summary: you might just get joel in the way you wanted all along
~4.5k words i did a once over edit dont come for me its 3 am and i kinda hate this but i wanted it out for the fans (kidding)
warnings: FLUFFF BROOO DOMESTIC AS FUCK IT MADE ME SICK! but also road head... smut, genitalia pronouns, one ass smack rrrrg idk let me know if i miss anything. just dirty LOL
It all started that night.
The night you let him back in your home, let him take care of you. You didn't ask him to stay, so he didn't.
He filled up your water bottle with ice cold water, set down a protein bar and made you take Advil. Then he went home.
He calls you in the morning.
You're startled by the vibrating on your nightstand, rolling onto your elbow to check who's calling. Squinting in the light leaking from your curtains. You begin to remember the events of last night and remind yourself that what happened was indeed, real. And now he's actually calling.
"Hello?" You murmur, rolling onto your back again.
"Morning darlin'. You eat that bar?"
You scrunch up your face in a yawn, turning to your nightstand, grabbing it. "Not yet." You say as you cradle the phone between your ear and your shoulder, opening the bar.
You don't miss the nervousness in his voice.
He sighs, "You remember last night?"
"I do." You murmur through bites, phone back in your grip.
You can almost see him nodding, thinking.
You hear his soft laugh, and you smile.
"I feel like you should be on..." you pause, "a probation of sorts."
"Probation?" He laughs through the phone.
"Well, whatever'll get me to you in the end."
That has you opening and closing your mouth to find some witty remark, but it never comes out.
He picks you up for lunch.
Takes you to a diner. Burgers, milkshakes, that sort of thing. Smells like syrup when you walk in. Your pajama short clad thighs stick to the grubby vinyl seats, and he doesn't sit across from you. He stands at the end of the booth, staring down at you expectantly.
"You're gonna sit next to me?" You laugh, knowing how sickly sweet it is to see couples who can't help but sit on the same side of the booth.
You weren't a couple, though.
"You don't wanna?" He put a hand on his chest, fake offended.
You roll your eyes and make room.
His smile down at you nearly knocks the wind out of you. He slides his arm on the back of the booth, resting behind you. You flip through the menu to distract yourself.
You feel his gaze on you.
"Can I help you, Joel?" You ask without removing your gaze from the French toast you're eyeing.
"No ma'am," He shrugs, and presses a kiss to your hair.
You bite your lip to stifle a smile, but he sees right through it, chuckling as he looks around the diner.
"You know what you want already?" You ask, finally looking up at him.
"Already ate. Took too long gettin' ready."
"What? What are we here for then?"
"For you." He shrugs, "Diner food is the best for hangovers."
And when you look into his eyes, you almost can't believe the sight in front of you.
Joel Miller. Not in your bed, not in his, not calling you while drunk.
In a diner, buying you lunch. Slow, melodic 60s music plays.
You order the French toast.
"So." You drag your nails up and down your palm anxiously.
"I know that things have been..."
You tilt your head, your eyes equal parts curious and 'choose your words carefully'.
"Things have not been how I want them to be between us."
"How do you want things to be?"
"Like I told you last night."
"Humor me." You were making him work for it.
"Take you out. Out with my friends. Just us, I don't know." He sighs. "Tell everyone you're my girl."
He's waiting for an answer. "Would you like that?" He's quiet, shy. "I'll keep provin' myself to you, you don't need to say yes now. Just.. eventually, maybe. We could go back to before, but better, I don't know." he rambles.
"Never seen you so unsure of yourself, Joel." You tease.
"Never felt like this before." He admits with a soft laugh.
You're too proud to let him off the hook easily. "Let's see how long you last, cowboy."
"You know how long I last."
He's close, the arm resting on the booth slides down onto your shoulders, scooting closer. You feel like a teenager. You scoot and hook your leg over his large thigh.
You enjoy your French toast, not without Joel begging for just one bite. He takes multiple. He pays for the meal, tips generously, and kisses you hard once you make it inside his truck. Not hungry or desperate, but sweet, and honest.
A month and a half in, he texts and asks if you want to come with his friends to the bar. He said a couple of them were bringing their girlfriends.
You were looking for a snack when you saw the text. Phone in hand, other palm resting on the fridge handle.
What would you say if people asked? What would he say? Was it too soon for that? Too late? Was he stringing you along without a label like you predicted? There was a still slight guard up, some doubt that would linger from time to time.
It could be fun. You were close with some of his friends, but only one of them would be there tonight.
"sureeee" was all you could muster. The extra e's didn't feel much like you, but you thought it'd read as easy going.
"I'll call the Uber to my place in like 20 so you have time to get ready?"
You debate on if you feel like downing shots tonight.
He had so far given you no reason to be anything but happy. Good morning and good night texts, paying for meals, all sweet things that were a hallmark to the start of a relationship.
But still, you couldn't help the insecurity.
You decide against it, offering to be a designated driver. He asks if you're sure, and you even tell him you can pick up his friend who lives closest to you and his girlfriend.
When you pulled up to his place, he smiled at you when he opened his front door, turning to lock it. He makes his way to your car.
"Hey darlin'." He smiles, leaning over the center console to press a kiss to your lips. "Thanks for drivin'."
"Anything for Joel Miller," You tease. He smells like his cologne.
"Imma hold you to that, miss." He smirks as he buckles in, "Seriously, thank you though."
"Course," Unable to help yourself, you cup his cheek and pull him into another kiss.
He hums against you, leaning into your palm, reaching a hand up to hold your jaw.
The kiss is slowly turning into anything but sweet, and then he slides his hand to your throat, coaxing a soft moan from you. You reach up to tug his hair, and he sucks in a deep breath, leaning closer into you over the console.
You push at his chest to get out of his grip, "Control yourself." you giggle.
"You started it." He shrugs, settling back into his seat with a smirk.
It's not long before you pick up his friend and said girlfriend, landing at their favorite dive bar. His friends don't ask what's going on. But you're anxious in anticipation for what drunken questions they might have about your current relationship in comparison to the dramatic past. They know you though, and know you're a good time, which is most of what they care about.
Joel gets a beer to start. Couldn't have that much of an effect on him just yet, however, he's already got a hand on your thigh, rubbing up and down while listening to his friends across the table. You wonder if the PDA is from a buzz. You don't have much to add to the conversation, or much energy to spare for your doubting, so you feel pleasant and comfy with his hand on you.
Soon the conversation between the group lulls, everyone engaging in small side conversations. One beer turns into 2.
"How you doin' little miss?" He turns his stool to you.
"Having a good time, don't worry about me."
"Course I'll worry. You promise you're good?"
He grins at you then, looking deep into your eyes before pressing a kiss to your lips.
Soon enough, he's drunk. Not wasted or anything, but talking too loud and way more than he would. He sways on his way back from the bar.
"How you doing handsome?" You chuckle when he stumbles into you, standing before you while you stay on the stool.
"Real good." He nods, smiling. He slides his hands up your thighs, resting on your hips. "Missed goin' out with you."
You're laughing, "That so?"
"Mhm," he nods, eyes fluttering. "This's much better than before, though." His hands are wandering, your waist, your back, hips, back down your thighs to your knees. He leans in close.
He hums like he's thinking. "Nice to have you with me. In front of everyone."
"You ready to go home?" You slide of the stool, him immediately offering an arm to hook yours around.
"Baby, I'm ready to do whatever you wanna do," he slurs, making you laugh from deep in your chest.
He's shouting to his friends that 'his girl' is gonna take him home, clumsily side hugging his buddies goodbye.
You're smiling the whole way to the car.
When you get to his home, he's swearing up and down he's not drunk. You won't let up though, instead of the dirty things he said on the car ride home, you offer a sweet, long shower together, ending with snuggling in bed till he's snoring loudly into your neck. He's more than happy to oblige.
You're at your local grocery store another month later, shopping for Joel's apartment. You were horrified when you went to grab a water from the fridge during a movie night. Movie night was his idea, by the way. 2 six packs of beer, some orange juice, expired milk. Freezer wasn't much better. Microwave dinners, ground beef long forgotten. You weren't a chef by any means, but you knew it wasn't right.
"Nothin' wrong with being a fan of Chef Boyardee." He had said.
So you made him drive you to get some real food for his place. Some produce, pastas, some snacks, meat that you won't let him neglect in the freezer.
"You're puttin' a mighty lot of stuff in this cart, miss."
"You were living in squalor, Joel."
"Right, that's why you're comin' over all the time."
That earns him a swat at his arm. His silky southern accent makes you blush.
"I'll pay for half of it then," you reason, "I know I'll be making most of it anyway."
"You'll be doin no such thing," he laughed, "pay for half.." he muttered to himself in disbelief.
You didn't forget to get a pint of your favorite ice cream, when Joel comes up behind you and grabs a pint of pistachio. You whip around to look at him in disgust.
"Was that on purpose?" You ask.
"Yeah, whatever." You hold back from giving him too much shit, as he says he's funding this ridiculously expensive grocery trip.
When you do finally get to the register, when the cashier calls out the total Joel whistles in disbelief and cringes as he taps his card.
"This'll all last a while." You reassure him and pat his shoulder, smiling sweet.
"Good, cause we're broke now."
"We?" You laugh. Your thoughts linger around the 'we'. We. Us. Together. We're together. Our finances. Our things. You're left to dwell on how easy things have been with him. Too easy? You're not sure.
"Yup." He shrugs, casual, putting the grocery bags back into the cart.
Joel takes you out all the time. Movies, lunches, mall dates, bar crawls with his friends. But you haven't been to a fancy, dress up dinner date. You'd always preferred the easy, casual fun nights.
Until tonight. Took a while to pick a night.
"You ready sweetpea?" He texts.
He told you to be ready at 6:30, you've been ready since 5:45. Despite the few months you've been seeing each other constantly, you can't help but be nervous.
Feeling playful, you reply.
You see him read it seconds later, the grey bubble's dot dot dot flickering, then disappearing.
He's at your apartment in minutes.
You're opening the door when you start, "Should really get you a key, I'm always too lazy to get the door for you."
He's there. Hands in his pockets. Tall, broad, handsome, him. Nervous, but smirking all the same at the sight of you all dressed up.
You feel the weight of his gaze. "Would be really convenient.." You mumble, finishing your thought nervously.
"Lookin' real, real pretty." He smiles.
You open the door wider to invite him in, and he strolls in, hands behind his back, like he's stopping himself from being anything but a gentleman.
Your body language reflects a similar restraint, but more out of nervousness.
"Oh yeah?" He smiled, tilting his head. He closes some of the distance, kissing your hairline, your temple, ending with a peck on your jawline.
You giggle softly, face scrunching up.
"Got something behind your back, Miller?"
"Just trying to be good." He admits honestly.
You shake your head, stifling your smile at his bluntness. "Take me to dinner so we can get to that part quicker then."
"Yes ma'am." He nods, eager. Quick to grab the house keys for you, the cardigan you had draped next to them and get you out of the door.
The ride in his truck is like it always is. The smell of leather, and the pine freshener he started to hang once you got together. Always at the temperature of your request, he'll flick on the heater or the air conditioning as soon as you bring it up. You don't have to change the radio like you used to. Ever since that night after the club, it's always on your favorite station.
You feel giddy. Like a teenager. A feeling that seems to be common with him. He's been good, just as good as he promised in the diner.
He takes you to a small Italian restaurant, which apparently needed a reservation a couple days in advance. Much fancier than either of you were ever used to.
He pulls your chair out for you, sliding your cardigan off and hanging it on the back of your seat.
"Where do they get off makin' us pay 20 bucks for appetizers.." he's mumbling, but you're still buzzing with what feels like new love.
But the word stings in your mouth, aches in the folds of your brain. You keep shoving it down. So you just nod in agreement with him, afraid of what might come out if you speak.
You skip appetizers, savoring the free bread basket. You get a glass of wine. You both get different pastas, opting to share bites of both.
Like always, he's gentlemanly, kind, listens intently, jokes when appropriate. He's also just so, so god damn handsome. You find yourself staring every detail while he talks, at the slight curl of his hair, the stubble lining his jaw, the scar on his nose.
You're too excited for the night ahead to ask for dessert.
The hefty glass of wine leaves you feeling warm in more ways than one on the drive home, knee bouncing.
You hold his hand in your lap, using the other to drag your nails up and down his forearm.
"Tickles, hon." He chuckles softly.
You look over at his profile, at the slope of his nose and his angular jaw.
"Sorry," you muse, placing his hand back on your thigh. He rubs softly with his thumb, but when you reach over the console and mimic his hand, his hand halts. He glances at you momentarily, then back at the road.
He was trying to be good, he remembers.
You're sliding your hand slowly, down, up, up, up, and back down. Again and again, before you reach the outline of him, half hard.
He breathes deeply, his hand leaving your thigh to grip the wheel.
You look into his profile again, waiting for a look that tells you to stop. It doesn't come.
You palm over him, shifting to lean your head on his shoulder.
He's shifting too, lifting his hips slightly as you squeeze him.
"Can I?" You're all doe eyes up at him, pressing your lips together.
"Fuck," he breathes, glancing at you quickly before back at the road, "Yeah."
You're eager when you undo his belt, tugging his pants and briefs to above his knee.
You'll never get over how it looks.
You lick your hand, and take him into your fist, pumping slowly as you spit onto his length and spread the wetness. He hums, reaching down to tuck your hair behind your ear.
When you wrap your lips around him, he sighs.
You whimper around him, savoring the taste of him as you make your way down the shaft.
Your hand takes what your mouth can't, and soon you find a rhythm that's slow enough to be punishing but quick enough to keep him going.
"God, girl." He sighs, "Got the sweetest mouth, don't you."
Just his words have you wet.
You hum in response, slowly picking up the pace.
"We're almost home," he breathes, "I ain't gonna last if you keep going."
You don't care, evident in the way you let him hit the back of your throat, and the way you're whining around him.
He finishes at the red light before your apartment, a strong hand on the back of your neck, head tipping back against the head rest.
He's groaning when you suck it all out of him, swallowing.
You're pleased with yourself, tucking him back into his underwear, him using one hand to tug his jeans up.
"Wipe that smile off your face, I ain't done with you."
You press your lips together, having to bite your lip so the corners won't curl up.
He doesn't even bother with his belt.
He's on your heels on the way to your door, pressed to your back when you're unlocking it.
His hand reaches over you to push it open, and you turn around quickly, pulling his lips to yours while walking backwards through the threshold.
It's messy, tongues swiping, teeth clashing as he kicks the door shut.
His hand grips your throat, tight enough to feel, never enough to hurt. His other slides his belt from the loops of his pants, metal rattling against the wood as he drops it to the floor.
You place your hand on top of the one on your throat, the other hand on the back of his neck, beckoning him to get closer than he already is.
He takes the hint and scoops you up, legs wrapped around him.
"I can't even make it to your damn bedroom." He murmurs, shaking his head in disbelief as he presses you against the wall.
You grin against him as you fumble to unbutton his shirt.
The kiss only breaks after you slide his shirt off his arms, so he can tug your top off.
He pulls away to glance down at your lacy bra.
"Knew you'd get it tonight, huh?" He hummed.
"Maybe."
"S' pretty, too. Shame I gotta take it off." he murmurs, hooking his index fingers under the straps to remove them from your shoulders. He reaches around, and unhooks the clasps with an ease that's almost annoying.
He moans against you when he drops his head and sucks a nipple into his mouth.
He turns, sitting you onto your dinner table.
He kisses you again, tongue soft and familiar in your mouth. He sucks on your bottom lip with a tug when he pulls away. He guides you onto your back, pushing your skirt above your hips all the while tugging your thong down.
The night air of your apartment is cold on your bare folds.
He leans down, pressing a kiss to your clit.
He swipes a finger through your wetness.
"All for me?" he coos, sucking at the tip of his finger.
You nod at the ceiling, eyes fluttering shut as he licks a stripe against you. His lips are wrapping around your clit sucking just right, and you're damn near seeing stars when a his tongue prods at your entrance.
"Backs killin', Let me get comfy." He pulls a dining chair back, takes a seat, shimmying you down the table, closer to him.
A sight to be hold, a man and his meal on the table.
You moan praises galore, telling him how good it feels, how you want more.
"Where are your manners at the dinner table, sweetheart?" He feigns shock.
"Please, please Joel." You're quick to beg, breathless.
"There we go, so good for me." His finger slides into you, pumping in and out, curling on the spot that has you gasping. He doesn't stop his assault with his mouth, lapping at you like he's starving. One finger becomes two, his middle and ring finger plunging deep into you.
He stops right before you're nearly there.
Your eyes shoot open, immediately begging and pleading, reaching for his head but he's already standing.
You're sitting up onto your elbows, before he yanks you up, kissing down your jaw to your neck.
"Look at you, got this nice table all wet." He's smirking as he looks in between your thighs.
Before you can respond he's helping you off the table, walking you towards your bedroom. Except, he stops short of your living room couch.
He stands behind you, pulling your hair back over your shoulders, massaging the tender muscles, leaning to kiss just below your ear.
The gentle massage is a stark contrast to when he bends you over the arm of the couch, pushing your skirt over your ass once again. You gasp, bracing your hand against the cushions, face smushed against the cotton seat. Feet tip toeing on the wood below you.
You hear him step out of his briefs.
"Be gentle at first, Joel." You murmur. The arch of your back and the angle of your hips leaves you so open for him, so vulnerable.
His seductive facade slips for a moment, and he places a hand on your lower back, sliding up your back for a moment, then back down. "Promise, honey."
He lines himself up, pressing just the tip inside.
You whine, loud, at the slight stretch, and the relief of the ache inside you.
You reach back to grab his hand, like always.
He takes your hand in his without hesitation, other landing on the curve of your hip.
He squeezes your hand when he slides deeper.
He's breathing deep, practicing restraint. He groans when he bottoms out.
He's thrusting slow and shallow, gauging the desperateness in your breathing, your hand squeezing his, and the little cries that escape you.
When he feels you relax, he changes pace. He starts with deep, still slow punishing thrusts, knocking you forward each time his hips meet yours. Then, he quickens, his hand leaving yours to hold your other hip. You take your now free hand to rub in between your legs.
"That feel good, huh?" He knows. He knows it does, it always does.
"Yeah," you breathe, jaw going slack against the couch cushion.
You turn your head, pressing your cheek to the sofa as you look back at him.
His hair is messy, a sheen of sweat on his torso. He's smirking down at you, lips parted, eyes heavy. So knowing.
He knows so much about you. He knows what noise means 'just like that' and which one means 'more, more'. He knows your favorite late night snack, what you like to watch before you go to bed.
You hope he loves you, too.
But now, all you can focus on is his hips railing into yours. His hand smacks across your ass, and you moan his name.
"Joel, what? Use your words, darlin'," He grunts, "He too much for you? You gettin' fucked dumb?"
"Feels so good." You cry, unable to say much more.
You hear his stuttering breaths behind you, and you reach for him again, wanting to be close.
When he takes your hand in his, you try to pull him closer to you, but instead he yanks you up, hand leaving yours so his arm can wrap around your front, hand splayed onto your ribs. Your back is to his chest, and his pace hasn't gotten any less rough during the position change.
You can't help the whines and moans coming from you trying to hold back your release, and it doesn't help that he's grunting nasty praises into your ear.
"She's soaking me, you feel that? She loves me."
You damn near shout after those words, breath caught in your throat.
He's groaning against your hair, and your fingers clumsily rubbing at your clit bring you over the edge.
You double over, bracing your hands against the couch again, as he fucks you through your orgasm. He doesn't let up.
He doesn't last long after that, his grip is bruising on your hip as he rails you through his release.
He bottoms out, emptying himself into you.
You catch your breath beneath him.
When he pulls out, his hand presses against the small of your back, thumb rubbing back and forth gently.
"You okay baby?"
You nod, eyes fluttering shut.
He helps you back onto your feet.
He guides you to the shower. Cleans you up.
He kisses your face as you come back to life under the calming water, giggling when he nuzzles into your neck.
"Feel good?" He pulls away to scan your face.
"Mhm." You nod, and kiss the tip of his nose.
When you get out and settled into pajamas, he settles for just his sweatpants.
He's walking into your room, ruffling his designated towel against his hair, you whistle.
"Hello handsome," you muse, "you single?"
He shakes his head, "Uh uh. Got a girl at home who hates pistachio ice cream."
"Oh, that so?" You're grinning, sat up against your headboard.
He crawls up the bed to you mock sexily, and laughing with you the whole way through.
He leans up to press a kiss to your lips. "Yep."
He would never tell anybody, but he loves being the little spoon, and he's no different tonight. He never asks, but you know when he turns away from you, arm curling into himself it's what he wants. You nuzzle into him, the curls at the back of his neck smelling like your shampoo.
He tells you he loves you in the morning, it slips when you wake up before him and make him his coffee, bringing it to him in bed.
Joel tells you every day after that, any chance he could get, and never lets you doubt it.
a/n: how many beers does it take to get a man drunk? dont know dont care. i barely edited thisplease hope you enjoyed, this is the end of their story <3 please send requests and ill do my best to fufilllll
