you.

You shudder, your body lighting up at the thought of him lying in his bed, his hand closed around his cock as he came with a moan of your name on his lips.

“Why didn’t you just come see me?” You huff, choking on a breath when he crooks his finger inside you, stroking your walls.

“Too much was goin’ on. Maria had me on patrol every morning, then I had guard duty to watch the folks that just left town. I wanted to see you, but I didn’t have enough time. You know I like takin’ my time with you, sweetheart.”

His excuse is valid enough, and he really does like taking his time with you. Content to just plant himself between your legs for hours to coax you through orgasm after orgasm. Or fuck you slow and deep, pulling back just when you’re on the crest to watch you squirm before he builds you up again, over and over until you’re practically screaming at him to let you cum.

Still…he couldn’t have stopped by once to explain his situation?

He slides in another finger, and you vaguely register that the song Maria and Tommy sauntered out to the dance floor to is coming to an end and another is starting in its place. They’ll be back soon.

“We can’t do this here,” you hiss, attempting to pull his hand out from under your panties, but it’s half hearted. You don’t want him to stop.

But he pulls back anyway, “If that’s what you want.”

It’s sweet, it’s considerate.. But he’s a damn jerk, because he knows how long you’ve been waiting for this. He knows you want him to keep going. Especially judging by the way he’s looking at you, eyes dark and hooded, the corner of wicked his lips twisting up…

He just wants you to fucking say it.

“Joel…” you grumble.

“What? You change your mind?”

Your fingers curl around his hand, tugging it down again, pressing it up against your throbbing core. That’s gotta be answer enough.

He’s not having it. “C’mon baby. Use your words…”

You scowl at him, muttering, “Don’t stop.”

“Speak up, sweetheart. Can’t hear ya. It’s loud in here.”

Ughhhh! “Please touch me, Joel. Please don’t stop.”

He smirks. “As you wish.”

Princess Bride reference. Cute. Makes your heart flop a little in your chest.

Joel eases his fingers back inside you agonizingly slow. He strokes the pads of his fingers inside you. A tingle unfurls in your chest, starts in your toes and spreads up your calves, and a low moan tumbles from your lips.

Thankfully, from anyone passing by, it would look like you two are just deep in a private conversation. Joel, pressed against you, leaning in close, and you, shielded from view by his broad shoulders, listening intently to whatever he’s saying.

They just don’t know that he’s breaking you down, brick by brick. That he’s making you leak all over this fucking booth. That it’s pure filth he’s muttering in your ear and not a juicy secret.

“God, you look so pretty takin’ my fingers, like you were made for 'em. Such a good girl."

“Joel, oh my god…”

Your breaths are coming out hotter, heavier, especially when Joel’s fingers slip out only to glide up through your folds to run delicious patterns over your clit.

“Fuck…” You whimper, the heat in your lap pooling thick and abundant. Your hips chase after his fingers, grinding against his hand.

You’re dangerously close.

“That feel good, baby…?” He eggs you on, his voice a rough rumble of thunder against your ear.

It’s embarrassing how quickly, how enthusiastically you’re nodding, and Joel slips his fingers back inside you, his thumb coming down to rub circles on your clit as he fucks his digits up and into you.

The music is loud, but beneath it, you can hear the wet sounds of your pussy as Joel takes you apart, stroke by stroke, a steady metronome.

You grasp onto his forearm desperately, your nails digging into the muscles there with a gasp of his name. “Joel-“

Shit. You’re seriously going to cum in this shitty little moth-eaten booth in the only bar in this entire town. You won’t be able to live it down. But you can’t bring yourself to care–you’re close, on the precipice, and you meet Joel’s dark, dangerous eyes, urging you to cum on his hand with a C’mon baby, you can do it, give it to me and you might, it’s right there it’s—

“…-ere did you learn to do that?”

The unexpected sound of Tommy’s voice has you frantically ripping Joel’s hand out from beneath your dress and scrabbling for a napkin to wipe up the mess on your thighs, on the fucking booth, your orgasm rearing back angrily and setting into a dull buzz in your limbs.

The wicked man beside you scoots himself further under the booth, likely to hide the hard-on he’s sporting. He wipes his hand on his thigh. You think you can hear him grumbling angrily under his breath at the interruption, but you’re not sure, ears instead trained on the sound of your friends getting closer.

You reach for the drink menu, pretending to read it.

“I took dance classes in my free time before the outbreak,” Maria says as the couple closes back in on the booth you and Joel were totally not defiling. She shimmies at the both of you. “You guys really missed out on some of my great moves while you were moping.”

“We weren’t moping,” Joel defends.

“Sure…” Maria drawls.

If she only knew.

“I’m just not really feeling well,” you say.

Maria’s playful grin falls into a look of concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just tired. Need to go lay down, I think. It’s been a long day.”

“Let me walk you home,” Joel says, grabbing his coat he had slung over the booth and strategically positioning it over his pants when he stands.

“Thanks.”

“Feel better!” Tommy says, and you give him a grateful nod as Joel’s hand settles on the small of your back and he steers you out of the stuffy bar and into the cool summer night.

Katydids sing in the dark as you and Joel stroll down the street to your house tucked at the end of the cul-de-sac. Fireflies light the asphalt. An owl hoots overhead.

“You really feelin' bad?” He asks quietly, once you’ve reached your front porch.

"No. I just wanted to get out of there."

He hums. "Are you still mad at me?"

“I dunno.” Not really. You’re just pissed you were interrupted. Still, he needs to feel some remorse for his radio silence, so you don’t elaborate.

“I’m sorry,” he says sincerely as you unlock your door. “Really I am. There’s no excuse. I should’a made the time to at least tell you what was goin’ on. I’m sorry.”

You open your door and pause in the warm light from the foyer. “You can make it up to me by fucking me.”

“As good as that sounds, I wanna make sure you’re okay. Tell me what’s wrong.”

You sigh. Ugh. Usually Joel’s fine with pushing things to the side. Bottling things up. He does it a lot. You sort of wish he would just drop it right now. You don't want to deal with the weird feeling in your chest that's been here all night. But he’s looking at you, waiting.

"I just thought...Maybe you were done with this. With me."

He frowns. “Hell no. I like what we have. I don’t want it to stop anytime soon." He steps forward, wraps his arms around your waist to pull you in.

"Me too..." You murmur, hands drifting up his back, pressing him in close for a hug. "I'm glad you're safe."

He chuckles. “Course I'm safe. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I dunno," you say into his shoulder. "I just worry about you.”

"Yeah? You worry 'bout me a lot?"

You pinch his stomach playfully. "You're my best friend. Of course I do."

He pulls away a bit, huffs a tiny laugh. But it's not like his usual laughs. It's forced. Quiet. "Right."

You're a little too drunk to ask about it, and still horny enough to want to get things back on track, so you look into his dark eyes, smiling coyly, lip tucked between your teeth as you roll your hips into him. "Now that I forgive you…think you can fuck me now? Cuz it’s been way too fucking long.”

He groans softly, yes ma'am, and presses his lips against yours.

Okay, yes, he’s your friend but you also kind of kiss sometimes.

You tug him inside the house and shut the door, your mouth still latched to his. The moment the door snicks into the frame, he’s got you pressed against it, his hand rucking up your dress to bunch it around your hips while his tongue dips into your mouth.

You swiftly unbutton his flannel, sliding it down his arms. Your hands find his chest, fingernails scraping over his pecs, through his dark chest hair that thins out the further south it goes, but thickens again into a happy trail that disappears below his waistband.

Fuck, he’s so…

His fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties, a repeat of earlier, and you break the kiss to drop your head against the door with a thump when his fingers find your clit again.

“Jesus, you’re so wet.”

…And there he goes.

“Three fucking weeks, Joel,” you bite, though the end of his name melts into a moan when his fingers sink inside you again.

“Didn’t know you were keepin’ count.”

“Fuck—“ He quirks a finger. “S-shut up.”

He huffs out an amused chuckle into your cheek, trailing kisses from your jaw down your throat. His teeth sink in, and his mouth suctions over your skin, delivering a beautiful little mark on your flesh that he kisses gently after. It drives you fucking crazy.

“I’ll shut up if you let me taste you,” he mumbles against your skin, his voice vibrating pleasantly through you.

Your pussy pulses around his fingers, your clit honest to god throbbing against his palm, and now he knows you really want him to eat you out, especially when you follow up with an enthusiastic nod.

Joel slips his hand out from beneath your panties to lift you up around his hips and carry you to your bedroom. He plops you on the edge of your mattress and immediately sinks to his knees on the floor, eye level with your cunt.

“God, been thinkin’ about you for weeks. Missed this pussy so goddamn much,” he says, leaning in to kiss your inner thigh.

His lips trail down your leg as he pulls your panties off and stuffs them into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Let’s see how good I did,” he says, pulling your legs apart to get a good look at what a mess he’s made of you. He hums appreciatively at the sight of your glistening folds, licking his lips. That enough has you clenching around nothing, fingers tightening in the bed covers.

“You seein’ what I do to you? No one else can make you this wet, ain’t that right?”

“You’re such an arrogant ass,” you growl.

He just smirks as he lowers himself again between your legs. He puffs a breath of cool air along your slit before listing over to kiss your other inner thigh, grinning when you groan in frustration.

“Joel, please.”

“So impatient.”

“I’ve waited thr—“

“Three weeks, yeah I know.”

He presses forward to lick a hot stripe up your folds with the flat of his tongue, and your hand flies to his hair, anchoring him closer to your pussy.

“S-shit,” you whimper.

He lightly drags a finger along your slit, the slight pressure fucking agonizing.

“Joel.” You sort of want to scream at him. He’s been teasing you all fucking night.

“Alright,” he laughs and allows you to guide his head back down until the bridge of his scarred nose is pressed into your folds and his tongue is prodding at your entrance.

He takes his sweet time unraveling you, alternating between licking into you and sucking your sensitive clit into his mouth. You can’t say much, reduced to wordless cries with each movement of his mouth.

It’s messy, sloppy, but you like it. You like seeing the wetness on his face when he pulls back for air. You like the way his hair is pulled in all different directions, all because of your greedy hands. You like the way he has to push one of his hands down to palm himself in his jeans, just to relieve some of that pressure.

He clearly loves eating you out. And you very much love that he loves it.

But you’re getting kind of desperate. Kind of really want to cum. So…

Your hips begin to grind against his face as he sucks on your clit, and he seems to receive the message because he slides two thick fingers into you and starts to eat you out in earnest, delighting with a low moan when your legs clench around his head, the scruffy hairs of his beard tickling your inner thighs.

“Holy shit, Joel.”

“Mm—“ He moans.

Your foot keeps slipping off the bed, so Joel’s large, warm hand curls around your calves to situate your legs over his shoulders. This new position grants you more leverage to chase after your orgasm with steady rolls of your hips into his hungry mouth.

He sucks your clit as he thrusts his fingers into you at a brutal pace, hitting your g-spot that has you jerking against him with each stroke. His hand plants on your abdomen to hold you down, stilling your desperate movements.

You’re getting close, the pressure building and magnifying as Joel moans against your pussy, the vibrations driving you insane.

“Fuck, Joel—hah-“

“Mm.”

“Jesus, Joel—fuck—oh my—hnhh—”

“Mhm.” He encourages.

It shatters in you, white hot and falling over you, a waterfall of warmth. Your body straightens stiff as a board, back arching off the bed, quivering as you cum against Joel’s mouth, your slick running down his chin and catching in his beard.

You try to push him away, your orgasm overwhelming on its own, but Joel hates it when you do that, wants to make sure you really feel it, so he presses himself back in to lick and guide you through it. Drawing it out.

It has your head falling back, eyes rolling into your skull, mouth dropping open on a satisfied moan.

He only gives you a short amount of time to recover while he pulls his jeans and briefs off. You tug your sundress over your head. And then he’s rising up to meet you again, scooting you back until your head almost brushes the headboard. He sinks his thick cock into you as he presses his lips against yours, muffling your surprised and needy moan.

And then he reaches up, his large hand gripping the headboard as your legs wrap around his waist, and then he’s fucking you in earnest, each snap of his hips sheathing his cock fully inside you in a desperate rhythm.

And all you can do is lay there and take it and fall apart.

“S-shit, baby,” he grunts. “That’s it.”

“Oh God…” You whine.

Your hands scrabble for purchase on his back, your blunt nails scratching up his sun-freckled skin, feeling the muscles bunch and shift as he holds the thumping headboard steady, his knuckles turning white as he grips it. His other hand finds its spot next to your head, holding himself up as he obliterates your pussy.

He prepared you well for him, but you’re still stretched so full, the breaths knocked from your lungs with each thrust of his cock into you. His pelvic bone brushes your clit with the roll of his hips, the uneven pressure dragging you closer and closer to that metaphoric cliff.

And his moans certainly help, too. He’s not quiet, between strings of praises are ragged moans and tiny whimpers. It only turns you on more.

“Fuck, Joel, can’t leave me without this again.”

“Trust me baby,” he groans. “Another damn week and I wouldn’t’ve survived.”

His hand releases the headboard, slides down to tangle in your hair. He tugs your head back, and molds your lips to his. Teeth nipping your bottom lip before his tongue dives into your mouth. You moan appreciatively.

You can hardly breathe, but god it’s perfect. This moment is so fucking perfect. You want to take a picture of it. Frame it on your damn wall.

You’re sure it looks like he’s fucking eating you right now, but you like it. You want him to consume you. Want him to be yours… Want to be his.

Stop. He’s your best friend.

He pulls back to lick a stripe from the corner of your lips along your jaw before sucking marks and kisses down your throat, his hips still thrusting into you steadily. His hand squeezes your breast, rolls your nipple between his index and thumb.

“Oh…oh—“ God…

“You close baby girl?”

“Fuck, ye-yes… Yes need you…”

“N-need me to help you cum?”

He’s losing it. You’re losing it. Fuck please!

“Please, Joel—“

He pulls back enough to watch you, lips pink and puffy and kissed the fuck out. His eyes drift to where he’s thrusting inside you, dick slick with your arousal, sheathing itself inside you with wet, fucking nasty sounds.

“God, you're perfect. So fuckin' perfect...”

His hand drifts down and you tremble, brows screwing together as his thumb fiddles with your clit.

White hot arousal pools in your core, unrelenting. Unstoppable. You feel like a damn metamorphic rock. Becoming something new under all this heat and pressure.

It crests, crashing, filling your insides with hot magma as your mouth drops open on a silent scream, eyes squeezing shut as your pussy clamps down on Joel’s cock repeatedly.

He follows right behind you, painting your insides with thick, hot cum, leaking out of your entrance over his cock and down your ass cheeks.

You hiss when he pulls out, feeling empty. He gathers the cum that leaked out with his thumb and pushes it back into your quivering hole.

“So goddamn pretty…” he murmurs. “Look so pretty with my cum inside you…”

Friends. You’re friends.

So why the hell does this feel like so much more? Why is it that you’re so turned on by him practically claiming you?

You’re still trying to catch your breath when he lays down beside you, brushing your hair out of your sweaty face. “Feel better now? Not so mad anymore?”

“Mhm,” you hum happily.

He leans in, presses his lips against yours softer, slower…meaningfully. You kiss him back, tugging him close. His arm snakes around your waist, tugging you into him. You're pretty sure normal friends with benefits don't do this. But you and Joel have never been normal.

In those long three weeks you had started to worry maybe he'd never come back. It fucking scared you. Now, you're unsure you ever want to let go.

When he pulls back his eyebrows are furrowed, lips drawn in a frown. He looks concerned. "What's wrong?"

"What?"

"You're cryin'..." He wipes your teary eyes with his thumb.

Fuck fuck fuck.

You scramble to wipe your eyes, sniff. Smile at him. Reassure. Act normal. "Oh, no-I'm fine. Just... think I'm still drunk."

"Somethin' going on? You looked like you were gonna cry back at the Bison, too. Did I do somethin'?"

You shake your head, squeeze his arm. "No, of course not. I'm just being weird. Tired, I think.”

"You sure?"

"Mhm.”

"You can tell me anythin’, y'know?"

What? Like I think I'm in love with you? Fat chance.

"I know. Everything's fine."

You’re such a damn liar.

He can see right through you, but he lets it go. "Okay. If you're sure." He leans in to press a kiss to your jaw. Friend. Friend friend friend. "I'd love to stay but I gotta go. Ellie's probably wonderin' where I'm at."

Joel sits up, swings his legs over the edge and stands. Grabs his jeans, pulls them up. His belt buckle jangles as he slides it through the loops.

“I really did miss you, by the way,” he says, looking down at you. “You. Not just the sex.”

His words warm your cool, exposed body. Fuel the burning the realization, I love you. “I missed you, too.”

He turns to leave, and you see the fabric poking out of his back pocket.

"You still have my panties."

He smirks. "Guess you'll hav'ta come over to get them back."

You smile back, blushing. “Looking forward to it.”

He leans down to kiss your head, "Night, angel."

"Night," you say faintly.

Only when your front door slams shut do you allow yourself to give into the fantasies. To imagine what it’d be like to call him yours. To not keep things a secret. To tell people you're together. To be his.

Damnit, you’re in trouble.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #tlou #the last of us #joel miller #game joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x you #this is trouble

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neurotic-sinkhole · 23 days

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i CANNOT beleive that joel, mr. smallbean himself, showcased an audio clip of a band he was in???? in one of his hermitcraft videos and NOBODY is talking about it. i vaguely remember him mentioning playing drums before, but i've never actually heard him play??? especially not in a band????? please can we talk about this.

#smallishbeans #joel smallishbeans #smallishbeans joel #hermitcraft joel #joel hermitcraft #like what do you mean???#thats so cool #he isnt just a minecraft man #he has talent

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keepsaken · 29 days

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if xisuma can shred guitar, joel can play drums, stress can play keys.... we are getting closer and closer every day to getting HermitBand

#hermitcraft #keepsakes #smallishbeans #joel smallishbeans #xisuma #stressmonster101

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st4rfruit · 2 months

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I love all these new people discovering Joel through hermitcraft. Why is he cosplaying shrek? Wait he's good at pvp? WAIt he can play the drums? Yep. That's Joel.

#hermitcraft #mcyt #hermitblr #joel smallishbeans #smallishbeans #hermitcraft season 10 #hermitcraft smp

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beskarandblasters · 7 months

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Mothman Fever

Mothman!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Main Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist

Author’s note: Shout out to @nostalxgic for making this killer graphic for me!! Also the kick ass banners and !!Mothman!! dividers are by @saradika!! This was my first time writing any sort of monster fucking so let me know how I did!!

Summary: You and your friends head to Point Pleasant, West Virginia in late September for the Mothman Festival. And that’s where you meet Joel Miller, a fellow Mothman enthusiast. But once you spend some time alone with him you realize that he’s not who he says he is.

Word count: 5.6k

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, canon divergent, no outbreak, drinking, semi public sex, use of pet names (luna lol), oral sex (F receiving), fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, sex pollen, dub con, monsterfucking, no use of y/n

“Don’t you think Mothman is kinda hot?”

You glance at your friend Tara in the rear view mirror and raise your eyebrow.

“How can a moth be hot?”

“Oh, come on! You know he’s not a normal moth… he’s got like… muscular legs,” Janelle, your other friend, chimes in from the passenger's seat.

“You don’t wanna fuck Mothman?” Tara asks.

“... No? And you do?”

“How can you be a Mothmanner and not wanna fuck him?” she continues.

“Mothmanner?” you snort.

“Mothman enthusiast, whatever you wanna call it.”

“Not really. I’m more interested in him for scientific purposes.”

“That just leaves more of him for us, Tara,” Janelle says.

“Yeah, after you examine him for research we’ll tag team him.”

“You guys are gross,” you say, rolling your eyes.

Janelle grabs your phone connected to your car through the aux and opens Spotify, searching for a song.

“Whatcha playin’?” you ask.

“Just a silly little diddy. Perfect driving song.”

The sound of a creaking door and a bubbling sound comes through your car speakers. You know exactly what she chose. As the drums kick in you ask, “Really? The Monster Mash?”

“It’s festive,” she shrugs.

“Oh yeah, turn that shit up,” Tara adds.

You roll your eyes and turn up the volume. You take the Point Pleasant exit off the highway and the anticipation brews in your stomach. You’re into all sorts of cryptids but there’s something different and intriguing about Mothman specifically that you can’t put your finger on. You’ve been picturing this moment for a long time but… not with Monster Mash playing in the background.

Janelle turns down the music and says, “Look what I found on Facebook! There’s a group Mothman stakeout tomorrow night at the McClintic Wildlife Area. We should go!”

She hands Tara her phone and lets her look at the event details.

“Sounds like fun. You down?” Tara asks, handing the phone back to Janelle.

“I mean, why not?” you say, entering the residential streets of Point Pleasant.

To say the city of Point Pleasant is enthusiastic about the Mothman Festival would be an understatement. The city is decked out in decorations and the streets are littered with people in costumes. As you get closer to 4th Street, where the Mothman Museum and the famed Mothman Statue are located, it gets even busier. A black banner hung between two telephone poles reads “Welcome to the 20th Annual Mothman Festival” in white block letters. You drive down the street slowly, careful not to hit any festival goers on your way to your hotel, passing the Mothman Statue before turning onto the street your hotel is on.

You park your car and hastily grab your bags before heading into the lobby to check in. A hotel like this in Point Pleasant, West Virginia wouldn’t normally cost a lot but it’s Mothman Festival weekend and hotels across the area have jacked up their prices.

You get your room keys from the desk and head to the room to change quickly before hitting the town. It’s still quite early in the day, only around two in the afternoon and there’s plenty of festivities to be had. You change into a black t-shirt that says “Mothman ate my entire ass at a Denny’s”, a pair of ripped jeans and a pair of converse before heading out with your friends.

You walk down the street and head to your first stop; the Mothman Statue who is unreasonably buff, complete with a six pack and a tight ass. Each of you take pictures slapping his ass before taking a “normal” group photo standing beside it.

The next stop is Village Pizza where they have a pizza with toppings arranged to look like Mothman. On the way there you stop and take pictures with other festival goers who are dressed as Mothman, just having a grand ole time.

You arrive at the pizzeria and get a booth, waiting for a server to come take your order. And that’s when you see him. No, not Mothman but an attractive human man sitting at another booth across the restaurant. You make contact and look away out of shyness. But something about you tells you to look at him again. And when you do you find he’s looking at you still, mouth curving into a smirk when you lock eyes again. This time you notice his features; graying hair, deep brown eyes, and a strong nose. He’s wearing a flannel and leaning forward on the table, resting his elbows on it. He gives you a small wave and you wave back without thinking, prompting Tara to ask, “Who are you waving at?”

“No one,” you say quickly, looking away from the man.

“Nah, you’re lying. I’m gonna look,” Tara says, starting to turn around.

“Don’t-” you start but it’s too late. She turns around and spots the man, who also shoots her a wave.

“Him?” she says, turning back to face you. Janelle turns around, too. And just like with Tara, the man waves to her.

“And what about it?” you ask.

“Oh, he’s hot. Go over there and talk to him,” Janelle says.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” Tara asks.

“I’m… not that forward.”

“It’s the Mothman Festival, go fucking wild,” Janelle shrugs.

“Agreed,” Tara nods.

“Okay, fine. Fine! I’ll go,” you say, sliding out of the boot, legs already feeling like jelly.

You walk over to him and watch his smirk turn into a full smile. You stand by his table and feel stupid. What kind of person makes eye contact with someone in a restaurant and just decides to boldly introduce themself? What if he’s here with another girl?

“Hi, um, I’m here with my friends and I saw you across the restaurant and I, uh, thought I’d say hello,” you say nervously, feeling even stupider by the end of your pathetic introduction.

“Hey there. I’m Joel. Would you like to join me?”

“Are you here with anyone?”

“No, just me. My brother was supposed to come but he bailed on me to go to New Jersey.”

You sit down across from him, continuing the conversation.

“Ah so you’re not from around here?”

“No, just here for the festival, like I’m assuming you are,” he says, gesturing to your shirt.

And now you feel self conscious of what you’re wearing but stupid shirts like this are literally all you fucking packed.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I think it’s funny.”

“Thanks,” you say awkwardly, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“You doing anything tonight?”

“Nothing in particular tonight. But tomorrow night my friends and I are going to that group Mothman stakeout at the McClintic Wildlife Area.”

“Oh nice. I’m going to that, too.”

“It sounds like fun!”

“Well if you’re not doing anything tonight maybe I can take you out to the bars tonight. I think some alcohol would loosen you up and make you less shy, Luna.”

“S-sure that sounds like fun. What time?” you ask, heart fluttering at the nickname.

“Around eight. You staying in the area? I can meet you at your hotel.”

“Sounds good!”

You tell him the name of your hotel and get up to go back to your friends.

“And by the way,” he says, stopping you, “I’m Joel.”

You tell him your name but he still chooses to say, “See you tonight, Luna.”

You walk back to your friends and sit in the booth, finding that they already ordered the Mothman pizza and were waiting for you before they started eating. But they didn’t mind.

“So who is he? What’s his deal?” Tara asks.

“Uh, his name is Joel and he’s here for the festival.”

“Alone?” Janelle asks.

“His brother bailed on him to go to Jersey.”

“Who bails on the Mothman Festival to go to New Jersey of all places?” Janelle says.

“Not sure about that but he asked me to go out tonight.”

“You said yes, right?” Tara questions.

“I did… Was I not supposed to?”

“No! No, you need to go. Right, Janelle?”

“Agreed.”

“Thanks, guys… He’s also going to McClintic tomorrow night, too.”

“Oooh,” they both say in unison.

“It’ll be fun,” you say, “But let’s eat and get the other stuff on our list done. I feel bad I’m leaving you guys tonight.”

“Don’t feel bad. He’s hot,” Tara says, taking a bite of her slice of pizza.

“And older,” Janelle says.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. We’ll see if it even works out.”

“You sell yourself short. You went over and made the first move. And then he asked you out. He’s gotta be interested,” Janelle continues.

“I guess you’re right.”

“I always am,” she laughs.

You finish your pizza and head to the next stop on your list; a local coffee shop called The Coffee Grinder, where they have Mothman shaped cookies complete with red eyes. You eat your cookies and finish up at the coffee shop before heading back to the hotel, weaving in and out of the festival crowds. You get to your room and go to change, looking to wear something less embarrassing but… that’s not possible with the clothes you packed. You decide to put on a shirt that’s a little bit better; one that reads “I kissed Mothman in the lamp section of Home Depot” and opting for a skirt with the same pair of converse.

Tara and Janelle wish you good luck on your date before you leave. You go down to the lobby a little bit before eight and wait for Joel, anxiously pacing back and forth. You feel a hand on your shoulder, startling you. You turn around to find Joel, greeting you with a smile.

“Oh, it’s just you.”

“Just me. Didn’t mean to startle ya.”

“No worries. Where are we going?”

“Just one of the local spots downtown. There’s a band playing there tonight.”

“Sounds like fun!”

And with that you’re walking side by side to the bar. The streets are even more lively than they were earlier in the day. You try not to notice the way he puts a protective hand on the small of your back whenever you walk through a crowd.

He leads you off the crowded street and into a bar that’s also just as busy. Luckily, he spots some empty stools at the bar and leads you over there. It’s pretty loud so getting to know him here might not be in the cards for tonight but at least you’ll have the alcohol to loosen you up a bit like Joel said. Joel orders a beer and you order a special blood orange margarita, complete with a gummy butterfly on top– how festive.

“You must be pretty into Mothman, huh? I guess ya gotta be if you’re coming here,” he says, half shouting over the loud music.

“Haha, yeah! My friends think he’s hot.”

“Really?” he says, eyes widening as he takes a sip of his drink.

“Yeah, I don’t really get it! I just think he’s interesting but if he were real they’d probably try to fuck him or something.”

“You wouldn’t, Luna?” he asks, a playful grin spreading across his face. There it is, that nickname again.

“You would?” you counter.

“Maybe if he bought me dinner first,” he laughs.

After a few more laughs and another round of drinks, you feel yourself loosening up a bit and enjoying the night more. From what you can tell, Joel seems like a nice, southern guy who’s a fellow cryptid enthusiast, no red flags so far.

“I have to ask, Luna… Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks after the third round of drinks. He’s definitely a little tipsy by now.

“No, sir,” you say, immediately regretting the sir that slipped out.

He inches a little closer to you, eyes looking you up and down, and says, “What do ya say we get out of here?”

Is it a stupid idea to leave a bar and go somewhere with a man you just met earlier that day? Probably. But do you care? Not really, especially in your slightly inebriated state.

You nod and he flags down the bartender to pay the tab, before grabbing your hand and walking you out of the bar.

“Where are we going?” you ask when you step back out onto the street.

“Wherever,” he says nonchalantly, “But tell me Luna, are you a dirty girl?” his large hand grabbing your waist as you walk, pulling you closer into him.

You can’t deny you want him. And you’re feeling a bit more confident than usual.

“For you? Sure am.”

“Dirty enough to do it in an alley?”

“Oh fuck yeah,” you drunkenly say, excitement building up between your legs.

He turns a corner, leading you down a small, dimly lit alleyway. You ignore all of the red flags practically screaming at you. Between your undeniable attraction to Joel and the alcohol, your judgment is heavily impaired to say the least.

He walks you to the end of the alley, to a spot where you hopefully won’t get caught. With a brick wall pressed up against your back, he starts placing wet, open mouthed kisses along your neck, hands greedily pawing your breasts over your shirt. A small gasp escapes your lips when he nips at the soft skin on your neck, hard enough to leave a mark that your friends are definitely going to question later.

His hand slips under your skirt, toying with the fabric of your underwear; your damp underwear. He pulls it to the side, running his fingers along your entrance, collecting whatever wetness is there and bringing his hand in front of your face to show you.

“This,” he says, rubbing his thumb against his index and middle finger, pulling them apart and watching your wetness stretch with it, “is all the evidence I needed,” he finishes.

The deranged and devious look in his eyes as he looks at the physical evidence of how bad you want him makes your knees weak. He brings his fingers to his mouth, tasting your juices and sucking them clean, closing his eyes at the taste. He replaces fingers back on your cunt, stroking it lightly and nipping your neck again.

“You taste so fucking good, Luna. So sweet,” he says, coming out as a low growl.

Without warning, he pushes two fingers in, not letting you warm up with a single one first. He curls them against your walls and you’re so drunk you forget you’re in public, letting out a moan that’s just a bit too loud.

“Shh,” he whispers against your neck and you try your best to keep quiet…

Until you hear a stern “HEY!” causing you to gasp.

He pulls his fingers from you quickly and you both look to your right to see a police officer with a flashlight, pointed directly at you. The officer’s eyes trail down to your skirt and then back up to your neck; to the marks on your neck. He sighs.

“Really guys? Trying to fuck in an alley like a couple of teenagers?”

You stand up straight and smooth your skirt down, unsure of what to do next.

He sighs again and says, “Get outta here before I arrest you for public indecency! Damn festival goers…”

You blink a few times, in disbelief that he’s letting you go. But Joel grabs your hand and leads you out of the alley, with you holding your breath the whole time. The cop mutters something about how he thought he caught a drug deal as you walk past him. When you hit the sidewalk you exhale, letting the tension leave you. As for Joel he starts hysterically laughing, a stark contrast to the embarrassment you’re feeling.

He notices the look on your face and asks, “What? You didn’t think that was funny?” while trying to hold back more laughter.

“Not really!” you say, lightly slapping him on the arm.

“Aw come on, Luna. He just blamed it on the festival and let us off with a warning. It could’ve been a lot worse but it wasn’t!” he reassures you.

“I guess you’re right,” you sigh.

Your phone vibrates in your bag so you pull it out. Your friends are texting you, asking you when you’ll be back. The time on the screen says two in the morning but how is that even possible? Joel met you at eight and you only went to one bar, only had three rounds of drinks and you didn’t go all the way in the alley just now. Chalking it up to being drunk and losing track of time, you put your phone back in your bag and say to Joel, “I think I should get back to my friends.”

“Of course,” he says, “I’ll take you back now.”

The walk back to your hotel is somewhat quiet. The festival goers on the streets are mostly cleared up by now. You assume the quietness is due to the embarrassment from earlier and you wonder if Joel is mad at you for getting worked up. You shake your head and try to put that thought out of your mind, still trying to salvage what you have with him, if anything at all.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” you start just as you turn onto the block your hotel is located on, “And I’m excited to see you tomorrow at the Mothman stakeout.”

“Me, too, Luna,” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, “Trust me, we’ll have lots of fun tomorrow night.”

You stop at the entrance to your hotel and begin to part ways. He pulls you in for a kiss and wishes you goodnight. But before he leaves he exchanges phone numbers with you, just in case it’s hard to find each other at the stakeout tomorrow night. You type your name into his phone followed by a butterfly emoji. He chuckles when he sees it, saying, “See you tomorrow, Luna.” And with that, he turns and walks down the street, disappearing into the night.

Heading back up to the room, you replay the night’s events, trying to get a read on Joel and determine your feelings for him. You decide that you’re definitely interested in him… but you need to know more. Upon entering the door, Tara and Janelle are standing within just a few feet of the entrance, side by side and arms folded.

“What?” you ask, reading the expression on their faces.

“An update would’ve been nice,” Tara says.

“I lost track of time!” you reply.

“I get that but you were with some mystery man you just met today. You don’t know his intentions!” Janelle adds.

“You’re right,” you sigh, “Nothing crazy happened. I just forgot to look at my phone.”

“We’re just glad that you’re okay! …And that we can finally go to bed now,” Tara says, yawning and moving over to the bed.

“Sorry to keep you guys up! But thanks for being concerned for me. I’m just gonna be in the bathroom,” you say.

They nod and get into bed, while you go to the bathroom to inspect the marks on your neck under better lighting. And sure enough, there’s several marks and there they are but there’s also… a gold film? Perhaps sheen is the right word? Whatever is it there’s flecks of gold peppered along the hickeys. Maybe it’s something from the bar? That’s the most logical explanation you can think of. You complete your nighttime routine and head off to bed, head filled with dreams of Joel, filling in the gaps of information about him.

The next day is a blur, a myriad of events strewn together haphazardly. Your friends can tell you’re in a sort of daze; you can tell by the way they look at you, but they choose to say nothing. First, you went back to The Coffee Grinder because after your late night, you desperately need caffeine. After that, you hit up the Mothman Museum, taking advantage of some special exhibits and talks for the festival. And finally, it’s time to get ready for what you’re most excited for; the group Mothman stakeout at the McClintic Wildlife Area. But you haven’t heard from Joel at all throughout the day. And you’re starting to worry. Maybe he doesn’t actually like you, maybe he decided that after you guys got caught in the alley you weren’t worth his time. But he did say he was going tonight and you hope he keeps his word.

You head to the hotel to change, opting for another one of your stupid fucking t-shirts, leggings and a pair of sneakers. This time your t-shirt reads; “Mothman is real and he sells me weed in the Waffle House parking lot” because why wouldn’t it?

You pack up your camping supplies; a sleeping bag, a backpack, some snacks along with a bear canister to store them in, a canteen full of water, and a lighter.

The sun is just starting to set now and it’s about time to go. Before you leave the hotel you decide to text Joel:

Hey, will I see you tonight?

You wait with bated breath for a response. And to your surprise it comes rather quickly.

Of course, Luna. Wouldn’t miss it for the world🦋

You exhale, feeling a little bit better about things between you two and head out with your friends. You drive to the McClintic Wildlife Area and park your car in the parking lot, which is decently full. But that was to be expected. What’s the point of coming to the Mothman Festival if you’re not going to try and catch a glimpse of the real thing?

You grab your stuff from the trunk of your car and set off into the forest, following the other Mothman enthusiasts until you reach a clearing where others have already set out their sleeping bags. In the middle of the ring of sleeping bags there’s a fire going, surrounded by people already drinking and socializing. Tara and Janelle spot two guys sitting by the fire and decide to head over to them. You can’t blame them, you did leave them all night last night. So you set up your sleeping bag where there’s a free spot, sit down, and wait for Joel.

And… nothing. The sun sets and you haven’t heard from him. Tara and Janelle make eye contact with you periodically, shooting you looks that are supposed to ask, “Are you okay?” and you nod back to them, not wanting to ruin their fun. You lay down and look at the stars above you, just about to accept the fact that Joel stood you up when all of a sudden you feel your phone vibrate next to you.

You hold up your phone in front of your face and to your surprise it’s a text from Joel reading:

Hey, I just found the most convincing piece of Mothman evidence ever. Come look.

You sit up and look around, confusion on your face. He’s nowhere to be found.

You type out:

I don’t see you. Where are you?

He replies:

Look behind you.

You turn around and look at the line of trees behind you and yet again… nowhere to be found.

You go to type a response back but he beats you to it, saying:

I can see you. I don’t want to leave the evidence behind… Just come to the trees, Luna.

You sigh and get up, making sure to take your phone with you. Tara makes eye contact with you so you pretend you’re taking a phone call, pointing to your phone and putting it by your ear. She nods and you turn to walk towards the tree line, a nervous pit forming in your stomach. This is such a bad idea. It’s such a typical stupid girl in a horror movie trope and yet here you are, walking into a dark forest to meet a man you just met yesterday.

You reach the trees and take a deep breath before walking into the woods, turning on your phone’s flashlight. You call out Joel’s name and don’t hear anything. Rolling your eyes, you call him on your phone, getting a little fed up now. He doesn’t pick up but you hear a ringtone in the distance. You groan and follow the sound, because if you can hear Joel’s phone but not Joel… who’s to say that Mothman is actually real and he got Joel?

You find his phone resting on a fallen tree, the screen lit up with Incoming Call followed by your name. You pick up the phone and look around, shining the flashlight out in front of you.

You smell something in the air… something fruity… almost like apple cider… with a hint of citrus? A golden mist hangs in the air, permeating the area around you and filling your senses. Whatever’s around you smells good and inviting. Without thinking, you take a deep breath, letting the smell and the mist calm you down. A warmth brews between your legs and your skin feels hot, at first it’s comforting… But soon enough it becomes unbearable. Sweat beads up on your forehead and the warmth between your legs grows stronger. A presence behind you is apparent; it’s daunting. Something tells you to turn around and when you do, you can’t believe your eyes.

Towering above you is Mothman himself. You’re met with glowing red eyes, a muscular stature, large wings fanning out behind him, and threatening claws. He’s tall, anywhere from seven to eight feet tall, his monstrous eyes practically burning a hole into you. You should be terrified right now, running for your life back to your friends. Or at the very least taking some pictures. Instead you’re frozen, not in fear… but in desire. The warmth that was brewing between your legs is unignorable.

“Joel?” you call out in a small voice.

The creature takes a step towards you almost as if it can understand. Your skin feels like it’s burning, like if someone were to touch you the heat of your skin would also burn them. It’s like torture, one of the most agonizing sensations you’ve ever felt. Without even thinking you drop your phone and his, pulling off your shirt over your head, and instantly feeling some relief, but it’s not enough. You kick off your shoes, sliding your pants down your legs, followed by your underwear. The cool forest air hits your skin, perking up your nipples and providing you with seconds of relief, but it’s still not enough. The creature’s eyes scan your features, training up and down your naked form.

The air moves around you, and so does the gold mist. Right before your eyes the creature shapeshifts, losing its wings and claws, returning to a normal human height, turning… into Joel? And yet even still he keeps the unmistakable glowing red eyes. He looks at you with a devilish grin, stepping closer towards you. He’s completely naked, body shimmering under the pale moonlight and the flashlight on the forest floor beneath him.

“So once again, Luna, are you a dirty girl?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter out, your body practically calling out for him.

He grabs you by the waist and pushes you down so you’re lying against a flat rock behind you. The coolness of the rock is a stark contrast against the heat radiating off of your body. Joel spreads your legs apart forcefully, marveling at your cunt and how it’s already dripping for him. His red eyes flash back up at you, taking note of the desperate look in your eye before feasting on your cunt. He licks your cunt in a way that can only be described as animalistic, flicking his tongue across your clit and lapping at your entrance. You writhe against the rock and Joel has to hook his arms around your thighs to keep you steady; to keep your cunt directly on his mouth. The tension in your core builds as he continues to eat you out, tongue swirling around your sex as he drinks in your juices. With one last flick of his tongue you cum against him, one of the wettest and longest orgasms you’ve ever had. The movement of your hips slows down as you come down from your high but alas… barely any relief.

Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you let out a soft whimper. His glowing eyes meet yours and he asks, “Still not enough, huh Luna?”

“No. No, it’s not. Please, Joel, I need more.”

He lets out a dark chuckle, bringing his fingers to your cunt and stroking it lightly, gathering your wetness on his large hand and rubbing it between his fingers. He pushes two fingers inside you, knowing you’re well past needing to warm up with one first. He curls them against your walls, letting his fingers get absolutely soaked. He brings his thumb to your clit, rubbing small, fast circles around it while his fingers inside you push against your g-spot. In no time you’re coming again, your cunt fluttering around his fingers rhythmically. Your release soaks his hand all the way down to his wrist and he leaves his fingers inside you, just feeling your cunt clench and relax around him. Your body feels euphoric, tingling sensations coursing through your limbs but still… it’s not enough.

“How you feelin’, Luna?”

“I still… I still need more,” you whine.

“Beg,” he says, hovering over you, red eyes staring directly into yours.

“Joel, please. I need it,” you beg.

“How bad?”

“So fucking bad,” you whine, sounding completely delirious.

“I suppose,” he teases, spreading your wetness onto his already hard cock, whose size is intimidating…

He pushes into you in one swift motion, hooking his muscular arms around your thighs and leaning forward, folding you in half. You’re face to face with him now, his non-human eyes locked onto yours. His cock stretches your walls, hitting the deepest angles inside you as he fucks you relentlessly; completely feral. You look up at him with the tree covered moon above him, completely in awe of what’s happening to you. You swear his face flashes from his human form to his Mothman form, but only for a split second. He brings his mouth to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin even harder than the night before, surely enough to leave darker marks and more gold film. With one last slam of his hips you’re coming on his cock, your cunt convulsing erratically. He fucks you through it, making it last even longer. Your own release pulls his own from him, and it’s powerful. You feel his warm cum spilling inside you, strong and like it’s never ending. You’re silently grateful you’re on birth control even though you don’t know what the effects Mothman cum will have on you. Eventually your orgasm ebbs and flows as it winds down and Joel slowly comes to a halt. He stays inside you for a moment, keeping his eyes locked on you.

“I bet now you’re good. Completely spent, ain’t that right, Luna?”

“Mhm,” you say, still a little breathless.

Eventually he goes soft and his eyes shift back into their usual warm brown shade. He pulls out and lies down next to you. You roll over and rest against him, his own body burning up just like yours. You’re too exhausted to even question what just happened, letting sleep quickly overtake you.

You wake up the next morning alone, the sunlight peeking through the tree cover. You sit up and rub your eyes, looking around you for any sign of Joel. But he’s gone.

You try to remember last night but it’s all foggy, like it’s a distant memory already. You vaguely remember the fruity scent and the gold mist in the air. You look down at your skin and there’s still traces of it there but not much. You pull on your clothes and grab your phone, looking at the time before rushing to get back to Tara and Janelle. They must be worried sick about you. You power walk back to the group, just trying to get there quickly but also not so panicked that they’ll think something is wrong. From what you can tell, you’re fine. Just a little dazed with a soreness in your core and a stickiness running down your legs.

You’re back in the clearing and coming up on the collection of sleeping bags. Tara and Janelle spot you and wave, completely cheery with wide smiles. Not the response you were expecting.

“Sorry, I didn’t think I’d be gone that long,” you say, stopping in front of their sleeping bags.

“Don’t be! Looks like you got lucky, too,” Tara says with a wink, looking at your disheveled state.

“Did you guys-”

“Mhm,” Janelle says, “With those guys you saw us talking with. Did you end up finding Joel?”

“You bet I did. But didn’t spot any signs of Mothman?” you ask.

They both shake their heads no and you sigh.

“Guess there’s always next year,” you say, bending down to pack up your stuff; stuff that you didn’t even end up using.

You walk back to your car after you’re all packed, feeling your phone vibrate in your bag.

You pull it out to find a text from Joel reading:

Until next time, Luna🦋

Looks like the Mothman Festival will be an annual tradition.

Part two

End note: Hope y'all liked that!!

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elliesmistress · 2 months

Text

Here are some loser!Ellie hc's, my imagination about how Ellie "coming out to Joel" and just her in general.

Warnings: swearing, drug usage (weed) Ellie is in high school (but in her final year so she's 18), no use of y/n, suggestive themes (kissing and cuddling AHHH 🤭🤭🤭), Ellie bottoms! 😨😨

♡ Loser!Ellie who met you during band practice at school, she was tuning her guitar and you came up to her and Dina .

"hey, is anyone using this drum kit?" Your tone was so sweet and my god did Ellie fold, she was just stuck, she couldn't say anything and Dina laughed at her. "No one's using it hon, you can use it" and when you played, my fucking god was Ellie shocked- she never thought someone so innocent looking would play so fucking good.

♡ Loser!Ellie who DEFINITELY offered to give you guitar lessons just so she could get closer to you and to give you lessons-

"hey, so I was just wondering if you wanted to come to mine sometime?" You ask Ellie and she freezes, she can't believe you've just asked her that and she agrees and that's how you guys started dating

♡ Loser!Ellie who definitely NEVER tells Joel about you two dating but he's not dumb

♡ Loser!Ellie who whenever she gets back from school and Joel would ask about her day, she would go ON AND ON about you, like will NOT shut up about you. "That's nice kiddo, do you maybe wanna tell me what you did today?"

♡ Loser!Ellie 100% denies being gay, it's so obvious tho, like. She's got her Calvin Klein boxers all over her room, the way she talks about you, the way she gets all nervous whenever you come over for a "sleepover" (it was really a sleepover date) she CANNOT stop blushing when you're around her-

♡ Loser!Ellie who taught you how to rip a fat cone from a bong . "Yeah so like you kinda just" she put the bong to her mouth, using the lighter she blows in and breathes in for a decent 20 seconds before blowing out, let's just say you both hot boxed the room. Thank fuck Joel wasn't home.

♡ Loser!Ellie who 100% got you stoned for the first time (at Joel's house) and you called her "Els" for the first time and got SUPER tense and nervous, blushing like a little tomato <33

♡ Loser!Ellie who definitely gets stoned with you and plays games like Minecraft, TWD (the game), horizon zero dawn.

♡ Loser!Ellie who refused to get up and pee when you were falling asleep on her shoulder, like this bitch was BUSTING but nope, can't move because you were falling asleep.

♡ Loser!Ellie who went downstairs shit faced stoned (eyes red, puffy eyes, very noticeable) because you were hungry and wanted a snack, who was "creeping" down the stairs and went to the pantry only for Joel to scare the shit out of her

"Ellie what are you doing?" She fucking screamed, dropping the chips "Joel?! What the fuck?"

"Go to bed kiddo it's late"

♡ Loser!Elliewho's a bottom, sorry I don't care about what y'all say, she's a bottom- your on her chest, she's hugging you closer to her and your planting little kisses on her collar bone. Once you both are asleep, Joel just knocks at the door and slightly opens it to make sure you guys are ok and he smiles when he sees you guys cuddling.

♡ Loser!Ellie who's 100% the little spoon, she wants to be all big and tough but as soon as you offer her "tough guy personality" immediately dies "do you want me to spoon you?" You offer and she frantically nods "yes, yes yes pleaseeeeeee"

♡ Loser!Ellie who falls asleep on your chest watching a super serious romance, comedy movie

♡ Loser!Ellie definitely listens to Rage against the machine, absolutely loves that fucking band, but she also likes chase Atlantic.

♡ Loser!Ellie who is at a party with you and decides she can handle 5 shots (she can barely handle 2) so you have to drag her into the house with Joel laughing his ass off and she's just drunk and mumbling stupid shit "No! I'm not wasted you are!" Pointing at you and giggling like a little kid.

♡ Loser!Ellie who definitely walks out of her room with the small hickey's you gave her (didn't want Joel to see) but he saw and brought it up making her blush because you were next to her-

♡ Loser!Ellie who's doing the dishes and you get home from work and run over to her and hug her from behind, kissing her gently on her shoulder and her giggling like a mad man- slightly pushing you off "babeeee, I'm doing the dishes!"

♡ Loser!Ellie who doesn't let you pay for food, ANY FOOD! If you guys are high and watching something and you do "babe? Can we get some uber eats?" She grabs her phone, you get what you want and go "here's my card" and she shushes you and pays with her card.

♡ Loser!Ellie definitely gets mad when you don't offer her to shower with you, you get home from work all sweaty and disgusting and she rushes over to you and hugs you-

"ewww, ellieeee!" You shriek "I'm all yucky get off" and she simply goes "missed you sm"

"okay well I gotta go shower so" and she lets go and gives you puppy dog eyes "without me?" Her voice is soft and sad, you giggle. Ofc not, go get the towels.

♡ Loser!Ellie who is at dinner with Joel and Joel doesn't know how to bring it up but he just goes for it.

"Soo... She's a good friend of yours?" He says, putting down his fork. She looks up at him and nods "yeah" he coughs, looking at her with a stronger gaze than before "is she uh- is she your girlfriend?" Ellie looks at him and says "no"

"I wasn't born last night kiddo" he chuckles at how defensive she's gotten and then she finally admits it-

PART 2??

A/n: HIYAAA POOKIES <33 I know I've done absolutely fuck all the past few months BUT HEREEEEE (please don't come after my soul) haven't been too motivated to write again but I got motivated to write this and YES I am still WORKING on I never existed but yet again, it's not the type of writing I do because Ellie is a little cutie patooti , so I might change it slightlyyyyy so it's not AS TOXIC) love you all x

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frannyzooey · 1 year

Text

Short Days, Long Nights: 6

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

Series Masterlist

—

You’re surrounded in warmth.

The storm outside is gone, the blue wash of dawn filtering through the nearly transparent curtains and your eyes flutter open, focusing on nothing. A tickle of breath skims across the nape of your neck, the weighted drape of an arm curled over your side and you are limp and boneless.

Sated, relaxed.

Tucked away safely in the solidly soft embrace of his body, you fall back asleep.

–

When you wake again hours later, it’s much brighter outside and the warmth is gone.

Reaching your hand back, you find nothing but wrinkled sheets and an empty space, cool to the touch. You skim your hand over it anyway, as if the imprint of his body would still be found if you search long enough, but it isn’t and needing a confirmation of the night before, you reach down underneath the blankets and let your fingers run a path up the inside of your thigh. Smooth, velvety skin and then – the barest trace of tightness across the surface; dried and flaky, smeared there and left.

At least the two of you had the wherewithal to do that, even in your sleep soaked need.

The clean, masculine scent pressed into his pillow brings to life the ache between your thighs and shifting, you note how different it feels between them. Still slick, worked open and used. A pleasant reminder lingering there, your eyes close as you let yourself lie suspended awhile longer in the memory.

His panting breath filling your mouth, the stretch of every push inside. A phantom fullness felt in your core, his beard brushing against your lips. The husky rasp of his voice, the tightness of his grip. The gleam of his eyes in the dark.

Thinking about how he pulled himself back the last time he kissed you, you stay tucked away in the safety of his bed until it seems too late to stay asleep. Not wanting to leave it for fear of finding a different man than the one who held you last night, you eventually force yourself up and fishing your underwear and shorts out from the bedding, go to find him.

Out on the deck, the outline of his body is highlighted in the sun with his green and red flannel taut around his shoulders, his broad back facing you and when you walk out to join him, he turns at your hesitant, creeping steps.

A shyness you’ve never felt with him has you averting your eyes, and coming closer, you keep your arms tucked tight around your torso.

“Good morning.” His greeting is a quiet one, fitting for the peacefulness of a morning after a storm.

Lifting the corner of your mouth, your gaze flits over to him. “Hi.”

There is mutual silence; the restlessness of his body giving him away: the drum of his fingers on the wooden railing, the white knuckled grip he shifts into as he fiddles with it and thinks. He peeks at you out of the corner of his eye, and you look over at the garden.

The leaves of the plants are sodden and limp, dripping with moisture but still very much alive.

“How are you feelin’?” he asks, keeping his eyes downcast on his hands.

“Sore,” you admit, looking over at him. Pulling your bottom lip into your mouth for a moment, a frown forms deeply between his brows, his jaw shifting under his beard. “But I mean, it’s okay. It’s not bad or anything.”

He lets out a huff of laughter, laced with self disgust.

“I was too –” he starts and stops himself, his finger digging into a dry crevice in the wood as he searches for the right words. “It’s been a long time since –”

He stops again, and taking a breath, he steels himself and pulls himself upright, facing you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so rough. I shouldn’t have even–”

Your hand rests on his automatically, your chest tightening at your fear playing out in real time. The action stops him as he looks at your hand on his and then at you, expressive earnestness spilling from his endless, brown depths. You know what he is trying to say, even if he can’t seem to get the words out.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. Your thumb sweeps a path across the back of his hand, and his eyes drop down to watch the movement. “I wanted you to.”

He shakes his head, disappointment flashing across his face. “I know you did, but I shouldn’t have done it.”

“You didn’t want to?” The question leaves your mouth before you can stop it, and you hold your breath, waiting for an answer he gives you right away.

His face is stern when his head pulls up to meet your eyes. “You know I did.”

The lowness in his reply and the blunt confirmation of what he’s wanted swirls inside you, heady and rich. The open acknowledgement of it frees your hesitancy, even just a little, and something inside you preens at the speed of his reply.

“Then it’s okay,” you say quietly.

His eyes search yours for a moment, and you let him look.

Please, you think. Please don’t say it was a mistake. Please agree to more. Please. Please.

Weighted air fills the space between you, his eyes leaving your face to scan the yard as he buys himself time. You let him think, your fingertip tracing the line of a vein on the back of his hand, following the path of it to his wrist and his eyes drop down to watch your careful exploration. Afraid to push him too fast, you don’t want to break this tentative truce; this liminal space where he’s neither going back on his actions nor forward. Your touch stays on him as a silent offer, just like the one you gave him last night.

Nothing and then, he lifts his thumb to brush against yours, the corner of his mouth lifting only just.

He nods and you let a slow breath out, his hand lifting off the railing to take yours. You let him take it, threading your fingers together.

“You want some breakfast?” he asks, leading you into the cabin and you smile, following.

“Sure.”

–

His hands deftly pulling the soaking clothes from the line, he wonders how it’s possible to want you even more now that he’s had a taste.

Shouldn’t the pull lessen? Shouldn’t his thirst be quenched? Shouldn’t he be able to stop thinking about how good you feel now that it’s not a mystery anymore?

He grimaces at the memory of what you said. Sore. He was way too rough last night. Too eager, too hungry, too unable to stop himself from taking what you were offering. Stripped bare having just come out of that dream, he could say he didn’t know what he was doing, but he knows that’s not the truth - he knew.

The comfort of your body was too much to resist, his hands searching for your soft warmth and the taste of your mouth, and when you didn’t even try to stop him, he told himself it was okay to finally take.

When he woke before you this morning, he watched the slow rise and fall of your breathing under his arm, and studied the swirls of hair just behind your ear. Your back was bare against his chest, a sensation long lost to the days of before and that’s what finally pulled him from you: a tightness along his sternum; the velvet skin of your spine fitting just right over it.

Glancing over at you, he watches as you kneel over the barrier of the garden, checking on your plants. Yours, because even though they technically belong to both of you, you were the one who nurtured them to life. Through careful attention and delicate touches, through a gentle coaxing out of the confines of their small, stunted beginnings to give them space to stretch their roots and grow as they soak up the sun.

The sun, a joy he had forgotten about.

You use your knuckle to swipe a stray lock of hair out of your eyes, and his gaze trails down the length of your body: the delicate line of your neck, the swell of your breasts under your shirt, the plump curve of your bottom sitting on your ankles. If he tries hard enough, he can feel your smooth skin under his palms and pulling himself away from the memory of his dark bedroom, he goes back to what he was doing.

One by one, he takes each piece of clothing off the line and wrings it out, his forearms straining as he works the fabric into a tight spiral. Water pours from each one onto the grass below, splashing onto his boots and when you come over to join him, his doubts from earlier fade as he pushes down the sudden urge to drop the cloth in his hands and reach for you.

“Oops,” you laugh, looking at the heavy clothes. “I guess I forgot to bring these in yesterday.”

“Good thing they didn’t tear off the line,” he says. “Find my shirt up in a tree or somethin’, with that wind last night.”

He wants to tease you for how shameless you are when you watch him wring out another shirt, but wasn’t he just doing the same himself? A silent acknowledgement runs through his mind: this is how it could be, if he lets it.

“God, wasn’t it bad?” you say, bending down to pick up a large stick. “These things are everywhere.”

“Yea, I was gonna gather them up in a bit, stick 'em somewhere for later maybe.”

His old backyard in Texas flashes quickly through his mind; the square patch of grass, the domestic act of taking pride in his property as he cleaned up the morning after a storm. He hasn’t stayed anywhere long enough to care about doing something like that since then, and he’s surprised he even remembers.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad not to be sleeping outside,” you say and he looks sideways at you with a smirk, glad when you match it. “I mean, for a couple of reasons.”

He hums, his grin stretching and you bite your lip and tap the back of his thigh with the stick.

“Hey now,” he laughs. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Sure you didn’t.” You hit him lightly again, poking him with the edge of it and he gives you a look.

“You better watch it, honey. Don’t dish out what you can’t take.”

“You think I can’t take you?” you tease back, swatting him this time on the small of his back and he stops what he’s doing, turning towards you. Anticipation swirls in his gut when you grin, somehow light for how present it is when you take a small step back for every one of his forwards.

“Oh I know you can,” he says lowly, the words heavy with implication.

Caught unawares by his statement, he uses your pause to his advantage and reaches for the stick, swiping it from your hand to toss it carelessly behind him into the grass.

Your eyes brighten with excitement, your foot taking another step back and when you turn to run from him, he’s ready for it. One lunge forward and he’s snagged you around the waist with his arm, tugging you back against his body and he smiles at the laugh you let out that pierces the air. The sound breaks out into the sky, brighter than the sun above and then he’s tackling your squirming body to the damp ground, pinning you down.

“This is what you wanted, wasn’t it?” he says, breathless as you try to fight him off and his hands wrap around your flailing wrists, pressing them into the grass above your head.

You say nothing, stilling underneath him with a smile. These playful touches so far have been like arcs of tension filled energy, bursting and catching against each other as he tries to find the edges of this new boundary. He’s still within it, but the longer he looks at you, your face shifts into something else. Your chest heaves underneath him, and he twitches in his pants, the tight drum of fabric pressing against your stomach.

“I do want it,” you urge beneath him.

He knows you do: can see it in your hooded eyes, in the way they keep dropping to his belt buckle. They roam greedily over him, your mouth parted as you take him in and though he wants nothing more than to break these newfound, uncharted boundaries and take care of you like he always does, he can’t.

Slow. He needs to go slow. It’s only been hours, and the sound of your voice saying “sore” echoes in his mind. Reaching into the depths of his memory, he recalls long ago dates with lingering touches, knees pressed together beneath bar tops, teasing words murmured into ears full of promises that would be fulfilled later.

Later, when the need became too unbearable to hold back.

Later, when his fingers and mouth would find an eager, wet warmth.

Later, knowing that when he eventually got there, they would be ready to take what he needed to give.

Later.

There hasn’t been a later for a long time. Later is a thing of the past, now when every day is lived one day at a time and just like you’re teaching him the power of later with this garden, he needs to relearn it for himself. Reach deep inside for those long neglected reflexes, brush them off and polish them through practice - starting right now.

He bends forward, until his mouth is resting just above yours and he can feel the absence of your breath, as if you’re holding it.

“That so?” he hums, watching your eyes flutter shut.

Light plays across your face, sliding over the soft, familiar features and he drinks you in, finally allowed to look as much as he wants. He feels the tension held in your limbs as you try to stay still underneath him, his hands tightening subtly around your wrists while he watches your pulse thrum beneath the skin of your throat. His mouth waters in memory of the salt taste of that exact spot.

Your lips part slightly, and he knows if he shifts forward just a bit more, he would be able to touch them with his own…but he doesn’t.

Instead, he brushes them along the curve of your cheek, leaning forward to whisper directly into your ear.

“Later, honey,” he murmurs, savoring a sweet little inhale from you. “We’ve got chores to do.”

–

It’s criminal, how good he looks doing yard work.

Almost as good as he looks holding his rifle or his bow, but not as good as he looks when he makes a kill just for you.

You had thought there was something wrong with you the first time he did it – the way your breath quickened with arousal, your belly pulling tight with need. You had blamed it on adrenaline in the moment, but hours later when your body was still thrumming with it every time you called the image back, you knew it wasn’t just that.

You had quickly reasoned that it was due to many things: the implication of his protection, a confirmation of the lengths he was willing to go for you. A fierce protector in this terrifying, brutal world, with his competency never more present than when taking out a threat, you knew he didn’t do it out of love for you, but your body attributed his actions to something akin to it.

You want him the same way now, watching him gather sticks in the yard.

He’s stripped his flannel, draping it over the railing of the deck. His arms are tanned and thick, his body so blatantly masculine in its broad muscles and width, and he’s holding a bundle of broken, wet pieces of wood as he bends to pick up each one. He dumps them in the corner of the lot, the pile growing bigger with each round and then he’s adding larger branches, ones that got knocked from the trees during the storm.

A slick ache beats between your legs, remembering the weight and heat of him as he straddled your body, the solid thickness of him on top of you in the grass earlier and you keep watching.

He wipes his hands on the back of his jeans, his ever present knife hanging on his belt just to the side of his ass and when he turns, you quickly go back to what you were doing.

Enough. He said later.

–

Dinner is a quiet thing, the protector you were ruminating about earlier gone and replaced by a version of himself that seems looser, without the tight winding tension that’s usually present in his form. There is still some there though, and though he gave a promise of more to come later, there has been a piece of you all day that has waited for him to change his mind. To pull back, to give into the doubts he clearly had before.

You’ve been watching for signs: for him to fall silent, to get that far away look he has on his face sometimes when he ticks his jaw and thinks, to pull away when you come near him - but he hasn’t.

At least, not for today.

When you come in from outside just before bed and he’s settled in his own room without you, your self doubt creeps back – just as slowly as you creep across the hallway, to his room.

“Hey, can I come in?”

He’s sitting up in bed, warm light spilling from his lantern and he quickly sets his book face down on his lap, like he was waiting for you.

“Sure, yea. Of course.”

He shifts on the bed to make room, shadows pooling and sliding over his bare chest as he reaches over to turn the light off and you stretch out next to him, rolling onto your side to face him.

“You didn’t need to turn the light off. You can keep reading, if you want.”

“I don’t want,” he says lowly, scooting closer to you. His hand settles on your hip, tugging you closer.

“Oh yea?” you tease, smiling in the dark. “What do you want?”

His hold slides up the side of your body, a rumble of satisfaction rolling through his chest and then he’s even closer, his hand cupping your jaw to pull you close.

“This,” he breathes, kissing you.

His mouth finds a rhythm with yours immediately, and for all that was frantic the night before, it’s matched by tenderness tonight. Still just as hungry and demanding, his mouth insists you open for him; the sheets rustling as you slide and shift against them.

Delving his tongue deep, he explores the way yours brushes and slides against his. His mouth is just as competent as his hands are, just as sure in its intent.

When you sigh into his kiss, he breathes it in.

When you ask for more, he relents.

He helps you out of your pajamas and then peels his own bottoms off, tossing both sets onto the floor below and then he’s reaching for you again, his slow, careful movements giving way to hunger as he guides you onto your back. You make room for him between your thighs, letting the weight of him settle there.

“I wanted to do so much last night.” His voice is low and full of want, sending shivers across your skin in the dark. “Wanted to taste you, or fuck you with my fingers. Should've got you ready.”

“Do it,” you moan, your thighs involuntarily dropping open wider and he grinds himself between them, his hips a sure, steady roll.

“Yea, honey?” he asks, his breath humid as it blows across your parted lips. “You want my mouth?”

“Please. Please.”

It’s something you’ve been dreaming about for months, never confident that it would ever come true and your eagerness is reflected in the slight whine in your answer, in the way you arch into his hands when he lowers to pull the peak of your breast into his mouth. He sucks on it for a moment, giving another long, lingering kiss to the underside. Another one scrapes across your belly, one pressed into the hollow of your hip, and he works his way down, his shoulders forcing your thighs open wider.

His mouth finds you in the dark, the edges of his shadowed form between your knees making you wetter under his touch and when his tongue dips into you, your fingers curl into a fist, grasping his sheets.

You suck in air, your back automatically arching at the sensation of his wet, scorching mouth and he gives you a longer lick, a more intent one that slides up to your clit. He circles it, dragging the tip of his tongue over the peak several times and then he swirls it around to taste it, letting out a deep groan. He presses his face closer, his whiskered cheeks brushing against the sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs, and his mouth opens wider as he gives you an open mouthed, messy kiss. His tongue slips inside you with a thick push, your hips rolling against it.

When he finds the pearl of your clit with a light suck, you start to beg. “Joel, please. Please.”

The sound encourages him, his large hands wrapping around the top of your thighs to spread you wider for his mouth and your fingers curl into his hair, the silken locks slipping in your hold. Rolling your hips up, he flattens one hand wide across your belly to keep you in place and then he’s sucking on your clit again, just enough to make your whole body focus on that singular, bright sensation. A flash of heat ripples through you, your core clenching around nothing and then his tongue is there; his groan of relief a deep rumble into the heart of you.

You let yourself get lost in it – pleasure soaking you underneath his mouth and spreading with heat through your limbs. He’s good at it, just as competent and sure as he is with everything else and your thighs tense the longer he laves, your moans growing higher in their pitch.

The slick heat of his mouth pulls and draws and takes, ignoring the way you pull back in order to push his face deeper with a low, long groan and then you’re pushing lightly on the firm round of his shoulder, your body pitching forward into ascent. Starlight bursts across the inside of your eyelids when you breathlessly tell him that you’re coming, and he keeps going, his tongue working faster.

His finesse slips, his careful, practiced touches and licks given with intent slipping into something more base, something that pours from the inside out, just like the deep, satisfied groan he lets out when he tastes your release. He eats you like he can’t stop, his hips shifting to grind into the mattress and then it’s too much all at once, your hand reaching down to push him away.

“Stop,” you plead, breathless and desperate and the need that he pulled out of you with his mouth has you shifting and sitting up, guiding him onto his back. His chin glistens in the dark, his whiskers dark and damp and his mouth tastes like you when you lean down to kiss him. He sees your need and matches it, cinching up to kiss you harder and his own grasp on your hips turns demanding and rough as he helps you settle into place on his lap and then just like last night, he’s lining himself up and pushing himself inside, only this time you’re so unbearably wet that you take him effortlessly.

“Oh fuck, honey. Fuck.”

His head drops back onto his pillow, his lips parted as he lays back and his hold slides up your arms to skate down over the delicate line of your collarbones and then he’s palming the weight of your breasts in his hands. They grasp and touch, his thumbs dragging across the peaks and you think about how he’s handled so much with these hands.

These brutal, deadly, efficient hands. These capable hands, now skillful and careful and deliberate in their touch with a lightness you didn’t know they were capable of. He uses them just as deftly on your body, sliding them down to curl around the meat of your hips to encourage you to ride him faster and his thumb seeks out your clit, nestled just above where you’re stretched open for him.

‘Yes,” he groans, his drawl slipping deeper. His words are soaked in rough pleasure, husky and low. “Come on, pretty girl. Come on.”

His breath comes fast and heavy, his plush lips open and inviting as you lean forward to drape yourself over his chest, seeking out his embrace with a kiss. He wraps his arms around you, one hand splaying across your tailbone to keep you in place and the other around the nape of your neck, and then he’s fucking up into you, his feet planted on the mattress for purchase.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it,” you breathe into his ear, repeating his own words to him from earlier and his response a wordless growl as he clenches his jaw and his grip tightens ever harder, his hips moving faster.

This Joel you know. This Joel you’ve seen: the one who delivers brutal blows with singular focus, taking out any and all threats with a fierceness you’ve craved. The same look of intensity is on his face now only softened with lust — but it’s the same black pitch to his eyes, the same intent.

“Take what you want,” you tell him, your lips catching on his just for a moment. “Take it.”

He does — immediately rolling over and taking you with him with a grunt and then he lets himself go, his groans crawling out of his throat with a delicious strain. His filling strokes speed up, his hips fitting tightly into the cradle of your thighs, and you know you’re going to be sore again tomorrow, but you don’t care – you don’t care, every thought being fucked right out of your head.

“You feel so good, honey. So good. You’re gonna make me come.”

You tighten around him in wordless encouragement, the scent of his skin and the heaviness of his body and his warm, gusting breath and low groans enveloping you, forcing you higher beneath him. It’s all consuming like it was last night, and his hand comes up to wrap around the back of your knee, tugging it higher.

“Joel,” you cry out, the depth he’s reaching pushing you over the edge and then he’s pumping into you one, two, three times more before pulling out with an abrupt jerk of his hips, spilling in hot spurts across the sheets.

There is a beat of silence, each of you breathing heavily and his skin sticks to you, tacky in the places where it meets. He shifts, his muscles relaxing.

“Goddamn,” he breathes, a low chuckle rolling through his chest into yours and you smile, reaching up to push a lock of hair away from his brow.

“What?”

He drapes himself on top of you, letting his weight push you into the mattress and he drops his head to fit into the crook of your neck, his mouth seeking out the curve of your jaw. Your hands linger on his biceps, thick and strong under your palms and you drag your nails over the back of them, content under the heat of his body.

“We gotta sleep in a wet spot,” he mumbles into your neck, and you laugh underneath him, feeling him grin against your skin.

“Hang on.” He pushes up with a groan, the same he makes when he’s been kneeling for too long, and getting off you, leaves.

The room loses its heat without him, your bare skin exposed to the air, and you wait until he gets back with a towel, scooting over so he can lay it down. He crawls back into bed, the two of you settling into a comfortable position.

With you next to him, his eyes are already sliding shut, a low, contented hum leaving his throat as you drag the tips of your fingers along his skin in a soothing pattern, lulling him to sleep.

His chest rises slow and steady beneath your touch, and the edge of your lips curl up at his grumbling about the wet spot. This, from a man who has spent countless nights in some of the most uncomfortable sleeping spots imaginable.

Comfort something that hasn’t been a guarantee for years, he’s been quick to acclimate to it. Not all things have come as easy: he still scans the yard endlessly, still checks the traps every day, still makes note of the rations and only just allowed himself the comfort of another human being, but a soft, warm, dry bed – that was something he took to instantly.

Your nail traces a line up the sternum of his chest, your palm sliding over the firm round of his shoulder and tucking your face into the crook of his neck and fitting your leg between his, you start to fall asleep — but not before you feel the weight of his cheek, his head tilting to rest it against your hair.

—

a/n: I lost track of the amount of times I asked @mourningbirds1 for help on this one — I love you my dear; only you know how much. Thank you ❤️

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller/reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller/you #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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auteurdelabre · 4 months

Text

Please Mister Miller? Part 5 CheatingJoel!Millerxf!Reader

"Please Mister Miller" part 5

Rating: 18+

Words: 4.3k

Tags/warnings: Cheating, Unprotected P in V, Dirty Talk, Public Sex, Almost Caught, Joel has a ‘Daddy’ kink, car sex, mirror sex, Feelings

Summary: Joel has to run errands and you tag along. . .

a/n: I took a poll and y’all wanted to see this sleazy pair keep gettin’ off so I hope you like it! As usual drop the comments because I live for ‘em.

masterlist

----------------------------------------------------------------------

“I'm heading into town," Joel says with eyes on everyone but you. "Gotta get some replacement lights and run a few errands if anyone wants to join."

It's the next morning and you're all around the breakfast table eating cereal and chatting about your plans for the day. You're seated next to Joel, eyes on your bowl as your thigh presses against his under the table. He keeps his leg there, not shying from your touch. It makes you feel warm all over.

"I can't," Sarah says, the lie she told you yesterday already on her lips. "I have to grab a few things from the storage locker before we go home."

She's really going to see Charlie one last time before she heads home.

"I'm going to the office for a few hours, remember?" Tess says through a mouthful, her eyes on her phone.

"Oh right," Joel says as if he'd forgotten.

"I could go with you," you say lightly. "I have a few things I need to mail off back home."

"Sure, if you want."

Joel shrugs back as if he couldn't care less. But seated next to him you see the swell of his cock under his jeans. He's eager.

That's good because so are you.

///

When you finally pull on your jacket and follow him to the garage an hour or so later you're forced to pause as you glance around curiously. You've never been in here, haven't seen this domain of his.

He's got a workbench meticulously organized with cork holders on the wall. But that's not what amazes you when you draw over to it. It's the tiny intricate carvings there, one of a snowman and another of an angel.

"I didn't know you carved," you say curiously.

Joel shrugs, not saying more. You know why, it's the same reason you don't share more about yourself. It's not relevant to what you want from one another.

"Ready to go?"

You nod, pulling yourself up into his truck and buckling yourself in. He backs out of the driveway, neither of you speaking.

For some reason this feels tense, the drive quiet and punctuated only by the gentle hum of the radio playing holiday favorites. Eventually the tension gets to Joel because he clears his throat.

"So you're goin' back tomorrow."

"Yep."

"You excited?'

You look at Joel from the corner of your eyes, amusement clear in your features. It's such a dad thing to say. He looks uneasy, his dark eyes flicking from you to the road.

"You don't have to pretend like you care," you tell him gently.

"Who says I don't?"

"Joel," you say the meaning clear.

This is fucking. This is carnal. This isn't a relationship. It's not a friendship. It's release, plain and simple.

Joel doesn't like this. You can see it in the way he drums his thick fingers over the wheel, his dark brows furrowed. He's a man who cares, even if he tries not to and so he tries another tactic.

"You got someone waiting for you back at school?"

You give a scoff. "Nope. Got dumped right before Christmas. S'why Sarah brought me with her."

Joel gives a humming noise, looking thoughtful, his presence calming. It makes you feel like you should continue.

"He was my first boyfriend," you say with your eyes on your hands in your lap. "When we broke up he said it was because he didn't want to settle down with the only girl he slept with."

Joel inhales slowly through his nose, your words upsetting him enough to now tighten his fist around the steering wheel.

"Idiot boy to let you go."

You give a weak smile, holding back the tears that build behind your eyes. "The worst part is I thought we were getting engaged."

Joel's eyes widen. "Shit."

"Yeah," you nod again. "But, you know, it was for the best. I've realized after this week with you that he was terrible in bed."

Joel lets out a surprised laugh at this; warm and full. It makes you smile to hear it. He says nothing further and the silence descends once more, but this one comfortable. Eventually you stop at a big box store with Joel jogging in to grab the lights he told Tess he'd bring home.

As you watch him you can't help but imagine what life as Joel's partner would be like. A cozy home with beautiful paintings on the walls. The smell of leather and wood shavings clinging to him as he rolls over in the morning, gathering you into his arms.

There's a longing there, a sudden desire for more than sex. A warmth that you weren't expecting when this all started.

Joel returns shortly with a box of lights under his arms and a plastic bag in the other. You look at his body, the wide shoulders and the strong thighs. Your eyes meet his and you see the desire in them as he winks at you.

If you can't have him as your partner, you'll have him now. You'll have him any way you can. Joel gives you a small smirk as he tosses the lights and bag in the back seat of the truck.

"If Tess asks, you and I had a hard time choosing the best set."

You and I.

His words rattle around in your mind.

You steal glances at him as the drive continues out of town, to where the trees are fuller, the landscape more desolate. You feel Joel's hand on your knee, fingers tracing small lines over the inside of your bare thighs.

You sigh happily, basking in the warmth of Joel's touch. When his hand slides higher you part your legs without hesitation, eyes watching from under lowered lids as his long fingers skate under your skirt.

His fingers curl under the fabric, ready to hit cotton and you hold a giggle as you wait for him to realize. He darts a look at you.

"No panties?"

"Nope," you grin.

"Good fucking girl," Joel murmurs approvingly. His voice scratches an itch deep inside you, making you preen.

Traffic is thinning but the roads are still populated enough. That doesn't stop Joel from curling his fingers into you, marveling at how wet you are.

"Always ready for me."

"Uh huh," you keen, hand flying to his. You maneuver his wrist slightly, pushing it deeper at that angle and crying out when it hits that sweet spot.

"That's right," Joel encourages with a grin. "You show me what you like."

He drives the truck, cock hard under his jeans as you give shuddering breaths beside him. His fingers dance over your slick clit as you try to remain composed, hearing as your cunt milks his fingers, your thighs quivering. He darts his eyes from you to the road and back again.

"C'mon baby," Joel urges you, his cheeks pinking. "Gimme a good one."

You do. Your hips buck into his hand as you cry out, body jolting in the seat and feeling your warm release dripping over his palm like honey.

You watch in a daze as Joel brings his slick fingers out from under your skirt to his mouth, licking slowly.

"Tastes so sweet," he rumbles.

You let out a small moan at the sight of it. Your hand reaches for the bulge in his jeans but he shakes his head, gently pressing your hand away to fold back in your lap.

"Not yet," he says with a voice of sin. "Be patient."

You don't have to be patient for much longer. In less than fifteen minutes you've arrived at the destination, a large dirt pile on one side, gravel stacks on the other. It looks like an abandoned quarry.

"Where are we?"

"Construction site my company is working on," Joel murmurs. He turns the car off, unbuckling his seatbelt. You raise a brow.

"Why here?"

"Got lots of privacy," Joel says smiling, his body tilting to face you. "Can be as loud as we want."

You duck your head, suddenly shy. You crack the window slightly, needing something to cool the heat in your cheeks. Joel shifts into the middle of the bench seat, down to business. There's no seduction, no romance.

"Over my lap," Joel murmurs gently, his eyelids already heavy. "C'mon now."

You smile shyly as you unbuckle yourself and crawl over the bench seat. You move delicately over his lap, breath leaving you as your abdomen goes over his muscular thighs. Your face is burning as he brings your skirt up over your ass to your waist, making a humming noise as he looks at the sweet flesh waiting for him.

Joel slaps your ass, watching it jostle under his hand. You yelp in surprise, but not in pain. His wide hand grips one cheek, his groans low and long.

"All for me," he mutters and you bite your lower lip, groaning at how deep his voice is when he says it.

He smacks it again, his cock hardening further under you as he watches your ass jiggle deliciously.

"You’re up for anything aren't you?"

You consider this as he places another slap to your ass, hypnotized at how your flesh moves under his hand.

"Yeah."

"You like older men?"

"Dunno," you say, arching as Joel's hand continues slapping your ass. "You're my first."

"You lyin' to me?"

"No Mister Miller," you say honestly, tilting so you can meet his surprised gaze. "I've only slept with one other person."

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Yeah."

He almost snarls at that. He urges you to a kneeling position before he twists you to face away from him on your knees.

Your shirt is tugged off over your head by him, discarded by your purse on the floor of the truck. Joel is behind you, urging you onto all fours on the seat as he pulls down his jeans. He grabs handfuls of your ass, squeezing and groaning.

"Gonna let me fuck this little ass?"

For the first time since you've met him you pause. You've never done that before. It's never appealed to you. It still doesn't if you're honest.

Joel seems to sense your hesitancy. You wait for him to chastise, to show his disappointment. But instead his voice drops an octave.

"On second thought, I wanna fuck that sweet pussy raw instead."

Joel is much more vocal here, less restrained in the privacy of his truck. You smile when you feel him notch himself at your entrance.

"Gimme something to remember," Joel grunts out as he thrusts into you. You let out a hiss of pleasure at the sensation, hands curling around the worn material of the trucks seat.

He sets a brutal pace, sending you flying if not for his hands holding your hips in place. He grunts out as he fucks into you, murmuring under his breath. You rock back and forth, ass bouncing off his hips as he thrusts.

"Good girl ...good girl..."

You feel his wide right palm move to hold you in place by your lower back and you feel your pussy tighten around his cock. You jerk forward, your tits jolting as he slides between you, thrusting you forward and back.

"Use your left hand to pin me," you whimper. He's confused for a moment, hesitating before he does as you ask. He glowers at you when he realizes what you're after.

"You want me looking at my wedding ring while I fuck you."

"Uh huh," you twist to look at him over your shoulder, smirking. He's looking at you with his jaw slack and eyes dark with desire. Joel grunts out, hips smacking obscenely against the meat of your ass.

"Want you to know how bad you’re being."

That you're choosing me an insidious voice whispers inside you.

"Does your wife's pussy feel this good, Mister Miller?" you ask, moans being punched out of you with every thrust. "This wet 'n tight for you?"

Joel gives a strangled groan as his hand tangles itself in your hair. He tugs, pulling you to arch against him. Your ass ripples with every thrust, your hands braced on the edges of the seat.

"You fucking shut up and take this cock," Joel grunts out angrily. He watches your body start with every thrust into you.

"I'll give you anything you want," you promise, voice cracking. "Just don't stop. You feel so fucking good."

"Pussy's never been fucked right," Joel tells you.

"Uh uh," you shake your head as much as you can with Joel's fist still tugging.

"Only fucked a boy," Joel says, his hips jerking forward. "When you needed a man's cock inside you."

"Yes Mister Miller," you groan out, tears flooding your waterline. It feels so fucking good. Not just because it's wrong but because he's so deep inside you and he knows what he's doing.

"Gonna take all this come," Joel grunts and you can feel him starting to unravel.

"Gonna take-"

Joel ceases abruptly, pulling from you so brutally you cry out. He practically shoves you away from him.

"Put on your fucking clothes. Hurry."

There's a fear in his voice that you've never heard before. It prompts you to do as he asked, pulling the shirt back on and tucking it into your skirt. Joel tucks himself back into his jeans as you look out the rearview mirror just in time to see a cop car pulling up behind the truck .

"Shit," Joel swears and you can see the panic in his face. He knows how this looks. Alone with a college girl in his car, the band on his left finger a brutal reminder of how wrong it all is.

The officer gets out of his car before slowly sauntering towards the truck. Joel is thankful for the cracked the window because fogged up windows would incriminate him absolutely.

"Hey there," the officer says leaning over Joel's lowered window.

"Hey officer," Joel says trying to sound calm. "I know I wasn't speeding..."

The two men chuckle lightly as you hold in an eye roll. Dad humor.

"License and registration."

Joel's face is pinched as he leans over you to open the glove box. He pulls out some papers and then pulls his wallet from his back pocket, retrieving his license. You watch him pass off both to the officer.

"What're you doing all the way out here... Joel Miller?" The officer says peering at the license from behind his aviators.

My construction company is working on this site," Joel says, hands indicating out the windshield. "Wanted to check in on it over the holidays. Heard there were some break-ins nearby."

The officer’s eyes drag over to you, sitting quietly watching them. Suspicion fills the officers expression.

"And you’re just tagging along, miss?"

Joel's head swivels to face you, eyes unreadable. But you know him; you can feel the anxiety coming off of him in waves.

You straighten, giving the officer your best and brightest smile. The kind that says you're honest and trustworthy. The kind you use with professors when you need to turn in late assignments.

"Yeah, my Daddy promised me a ride," you say, batting your eyelashes at the officer and smiling broadly. "I don't get to see him as much since I'm away at college."

Joel is looking at you with a mix of confusion and horror.

The officer's suspicion flees from his eyes, his countenance softening. You think that somewhere back home this officer has a daughter who ignores his texts, who rolls her eyes when he suggests a family game night.

"Sweet she still wants to spend time with you at this age," the officer says almost fondly looking between you.

You nod, taking Joel's hand in yours. He's stricken, his hands barely curling around yours.

"I'm really lucky," you say smiling sweetly at the officer. "He treats me so well but then again I'm always a good girl for you, right Daddy?"

You don't miss Joel's neck bobbing as you say this. Don't miss the swelling of his cock starting again under his jeans. He shifts, his shirt falling over the vee of his legs.

"Yep," Joel nods stiffly.

"I bet you are," the officer says with a warm smile. He hands Joel back his license before tapping a finger to the brim of his hat. "Well I won't interfere any more. Take care you two. Happy Holidays."

"Happy Holidays officer!" You chirp as Joel croaks out a weak farewell. You both watch as the officer loads back into his police car and drives off down the one way road.

Minutes pass and the two of you are silent, waiting, watching. Finally you see Joel's shoulders relax and he lets out a breath. You giggle, relief flooding your senses.

"Daddy?" Joel grimaces over at you. "Don't tell me you're one of those."

You shrug, uncertain. You may not be completely into it but Joel sure is, despite his denial. You see it in the blown out pupils of his dark eyes.

"So do I get a ride?" you ask him as you crawl over to him, eyes trailing his body.

"You insane?" Joel says with disbelief in his features. "We almost got caught by a fucking cop."

"He won't be back," you say grinning wickedly. Your finger goes to trace his still hard cock through his jeans. "And we both know you still want to."

"Shouldn't," Joel groans even as he fumbles with the button and fly of his jeans.

You crawl over his lap and situate yourself between Joel and the steering wheel, facing out the windshield. It’s so desolate, yet the thought that you could be caught turns you on. You start smiling as he tugs the t-shirt over your head again and pulls you onto his waiting cock.

He slides seamlessly through your dripping folds, cupping your tits in his hands. You arch into his grip and begin to rock your hips.

"Mhmmm, good girl."

You listen as Joel begins grunting behind you and you lean back, the back of your head tilted against his shoulder as he fucks up into you. Your hands hold loosely to his wrists whimpering when he begins to twist your nipples ever so slightly between his fingers.

“Feels good, Daddy," you whisper, smirking when you hear Joel give a choke of surprise.

You catch his heavy-lidded gaze in the rearview mirror and you grin. He likes that he can watch you fucking. You can see how he holds you against him, fucking up into you. You reach up to tilt the mirror slightly and then bring your legs up, forcing your thighs to part and giving a lewd view of where you’re connected.

You bunch your skirt at your waist so you can both see him thrusting up between your legs in the mirrors reflection. You're both mesmerized at the sight of his glossy cock as it saws in and out of you.

"Daddy, you're so big."

"You're fucking sick," Joel says without conviction, his voice breathless.

"Can feel you throbbing when I call you that, though." You giggle. "Can feel it when your fucking me with your big cock, Daddy."

Joel makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. You feel him tightening every time the word passes through your lips.

"Stop pretending you don't like it, Mister Miller."

You give him a wink in the rearview mirror before just tilting back and enjoying the sight of you two fucking. You both look good together, Joel’s handsome face over your shoulder so he can watch his cock splitting you over and over. You see your tits hanging out, rosy tipped nipples between his fingertips. They ripple as Joel enters you over and over. The slick of Joel's cock shines between your legs.

His right hand slides over the crease of your thigh, nimble fingers gliding over the slick pearl of your clit. You give a gutteral moan as pleasure shoots through you.

"Atta girl," Joel smiles broadly at your reflection, watching you bounce for him, his thumb circling your clit with shocking precision.

You groan, your breathing becoming staccato-ed. You don't know how you're going to go back to regular life. How you're going to attend classes and pretend like this last week and a half never happened.

"Feels good riding Daddy's cock, doesn't it?" Joel rasps against your ear, eyes still on yours in the mirror bringing you back to the present.

There he is.

"Yes Daddy."

"Good girl."

It feels so debauched, so illicit. Joel still can't look away, eyes glued to the mirror and his hips move faster as he watches him fuck you in his truck. The same truck he drives to work and does the weekly shopping trip in.

"So fuckin' good for Daddy... So fuckin' wet."

You can tell he's far gone, words slurring. You give a wide lurid smile, rocking your hips down over him. You watch his face in the mirror and see the glaze to his eyes, the way his jaw is hanging slightly ajar. He whimpers, a needy sound that lets you know you have him exactly where you need him.

Joel groans, fingers dimpling your thighs as he fucks up into you faster. Your eyes are rolling back, making Joel jerk his hips up quicker.

"Please," you moan. "Need it."

"What do you need, good girl?"

"Need you to fill me up," you whine, voice breaking with every thrust of him into you. You rock against him, ass bouncing.

"You need Daddy's come?" Joel grunts out, hand lightly holding you against him by the throat.

You can only whine a reply of "yes!", being tugged so harshly against his cock that your teeth crash together. And then you feel that tension in you snap and pleasure floods you, causing you to let out cracked cries of "daddy please!" as you ride out your orgasm, watching Joel the entire time.

"Take it take it," Joel groans, hands going to your waist, holding you in place as his hips move with jerking desperation. "Daddy's girl, Daddy's good girl..."

You watch as Joel's face contorts, eyes slamming shut as he empties himself into you, crying out as he thrusts one finger time and you feel him erupt inside you. He buries his face in the back of your neck as his hips slowly stutter to a stop.

"Fuuuuck," he murmurs as he pulls his softening cock from between your legs. "That was good."

"It really was," you say, sagging against the steering wheel and giving a breathless laugh. Joel's hand is resting on your thigh, gently tracing his fingertips there.

You take a moment to compose yourself before glancing over your shoulder to look at Joel. His face is so close, your lips almost grazing. You two lock eyes, breathing against each other's mouths. It's you who moves first, lips inching to his. But it's Joel who twists his head, blinking.

"We should get back."

Joel shifts and you pull yourself off of his lap, crawling back to where you were sitting. Joel leans back to grab something from the bag.

"Here, I uh, I bought this earlier," Joel says handing you a packet of wipes and a small towel. You smirk before using them to clean his spend from between your legs.

Eventually the truck starts and you watch the quarry grow smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. You drive in silence, not even the radio to accompany you on your journey back.

"Can I ask you somethin'?"

You glance over at Joel who looks strangely withdrawn. "Sure."

"Why didn't you go home to your parents place? Didn't they miss you this Christmas?"

"They uh.... " you trail off, wincing a bit. "They don't really... My parents don't really care what I do. We all kinda do our own thing."

You can feel it immediately, the pity radiating off of Joel. It makes you cringe, your hands twisting around the edge of the seat.

"Maybe if you tried talkin'-"

"I'd worry about your own family before you start giving me advice about mine," you snap out at him feeling irritable. Joel's dark eyes scan to you before going back to the road.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know Sarah has a secret boyfriend back here? Apparently your friends with his dad," you tell him, cheeks warm. "She's afraid you'll judge her if she tells you because he didn't finish college."

You see Joel's jaw clench and you feel so satisfaction at his discomfort. You realize it's not just about this, but the kiss he shied from earlier.

But guilt overwhelms you when you realize you've out-ed your best friend.

"I'm not telling you this so you'll be shitty to her," you chastise. "I'm telling you this because you love your daughter and you guys have a great relationship. You're lucky."

You break off temporarily, swallowing.

"She really likes him. And if you tell her you hate him she's just gonna see him in secret like she has been this entire trip."

Joel drives silently, eyes narrowed. You know he's fighting an internal battle.

"The way Sarah talks about you? You're her hero," you say quietly. "The thought of disappointing you kills her."

You see it in his eyes first, the softening as your words hit home. You see what it's like to be a father first and a disciplinarian second. You look away, feeling your heart being clutched at by a tight yet invisible grip.

Minutes later Joel's hand finds your knee as he drives, squeezing.

"Thanks for tellin' me."

"You're welcome."

Finally you pull into the driveway, hiding the bag of wipes and hand towels under the passenger’s seat. Joel looks strangely sombre as he turns the ignition off, glancing at you.

"You know, you're a very special-"

"Please Joel," you say wincing. "Don't."

Before he can say anything more you slip from the truck, heading into the house, feeling his eyes following your every step.

#joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller smut #fanfic #smut #fanfiction #dad joel miller #cheating #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller x f!reader

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kiwisbell · 8 months

Text

Whiskey Sour

chapter three: painkiller

Reuniting with your estranged father while you finish college in Austin has unintended consequences. His best friend, for one.

series masterlist

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

series tags and warnings: dbf!joel being extremely criminally attractive, big ol' age gap (40s/early 20s), unprotected piv (do not follow the leader), creampie, multiple sex positions, multiple orgasms, oral sex (m and f receiving), dry humping, spitting, biting, joel miller is a MUNCH, very appropriate use of a showerhead, consensual somnophilia, yoga, heavy emphasis on payphones, daddy issues, family reunions, angst, dead mom, grief and mourning, father/daughter relationship, bartending, reader is a woman in STEM (author is not), being a student in university deserves a warning probably, attempted drugging (roofies), college boys suck, possessive sex, possessive joel, protective joel, obligatory warning for joel's salt-and-pepper hair, masturbation, wet dreams, no outbreak AU, hurt/comfort, healing, no sarah or ellie, stargazing, face-sitting, pining/yearning, happy ending

word count: ~ 5.6k

chapter 3: painkiller

Stargazing, and knowing wrong from right.

Joel doesn't quite trust your car not to blow up, so he drives you both out near Devil’s Cove when the clock strikes eleven.

You sit next to him on the truck bench, in your little skirt, and he tries not to look at the way it slips up your thighs. He cannot stop thinking about your words: Don't think you aren't getting a gift after everything you've done to help me. Part of him is thrilled to know you think about him enough to get eager about celebrating his birthday. Another part of him doesn't want to celebrate getting older. He’s old enough.

A third part doesn't give a shit about a present, when he's got you right here, right next to him.

“You were right,” he says. “I do like the telescope.”

“Did you spend a lot of time in the country?”

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel even though the truck radio is apparently tuned to a local station that does not play music. The announcer’s voice drones on about the Longhorns’ losing streak. “When I was a kid,” says Joel. “My parents had a farmhouse—raised cows, chickens, sheep, all of it. They had a business goin’ for the locals who wanted eggs or fresh meat.”

You can picture it: a younger Joel, dressed in a farmer’s flannel and a cowboy hat, herding sheep and tending to customers with that same charming smile you know now. “Do you have any siblings?”

“Younger brother. Tommy.” Joel briefly glances your way. “Lost my dad when I was ten. After that, Mom, Tommy, and I ran the place ourselves. I dropped out of high school to do it full-time when she got sick.”

You feel a twinge in your chest. “You, too, huh?”

He sighs through his nose. “Yeah. I would've been about your age.”

“Funny, the way things work out.” You lean back in your seat and turn your head back to the windshield. “But that does sound nice. A life away from all the madness. Just… quiet. Simple.”

“You'd like that?” Joel chuckles. “Thought you were a city girl.”

“I’m not saying I want to milk cows all day,” you tell him with a laugh. “Mom and I used to drive to the east coast in the summertime when I was in high school. We’d visit all the coastal towns and the little restaurants, go whale-watching. That was the only time we could really relax, outside the big city. I looked forward to those vacations most, before she got sick.”

Joel recognises the melancholy tone your voice takes when you talk about your mother. He hears it in his own voice. “She sounds like a good mom.”

“She was.” Your eyes flick to him again, and this time, he's looking at you. “I’m sorry, Joel. I would've liked to meet her.”

“I'd like that, too.” He fixes his eyes back on the road. “You, uh… you hear from Liam lately?”

“And we were having such a nice conversation,” you tease. “He lives with me, Joel. I’m bound to hear from him on a regular basis. Practically daily.”

Not the right answer. His hands tighten around the wheel. “I don’t like him.”

“I couldn't tell.” You pull your knees up to your chest and hug yourself into a tight ball. “You know I’ve never had a real boyfriend?”

Joel scoffs. “Excuse me if I have a hard time believin’ that.”

“I’m being serious!”

“Nah. No way.” Joel shakes his head. “Those idiot high school boys were linin’ up at your door the way these idiot college boys are. You’re too pretty to have never had a fuckin’ boyfriend.”

Your cheeks feel white-hot. “Joel. That’s ridiculous.”

“I ain’t lyin’.” His grin is boyish when he looks at you again and your nerves flutter. “Guys have a way of knowin’ things.”

“Oh, you're so full of shit.” You smack him gently in the arm. “If they were all so interested, why'd they never tell me?”

“Because they were boys.” He gives you a pointed look. “And so is that asshole you live with. He thinks he's got a right to you ‘cause you live with him.”

“No, he—”

“Yes, he does. Any guy would be lucky as shit to have you.”

You lift your brows, opening your mouth to retort, but Joel just looks away, that crooked smirk pissing you off as much as it makes your heart pound with girlish anxiety. “We’re here.”

You slump back in your seat as he parks in a dirt lot by the edge of the water. Just down the road, by the docks, there will be college kids gearing up to celebrate the Longhorns’ first win of the season, and some just wanting an excuse to get hammered. You hop out of the truck as Joel unlatches the gate at the back. “Should be a good view here…”

He trails off when he looks up to find you staring at the midnight sky. The light of the stars reflects in your eyes and the curve of your neck shimmers with a faint layer of sweat in the humid air. When you swallow, he watches your throat hollow, and he wonders how a man is supposed to forget you. If a man can ever see your face, your body, your wondrous, awe-struck smile, and rest peacefully.

“They’re beautiful,” you gasp. “Just like… like the coast in summertime.”

Joel surprises himself when he joins you at your side and reaches for your hand. “It’ll look better if you're laying down,” he says softly. “C’mon.”

You put your hand in his. The touch shifts his axis. The touch is an electric shock to his entire body, restructuring his pathways, reconfiguring his brain. The touch, he thinks, will forever change the way he sees you. It will change everything.

“Joel.”

“Mmm.” He realises he hasn't moved. His fingers engulf yours, your skin so soft under his rough palms that he worries he'll somehow ruin it.

“Thank you.” It’s a whisper, your pretty lips parting in the shape of a gratitude he will never deserve but will spend his moments earning as best he can. Your eyes are fixed on your joined hands, the way your thumb caresses the space between his thumb and forefinger.

He leads you toward the back of the truck. You crawl up yourself, and it's ungentlemanly of him not to help you up, but he cannot touch you again. The world will fall out from beneath his feet.

But it still does. When you shift so you're lying on your back, barely a foot from him, the earth blinks out of existence. All that remains is the faint heave of your chest, skin scattering moonlight, and the way you meet his eyes in the void.

“Gotta look up to see the stars, baby.” His voice is rough.

Your head turns and you face the sky above, but he doesn't move. Not quite yet. He savours the image of your profile, the silvery light on your face, the contentment in your eyes. Your lashes are spidery and your hair fans out beneath you, and all he wants to do is reach out. Touch. Guide you beneath him. Gaze into your eyes as he undresses you. Watch your bones melt for him, your troubles flee your brain, your mouth drop open in a long, dark whine. His name.

“That one’s Venus.” You point to a bright star overhead, and then another. “And that’s Polaris. Those are the only two I really know. And you aren't looking at the stars.”

Joel swallows hard. “No. I’m not.”

“I like it when you call me that.” Your eyes meet his again. Your noses are inches apart.

“Call you what?”

Your breath is a warm puff of air. “Baby.”

He’s losing control of his own body. His fingers crave the warmth of your skin, the heat between your thighs, the knowledge of what's under that fucking skirt. His whole body craves your closeness, needs your attention, will die without you curled up against him. His body seeks the ruination of yours. His heart seeks the comfort he knows he can give you.

“That so?” He can barely get it out.

Your eyes are wide, buttery soft, needy. “Yeah,” you sigh. “It feels good.”

Jesus Christ. “I…” His mouth is so fucking dry he can hardly swallow anymore. “I didn’t mean for—”

“I know.” He’s going to do it. He’s going to throw all of it away and touch you. He’s going to—

Your head turns back toward the sky, and your eyes flutter shut. He can see a small pearl trail down your cheek, and he realises it's a tear. “I’m sorry,” you say, your voice breaking. “This is your pre-birthday. You should be giving me ideas for a better gift.”

Joel’s own voice isn't faring much better. His laugh comes out like a hoarse whisper. “This…” He finally looks up at the stars and finds Venus. “This is all I could ask for.”

“Don’t lie to me, Miller.” There’s the playful tone he likes so much. “I’ve got your number.”

“I mean it.” He folds his hands over his stomach. “It’s peaceful out here. Reminds me of home.”

“Do you think your mom would've liked it here?” you ask.

“She would,” says Joel.

You sniffle. “Yeah, mine, too.”

Around him, the crickets chirp and the air is stagnant. It feels like a snapshot of time. Except that you're here, next to him, the warmth of your body rolling in waves over his nerves like a hundred cresting waves.

“Boys never liked me.”

Joel can't help but look at you in disbelief.

“I’m telling you the truth.” You shrug. “When I had my first crush on a boy, I avoided him like the plague, because I didn’t want to be rejected. Then I set him up with my best friend.”

Joel blinks. You laugh like you can feel his amusement. “You don't have to tell me how stupid it was. I know. I just figured, if I didn’t go for it, I’d never get hurt.”

“And what happened every time after that?” asks Joel.

“I was always too busy. I never let myself go to parties because there was always an excuse. Work, school, Mom. I had more important things to do, bigger things to worry about. Last time I went on a date, Mom convinced me to reschedule our usual hospital visit so I could go out with him. Halfway through, the hospital called me.” Your breath shudders out of you. “By the time I got there, she was mostly gone. I lost my last moments with her.”

Joel’s heart surges forward, lurching out of his chest. His hand finds a stray wisp of hair and tucks it behind your ear. It isn't in your eyes or blocking his view; he just wants to. He wants to be the one who's right here when you’re sad. He wants you to never feel like you have to put your own life in restraints—never again. “That was not your fault.”

“He was a total dud, too.” You laugh mirthlessly. “They’ve all been duds.”

And me? he wants to ask. If I put my hand here and I put my mouth there, would you deny me? Would you shove me away? Or would you let me treat you the way you deserve?

He wants to be your guiding hand. He’ll give you what you need. He’ll be as firm as you want and he’ll be gentle all the other times. He’ll show you just how wanted you are.

“You’ll find better,” he says instead. “Can’t promise they won't be fielded beforehand.”

You laugh, facing him again. “Is that so, Miller? You gonna background check them all?”

Fuck yes, I will. Joel shrugs, all pouty and grumpy again, and you just want to grace those patches of grey in his beard.

Yes, it will cross a line. Yes, it will ache so beautifully to touch him the way you want. You don't know how to reconcile these two parts of you: the part that's here to rebuild a life, and the part that wants to simply forget how difficult that life can be and drown yourself in the sweet tang of being alone with him.

“Oh! I forgot.” You bolt upright, scrambling off the truck bed so fast it gives Joel whiplash. You reach into the passenger’s side and pull out your bag. “I stole this from the kitchen. Thought you might be hungry after one cup of coffee.”

You produce a styrofoam container with a piece of chocolate cake inside. “I may have also asked Dad what kind of cake I should bake for your birthday.” You bite your bottom lip. “This’ll have to tide us over until the real thing.”

He doesn't know how to cope with the amount of affection surging up his throat, overfilling his bloodstream. Your mouth is so fucking close. How would it taste? Your dark, sexy perfume smells so good, your hair so soft and a little wind blown from the car ride. You would be so perfect, so beautiful, so soft to touch.

You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. He’s pine and sawdust and a little bit of mint. He’s manly, dark and a bit of grey, strong and broad. Capable. “You don't have to eat it,” you tell him, “but I brought two forks, just in case.”

His chest squeezes. “C’mon up here, baby.”

You climb back up onto the truck bed and situate yourself next to him, both of you sitting up against the back window. You hold the container as you both dig in, the cake a little too soft but still good. Still chocolate. And he's sharing it with you.

It’s not even his birthday yet.

“How’s that Daily Texan gig workin’ out for you?” he asks.

Your eyes light up. He remembered? “I’ve been put in charge of the Student Wellness section. I don't know why the fuck they thought that was a good idea.”

“Gives you an opportunity to learn how to relax.”

You roll your eyes fondly. “Any suggestions?”

“This is a good start,” offers Joel. “Stargazing.”

You pocket that idea. “At least I didn't get put on Sports.”

“Y’know I was on the swim team in high school?”

“With those shoulders? Doesn’t surprise me one bit.” You lift your eyebrows at him and all Joel can think is, I want you, I want you, I want you.

When you both decide it's time to head back home, Joel eats the last bite of cake at your request and you slide back into the passenger’s seat. “Thank you,” he says sincerely. “That was a hell of a lot more fun than trying to sleep.”

“No, it wasn't,” you laugh. “But I’m glad I could help, even a little. You don't sleep well?”

Lately, baby, it's because of you. “Pretty much not at all.”

Your brows knit together, but Joel shakes his head. “Don’t need it much, anyway. I get by just fine.”

“You tell me that when you pass out at the wheel because the caffeine wore off. Do you want me to drive?”

“You still have to drive home on a shitty alternator,” he argues, a little more worried about the state of your car than he's letting on. “I’ll be okay. I’ve gone longer on less sleep.”

You chew on your lip, and Joel brushes the rough pad of his thumb over your chin. “I’ll be okay,” he repeats. “Just buckle up.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “Just don't kill us.”

I haven’t tasted you, he thinks. Dying won’t do just yet.

In his dream, you’re wearing the black thong. Nothing else.

You knock on his bedroom door and he lets you in. He doesn't know why. He shouldn't. But he does. And you're there, your pretty tits sitting so perfectly for him, your hands demurely clasped behind your back, your eyes looking up at him expectantly. Wanting. Dark.

He takes control. He pulls you against him, his chest against your back, tilting your head back, exploring your skin with his mouth, dipping his fingers into the flimsy waistband of that godforsaken thong and ripping it in two.

In his dream, you're naked. Joel grabs handfuls of your ass while his hips batter you from behind, your slick, hot pussy sucking him in so deep that his whole body may disappear into yours. It's a dream. It doesn't make sense. But sense knocks at his ribs and cracks them in order to escape. Your mewls and moans as you take his cock replace any inkling of conscience, consciousness. You melt into the mattress and forget your worries with every thrust. He makes you forget.

That's it. That's it, baby. You can take me. My good girl. So fuckin’ good, baby, that’s—

He’s awake. Joel grunts, shucking away his covers. His cock is tenting his boxers, which he scrambles to get off as he burns from the inside out. His cock slaps against his stomach, precum pooling at his navel. He hisses, grasping his shaft at the base, his hips bucking helplessly into his hand. His head tips back against the pillows as he begins to jerk himself off to the image of you underneath him. Moaning. Whining. Joel, Joel, yes, oh, my—

“Fuck.” He grits his teeth, spitting into his hand and twisting his hand around the head of his cock. Your mouth parts around the tip and your tongue darts out to lap up the precum on his slit, and he grunts your name. It’s fucking filthy. He’s filthy. “Goddamn—”

Holding you, cradling your head, watching your mouth take him, the tip prodding your throat. Your watery eyes, your needy, leaking pussy, your knees folded so primly under you. As if his cock isn’t down your fucking throat. “Jesus,” he growls, jerking faster, the pressure building in his ears and his throat and his stomach, his balls pulling up—

His cum spills over his hand and stomach as he groans your name, long and loud, to the empty room. He pants, staring up at the ceiling. Running his clean hand over his face, he shakes his head. Mike would kill him if he knew. And he’d fucking deserve it.

Because Joel knows that he doesn't just need any warm body. He doesn't need to forget you by finding someone else. It isn't just a vague need.

It is you.

“Is this seat taken?”

Your head jerks up so fast your neck twinges. There's a guy looking at you with a sheepish smile, gesturing to the seat on your left. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn't mean to… interrupt.”

“No! No, I’m sorry. Please, feel free.”

He slides into the seat and pulls out his books. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

You're a little surprised to see him offer his hand to you. People your age still shake hands with one another? Giving him a smile, you introduce yourself. “You just had to catch me while I was lost in thought. I’m usually a lot more suave.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” says Steve. He has a charming smile; he's about your age, with dark hair and a lean figure, and a pair of kind blue eyes. “Have you started studying for the midterm?”

You snort. “Please. If I think about it for one second, I’ll be breaking all the rules of my article.”

Steve laughs, assessing you with a brief once-over. “I recognise your name. You edit for the paper, right?”

“Guilty.”

“Only if it were bad. I liked your last piece.” He places his hand over his heart. “Your dad taught you this?”

You smile. He actually read your latest article. “He did,” you say brightly. “I was freaking out over the move here, and he told me how to ground myself.”

Steve grins. “Well, it's good to know the paper has someone of quality writing for them.”

You roll your eyes. “Smooth.”

“I know. Practised it over the last couple minutes in my head.” Steve taps his pen on his notebook. His notes are neat and his handwriting is small. “Hey, if you ever decide to brave the hell that is the study guide, I’d be happy to do it with you. Okay, more like reluctant, but happy to do it with you.”

You really could use the study buddy. “Yeah. That would be great.”

“Thank God,” sighs Steve. “I thought I’d have to beg.”

“Oh, you still can, if you want.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says with a laugh, turning to face the front of the room as the professor walks in. Wordlessly, he writes down a phone number on the corner of his page and rips it out, sliding it over to you. You stuff the scrap of paper in your bag.

Neither Joel nor your father show up at the bar tonight. They both have to get up early to drive across town for the job, but work is a little less alive without the company. Rob still makes sure to walk you to your car when your shift ends at eleven, and it only takes three turns of the key for the engine to start.

The problem is that halfway through the journey home, a torrential downpour starts slicing rain in a diagonal path to your windshield, and your engine sputters until the lights go out. “Fuck!” you cry out, turning the key again and again without luck. Your car is dead.

You climb out of the driver’s seat and wave your apology to the people behind you as you run to the bumper and begin to push in the direction of the road’s shoulder. “Come on,” you beg, shoving and digging your heels into the ground.

Several cars behind you begin to honk their horns, and it only makes your eyes fill with tears. The rain lashes you in the face and soaks your hair through to your scalp, your clothes drenched in freezing-cold water. You don't even have a jacket to stay warm.

“Come on!”

The car gives when you manage to get the front right wheel on the shoulder. Not a single person gets out to help you push the rest of the way, instead deciding to veer their cars around you once there's enough room. Still, they don't care enough not to splash you in the deepening puddles as they race by.

“Don’t worry about me,” you scream, your voice getting lost in the pounding of rain on the ground.

Shit, shit, shit. You're too far away from home to walk the rest of the way, and there isn't a payphone in sight. So, you wrestle your keys from the car out of spite, gather your bag with your work uniform, and make a decision.

He’s making dinner when there’s a knock on his front door. He cleans his hands of raw chicken and heads toward the door. It’s pouring rain; what the hell kind of solicitor wants his business this badly?

The door swings open, and you're standing on Joel’s porch, dripping wet from your head to toes, clutching your bag close to your chest. “H—hi.”

The look in your eye is so resigned, so sad, that he can't for a second think about how it looks for you to show up at his home so late at night. “Jesus,” he says. “What the fuck happened?”

“My car br—broke down. Dad isn’t h—home, and I had to wa—walk.” Your entire body is racked with relentless shivers as you hug yourself. “Do you m—mind if I use your dryer?”

Joel’s heart cleaves in two at the sight of your soaked-through jeans, your drenched sweatshirt, and his blood simmers at the thought of you having to walk home without anyone to keep you safe.

“C’mere, baby,” he says, brows pinching as he ushers you inside and envelops you in his arms. Your whole body sags into him, and he doesn't give a shit that rainwater is seeping through his clothes. You’re cold and he’s warm, and you can relax. Fuck, just being held like this makes you sniffle, forgetting the cold, damp walk and the pile of work you haven't done and the money you don't have in favour of imprinting the feeling of his hard chest and his soft belly pressed against you.

“Joel…”

Your weak, soft voice rattles in his brain and tastes like honey on his tongue. He pulls away to cup your face in his hands, moving your damp hair from your face. “You’ll catch a cold. “Let’s get you out of those clothes, okay?”

You nod, slipping off your shoes and letting him lead you to his bedroom. “Take whatever you want,” he tells you, gesturing toward his closet where all his shirts are hanging up. “Pants are in the drawer there. You want coffee? I’m just making dinner.”

Despite yourself, a little laugh slips out. “You’re making d—dinner at mid—midnight.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I was waitin’ for you.” His hands caress your arms, up and down, up and down, watching the tension in your shoulders ebb away. “I’ll let you shower.”

“I d—don't want to stay,” you tell him. “I mean, I do, b—but it’s s—so late.”

He shakes his head, pressing his lips to the crown of your head. “Shhh, baby. You've never been a bother and that hasn't changed now.”

“Joel.” He turns at the doorway to face you again. “Thank you.”

He leaves without another word because he doesn't trust himself not to rush back inside and gather you up in his arms once more. You're in his goddamn bedroom. You're feet away from the bed where he jerked off to a dream of you last night. And you can never know. You will never know—no matter how many lines he crosses.

After your shower, you pick out a too-big sweatshirt emblazoned with his company logo and a pair of grey sweatpants. Your cheeks feel warm knowing that he's worn these, maybe even slept inside them, and you dry your hair in a towel. You feel clean, less miserable, and bone-tired, but you still hesitate before you turn the knob and leave Joel’s bedroom.

He’s in the kitchen—you can smell chicken, steamed broccoli, maybe cheese?—and your mouth waters. You didn't know you were hungry until now. Joel’s gaze finds you when he hears footsteps.

You. Wearing his clothes. Dressed in his sweatpants. You even fucking smell like him, your hair cleaned with his shampoo and your body washed with his soap. He may keel over. Blood rushes to his cock, filling it out in his own sweatpants, and if you notice, you don't say a word.

Settling into the chair at the little, circular dining table, you meet his eyes across the way. “This looks good, Joel. Thank you.”

“Where’s your car?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

“On the shoulder of a road somewhere,” you reply. “Your neighbourhood was closest, and there aren't exactly many payphones in the suburbs. I’ll call a tow truck in the morning.”

“You pushed your own car to the side of the road?” Joel’s angry instincts are prickling again, his ears burning at the thought of you alone in the dark and the rain, helpless to get anywhere but to him. “Did someone help you?”

Your eyes find a fascinating spot on the table, your silence giving him all the answers he needs. Your clothes were even flecked with mud when you came to him, meaning you'd been splashed by passing cars. Joel’s jaw ticks, his fingers flexing into fists.

He couldn't fix this. He couldn't be there when you needed help. He couldn't even know about it until the damage was already done. “Fuck, baby.”

“It’s okay.” You meet his eyes again, giving him a sad smile. “I’m all right.”

He sighs harshly through his nose. “Come here.”

You follow orders beautifully, closing the distance between you and him. Slowly, so slowly, you bracket his thighs with yours and lower yourself onto his lap, your arms winding around his neck.

He knows you can feel the insistent press of his cock against your thigh. He knows the telltale widening of your pupils, the darkness in your eyes—the thrilling catch of your breath when he finally lifts his hand to the small of your back, fitting you against him.

There is no going back from a thing like this.

“You're upset,” he says into the thinning air. It feels like a slight. “You don't want me. Not like this.”

You don't reply. You just begin to move.

“Jesus.” His hands find your hips on instinct, squeezing hard as if he can get you to stop. “Shit. What are you—”

“I want you,” you whisper as your hips gyrate slowly over his stiff cock. You never break eye contact. “I want all of you.”

Your forehead drops to his, your noses brushing as he keeps pulling you closer, guiding your hips over him, betraying the words that leave his mouth. The heat between your thighs warms his body, your cunt dragging over his length and your mouth dropping open at the sparks of pleasure against your clit.

Joel grits his teeth, helping you move. “Fuck. Fuckin’ hell, baby.” His cock twitches, leaning precum into his boxers. “That’s it. Take what you want. Take what you need, baby girl.”

He will drink your soft moans down and guide your whimpering voice into his mouth. But you need to come first. You need to take, so he can give. “So fuckin’ good,” he grunts.

“Joel.” It’s a mewl, quiet and pitched high.

He thinks about the truck bed, the stars, the times he wanted and wanted but never took. But it's never been about him. This is you, baring yourself for a man who will hold you and admire you and expect nothing in return. He doesn't. He wants you to know it.

This is about you. He can be selfish later.

He can feel that you're close, your hips stuttering and your breath catching on every intake. “I know. I’ve got you. Just keep goin’.”

Maybe it's his voice. Maybe it's the consistent pressure against your clit. Maybe it's the need to be warm and safe and pliable in his arms. You come, grasping the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his messy hair as your other hand clutches his shoulder. But he's got you. He won't let you fall.

“That’s it, sweetheart.” He holds you close as you shiver, the cold pulsing out of your body and warmth settling deep inside. Your brain is a bit fuzzy, your eyes a little unfocused. His hand cups your cheek, pulling you away so he can look at you from a better angle. The sounds and sights of your orgasm will linger on the ceiling of his brain like a light that's always on.

You just came on his lap. You've never even kissed him, and the mere feel of his body ground you into a fine golden powder. “I meant it,” you tell him, combing his tousled hair away from his eyes. “I want all of you.”

“You’ve got me,” he says, and he means it. You’ve both tangled a hundred lines into one another; the mess you've both made is unrecognisable. A Gordian knot. But this is real, and it's clear. This is true and present and whatever happens next is inconsequential compared to the peace he feels when he has his hands on your body.

There are no muddied waters when he looks into your eyes.

“When's the last time you ate?” he asks.

An answering rumble in your stomach makes him chuckle. You giggle, still somewhat high from your orgasm. “Today. Yesterday. What time is it?”

He squeezes your thighs and gestures with his chin toward your side of the table. “Eat.”

“But…” Your eyes drop to the space between you, where his cock visibly strains against his sweatpants. You take your lip between your teeth. “You're hard.”

“Yeah, I am. You’re a sexy fuckin’ woman who just used me to get off.” His thumb traces your bottom lip. “I’m old, baby. I can be patient.”

You pout, but he pats your ass and lifts you off him. Your legs tremble as you lower onto your chair. It’s a plain dinner, and it’s not steaming hot anymore, but at least he can cook. And it tastes so much better after an orgasm. After the hellish night you've had. Joel watches you while you eat, and you watch him, too.

“I’ll drive you home,” he says, breaking the silence. “And I’ll call the tower in the morning.” You swallow a piece of broccoli. Joel points his fork at you. “And don’t argue.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Yeah, you were.” He’s right. “You’ve got enough to worry about.”

You look at him awhile. His cheeks feel warm under your scrutiny, the way you openly admire his face, his body, his hands. “I think you're my hero, Joel Miller.”

Jesus, if that doesn’t make his chest puff up a bit. “That so?”

You take a sip of his lukewarm coffee. “Will you let me show you?”

Under the table, your foot trails up his ankle. Joel breathes in hard. As much as he wants to bend you over the fucking table and pound you senseless, you need to rest. And he needs to make sure you get safely home, where your father will never hold suspicion of the things Joel has done to his daughter. He’ll fashion a story that's close to the truth. He gave you his clothes and drove you home, and he did not let you grind on his cock until you came on top of him.

“I won't tell him,” you say softly. “I won’t.”

Joel senses your unease, your hesitation. “I know, baby. I trust you.”

The smile creeps up your face and fills his ribcage with warm light until it's seeping through the bones. “I know what I’m going to give you for your birthday.”

#kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #whiskey sour #tlou hbo #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction

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that-one-zombie-crow · 5 months

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So, thinking about writing a Secret Life medieval fic. If I do write it, I have the roles for the factions and members. Plot will be explained at the end. Here they are:

Grian, Cleo, and Etho are three nobles who rule for the King, Ren, when he is away. Grian is an avian, Cleo is a reanimated corpse, and Etho is just a normal guy.

Tango, Skizz, and BigB are all medics and healers who can heal people by giving them their “hearts.” Each week, they heal someone who has been injured.

Joel, Pearl, Bdubs, and Mumbo are all servants in the palace. Pearl is Cleo’s lady in waiting, Bdubs is Etho’s valet, and Mumbo is Grian’s valet. Joel is just a servant.

Lizzie is the gardener/kitchen staff. She grows vegetables and fruits for meals when they can’t trade for the plants.

Gem, Impluse, and Scott are a traveling drama troupe. Gem sings/acts, Impulse plays the drums/acts, and Scott plays the lute and acts. They are stuck in the city/kingdom when it shuts down.

Jimmy and Martyn are law enforcement. Need is say more?

Scar is a noble diplomat who is trapped in the kingdom when it shuts down. He helps advise the council (Cleo, Etho, and Grian).

This is the plot:

A strange group of people called the Watchers have begun a siege on the Kingdom, trapping the residents inside the city. They want to do an experiment of sorts which is carried out by all of the characters mentioned above having tasks they must complete before the end of each week. There’s a catch. Monsters such as zombies and skeletons are set loose in the city. The “players” do not heal naturally. They only heal by A) completing the task that the Task Master gives them or B) Giving their “heart” to another player. The latter works by giving a bit of their lifespan (a day or week of their life) to another person.

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from-the-clouds · 1 year

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texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. iii

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter | gif credit

chapter summary: Somehow, you realize you've accidentally ended up spending almost every weekend for the last month and a half with either one, or all of the Millers. pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader words: 8.7k chapter warnings: some angst, alcohol consumption, marijuana use, suggestive thoughts (but no smut), referenced parental neglect, implied age gap. reader has daddy issues (shocker!) & a fear of intimacy. a/n: this chapter is so disgustingly sweet it might give you a cavity. truly. but its also a little self-indulgent because joel is in my dream blunt rotation :/ please be patient with updates because i have a career/social life/apartment, and am a perfectionist! i promise i will always (try) to make the wait worth your while. Also, here's a link to the song Joel plays on guitar, since it's not on Spotify so I couldn't add it to the playlist.

-April 19, 2003-

“Well, that was awkward.”

Obviously, Joel thinks to himself as Sarah turns to watch the retreating form of her teacher, while Joel stares straight ahead at the crowd in front of him. At first, he had thought she was just being polite. It was the right thing to do, to say hello to a parent and a student if you see them outside of class. But…they were seeing each other at a bar. And she’d asked him to dance.

We just got here, maybe later? Joel can’t even remember what he had said, something along those lines. It wasn’t a flat-out refusal, but he had been acutely aware of Sarah’s eyes boring into the back of his head from where she sat beside him, and he sort of blacked out, couldn’t recall what had caused her to get the hint, to walk away.

Joel grunts an affirmation to Sarah, and drums his fingers against the tabletop. There’s a dance floor full of people in front of him, all under various levels of intoxication, all of them dancing.

“Do you believe me now?” Sarah asks.

“I never said I didn’t believe you.”

How he had allowed Tommy and Sarah to talk him into coming here tonight, he’s not sure. Probably, it had something to do with how much he loved them both. How he would, ultimately, do whatever they asked if he knew it’d make that happy. But still, honky-tonking is the last thing he wants to be doing at the end of a long week.

There was pretty much only one decent bar in town, so he wasn’t exactly shocked he had run into someone he knew. Everyone came here – to dance, to drink, to eat, or to drown their sorrows. To see their friends, or even to find someone to take home for the night. And over the years, as a frequent customer, Joel had used this place to do all those things.

Tonight was special though, a little more family friendly. It was swing night. It happened once a month, and Joel had always made a point to take Sarah a couple times a year. When he was young, his mother had taught him and Tommy to dance, and he felt it was only appropriate to pass the skill along, even if it was almost obsolete. He hoped Sarah would be able to do the same someday, if she ever had children of her own.

“Will you dance with me, at least?” Sarah asks.

“Of course I will,” Joel answers.. “But let’s wait for Tommy, he’s ordering our drinks.”

“You mean your drinks.”

“No, you got a Shirley Temple.”

Sarah narrows her eyes. It’s the same expression that Joel has only seen her use recently, and he actually prefers it less to the eye roll. This time, he’s glad it hasn’t come with a question from her, because when it does, it’s always a little more frightening. “Come on, you know that’s not the same.”

Before Joel can respond, he’s cut off by Tommy’s voice.

“Look who I found.”

This is what he and Sarah have been waiting on, and Joel turns to sees Tommy with all three of their drinks in hand. Over his shoulder, there’s a woman who looks vaguely familiar, wearing daisy dukes and a plaid shirt. After a second, he realizes it’s you.

Most of the time when Joel sees you – from across the street, of course – you’re in a power suit, a pencil skirt. Sometimes, it’s more casual – athletic clothes. There was also that black silk robe he can’t seem to shake from his memory. But this is so…different. It’s clear you’re trying to blend in with the crowd, but you don’t. Not because you’re not pulling it off – you definitely are, effortlessly – he’s just pretty sure if he walks into any room you’re in, his eyes will always be drawn in your direction.

Joel doesn’t see, but rather feels – Sarah recognize that you’re in front of her, because when she does, she’s tapping him on the arm before he can utter a greeting. “Dad, can I get out and say hi?”

He’s standing to let her out just as you step closer to the table, and you come chest to chest. “Hey,” he says.

“Hi, Joel,” you say, a soft smile on your face. Your eyes remain locked on his just a moment too long, before Sarah is wrapping you up in a hug, and you’re focused on her when she draws back. “How are you?” you ask.

Joel doesn’t hear Sarah’s response, because his brother is pressing a drink into his hand - a Jack and Coke, same as what you and Tommy are drinking.

“Sit down, please!” Tommy encourages.

“Are you sure?” you ask. “This looks like a family thing, I don’t want to-”

“Please!” Sarah exclaims.

“What she said,” Tommy seconds Sarah’s sentiments.

For a second, you seem to contemplate the offer, and then you accept the invitation, sliding into the booth across from where Sarah has settled back next to her father. Joel makes eye contact with his brother, sitting next to you. Tommy’s eyebrows are raised suggestively, and there’s a playful smirk on his face when he tilts his head in your direction. Joel gives him nothing, already irritated by his brother’s goading.

“Is that a Shirley Temple?” you point to Sarah’s drink. When she nods, you continue. “I haven’t had one of those in forever,” you say.

“Want a sip?”

“Sure,” Sarah slides the glass across to you, and you sip from the straw, pondering. “I should’ve gotten one of those instead. They were my favorite growing up.”

“Can I have a sip of yours?”

“No,” you and Joel say at the same time.

“You’re not gonna like it,” he adds.

“You always say that, but how can you know?”

Joel sighs. “Okay, fine. Try mine.”

Sarah seems pleased to get what she wants. When the bitterness of the whiskey registers, the triumphant expression leaves her face completely.

“Told you,” he says. Sarah grimaces, accepting defeat, and returns to her beverage.

Tommy leans forward, urging Joel to start making conversation as if this is a date and it’s his responsibility. But before he can think of anything, Sarah pipes up.

“Guess what?” she asks you.

“What?”

“My teacher’s here.”

“Yeah?” you ask. Joel takes a long pull off his drink, hoping it’ll loosen him up a little.

“Yeah, she tried to hit on my dad.”

Joel feels the cocktail of whiskey and soda get caught in his throat.

“Oh….” you sound intrigued, and you lean forward. He wonders if this is the dynamic between you and Sarah when he’s not around. Like you’re two friends, engaging in some harmless gossip. “Really?” Your gaze flickers between him and Sarah.

Sarah bobs her head once. “She has a thing for him. I can tell.”

“What makes you think that?” his brother joins in, moving closer to Sarah, crowding you between himself and the wall and putting his elbows on the table. Joel feels a flash of envy when you shift your attention towards Tommy.

“She just asked him to dance.” Sarah looks over her shoulder, nods her head towards the woman in the corner of the bar who’s probably already focused on his table anyways. Joel already knows what you’re seeing. Miss Davis is pretty, bubbly, outgoing. Probably about your age, if he had to guess, though it’s hard to say how old you are. He imagines he has ten years on you, give or take a few. And for all intents and purposes, Sarah’s teacher is the type of woman he should be interested in.

“She’s pretty,” you say it like you’re appeasing Sarah, but you’re looking directly at Joel. He’s not sure why you kind of frighten him a little. You’re sweet, he knows, even if you’ve tried to tell him otherwise. But there’s something else there, enigmatic and alluring, that continues to draw him in.

Tommy chimes in. “So are you gonna dance with her, Joel?”

“Uncle Tommy,” Sarah says dramatically. Her face drops for a second, though, her shoulders slumping as she angles herself towards him, lowers her voice. “I mean, if you want to, that’s fine, I guess. But I….I don’t know.”

Joel is taken aback by how long this conversation has gone on with absolutely no input from himself. Not to mention how honest Sarah is being. She doesn’t usually have much to say about his choice in women – he can usually just tell what she thinks. For her to express something so directly makes him realize how serious she is. But at the moment, he can’t find words to assure her everything will be fine.

It must be his lack of response that causes you to lean across the table and speak to Sarah. “You know, that’s valid,” there’s a tenderness to your tone. It dawns on him that you’re trying to comfort her. “It is kind of a conflict of interest.”

“Right?” Sarah perks up, just slightly, you’ve given her some support. “It’s one of those things you said you had going on at work the other day an….an ethical…”

“An ethical dilemma?” you finish her thought.

“Ethical dilemma! That’s it.” Sarah turns back towards Joel. “I think it's an ethical dilemma.”

For just a split second, he wonders why he’s been letting his already-precocious child hang out regularly with a lawyer. He’s accidentally creating a monster. But thankfully, Joel is finally able to find his voice. “There is no ethical dilemma, because I wouldn’t ever consider it.”

That seems to placate Sarah, and hopefully everyone will decide to drop it. Joel catches your eyes, and there’s something akin to wistfulness there, chin propped on your hand, before you blink once and focus back on Tommy, who's asking you a question. “So, are you here alone?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Not at all,” Tommy smirks, not dropping his eye contact with you. “...It’s just surprising, is all.”

Joel stiffens.

“Oh, well…” you smile a little. “I’m just trying to get to know the town a little better. Trying to engage in the community, I guess. But…I’m not sure if I am doing that great of a job fitting in.”

“You are,” Joel interjects, and maybe it’s a little forward, but he’d rather say it before Tommy does. “That’s a nice flannel.”

“Thanks,” You look down at your oversized plaid shirt – the sleeves rolled up to the elbows – that hangs open over a tight white tank top. Joel can see a sliver of the black lace bra you’re wearing that pokes out above the low neckline. He wonders what it might feel like to press his face there, to feel your fingers carding through his hair, but does not allow himself to entertain the idea for very long. Not the time. “I actually had to go and buy it because I didn’t own any plaid. And by the looks of it,” You gesture towards the dance floor. “I need to invest in some cowboy boots, too.”

“One thing at a time, right?” he asks, and you agree.

“So what are you all doing here? Family outing?”

“We actually had to drag this one kicking and screaming out the door,” Tommy points to Joel.

“You did not,” Joel defends himself.

‘We kinda did,” Sarah says. “Do you know how to dance?”

You shake your head no, look at the people twirling and dipping and dancing in pairs. “Not like that.”

“It’s really easy! I can teach you. My dad taught me.”

“Cute.” Joel looks towards Sarah, and catches you staring instead. Your eyes flit back immediately to his daughters. “But I’m not sure I’ll be any good.”

“You’ll be fine,” Sarah says like it’s already settled. Joel knows he’s spoiled her, that she ultimately gets what she wants. He worries sometimes that others won’t find her quite as endearing.

“Sarah,” he warns. “You’re making it sound like she doesn’t have a choice.”

You hide a smile behind the rim of your glass. “It’s okay. You can teach me. Might as well learn, if I’m trying to fit in.”

Sarah seems satisfied.

“Joel tells me you grew up in New York City.” Tommy says it, and Joel notices you raise your eyebrows at the implication. He’s talked to Tommy about you. And now you know. He’s pissed at himself for doing it, but at the time he’d been drunk, a little more chatty and vulnerable than usual, and had mentioned you more than once. Too much to be a coincidence. The issue was, Joel had never expected you would talk to Tommy again. If he’d known you would, he wouldn’t have said anything. He doesn’t want to imagine the damage he had done when it was just the two of you, alone at the bar. But even now, he’s completely at his brother’s mercy.

“Yep,” you nod.

“You don’t have much of an accent,” Tommy remarks.

“Not everyone has them.”

“That’s fair.”

“I did, uh, go to a boarding school in a different state, though, so I wasn’t around it too much.”

“Boarding school?” Sarah turns to Joel.

“Basically you live at school,” you answer her question. ”Kind of like college, but earlier. I started going when I was nine.”

Sarah frowns. “Wouldn’t you miss your family?”

“Yes, and I did.”

“So why would you go?”

“Well…” you trail off, shift your weight. “It wasn’t up to me. My dad worked a lot, so it made sense.”

“What’d he do for a living?” Asks Tommy.

“He’s a criminal defense attorney....owns his own firm and it does pretty well, so…” you shrug. “He was very busy.”

“And that’s why you’re a lawyer? To work for your dad?”

“At one point, that was the plan, yes."

“What happened?”

The question appears to make you uncomfortable, you cross your legs and glance down at the table. “Uhm….pass.” Joel sees your face go blank for a split second before you look up with an easy smile. It’s like the desolate look you’d been wearing was never there, and you point to your drink. “I’ll need a few more of these if you want that story.”

“Might as well order another round,” Tommy flags down a waitress.

You have one more drink, but you don’t really touch it as the four of you continue to talk. Joel has two more, and Tommy has three, because he’s Tommy, and also not driving. Both you and Joel also have to vehemently refuse his request to do a round of tequila shots.

After a while, Sarah gets bored, then insists on teaching you to dance. You agree, but seem awfully reluctant. Joel wants to pull you aside and let you know that you don’t have to entertain everything Sarah offers, but once you’ve stood up, and he watches her arm link through yours as you both walk to the dance floor, he can’t bring himself to intervene.

He’s never seen Sarah be so taken with someone before, and he’s filled with a vague sense of regret. He always thought that she was content with just him and Tommy. Maybe she has always needed more. It’s partially his responsibility, Joel thinks – what could he have done to stop her mother from leaving? Even if he could’ve stopped it, they would’ve been a miserable couple…which might have been more damaging to Sarah than her mother not being around at all.

Once you’re long gone, Joel can sense what Tommy is thinking before he even opens his mouth.

“Shut it,” Joel says before he can even hear his brother's ribbing.

“I wasn’t even gonna say anything about that!” Tommy raises his hands, but Joel knows he’s lying.

“We should go over there,” Joel says. He trusts you, but in a bar full of drunk people isn’t interested in being far away from Sarah for too long. Both he and Tommy abandon their booth to mosey their way towards the dance floor.

Sarah has taken you into a back corner, far away from the band playing, where the crowd has thinned a little. There’s room for him and Tommy to lean up against the wall and watch you both.

Both your hands are clasped with Sarah’s, and she’s teaching you the counts, the steps, while you study the way that your feet move.

Joel has a feeling that if it weren’t for his daughter, you wouldn’t have hung out with his family for so long. It’s just like the hike, and as usual, he feels more like a third wheel than anything else. You’re right that you do look a little out of place here. Maybe you don’t belong, but he likes it. You’re wearing a pair of beat up hi-tops, which are a sharp contrast to Sarah’s baby blue cowboy boots that are covered in rhinestone butterflies. He’d gotten them for her for Christmas that past year, and she only wore them during special occasions like this.

Joel is doing the best he can not to think about the way your legs look in those fucking daisy dukes. All on display, and he wonders what it might feel like to drag his tongue up the soft skin of your inner thigh, feel you quiver and whimper as he works his mouth closer to– Enough. He’s disgusted with himself for thinking about you like that right now.

“Dad, look!” Sarah says, and it seems you’re catching on all right, but none of it looks graceful. Sarah’s trying to lead – which she has never done – so she falters often, and also can’t quite reach all the way above your head when she tries to spin you around. “Oh no, look at his face!” Sarah points. You turn his direction, and Joel realizes he has to neutralize the grimace that has crept onto his visage. “We definitely aren’t doing good.”

“I’ll get the hang of it,” you turn back to Sarah, assure her. “You’re a good teacher.” You’re being nice. Too nice, humoring her and laughing it off, even if she’s making a fool of you both. But you don’t seem to mind, because it’s making her happy.

All of the sudden, the toe of Sarah’s boot catches on the scuffed wood floor and she lurches forward. Joel immediately pushes himself off the wall as though he could close the space and catch her before she faceplants, but he can’t, and he can already see a vision of himself sitting in the emergency room at 2 a.m waiting, while Sarah holds an ice pack on her nose. But you reach out before the image is fully realized, arms wrapping around her shoulders. “Careful!” You warn. And even though you shuffle forward with the weight of her, you keep her from falling. Once she realizes she’s safe, Sarah giggles and throws her head back, her eyes catching your own.

He’s not sure what makes him do it. It could be the liquor, the way you look, the unspoken pressure from Tommy. Or maybe he’s just been wanting an excuse to be closer to you. Most importantly, at this rate, he feels like Sarah is going to hurt herself and also you in the process. Regardless of what the reason is, Joel decides to step in. He walks onto the dance floor.

“Alright,” Joel says once he’s gotten closer, looking at Sarah. “I can’t watch this anymore.”

“What?”

He halts in front of his daughter, jerks his hand. “Move. I’m takin’ over.”

Sarah rolls her eyes, but smiles a little, and drops her hands from your shoulders. Joel offers you his hand. “You mind?”

You look between Joel and Sarah, and she gives you an encouraging nod. “He taught me, he does know what he’s doing.”

“Well okay,” you take Joel’s hand. “You better not embarrass me,” and then you actually fucking wink at him. Already overwhelmed by the delicate weight of your hand in his palm, it almost sends him over the edge. He’s lucky he’s in public, with his family, because he doesn’t think he’d behave himself otherwise.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Joel answers. “Besides, I don’t think anything could be worse than what I was just watching.”

You giggle, and step forward when he tugs you just closer to dance, taking you fully in his arms. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sarah dragging Tommy onto the dance floor. Everyone is taken care of.

You’re smart. And because of it, you’re a fast learner. Even people who can’t really dance can usually figure this out, himself included. But in Joel’s opinion, it’s always been less about getting the steps right, and more about who’s keeping him company.

And you’re great company.

Eager, willing, gentle…soft. He’s embarrassed at how long it’s been since he’s been this close to an adult woman, and normally he might be a little nervous, but instead, he just feels…comfortable.

But Joel is a selfish man. He always wants more. Wants the band to play a slower song, so then he’d have an excuse to pull you closer. Wind an arm around your waist, whisper things in your ear that no one else could hear, and feel your breath hitch when they register. But this isn’t really the dance for that, and the rest of his family is just steps away. He’ll have to compromise – which he doesn’t like.

“I’m going to dip you,” Joel says, matter-of-factly.

“No you’re not.”

“I am,” he insists. “It’s essential.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“Look,” he tilts his head to Tommy and Sarah, and the latter is laughing as she pitches all her weight backwards into his arms. He nearly drops to one knee to catch her, she’s still so petit, but their form is actually pretty good. And they aren’t the only people in the room doing it.

“Okay,” you say, and give him a warm smile for a split second before becoming stone-faced. “But if you drop me-”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Joel drawls.

He puts his arms around your waist, one of them catching the middle of your back, the other on a patch of exposed skin on your hip – your tank top has ridden up slightly with all the movement. You dig your fingers into his biceps, cling to him like he had hoped you would.

And even when he draws you back up, eyes locked with your own, your grip remains the same. You stay close.

“My turn,” Tommy interjects, and Joel can’t help the dirty look he gives him over your shoulder. He’s playing the annoying little brother, doing everything he can to piss him off. His brother wants to see Joel break, but he’s not going to give him the satisfaction.

Plus, Joel is happy to dance with Sarah, which is the whole reason they came here in the first place. She’s so excited to be there, and he wonders if there will ever be a time when she’s too grown up for things like this. He hopes not.

He ignores the sound of Tommy’s laugh mingled with your own. You were not laughing that much with him, and that causes a pang of jealousy. Joel doesn’t like acknowledging it, but he’s always resented Tommy for his ability to be the charismatic one, the charming one, the happy-go-lucky one. Even when they were kids. That’s what it’s like to be the oldest sibling. Never as fun, always more practical, more serious, the voice of reason. Always in service to their siblings, all in the name of love.

Eventually, you and Sarah are back dancing together, and since you’ve had some practice separately, it’s not as sloppy as before. It allows Joel and Tommy to return to their post against the wall, just out of earshot.

Joel feels his brother’s eyes on him as he watches you and Sarah. “Dude,” he finally gives in, looks over at Tommy. “Just ask her out already.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Tommy-”

“You’re into her.”

“Maybe,” Joel says, because he knows it’s pointless to lie. “But she’s got a boyfriend.”

Tommy elbows him. “So what?”

“I know you’re alright bein’ a homewrecker but I-”

“It makes sense Joel. She’s fuckin’ smart, and funny, and pretty. And Sarah fucking loves her-”

In any other situation, he would’ve acted weeks ago. But he’s starting to understand why he’s dragging his feet. Tommy’s right. Sarah adores you. Joel will fuck something up, it’s inevitable. And when you decide you never want to speak to him again, Sarah will lose you too. He’s already let her down enough.

“I should’ve never fuckin’ told you–”

“Take her to drinks, to the movies, dinner, show up at her house with a bottle of wine, hell, something. If you don’t ask her out already, then I will.”

Joel punches his brother on the shoulder. It’s not enough to incite an actual fight, but it’s definitely not playful. “Ow!” Tommy grips at his arm. “What?” When Joel doesn’t answer right away, he rolls his eyes.

“Speaking from experience, I’m surprised you haven’t already,” he raises an eyebrow.

“Once, Joel. That was one time. Will I never hear the end of it?”

“No,” Joel says. “And I see what you were doing tonight, too. Don’t think you’re slick.” he hopes to change the subject, and it seems to be working.

Tommy sets them back on track. “Well, I was just trying to get you to wake the fuck up and see what’s in front of you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What happens when Sarah grows up? Goes to school, leaves the house? Then, what are you gonna do? You’re just gonna be alone?”

“You are treadin’ on some mighty thin ice, Tommy,'' Joel hisses. ““You barely know this woman-”

“I’d like a family, too, Joel. When that happens I won’t be able to keep you company anymore. You might want someone else. And maybe it’s not her, fine. But there should be someone.”

For as much as he hates to admit it, Joel knows Tommy is right.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-April 25, 2003-

It’s six at night. and you’re already in your pajamas.

A couple years ago, you would’ve thought that was pretty sad. These days, it’s only a little sad. You prefer things this way. That’s the perk of being an adult living alone. If you want to put on pajamas before the sun sets on a Friday night, you can. If you want to get stoned on the back porch of the house you bought yourself, you can. If you want all those things to happen while you watch the sunset and listen to yacht rock, you can. And you’re going to.

You’re toying with the new digital camera your brother bought for you. Vincent likes to argue with you, but he always feels guilty after a conversation gone wrong. Rather than use his words, however, he just buys you gifts. You had apologized over the phone a few days ago…this was his way of doing the same. The shutter clicks as you snap a photo of your backyard, and you look at it in the viewfinder before discarding the camera on your coffee table.

Martini is on the porch with you, doing that thing where he stands just out of reach but chirps at you until you pet him. When you reach out, he moves away. He’s not great at accepting what he wants. Maybe it’s why he’s sort of the perfect cat for you – you’re the same.

You light your bowl, and you’re mid-inhale when you hear someone call your name.

“Hey!”

At this point, you’d recognize Joel Miller’s voice anywhere. You don’t want to admit it’s because you’ve tried to commit it to memory, daydreamed about how it might sound for his smooth lilt to read you a book until you fall asleep, or listen to him take a phone call in the other room.

Realizing it’s him, you inhale sharply, forgetting what you’re in the middle of and taking a much bigger hit than you had intended. You begin choking violently on the smoke while simultaneously scrambling to hide your piece and the related paraphernalia sitting out, and manage to do so just in time for him to round the corner.

You scramble to hide your bowl under the pillow of the outdoor couch you sit on, just in time for Joel to appear at the screen door.

“Hey,” you say, covering your mouth. Your throat burns, and you cough again. Stay cool, stay calm. Everything is good. “What are you doing here?”

“Sorry, I tried your front door and you weren’t answering, so I thought I’d see if you were back here.” It’s hard to see him from here, through the door, and he’s backlit by the sun that’s shimmering behind his dark hair, catching it in a golden halo.

You rise to open the door, and when you do, he continues. “I’m here to pick up Sarah’s soccer jersey.”

Right. Of course he was. She had left it a few days before, and you had assumed she’d come get it before her game on Saturday but it didn’t dawn on you until now that she ever had.

“I would’ve sent her, but she’s at a sleepover tonight.”

“Oh yeah,” you nod, standing in place. You’re trying so desperately to act normal, words evade you.

Joel squints at you, a slight smirk on his face. “I didn’t catch you off guard or anything, did I?’

“No, no, not at all,” you lie. “Come on in.”

Joel steps over the tiny dish of cat food you’ve left on your back step for the stray you feed, and into the screened-in porch. Now that he’s under the dim light, you get a better look at him. A loose-fitting flannel hangs open over a worn green t-shirt that barely meets the top of his jeans. His hair is damp, like he’s just showered, and he smells clean. In any other situation, you’d want to climb him like a tree, and he’s not even trying. But right now, you’re just doing your best impression of a sober human that is definitely not doing anything illegal. The truth is, you should’ve made him wait outside.

“This is nice,” Joel says, looking around. And you really wish he wasn’t because you notice that you left the clear plastic baggie containing your weed out on the couch. It sort of blends in with the green floral pattern, so you hope for the best, because there’s no way for you to sneakily grab it without drawing his attention. “I didn't know this was back here.”

“The last owners added it on,” you say, because that was the type of thing the realtor had said to you about the features of this house. And you supposed a carpenter or contractor would probably be interested in it. It was a good distraction.

“I can tell. Looks new,” he looks up towards the wooden beams that span the ceiling. The top of the porch is still covered, so during the few times it’s rained, you always sit outside to listen.

“I’ve got her jersey in the kitchen,” you tell him. “Wait here.”

It doesn’t take long for you to pick out the bright blue athletic gear from your pile of dry cleaning. It stands out against all your neutral-colored pantsuits. Joel has his back to you when you return, one of his hands clenched into a fist.

“Here,” you say, and he turns.

“You had it dry cleaned? You didn’t have to do that.”

“I kind of wasn’t sure if it was safe to run through the machine,” you explain. “But now that I’m thinking about it….it wouldn’t make sense to give a bunch of 11-year-olds dry clean only jerseys.”

“It wouldn’t. But it’s probably more convenient than scrubbing the grass stains out yourself.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Unfortunately. But again…thank you.”

“Of course.”

This is where Joel should leave, walk across the street, and go home. And he does, well, at least, he starts to. He steps away, reaches for the handle to your back door, and then pauses. “You know,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. “The Watsons were tellin’ me the other day you’ve been complaining about a family of skunks living under your house?”

You freeze, recalling the lie you’d come up with on a whim when your sixty-year-old neighbors had started asking too many questions.

“Well, it does smell a little over here.”

“Uh-huh,” you give him nothing.

“Something like that….you should really call animal control. Get rid of the problem,” Joel’s facing you now, eyebrow raised.

“If I call animal control…they’ll just kill them,” you answer. “And I don’t want that. So…I think I’ll just have to live with it.”

“That’s fair,” Joel says. “But you know, Sarah’s over here all the time, and I’ve never heard her mention it.”

At this point you know he’s just fucking with you. But years of remaining stone-faced through business negotiations and family dinners has prepared you for this, so even if you’re a little stoned, you’re not going to let him win.

“Yeah, it sounds like a coincidence. But they’re never around when she’s here,” you say, in your own defense. “Ever,” you add for emphasis.

“I guess that’s good.”

You both stare at each other for a second, and your blood buzzes slightly because even though this is just a playful standoff, you’ve never made such intense eye contact with him. It feels electric. After what feels like an eternity, Joel lifts his hand from his hip, and you see what he’d been holding in his fist, now pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He raises an eyebrow.

When you see the plastic baggie dangling in front of your face, you purse your lips. “Alright, you got me,” you lift up your hands, but snatch the bag from him.

“And here I thought you were such a good girl.”

You don’t even want to acknowledge the full body chill that runs down your spine at the sound of those two words, coming from him. Snatching the bag back from him, he gives you a cheeky smile. “If you give me a hit, I won’t tell anyone.”

Your jaw drops, and you look up at him. “Oh, you’re trouble.”

“I’m not the one lyin’ to my neighbors.”

“And I’m not the one snooping through my neighbors' things.”

“It was right out in the open.”

Joel doesn’t seem bothered at all. But it’s Texas, so you can never be sure. “Okay, fine,” you say. “If you want….I could roll us a joint. Unless you have other plans.”

“The alternative is a house to myself for the evening and some chores, so…yeah. Whatever you’d like.”

“Great.”

Joel follows you to sit on the couch. As you settle on opposite ends, he speaks up. “So you think you could explain to me why my daughter keeps tellin’ me she wants to be a lawyer?”

You snicker. “Believe me, Joel. I’ve tried to talk her out of it already.”

He chuckles. “It’s okay. Probably a more lucrative career than what I’m doing. She’s really taken a liking to you, you know that? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her warm up to anyone so quick.”

“Well, I’m the first adult she knows that’s not an authority figure.”

“I’m sure there’s more to it than that.”

“I remember being that age,” you look down at your work. “It’s nice to have someone older to relate to, who you can talk to without being afraid of getting a lecture.”

“She probably needs it,” Joel says. “She told me you talk about girl stuff. I’m not so great at that.”

“I don’t know,” Your tongue darts out to wet the edge of the paper and finish rolling the joint. You put it between your lips, and rummage through the drawer of the coffee table to find your lighter, gesture between the both of you. “This is about ninety percent of how I spent my time with my friends at her age…and so far you’re doing alright.”

“Now you’ve got me worried about what’s going on at that sleepover.”

“Okay, well, I was maybe a little older. And with her? You’ve got nothing to worry about,” you shake your head.

He rubs the back of his neck, and his eyes glow with the reflection of your lighter as it’s flicked on. “I don’t know.”

“She’s fine, Joel,” you say, bringing the lighter closer and shielding the flame from the calm breeze of the evening. “She’s great. Really.”

“She is,” he agrees. You inhale, let the smoke settle in your lungs for a moment, before exhaling. You take your time, feeling warm from the weed and the feeling of Joel’s eyes on you, and he accepts the joint when you pass it over.

“I really didn’t really expect this from you,” he exhales, studying your handiwork before taking another puff. “You’re pretty buttoned up.”

“This is hardly rebellious.” Instinctually, you like the idea that he thinks you’re buttoned up. Deep down, however, you don’t actually want him to.

He looks so dreamy, the smoke curling though his eyelashes, tracing along his defined jaw, and then up, up, where it settles and shifts under the porch light, before disappearing completely.

Martini, who has been in hiding, hops up on the couch, and Joel reaches out, your cat nuzzling its face into his palm. “Didn’t know you had a cat,” he mumbles. And then, like some sort of magic, the cat plops down on Joel’s lap.

“I do…but…” you say out loud, then trail off because you’re in such shock. You glance up at Joel, who looks confused. “I’m sorry, I’ve just never seen him do this.”

He passes the joint back to you. “Do what?”

You take a final puff, and then put it out in an ashtray. It’s only about half smoked, but you can get into it later if either of you wants to. Plus, you’re more interested in what’s unfolding in front of you. “I kinda want a picture of this.”

“What?”

“I’ve had him for five years and he’s never sat on my lap like that,” you say, and you can’t keep the resentment from dripping into your tone. “What makes you so special? I’m a little jealous.”

“Of me? Or the cat?”

Something honey-thick drips down your spine at his words. You can’t conjure a witty response, opting instead for: “Shut up.”

You snap a couple photos while Joel’s still laughing, one hand on his chest, the other on Martini’s back, and then put the camera down, and lean against the back of the couch, curling your feet underneath you.

“You’ve got a nice view of the sunset,” Joel says softly.

There’s a distant fear you might never get to see him like this again, and you want to take him in fully before you drag your eyes to see what he’s looking at. Your backyard slopes down into a small patch of woods, the sky opening even wider to let in the aureate light.

“I know,” you agree. “It’s why I spend so much time back here.” The high continues to settle over you, strokes your shoulders, tugs at the corners of your lips.

“Surprised you like things that are so peaceful…being from the city and all…”

“The city is peaceful,” you say, thinking of the leaves swirling from the trees in the fall, and the snowflakes falling onto your family's porch in the winter, melting on the tip of your nose as you lean over the balcony to see the glittering lights below, car horns and engines and sirens piercing the darkness, white noise. “In its own way.”

“You miss it?”

“Everyday,” you say.

“What do you miss the most?”

“Uhm…probably the bagels,” you lie. Well it’s true. But it’s not what you miss the most. You think of your brother, flopping onto your bed on a Saturday night – a rare weekend when you visit home – and you’re trying to read A Tree Grows In Brooklyn for school but he’s begging to take you around the corner to get a milkshake. It’s the image of him you’ve so desperately tried to cling to and the recollections you share with him have only gotten more and more unpleasant as time goes on. “The bagels here suck.”

“Really?” Joel seems amused by that.

“And uh…I don’t know. It’s part of me. I have a lot of friends there, a lot of good memories,” you smile to yourself, lean forward towards him. “I had this apartment before I graduated, right? It had the best view of this little Italian restaurant, and I’d sit and watch people through the windows, eating and talking. I was supposed to be studying, but…it was great. I loved it.”

“What’re you doing here, then?” Joel asks, and you look back at the sunset. Here you are, waxing poetic and you’re sure he can hear it in your voice. “You runnin’ from something?” You look over to find he’s staring at you. Like he knows you aren’t being honest, and he’s asking you to stop lying.

So you do the only thing you can think of, which is to ask him a question in response. “What makes you think I am?”

Joel considers this for a moment. “I don’t know. I grew up in Austin. All my friends are here, my family. If I ever moved someplace else….it’d have to be for a good reason. And even if I did, I’d be lonely.”

You stare down at the floor. “Maybe I am.” Lonely? Or running from something? The answer is both, you know, but you’re not going to clarify. “My family. Things are pretty fucked. I thought distance would help, and it does, a little. But….that shit still follows you anyways. They’re always with you, no matter what.”

Joel nods.

“But… I have a life here. When I lived downtown, I definitely did. I don’t mind the quiet, and….I have friends.”

Joel looks at you. “You got a boyfriend, don’t you?”

Why would he think that-oh. You had tried to forget it, the morning he’d caught you still wrapped up in your robe – not the fluffy fleece one you liked the most, but the one you specifically only wore when you had guys over, cause they loved that shit.

“Oh, right,” you say. “Bradley. Yeah, uh. He’s…he’s….not my boyfriend. But…” you shake your head. “It’s a little complicated.”

“I’m sure it ain’t that hard to explain.”

“I mean…” you avoid his eyes. “He’s kind of an asshole, but we’re not really commited to each other in a meaningful way. Plus, he’s not around that much which is kind of perfect…for me.”

“Really?”

“Less to worry about,” you answer, purse your lips. “But…I don’t know. I sorta wish he got my heart rate up a little more.”

“He’s not your type?”

“I don’t really have a type,” you shake your head. “I like what I like.”

Joel rasps. “I feel the same,” and he’s made sure your eyes are on him when he says it.

You swallow, nod, smooth your hair back. “Anyways. Why’re you asking me all this?”

Joel doesn’t seem to find an answer right away. You narrow your eyes at him, studying his face, looking for something that will give him away. It’s a trick you’ve learned…silence…a bit of skepticism. It makes people uncomfortable. And Joel shifts his weight, squirming beneath your gaze. Until something in his face shifts, and he smiles….just a little.

“So that’s where Sarah learned that.”

“Learned what?”

“That look you’re giving me.”

“What look?”

“Like you can see right through me.”

“Can I?” You narrow your eyes further.

“You’re tryin’ to.”

He’d done a good enough job of avoiding your question, and you’re not gonna ask him again, and instead opt for a different one. “So what about you, then?” you poke his knee with your foot.

“Oh, I’m not answerin’’ that.”

“What? I just told you, that’s not fair.”

Joel runs a hand along his jaw, ponders. “Most women don’t want to be with a man who already has a kid so…things on that front are not always easy.”

“I have a hard time believing that. I mean, don’t you have an upcoming date with Sarah’s teacher or something?” you tease.

“That’s not happening,” he assures you. “But….I work so much these days I don’t have the capacity for much. So I get what you mean, sometimes it’s easy to not get emotionally involved but…I’ve never really been great at that.”

“You’re a relationship guy?”

“I mean, Tommy has been pestering me about this lately. Says at this rate, once Sarah’s grown, I’ll end up old and alone. Annoys me to hell, but he’s right. I wouldn’t mind…some kind of companionship. Someone to tell you you’ve done alright at the end of the day.”

“You sound awfully romantic,” you at him blink slowly.

“I can be, when I want to.” Joel rolls his eyes. “But right now…I think I’m just stoned.”

That makes you giggle. So he’s just being honest. “I didn’t really see much great come from settling down when I grew up, so I’ve always been a bit of a pessimist when it comes to love. What you’re saying….it’s a nicer way to think of things.”

You rarely connected with the men you dated. You chose to date douchebags, to date cheaters. It was better that way, to know up front what you were getting yourself into. The best ones didn’t ask for much, just the odd fuck here and there for a couple months, and you’d step away when things were no longer fun, if they evewere to begin with.

Actually getting married, settling down, didn’t feel like a real possibility for you. So you’d never allowed yourself to indulge in what seemed like a fantasy. Some women aren’t meant to be a part of a family. Your father had told you once – during one of few times he’d attempted to comfort you after your mother didn’t call on your birthday – as if it excused his own neglect.

“Yeah, and it hasn’t all been bad. I mean, I’ve had a couple good girlfriends over the years. They were sweet, fun. I enjoyed the time I spent with them, they just…never made it through the real litmus test.”

“Sarah?”

He nods.

“It would be hard, I imagine. For her. Accepting someone new into her life.”

“Yeah.”

“You really care about her,” you say. “About how she feels. It’s nice.”

“I’m doin’ my best.”

The way he talks about Sarah makes you nauseated. It’s something pure, and you can’t help but feel bitterly nostalgic.

“I wish my dad would have been like you.”

It slips out, and you immediately regret it. It’s been too long since you’ve gotten stoned with someone else, and you’ve forgotten your filter. And even though you’ve already divulged more to him about you than you normally would, this feels like too much all of the sudden.

This isn’t something you can backpedal, and before you know it, Joel is leaning towards you. There’s concern written in his features, he wants to comfort, and you thank God for what happens next, or it all would’ve been too much.

His shift in weight causes Martini to jump off his lap and sprint to the door of the porch. He stares at you and then meows.

Even though Joel isn’t touching you, you have to tear yourself away from the hold he’s got you in. ““I gotta let him in, or he’ll get annoyed.”

You move to open the door, and the cat slips inside.

“Is that a guitar in there?” Joel asks, catching a sliver of the gleaming body in the dim light.

“Yeah.”

“You play?” He questions, and you come to sit back on the couch.

“Not anymore. It’s more of a decoration. How about you?”

“A little.”

“A little?”

“A lot.” Joel smiles, looks at the ground like not sure why he’s telling you this. “I actually uh, used to want to be a singer.”

“What?” you ask. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” Joel shakes his head.

“Joel, what?” you put a hand on his arm and lean forward, then look at the guitar.

“Why not?”

“I was…young when I had Sarah. And I had to do something that could actually help us get by.”

“Okay well, you have to play me something, then,” you rise to step inside and retrieve it off the wall.

“No, no-”

“Come on, please?” you ask. “Don’t be a tease.”

Joel just stares as you bring the guitar out to him.

“Although this might be out of tune…” you strum once, and wince at the tinny sound it makes. “Definitely it is.”

“Here,” Joel takes it from you. “I can do it.”

It takes him a moment, but he’s plucking the strings in a way that feels so instinctual, purposeful, you can already tell he knows what he’s doing. Once he’s finished, he strums a few chords, and everything is magically in tune.

“Alright,” you prompt, when he hesitates. “What are you gonna play me?”

“You know any Neil Young?”

“Of course,” you answer.

Joel nods once, looks down at the guitar, and starts playing. You’d recognize the opening chords to anywhere, but he somehow makes them sound even moodier, and bittersweet.

Come a little bit closer, hear what I have to say…

He can sing. You’re taken aback. You’re not sure what you expected, but it’s definitely better than that. Deeper, raspier, and now you have new information about him that’s going to bounce around your brain when you’re bored during meetings at work, while you’re lying in bed at night, trying to sleep.

Because I’m still in love with you, I want to see you dance again…

You shift your weight, sling your arm over the back of the couch, and rest your chin on your hand. Suddenly, you’re feeling a little tired. He’s all-but putting you to sleep and, somehow, that feels like the highest compliment you can give. It could be because you’re stoned, but you feel warm all over. You close your eyes, just listen, until he’s finished.

Even after he’s finished, you keep your eyes closed, settling. Until you feel something graze against the back of your hand. Joel’s. He’s matching your own pose, facing you, but reaching out…

“That was nice,” you say, earnestly. You’re good.”

Joel smiles bashfully, tugs your hand from beneath your chin and pinches your index finger between two of his own. Your nails are painted a glittery purple, and Joel studies them. Sarah had painted them earlier this week when she’d hung out after school, and had picked out the color.

“So are you,” he shifts closer.

He’s not quite close enough to kiss you himself. But it’s enough…he’s just giving you the chance to lean in, to close the gap. The proximity makes you dizzy, and you’re a little overwhelmed. It’s too much. It’d be too much. You can’t. You’re afraid of what he might do to you.

“We should be good, then,” Gazing at him from under your lashes, you pull back just enough. It’s not a rejection, and you can tell he doesn’t see it that way either. There’s a mutual understanding, you’re on the same page, but you aren’t quite sure what it is. The warmth of Joel’s hand leaves yours, and a part of you is filled with regret.

And then, like it never happened, the two of you spend another hour talking. He’s engaged, intuitive, thoughtful, funny. By the time he excuses himself, long after the sun has fully dipped below the horizon, you feel like he’s an old friend. An old friend you want…badly, but, you know him on a level you hadn’t before.

“Gotta be up tomorrow for a soccer game, otherwise I’d stick around,” Joel says as you’re guiding him to the front door.

“It’s alright,” you say. “You’re welcome to do this anytime.”

“You sure?” he tilts his head, leaning against the doorframe on his way out. “You might regret offerin’ that….”

“I won’t.”

part iv

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