#joel x reader

And today is just one of those days. He’d spent the night tossing and turning, trying to massage away a kink in his neck that persisted well into the afternoon. But he hadn’t had time to complain or think too much about how excited he was to crawl back beneath the sheets, because the northernmost barn was falling to pieces. 

So, not only was he functioning half empty from the start, but the work today was also strenuous. Sawing raw timber to the perfect length, sanding down the sharp edges, hammering nails into plywood. A full day. 

And when Denise had stopped him on his way home, waving him down with a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade in hand, she’d given him that bright, hopeful smile and said, “Little Sammy ran that damn bike into the back door again. Would you mind fixing the hinges?”

His back ached and his knees were creaky, but Joel soon found himself knelt on Denise’s porch, screwdriver and fresh nails in hand.

It didn’t take long, but it did take every last scrap of energy that remained inside of him.

Joel’s house was always quiet. Too big for him, really. Ellie was in the garage already, lights still on, up too late when she had early patrol the following morning. But Joel didn’t have it in him to remind her how important sleep was. Not when he was running on fumes himself.

So he dragged those tired, old bones inside. Kicked off his boots and jeans right at the door of his room, hung his flannel over the back of the chair at his work bench, and let out a long sigh as he climbed beneath icy cotton sheets.

He’s half asleep, eyes closed and muscles sinking into the mattress, when he hears it. 

The click of the latch on the unlocked front door. The creak of your careful steps as you climb the stairs.

Joel feels you before he sees you. Too exhausted to pull himself out of blissful almost-sleep. The mattress dips beneath your weight, limbs outstretched, seeking him out of instinct. 

This isn’t the first time this has happened. Not the first time you’ve found yourself peering out of your window next door waiting for him to get home. Not the first time you’ve ended up in his bed or in his arms.

And Joel knows he should put a stop to it—you’re too young, too sweet, too…good. 

But he’s too worn out to fight his impulses. He’s tried for months to keep his thoughts pure when you cross his mind, but it’s been a losing battle from the start.

Especially when you’re like this. Warm and soft, pressed up against his side, wearing an old t-shirt he’d let you borrow the night before and not much else. A comfort that feels more like home than this house does.

The tips of your fingers tickle his forearm, rousing him just enough that he lifts the heavy limb so you can crawl right into his embrace.

Joel holds you tight. He always does. Biceps big and strong around your shoulders. He holds you like he might lose you tomorrow, because there’s a part of him that fears one day you’ll wake up and see something you don’t like. 

He worries you’ll begin to see him for what he is; old, weary, tired. Not even half the man he used to be. Not half the man you deserve.

But for tonight at least, you still wear those rose tinted glasses. Pressing sweet kisses to his face; his nose, his forehead, his cheeks. Nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, making cute, whiny noises at the back of your throat. Like you’re desperate, unable to get close enough despite every inch being pressed against him, leg hooked over his hips. 

You find a comfortable position and still beside him, letting out the same sort of long sigh Joel did just moments ago. But you don’t sleep—your breathing doesn’t even out, your muscles don’t go slack. 

Joel knows what you need. Long before your hips tilt, before you press your center against his thigh, before you whisper his name in the dark. 

“S’okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice deep and dark and sleepy. “C’mere.”

He reaches over and brackets his arm around your waist to drag you on top of him, your center already warm and wanting.

It’s starting to get out of hand, he knows. Starting to become a routine. But Joel doesn’t have many sweet thing in his life, not anymore, and he finds you near impossible to resist. “I’ve got you,” he says. “Take what ya need.”

You lay against his chest, ear pressed right over his heart. Joel kisses the crown of your head when your hips begin to tilt, rubbing yourself against the steadily growing bulge beneath the thin fabric of his boxers.

Soft, wanton sighs leave you at the sensation, and even with a barrier still between you he can feel your clit pulse against the underside of his cock. 

Needy little thing you are. But Joel doesn’t mind—he likes the feeling. Of being needed, wanted. Especially by a girl as sweet as you.

You grind on top of him for a while. Not seeking release, not yet. Just feeling the hard warmth of him beneath you, savoring the weight of his big hands stroking softly up and down the expanse of your back. 

He can feel your arousal growing with each pass, wetness slowly seeping through his boxers, slick and sticky. Joel nudges you gently with the tip of his nose, the prickly hairs of his mustache tickling the side of your face. “C’mon, sweet girl. Let’s get this shirt off, hm?”

When you nod, you pull yourself up tiredly. The movement is slow and thick like molasses, so Joel uses the last of his energy to help you. 

His hands find the hem of the oversized t-shirt and pull it upwards, over your head to be discarded on the floor beside his bed. It leaves you completely naked, bared for him in more ways than one. 

In an instant, you fall back against him, breasts pressed up against his chest. Your skin feels cool against his, smooth and pillowy. “S’warm,” you mutter, rubbing the side of your cheek against the coarse hair that litters his chest, graying in some places.

Joel’s cock throbs beneath you, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. He just lets you settle back down and allows you to rest. His hands wander, though, the way they always do. 

Sliding down your back, over the sides of your thighs, thumbs massaging gentle circles. He strokes his fingers gently back up to your shoulders and then brings them down your arms, smiling when he sees goosebumps rise in his wake.

When they settle back at your hips, his touch is a little more eager. Kneading at the softness, inching over the curve of your ass until that’s all his hands are filled with. 

Joel loves touching you. Not just suggestively, but intimately. He loves feeling the closeness and the trust you put in him to take care of you, to keep you safe, to make you feel good.

He massages the supple flesh, holding you close, until his need for you begins to grow teeth, gnawing at his psyche. 

Joel knows he shouldn’t. He knows that. 

But he’s just so tired, and you’re so soft. Gentle and kind. And you make him feel loved—something Joel Miller has not felt for a very, very long time.

He guides you with his hands gripping at your curves, sliding your slick cunt over his aching cock. His breath feels hollow, stuck in his lungs.

When he lifts upward, just a little, enough to provide a little extra pressure, you mewl in response. 

Joel is quick to soothe, shushing softly into your ear. “Shh, you’re alright. Hang on, sweet girl. M’right here.”

He knows what you need. It’s become a nightly ritual at this point. You come to him seeking connection, seeking the comfort of an older man. Most nights you just need to be held, to be nurtured, to be loved the way you deserve. 

But other nights, Joel knows you need a little more. A connection that runs a little deeper.

He reaches beneath you, hooking his thumbs in the elastic band of his boxers and tugging them down his tired legs. Just enough to free his cock, already hard as stone just from your proximity. 

Joel pulls your forward, up his torso, giving himself room to line his length up with your entrance.

He slides in real easy.

You’re already soaked, dripping with arousal. And the moment he’s fully seated inside you, stretching you real wide, filling up your belly, you let out a breathy whine.

It feels right, being here like this with you. It feels like coming home. 

Joel moves you slowly, guiding each roll of your hips, slowing you down when you try to pick up the pace. 

There’s no rush. Not here, not with him. He’ll get you there. He’ll get you what you need. What’s the sense in hurrying through it? 

He wants to savor it. The feel of your sweet, soft pussy, clenching and leaking around his length. The way your stuttering breath tickles his skin. The way your hands grip him harder and harder, holding him impossibly closer.

He wants to savor the way you love him. 

“Gimme a kiss, baby,” he whispers in the dark.

You turn your head, just enough so that he can press his lips to yours. In this, too, Joel moves painfully slow.

It’s not a claiming, it’s an exploration. His lips move against yours, memorizing the feel of them, the shape and the taste. He slowly licks into your mouth, tongue gliding against yours, breathing in your exhalation. 

The building coil around his spine is anything but slow, however. He loves being here with you maybe a little too much. He loves you a little too much. 

Joel thrust upwards, keeping a steady, unforgiving rhythm while he slides his hand between you. His fingers search blindly for your clit and he finds it in seconds, circling those slow, tight circles around the pulsing nerves. 

Your sounds grow louder, release building. The sound of your joining echoes in the empty room, slick and wet and feverish.

He knows your close when you start manually breathing—lungs stuttering, chasing the delicious relief that only he can provide.

“You got it,” he encourages. “S’right there, baby. Give it to me.”

Your eyes stay locked to his, lips parting on a jagged moan. You don’t say anything; no warning, no begging. You just feel it, feel him, moving deep inside you, fucking you through it. 

“That’s it,” he says, voice all soft and warm the way it only ever is when he speaks to you. “There you go.”

He doesn’t stop until you find the natural rhythm of oxygen again, until the shaking in your thighs relents to an easy tremble. 

Joel feels that white-hot coil beginning to spool within himself, and pulls out of you with just enough time to shoot thick ropes of cum over your pubic bone.

He thrusts the underside of his cock through your syrupy folds, a gentle rocking until he’s spent. He somehow finds the energy for a few extra thrusts, smearing his release over your clit.

You don’t move an inch, and Joel doesn’t want you to.

Instead, you just lay there on top of him, sticky mess between you, your head resting delicately on his chest. 

When you reach up to card your fingers through his graying hair, Joel feels his muscles go completely slack, tension bleeding from his weary bones.

“M’sorry I woke you up,” you say, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I know you were tired.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Joel says, and he means it. “I’ll always have time for you."

But then you started sleeping in his bed. Nightmares used to plague your rest, causing you to wake up with sweat drenching your hairline and tears staining your cheeks. You didn’t find peace again until his arms held you tight against his chest, his soft mutters reaching your ears. 

I’ll take care of you, kiddo. Don’t you worry. Go back to sleep, I got you. 

And he took care of you. Kept you fed, clothed, and safe. Made sure you were happy, eager, and bright-eyed. 

You were no fool either. A smart girl, more than willing to learn. He taught you to shoot, even though it made his heart race when he saw you holding a shotgun for the first time. The longer you stayed with him, the more he realized that you were far from helpless. While you hesitated to even point your gun at a deer, you were more than capable of shooting an infected from a good fifty yards away. 

The more sunrises you saw together, the more Joel grew to think of you as an equal. He didn’t keep you like a miniature housewife, destined to press his shirts and keep his shoes by the fire—no, you were every bit as tough as he was. 

Still, seeing you sitting in the sun reminds him of your innocence and how much he hates that you had to sacrifice it at times for your survival.  He would do anything to keep the light in your eyes lit for as long as possible. Even treat you like a kid from time to time when you’re so much more.

By the time the moon had taken the sun’s spot, Joel had been left with his own thoughts for too long.  You’re sitting opposite him at the dinner table, picking up four peas with your fork, one on each prong, and telling him about the ladybugs you found today.

“They were much more orange than red,” you recall eagerly, “And I don’t think they were the seven-spot kind—I counted at least nine.”

“Mhm,” he mumbles some kind of acknowledgement while his eyes find the ribbon in your hair again. 

“Like, I mean, of course they were still ladybugs,” you go on, oblivious to his feeble attention, “But, like, they looked real different than the ones we had last summer.”

He’s noticed before that his way of speaking has bled into your vocabulary. You never used to say those kinds of things back when the walls of Jackson still surrounded you. It makes his teeth hurt to see the influence he has over you. 

“They were pretty, right?” he grumbles. 

You roll your eyes, a half-grin tugging at your mouth corners.

“’Course they were,” you reply.

“Then it don’t matter, kiddo.”

Dismay turns your face sour, and you huff softly. “Guess it don’t.”

“Doesn’t,” he corrects. 

“You just said ‘don’t!” 

He doesn’t mean to raise his voice, but he does anyway. “Yeah, well, I’m grown, I can say whatever I want.” 

Your eyebrows furrow angrily. “What’s with you today?” you mutter. 

His eyes snap to yours. “Nothin’,” he replies gruffly, “Now, eat your peas. And quit playin’ with ‘em.”

You stare at him for a few seconds before you grab your fork and go back to piercing your peas one by one.

“Christ,” he mumbles to himself, then rubs a hand across his face. The dinner continues in silence, lingering uncomfortably thick. When he’s in a bad mood, you can usually cheer him up, but once you start sulking, the day might as well be over.  He knows it’s his fault—he approached the whole thing wrong. 

It takes you forever to finish your plate—you’re too busy frowning—so Joel is half tempted to send you to bed to sleep it off. Knowing that it would only make things worse, and frankly, it’s not his place, he holds off on that. 

Your chair squeaks loudly as you push it back, empty plate in hand, and make your way to the sink. Your footsteps fall heavily when you walk to your room without saying goodnight. 

Joel knows you want him to follow you—you’re waiting for an apology, one that you deserve but won’t get. Instead of indulging you, he starts rinsing the dishes, then wipes the counters clean. He hears the sink in the bathroom run, then two doors shut within seconds of each other. At least, you’re not slamming them. He takes that as a good sign. 

Once there’s nothing left for him to clean, he sighs to himself, then leaves the kitchen. He stands in front of your door longer than he likes. You painted it a couple of weeks ago, colorful flowers and berries decorating the frame. He had worked his ass off to find you paint that was still somewhat usable, then even managed to find some thinner so that the acrylic wouldn’t be so thick. 

He traces one of the flowers for a few seconds, following the delicate line that you had drawn, before he rolls his hand into a fist and knocks.  There’s a soft shuffle behind the door, then your voice follows. “What?”

Sometimes, Joel has to admit to himself that he misses the shy you. The one that didn’t talk back. 

“It’s me,” he calls out. 

“Yeah, I figured.” You and your sass. 

He rubs his eye once, twice, then sighs.  “Can I come in?”

Silence stretches for a few moments, and his heart drops. You couldn’t be that mad. Could you? But then your reply echoes through the oak wood. “Yeah.”

His fingers press against the door handle, and it swings open with ease. You’re sitting on your bed, bedsheets pulled up to your navel. The shirt you’re sporting belongs to him—old and worn, but soft to the touch. Its neckline is so stretched that he catches a glimpse of your collarbones. It’s a comfort to him that you’re at least still wearing that, despite the disgruntled expression etched into your face as you look at him.  The red piece of silk is still tied in your hair, sitting there like a warning sign. He ignores it. 

Joel flicks his hand, signaling you to scoot over, and you do. When he sinks down on the edge of the bed, the mattress creaks softly.  It’s quiet as neither one of you speaks for a moment. Then Joel clears his throat.

“So…” he mumbles, “Ladybugs, hm?”

He can tell that you don’t want to smile, but the corners of your mouth twitch. 

“Tell me ‘bout ‘em,” he encourages quietly. 

“Thought it don’t—doesn’t matter,” you argue. The disappointment in your voice makes his old heart ache. 

“It does,” he murmurs. His hand rests on your knee, the blanket disconnecting you. “If it matters to you, it matters to me.” He tilts his head to catch your eyes and sees them softening in real time. 

“A whole bunch of ‘em were down by the creek,” you say, “On that one tree stump, you know?” 

He nods. You continue.

“Do ladybugs have families?”

The question is so tender—so you—he has to close his eyes for a few seconds.

“Mhm,” he muses, “Dunno much about bugs, but I figure they do. They all gotta come from somewhere, and where you come from, that’s your family, right?”

You shrug softly.  “Then I guess I don’t have one,” you say blankly.  Joel shakes his head instantly. 

“That ain’t true, darlin’,” he disagrees, then rubs his jaw.

“Guess I didn’t explain that one right,” he mutters to himself, then goes on, “There ain’t just one type of family. Sometimes, it’s the place and people where ya come from, and then other times, it’s the people who wish ya came from the same place as them, you know? The ones who wish they had known ya all your life.”

“So you wish you’d known me all my life?” you ask tentatively.

He winces.

“Sometimes,” he replies cautiously, “But it’s good that I didn’t.”

“Why?”

He should’ve expected this. This is why he never explained the heavy stuff. 

“You know, sweetpea, it’s real late, don’t you think?” he states, looking out the window. His joints groan as he stands up, but he doesn’t get far. Your hand finds his biceps and holds him back. 

“Wait,” you plead, “You can’t just… please, what do you mean? Why only sometimes?”

Joel feels himself growing grayer by the second. As the words get stuck in his throat, he gestures vaguely between him and you. 

“This whole thing… it’d be—it’d be bad if I’d known ya since you were a little girl.”

“Because…?” you prompt quietly. 

“’Cause I’d be—people would think…,” he drifts off, muttering under his breath, “Goddammit.” 

Joel struggles to meet your eyes; he grabs your hands, both of them, and slowly brings them up to his lips. The kiss on your knuckles is soft as a feather, like a butterfly’s wings.  He doesn’t look up as he continues, “Knowin’ you back then would mean I wouldn’t be allowed to like ya the way I do now.”

The sweet look of confusion on your face makes space for realization. 

“Oh,” you say softly. 

He nods, still not reciprocating your gaze.  “Yeah.”

“Well, then I’m glad you didn’t know me then. ‘Cause I like that you like me that way now.”

Finally, he drags his eyes up to meet yours. Honesty twists your expression into one he’d love to bottle up and keep for bad days—tenderness.

“What am I doin’ here?” Joel asks quietly, then brushes his knuckles across your cheek. You can’t help but melt into his touch, lashes fluttering shut.  It’s always like this. One of you pushes, the other pulls away, then you find your way back into the shadows of that grey area neither one of you wants to leave. No one’s done anything wrong yet. 

Joel’s hand moves to smooth down your headband.

“Shouldn’t be wearin’ that when ya go to sleep,” he mumbles, “Don’t want ya chokin’ on it if it slips down.”

“I’d wake up before that,” you reason.  He disagrees quietly, then undoes the bow and knot until it slips from your hair. The flimsy material stands out against his sun-kissed hands—his skin freckled and wrinkled, the silk smooth.

“You don’t know anything,” he says. It’s not intended as critique, so you don’t take it that way.

“I know enough.”

Joel wants to grab you by the shoulders and shake you until you understand just how wrong you are. Instead, he lets the piece of fabric dance around his fingers, wrapping and unravelling it consistently. 

“You should be runnin’ for the hills,” he remarks, “And I should be cuttin’ my hands off for thinkin’ ‘bout the things I wanna do to ya with ‘em.”

There it is—your breath hitches, and Joel is left to wonder whether that was one step too far, the one that just secured his place in hell. But you’re moving before he has time to take it back. You push away your blanket, exposing the smooth skin of your thighs, before you sit back on your heels in front of him. He forces himself to look you in the eye.

“Is it that bad that I want you to do whatever you’re imagining?” you ask. 

“Yes.” His voice trembles with restraint. He knows he should leave before he does something he can’t undo. But he stays—frozen in place, your knee almost touching his. 

Your bottom lip quivers.   “Then I don’t care about being good,” you reply. 

Joel has been holding back the flood for months now—and you just cracked the dam with one sentence. The ribbon slips from his fingers and falls to the floor. 

His hands cup your face and pull you in before his lips crash against yours. The soft give of your lips beneath his own draws him in deeper, chasing your tongue with his own. He tastes the remnants of toothpaste on your teeth, then something that is just you.  The guilt lingers deep in his chest as he kisses you, but something about the way your breath changes drowns out his doubts long enough. 

He’s the one to pull away first. With his chest heaving and his pupils blown, his gaze finds yours. He expects to see regret, or worse, disgust on your face. Instead, he sees pure, quiet, unfiltered adoration. 

“Goddammit,” he grumbles. 

A flustered grin lights up your face. 

“Again?” you whisper.

“God, no,” he mutters, “You kiss me like that again, and I ain’t stoppin’.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not asking you to stop.”

Before he knows it, your mouth finds his again. The vibration of your giggle against his lips sends shivers down his spine, and he should know better—but he doesn’t—when his hands come to rest on your waist. 

It starts with the slip of his fingers—brushing against your knee, then higher. Joel curses himself for continuing until you rock your hips, just a couple of inches, but it’s enough to snap away the last of his restraint. 

He leans forward, slowly guiding you back until your head hits the pillows, without your lips ever leaving his.  Situated between your thighs, he peppers soft pecks down your neck, then drops his forehead against your collarbone. 

“Tell me to stop,” he pleads, “Now.”

You shake your head. “I want to keep going.”

A sliver of awareness spreads across Joel’s face. “Sweetheart,” he starts, “This is a big thing. Like… a really big thing. And we’re—I’m already doin’ enough damage just by kissin’ ya.”

Joel has spent more than enough time thinking about it: you undressed in his sheets, him kneeling between your thighs—the slow ruin of the thing either one of you called familiarity.  Everything feels as wrong as it feels right.

“I want this, Joel,” you insist quietly. His frown lines deepen. 

“You shouldn’t—”

“But I do.”

Joel wonders if this is a test from God Himself—he hadn’t paid that much attention to the man in the sky in the last few years. 

“You don’t understand how hard you’re making it f’me, darlin’.”

You sit up slightly, then reach for him. Your fingers interlock on the back of his neck, your grip tight and determined. 

“Do you want me?” you ask.

“You know that’s not the issue,” he responds. 

“That’s not what I asked. I asked if you want me.”

He takes a deep breath, then nods. “You know I do.”

“Then trust me when I say you can have me.”

“You’ll be the death of me.” Joel curses himself before he kisses you again. This time, he lets his hands dip under your shirt. His calloused fingers trace your smooth skin until they reach your ribcage, settling there. The kiss is clumsy; you grin as your teeth hit his, wild fervor evaporating from your every pore. 

Goosebumps spread across your body when Joel pulls away to meet your eyes. 

“I’ll do it right,” he declares, “I promise.”

Then his fingers find the hem of your shirt and pull it off of you. He discards the piece of clothing carelessly, too hypnotized by the sight in front of him. You hold your breath as his eyes wander, taking in every inch of skin laid bare. 

“Got the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen beggin’ for some old man right in front of me,” he murmurs. The nerves in your chest ease a little, and you shake your head at him. 

“Not just some old man,” you correct, then cup his cheek. His weathered skin is rough against your touch. 

He doesn’t reply, and you know he disagrees; instead, he presses his lips to your forehead before they wander further down. As he trails kisses from your breasts down to your belly button, his fingers find your nipples. He tugs and twists gently, eliciting gasps from you as warmth spreads through your body. 

You bite the inside of your cheek to stifle the noises, embarrassment flushing your cheeks. Joel notices and kisses your stiffened bud, then looks up at you. 

“Don’t hide those sounds, sweet girl,” he rumbles, “Wanna hear ya. If ya want me to fuck you, ya gotta meet my demands. First one is: You don’t get to hide.”

“What are the others?” Your voice grows more breathless as Joel’s fingers dig into the waistband of your panties. 

“Second one,” he begins, simultaneously tugging at the fabric that covers your core, “You tell me what you want me to do. And that’s all I’ll do.”

As soon as your panties meet the floor, he sits back on his heels. His eyes wander, taking in every bit of you. You look away, trying to escape his stare.

“And the third one,” he says, then catches your chin to tilt your face upwards, “Your eyes stay on me.”

With that, he settles between your legs, breathing in the scent of your arousal. His lips brush against your inner thigh, slowly inching towards where you want him.  You grip the sheets like your life depends on it and force yourself to watch. When he kisses the space where your thigh meets your hips, it makes you shiver. 

Your hands find their way into his curls, just tugging softly, hoping that it will lead him right where you want him. But Joel takes his time—his tongue drags over your sensitive skin, kissing one lip, then the other. He looks up at you and nods in approval when he finds your gaze already on him. 

“Don’t look away,” he reminds you before he spreads your legs even further and licks a broad stripe across your clit. Your grip on his hair tightens as pleasure sparks throughout your body. 

He is gentle at first, spending time exploring your body. Joel listens to the kind of movements that make your breath hitch, watches for the ones that make your thighs shake. When his lips encircle your clit, sucking slightly, and your entire body jerks, he chuckles in satisfaction. The vibration travels up your spine, causing you to tilt your hips.  Joel’s hands rest on your hips, encouraging you to lock him in between your legs.

Soft gasps tumble from you, growing more and more desperate as he laps at your core, his spit and your slick mixing.  You feel your chest heaving as his tongue draws figure eights on your throbbing clit. 

Lost in pleasure and the promise of him, you dip your head back into the pillows, moaning freely. You pull a little harder on his hair until he groans into your cunt. 

You feel yourself stumbling closer to the edge, a second heartbeat coming to life between your legs. Warmth pools in your lower belly, and you almost taste the sweetness of relief until Joel pulls away suddenly. 

“Hey—” his voice echoes through the room, “Where are those eyes, darlin’?”

You almost complain—your entire body is on fire when you force your gaze to snap back to him. The corners of his mouth twitch, and his tongue parts your folds again. 

“Joel,” you moan, so close to tasting the letters that make up his name. His grip on your hips tighten, firm enough that it’ll surely leave you a reminder in the morning. 

“I got you, baby,” he whispers before he goes back to circling your clit with the tip of his tongue. The sounds that filled the room were downright sacrilegious—his deep growls and your breathless whines mixing. 

Stars explode behind your eyes as you come on his lips, your arousal slickening his chin. He laps relentlessly, working you through your release until he’s drawn out every aftershock he can get. 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he praises softly, “Lookin’ so pretty f’me when you cum.” Every part of you still pulses, oxytocin traveling through your bloodstream, as Joel pulls away. 

His hands travel up to your stomach, holding you down gently before he leans in to kiss you. You taste yourself on his lips, the sweetly tangy flavor blooming across your tongue. 

Joel lets you catch your breath and tenderly kneads the flesh on your hip as you come down. Seeing you rendered speechless, Joel prompts, “How’re ya feelin’, sweetpea?”

You look for words to describe the cocktail of emotions coursing through your mind and end up with the weak recollection, “Great.”

He chuckles, rather smug about himself. “Yeah?”

You nod, then blink through the heavy haze of release still clouding your mind. “Yeah,” you reply.

“Good,” he mumbles.

The mattress squeaks underneath you as he shifts his weight, and this time around, it’s your turn to stare. The bulge in Joel’s pants causes the saliva to collect in your mouth.  You reach blindly, fingers finding the edge of his jeans, but he stops you before you can pop the button. 

“Hey, easy does it,” he says, “We don’t gotta do any more today if you don’t want to.”

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. “I wouldn’t be trying to get your pants off if I didn’t want to keep going, would I?”

“Smartass.”

“Rule number two, I tell you what I want, and you do it, right?” you tease, looking up at him hopefully. 

“Well, I haven’t heard you say what you want yet,” he counters. 

You bite your bottom lip. 

“I… I want you,” you stammer. 

Joel raises his eyebrows, then cups your face between his rough hands. “You got me, don’t you?”

You glance at him pleadingly, but he shakes his head.  “Words, sweetpea. If you can’t say it, you don’t want it enough.”

You swallow your embarrassment and sit up. Slowly, your eyes find his before you say, “I want you to- to fuck me.”

He chuckles self-contentedly, then nods. “There you go, darlin’. If that’s what you truly want, I’ll do it.”

Then he starts to undo the buttons of his shirt, one by one. You feel the nerves prickling in your stomach, and you grow more restless with every sliver of skin he exposes. His jeans follow his shirt to the floor. Your mouth goes dry when his boxers drop—Joel is more than well-endowed. 

He feels your stare and meets your eyes, the cockiness on his face making space for a much gentler expression. “You’ll be fine,” he promises, “We’ll go slow.”

When your back hits the mattress, and you spread your legs to make space for Joel, he doesn’t immediately follow. Instead, his eyes drift to the cherry-colored ribbon on the floor. A mischievous sparkle in his eyes, so unlike Joel, makes the butterflies in your stomach jump. 

He reaches for it, then holds it up for you to see.

“You got any idea how pretty this looked in your hair today?” he asks. “Drove me damn near insane.”

A bashful smile steals itself onto your face. “I found it in the sewing kit.”

“You don’t say,” he mutters. His eyes dart between you and the ribbon until his face grows almost apologetic. “Would ya wanna wear it? Now? It’s been like a damn light signal, calling me in all day. Might as well have it with ya at the finish line.”

You nod slowly. As you lean forward, you expect Joel to fasten it at your hairline, but instead, he threads the headband under the lengths of your hair and then ties it around your neck. Not too tight—you can breathe easily. You almost feel like a present wrapped to be unpacked. 

Joel nods approvingly, his fingers resting at your collarbone, while he admires his handiwork. “Real pretty,” he murmurs. 

With light pressure, he guides you back into the pillows, then chases your lips with his own. The kiss steals the breath right from your lungs, and you barely even notice it when his palm finds its place on your upper thigh. With his other hand, he fists his aching cock and guides himself through your soft folds, collecting your arousal. The pressure makes you squeal slightly, but Joel swallows any sound instantly, his lips never leaving yours. Then his bulbous tip nudges against your hole. 

“Deep breath,” he instructs, right against your mouth, “And big stretch.”

You feel as if you’re being impaled—in a good way. The unfamiliar sensation of him splitting you open has your eyes rolling back, your fingers snapping up to wrap around his biceps tightly. Joel feels your breath ghost over his face as you gasp. 

“Easy, kid,” he mumbles, “That’s it. You’re okay. Want me to rip off the band-aid?”

You shake your head instantaneously and say, “You said we’d go slow. You said—” 

“Mhm, yeah, I know, darlin’, I know.” 

His jaw ticks with restraint as he rolls his hips just a little, advancing further into your warmth. You feel every vein decorating his cock; you’re sure he’ll mold your walls to his exact shape in no time. The burn aches and stings, but the pressure underneath makes you want more. Your eyes find Joel’s—yours pleading and needy, his cool and collected. A certain degree of smugness etches itself into his face as the hunger surfaces in your expression. 

“Ya ready?” he asks. 

“Yes, yes, please, I—”

The first real thrust knocks the air out of your chest. Your fingernails dig into his arms, leaving red, half-moon-shaped marks on his skin as you feel the coarse hairs at Joel’s base meet your pelvis. You’ve never felt so full, stretched, and fed at the same time. 

When he pulls back, his cock drags along the gummy spot on your ceiling, making you gasp as pleasure sparks and runs up your spine. 

“How’s that, pretty girl?”  Joel holds your chin with his free hand, forcing your eyes to meet his own. 

You can only nod, feeling the faint pain dissipate and turn into desire as he pushes back into you.  He chuckles and eases his grip on your chin. 

“How ‘bout some words, sweetheart?” he asks. 

“It’s good, Joel, it’s… it’s so good. Please, I need more,” you answer, almost frantic in your desperation. Your hips buck up all on their own, pushing to meet his. 

“So you don’t want it slow no longer?” he teases, still keeping still even as you writhe and pout. 

“Joel,” you whine, “C’mon, please.”

He snorts softly, then nods. “We’ll work on those manners, darlin’. But for now, you’re gettin’ off easy.”

While Joel finds his rhythm, listening for the spots that make your breath catch and your eyebrows knit together in pleasure, you feel the warmth begin to collect in your lower tummy. Even with your lips clamped together, you can’t help the sounds that make their way out of you—soft moans turn wilder, more eager, more uninhibited.

“That’s it,” Joel praises, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead, “Wanna hear you, pretty girl. Don’t you dare hide any of those sweet sounds.”

He fucks you deeper, the wet sounds of your cunt echoing sinfully through the room. Joel’s entire body is tight, running on pure adrenaline and need as his cock kisses your cervix. His deep grunts fill your ears, growing darker and more animalistic with every thrust. 

He drags his fingers through your folds and finds your clit. The first circle he draws feels like pure energy, pulsing throughout your entire body from your core to your toes. His other hand surprises you. At first, you think he means to cup the back of your neck with his big palm, but instead, he threads his fingers between the red ribbon and your skin. The added pressure on your throat makes your head swim. 

“That okay?” he rasps, his eyes searching yours. 

You nod almost instantly, feeling your walls flutter around him as the room grows quieter from the lack of oxygen. Joel’s eyes are glued to you—he makes sure not to overdo it. He takes in every micro-expression as his fingers adjust the pressure on the satin—a little more, then a little less. He decides when you breathe and how much. And you love it. 

 You’re not sure what pushes you over the edge at the end: maybe it’s the constant pressure on your clit, or the way his cock fills you up until you feel him in your guts. Or maybe it’s the delightful sensation of your airway being controlled by him. Or maybe it’s the praise.

“Look so sweet, baby, lettin’ me ruin you like this,” he groans, “God ain’t forgivin’ me for this, but I bet ya will.”

Your eyes found Joel instantly, as if your body knew where to look before your mind caught up. He was bent over the pool table, cue in hand, the curve of his broad shoulders and thick forearms framed by the golden glow of the overhead light. His tanned skin gleamed, stretched tight over muscle, the sleeves of his Henley shoved up to his elbows. Every practiced movement he made, every shift of his hips, sent a pulse of heat through you.

Goddamn, he was handsome.

You dragged your lower lip between your teeth, pulse fluttering low in your belly. It didn’t matter that it was late or that the whole town might whisper about you chasing after your husband like a lovesick fool. Let them talk. All you wanted was him — home, in your bed, with his arms around you so you could finally sleep.

Tommy stood nearby, beer in hand, a lazy grin tugging at his mouth. A few other men lingered around them, voices blending into the warm hum of the room.

“Think your wife’s lookin’ for you, big brother,” Tommy called out, his teasing voice cutting through the chatter as his gaze landed on you.

Joel straightened, glancing over his shoulder. The moment his eyes met yours, something in his expression softened, the faint crease in his brow easing. He set the pool cue aside, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a way that made your breath catch.

“Whatcha doin’ here, sweetheart?” Joel rumbled, his voice low and rough.

You didn’t answer immediately, just crossed the room like some invisible thread was pulling you. The noise and light of the bar dulled at the edges of your senses the moment you reached him, your arms sliding around his waist like it was the only place you belonged.

“Couldn’t sleep without you,” you murmured, voice soft enough that only he could catch it.

His familiar scent filled your head, grounding you in a way nothing else could. Joel let out a quiet sigh, one hand resting on the small of your back, his thumb tracing a slow, lazy circle against your spine. His gaze flicked toward the clock above the bar, and you felt the tension in his chest when he realized the hour.

“Shit,” he muttered, voice thick with regret. “Didn’t realize it was so late, baby.”

You shrugged, fingers toying absently with the edge of his belt, the rough denim warm under your touch. The simple act made Joel’s throat work in a swallow, his free hand tightening on the pool cue.

From behind him, one of the younger guys — Wes, you thought his name was — chuckled into his drink. “Jesus, Miller,” he drawled, grinning around the rim of his glass. “A man that whipped, I swear. Must be some kinda magic between her legs, huh?”

The words landed like a spark in dry grass. Joel stiffened, his jaw ticking as he slowly turned to glare at the kid, his arm pulling you a fraction tighter against his side. The easy, good-natured grin he’d worn moments ago was gone, replaced by something colder, sharper.

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth,” Joel said, voice calm in that dangerous, unhurried way.

The table went quiet for a beat too long. Tommy let out a short laugh to cut the tension, clapping Wes on the shoulder a little harder than necessary. “Ah, c’mon now. Don’t poke the bear, son. He’ll tear your damn head off.”

Wes raised his hands in mock surrender, but Joel’s eyes were already back on you, softer now, like nothing else in the room mattered.

“Let’s go home, handsome,” you murmured.

Joel’s jaw flexed, a muscle ticking in his cheek as his hand slid from your back to your hip, holding you close. His gaze stayed on yours, something unspoken passing between you. He gave a stiff nod, about to walk away when Wes opened his damn mouth again.

“Shame you’re leavin’ already,” Wes called, leaning back against the pool table with a cocky grin. His eyes dragged over you, slow and bold. “Didn’t realize Miller’s wife had such a pretty mouth on her. Bet she’s a fuckin’ firecracker in bed too, huh, Joel?”

The words hung in the air, sharp as broken glass.

The room stilled. A few guys exchanged glances, Tommy’s grin fading into a scowl as he straightened up from his stool.

“The hell is wrong with you?” you snapped, stepping toward Wes before your brain could catch up to your mouth. Heat rose in your chest, anger snapping through you like a whip.

But you barely made it two steps before Joel’s hand clamped around your waist. He hauled you back against his chest like you weighed nothing at all, his body slotting between you and Wes with lethal precision.

“Behind me, baby,” Joel growled, his voice low and dangerous, laced with a possessive edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

You felt the tension rippling through him. The tight coil of muscle, the storm brewing behind his eyes. His fingers flexed against your hip as his other hand balled into a fist, making Wes flinch.

“That’s my fuckin’ wife you’re talkin’ about,” Joel said, each word slow, deliberate, and deadly. His voice dropped to a dark, dangerous rasp. “And you’re one more word away from pickin’ your teeth up off this floor.”

Wes’s smirk faltered, his throat bobbing as the color drained from his face. The rest of the bar went quiet, save for the crackle of the fire and the faint clinking of glass in the far corner.

“Alright, alright,” Tommy cut in quickly, stepping between them, a hand on Joel’s chest. “Easy, brother. He’s an idiot, ain’t worth it.”

You reached for Joel’s hand, which gripped your hip, lacing your fingers with his. “Come on, baby,” you murmured, your voice steady despite the pulse pounding in your ears. “Let’s just go.”

Joel didn’t move. His glare was still pinned to Wes, who had the good sense to look away. Then Joel huffed a sharp breath, squeezing your hand before turning toward the door, keeping you close at his side.

Tommy clapped Joel on the shoulder as you passed. “Get her home, big brother. I’ll handle this shit.”

Joel didn’t answer, focusing entirely on you as he opened the door and guided you into the cool night air.

The walk home was thick with silence. It hummed with tension, electric and heavy, stretching between you. Joel’s grip on your hand was firm, his palm rough and warm against yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

You could feel it in him. The rigid line of his shoulders, how his jaw stayed tight, his strides just a little longer than usual, like he was still chasing the fight he’d left behind in that bar. Every few steps, you rubbed your thumb along his wrist to soothe the fire simmering beneath his skin.

The lights of your house came into view, a soft glow in the darkness. Joel’s voice finally broke the quiet, low and rough.

“Is Ellie home?” he asked, eyes fixed on the front door.

You shook your head, your pulse picking up even before the words left your mouth. “No, she’s at Dina’s—”

You didn’t get the rest out.

Joel’s hand tightened around yours as he spun you toward him, backing you up against the porch rail before you could blink. His mouth was on yours in an instant. The kiss wasn’t soft. It was teeth and tongue and the low, possessive growl in the back of his throat, his hand sliding to the small of your back, pressing you into the hard line of his body.

You gasped against his mouth, fingers fisting in the front of his shirt as heat flared through you, molten and sudden. His other hand cupped your jaw, angling your face the way he wanted, deepening the kiss like a man starved.

“Goddamn it,” Joel rasped against your lips, his breath hot and uneven. “You don’t get it, do you?”

Your heart pounded, your skin flushed from the sudden rush of him, from the possessiveness still radiating off his body like heat from a fire.

“Get what?” you managed, voice breathless.

He kissed you again, slower but no less intensely, his hand sliding down to squeeze your hip. “What you do to me,” he murmured, lips brushing against the corner of your mouth, cheek, and jaw. “Watchin’ some punk look at you like that… talk about you like that… Jesus, baby.”

You shivered, arching into him, your fingers tugging at his belt like they had in the bar, but now with clear intent.

“Then show me,” you whispered.

Joel’s eyes darkened, and the ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips. “I plan to, sweetheart.”

Joel reached past you, shoved the door open, and pulled you inside like a man past the point of reason. The door slammed shut behind you, the soft click of the lock barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing.

Before you could take a single step, his mouth was on your neck — hot, open-mouthed kisses, his teeth scraping just enough to make you gasp. He sucked at the delicate skin just below your jaw, a low groan rumbling from his chest when your fingers dug into his shoulders.

“Fuck, Joel,” you moaned, your head tipping back to give him more access.

His hands found your hips, dragging you against him, the hard line of his arousal grinding into your belly. Every touch was rough and needy, as if he was still chasing the high of what happened at the bar, and the only thing that could settle him was you.

Somehow, you made it to the couch, stumbling, pulling at clothes between frantic kisses. Shirts tugged halfway off, jeans yanked down just enough — it wasn’t graceful. It was heat and desperation, limbs tangling and mouths colliding like you’d fall apart if you didn’t touch.

By the time Joel dropped to his knees in front of you, your top was still on, bunched up over your ribs, your legs spread wide on either side of him. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open, his eyes dark and hungry as he looked up at you from between them.

“Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ night,” he rasped, his voice a gravelly promise that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

Then his mouth was on you.

A sharp cry left your lips as his tongue dragged through your folds before his lips closed around your clit. He sucked, hard, sending a bolt of pleasure straight through your core. Your back arched off the couch, fingers tangling in his hair as heat bloomed low in your belly.

Joel groaned against you, the vibration of it making your hips buck. His hands pinned you down, thumbs digging into your thighs as his tongue worked you over — long, wet strokes mixed with sharp flicks of his tongue, his scruff rough against your sensitive skin.

“Joel—oh, God—baby,” you gasped, your voice breaking on a whimper as he sucked your clit between his lips again, his tongue relentless.

He grunted in approval, one hand leaving your thigh to slide a thick finger inside you, curling just right. You cried out, the pressure building fast, your body strung taut, teetering on the edge.

Joel pulled back just long enough to murmur, voice thick and wrecked, “Told you I’d show you, darlin’. Gonna make you come all over my tongue.”

Then he was back on you, tongue and fingers working in perfect, devastating rhythm, and you knew you wouldn’t last long.

Every flick of Joel’s tongue, every curl of his fingers pushed you higher, the pleasure building sharp in your belly. You could barely breathe, panting, gasping his name like a prayer, your fingers fisting so hard in his hair your knuckles ached.

“F-fuck—Joel, I’m—” you stammered, voice trembling, hips bucking despite his iron grip.

He groaned against you, the sound deep and hungry, his mouth sealing around your clit and sucking hard. His fingers curled inside you just right, and the coil inside you snapped.

Pleasure shattered through you, sharp and white-hot. Your cry broke from your throat, back arching off the couch, legs shaking as your orgasm tore through you.

And then it happened — a rush of wetness, sudden and overwhelming. You felt yourself gush against his mouth, a choked moan tumbling out of you as your vision blurred.

“Oh my— fuck, Joel, I—I can’t—”

But Joel didn’t stop.

He growled low in his throat, his tongue lapping at your release like a man possessed, hands tightening on your thighs to hold you open as you writhed. The way you’d fallen apart, the way you soaked him — it only drove him wilder.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he rasped, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips slick, beard damp with you. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with pure, feral hunger. “Look at you… fuckin’ perfect. Such a good girl.”

His mouth was back on you before you could catch your breath, tongue working you through every aftershock, every tremble, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were a whimpering, shaking mess against the couch cushions.

“J-Joel—s’too much,” you gasped, half-laughing, half-crying as your body shuddered under him.

He only grunted, one last possessive suck against your clit before he finally let you go, his mouth glistening, his chest heaving. He looked up at you like he hadn’t even begun to get his fill.

“You make the prettiest fuckin’ mess,” he said, voice rough, thumb lazily stroking your inner thigh. “And I ain’t even fucked you yet.”

A slow, wicked grin tugged at your lips. You bit down on your lower one, teasing yourself with the scrape of your teeth as you looked at him through heavy lashes. “Ain’t my fault you looked so hot defending my honor,” you shot back, voice breathy but teasing, the words making his mouth twitch like he was trying not to smile.

Joel huffed a dark little laugh, shaking his head as he pressed another hot, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh. “You’re my wife,” he muttered, like it was the world's simplest, most obvious thing. His lips dragged higher, soft kisses turning hungrier as he worked his way up your body. “’ Course I would. No one talks about you like that. No one looks at you like that. You hear me?”

Each kiss scorched a new mark into your skin, his scruff rasping against sensitive flesh, until he reached your stomach. He nipped there, the sharp sting of teeth making you jolt, your breath hitching in your throat.

“And I’m gonna make damn sure everyone in Jackson knows you’re mine,” Joel promised, voice thick and possessive.

You smirked, your hand weaving into his hair again, tugging just enough to make him grunt against your skin. “Gonna make me a mama, Joel?” you murmured, eyes locked on his.

The words seemed to snap something in him.

His pupils blew wide, his nostrils flaring as his hand slid up to palm your still-quivering belly, rough fingers splaying possessively. His gaze flicked up to meet yours, and the hunger in his eyes made your pulse spike.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he growled, dragging his lips up your body, stopping just below your breast, his breath hot against your skin. “Gonna fill you up, get you nice and round. Put a baby in you so there’s no doubt in anyone’s mind you’re mine.”

You whimpered, your hips canting toward him, need flaring bright and sharp in your gut.

Joel smirked against your skin, his voice dropping lower, more dangerous. “Bet you’d look so fuckin’ pretty all swollen with my baby. Takin’ me so good every night, beggin’ for it.”

“Then do it,” you whispered, shivering under his touch, a throaty little plea.

He lifted his head, his mouth crashing into yours, tasting of whiskey and you, his hands already pushing your top higher, moving to claim every inch of you.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Joel rasped, dragging the tip of his nose along your jaw as he positioned himself between your thighs. “I’m gonna fuck a baby in you.”

Joel didn’t waste another second.

His eyes dragged over your body, hungry and wild, and when he settled between your thighs, his cock heavy and flushed in his hand, you swore you could feel your pulse in every inch of your skin.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, look at you,” he rasped, fisting himself as he lined up with your slick entrance, the fat head of his cock nudging at your folds. “Already so wet for me. Messy little thing.”

You whimpered, hips tilting up to meet him, your fingers digging into his arms, desperate for more.

“Beg for it, mama,” Joel gritted, his voice rough. He leaned down, teeth catching your earlobe. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

“Joel,” you gasped, head falling back as your body ached for him. “Please. Need you inside me. Need you to fuck me. Fill me up—give me your baby.”

A deep, wrecked sound tore from his throat — half a growl, half a groan — and then he was pushing into you in one hard, slow thrust, sinking deep until his hips met yours. The stretch burned, your walls clenching around him.

“Goddamn,” Joel grunted, head dropping to your shoulder as he bottomed out. “Squeezing me so fuckin’ tight. Feels like heaven.”

You could barely breathe, could only cling to him as he set a punishing rhythm, his hips slamming into yours with desperate, brutal intent. The couch creaked beneath you, every slap of skin against skin loud in the otherwise silent house.

His mouth was everywhere — your neck, collarbone, and jaw underside. He muttered filth into your skin between ragged breaths, every word fanning the fire already consuming you.

“Gonna fill you up so good,” he growled, his hand sliding to your belly, pressing down just enough to feel the bulge of him moving inside you. “Put a baby right here. Get you so fuckin’ full you’ll be beggin’ me for more.”

“Fuck, Joel,” you sobbed, the pleasure sharp and overwhelming, your nails raking down his back.

He grunted, his thrusts somehow rougher, deeper. “That’s it, mama. Take it. You were made for this — for me. Always knew you’d look so goddamn pretty carrying my kid.”

The word mama on his lips sent a shockwave through you, your whole body reacting with pleasure. Heat coiled low in your belly, a deep, needy ache blooming, the edge of your orgasm creeping back up so fast it made your head spin.

You barely recognized your voice — breathless, wrecked, laced with a teasing, desperate kind of heat. “Wanna give you a baby,” you whispered, your nails raking down his sweat-slick back, hips arching up to meet every thrust.

Joel let out a sound that was half growl, half moan, like the words cracked something inside him wide open. His hips stuttered for a heartbeat before slamming into you even harder.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice thick and ragged, his mouth dragging along your jaw. “Say it again, darlin’.”

You gasped when he hit that perfect spot, the pleasure stealing your breath.

“Wanna give you a baby, Joel,” you choked out, fingers gripping his hair, pulling him down until his forehead pressed to yours. 

The snarl he made against your lips was pure filth, his pace turning brutal, desperate.

“Yeah, you do,” Joel rasped, his voice rough with tenderness and possessive heat. “Gonna knock you up, fill this pretty pussy ‘til it takes. Get you nice and round, let everyone see what I fuckin’ did to you.”

Your body broke again, pleasure slamming into you like a wave, your moan spilling into his mouth as you came, clenching around him so tight it dragged a loud, broken curse from his throat.

Joel’s hips jerked, his cock twitching deep inside you as he followed, coming with a low, possessive growl. “Mine. All fuckin’ mine, mama.”

And the way he kept moving, soft, shallow thrusts as his come spilled inside you, made your head swim, the aftershocks rippling through both of you.

“Gonna fill you up again in a minute,” Joel murmured, his lips brushing against yours, his breath hot and uneven. “Ain’t stoppin’ ‘til you’re carryin’ my baby.”

You shivered, a giddy, breathless laugh escaping you as you kissed him, your heart pounding against his.

Joel groaned against your lips, the sound deep and wrecked, his tongue slipping into your mouth like he couldn’t get enough of you. His hips gave a sharp, involuntary thrust, and you felt it, that familiar, liquid heat spilling deep inside you as his cock twitched inside your still-clenching walls.

A dark, possessive noise tore from his throat, his hands gripping your thighs so hard you knew there’d be bruises come morning. The weight of him, the heat, the lingering pulse of his release made your whole body tighten in response, another soft, needy whimper escaping your lips.

You bit his bottom lip, just enough to make him grunt, a wicked little smirk curling your mouth as you tugged before letting go.

“Can feel you,” you whispered, your voice breathless and teasing, your thumb brushing his jaw. “Fillin’ me up again, handsome.”

Joel’s gaze darkened, his breath hitching as his hand slid possessively over your belly, pressing his palm flat against it like he could already feel something growing inside you. 

“Can’t fuckin’ help it,” he said, his voice a gravelly rasp, kissing you again. “This pussy’s too good, sweetheart. So goddamn tight, squeezin’ me like you’re tryin’ to keep every drop.”

Your body shivered at his words, arousal flaring sharp and hot all over again.

Joel groaned when he felt the way your walls fluttered around him, a wicked smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah… you like that, huh?” he murmured, teeth scraping along your jaw. “Bet I could make you come again just like this, keep you stuffed full ‘til you can’t even think straight.”

The way he said it made your pulse stutter, your hips instinctively rocking against him despite the oversensitivity.

His hand slid between you, two fingers teasing your swollen, soaked clit with slow, lazy circles.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he coaxed, his voice thick with hunger and rough affection. “One more for me. Let’s see how much more this pretty pussy can take.”

You moaned his name as Joel rocked his hips in slow, deep thrusts. Each one dragged along oversensitive nerves, the thick slide of him inside you sending heat curling low in your belly, sharp and insistent. Your fingers clutched at his shoulders, your body trembling, every lazy grind pushing you closer to the edge.

“Yeah, that’s it, mama,” Joel rasped against your ear, his voice rough and tender. “Feel that? Still so full for me.”

The tension in your belly coiled tight, your walls fluttering around him, and then it hit — your orgasm cresting sharp and hot, pleasure tearing through you in thick, rolling waves. You cried out his name again, your body clenching down around his cock, slick flooding around him as you came hard.

Joel groaned low, his hips giving a final, deep push before he stilled, buried to the hilt, savoring every pulse of you around him. His head dropped to your shoulder, sweat-slick skin sticking to yours, his breath hot and uneven against your neck.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to your collarbone.

He pulled out slowly, and you both let out soft, wrecked sounds at the wet, filthy slide of it. A warm, sticky mix of your arousal and his seed spilled out of you, slicking your thighs.

Joel watched it, pupils blown, a dark, possessive hunger flickering across his face. Without a word, he slid his fingers through the mess, gathering it up, and then eased two of them back inside you, pushing it deep.

“Not wastin’ a fuckin’ drop,” he murmured, voice a gravelly promise, his eyes flicking up to meet yours as his fingers worked it back in. “This’s all mine, darlin’. You hear me? Every last bit of it.”

Your breath caught, a whimper escaping you at the stretch and the possessive tenderness in his touch.

“Gonna keep you nice and full,” Joel went on, his voice softer now, fingers dragging slowly inside you, his other hand splaying over your belly again. “Get you nice and round for me.”

Your body shuddered, another wave of heat crashing through you at his words.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your lips brushing his. “All yours, Joel.”

Joel stretched out on top of you, his head resting against your chest. Both of you were too wrecked and sated to care about the mess clinging to your skin or the sticky heat between your bodies. His fingers lazily traced circles along your hip, his breathing evening out against your skin as the frantic pulse of earlier settled into something warm and steady.

You carded your fingers through his damp hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way you knew he liked. He released a low, contented sound and pressed a soft, unhurried kiss above your heart.

Eventually, Joel shifted, lifting his head to meet your gaze. His thumb brushed across your cheekbone, the rough pad of it catching on your skin. “C’mere,” he said, voice still thick and gravelly from the aftermath.

He helped you sit up, wincing a little as he did, and you both chuckled softly at yourselves.

Joel disappeared for a moment, returning with a warm, damp cloth. He cleaned you up gently, his touch careful and tender. He murmured soft apologies every time you flinched from oversensitivity.

When he was done, he leaned down, kissed your forehead, and scooped you into his arms like it was the easiest thing in the world. You nuzzled into his neck, your body limp with exhaustion, your heart still pounding slowly and content beneath your ribs.

“You good, darlin’?” he asked quietly, kissing your temple as he carried you upstairs.

“Mmm,” you hummed, too tired to say much else but letting your lips brush his throat in answer.

You both stripped off what little remained of your clothes in the bathroom. The shower was quick and lazy — more leaning against one another than washing — the warm water washing away the sweat and mess while Joel kept his hand on you when your knees went weak from pure exhaustion.

Afterward, you both climbed into bed, skin still damp, limbs tangled beneath the worn quilt. Joel pulled you close, your head tucked under his chin, one big hand spread over your belly in a possessive, tender gesture.

The night was quiet around you. The only sounds were the faint chirp of crickets outside and the steady beat of his heart against your ear.

“Love you,” Joel murmured against your hair, voice already thick with sleep.

You smiled, pressing a lazy kiss to his chest. “Love you too.”

Sleep took you both not long after, wrapped up in each other, as if you never wanted to let go.

The next morning, Joel padded downstairs barefoot, the house quiet except for the creak of the old floorboards under his weight. The scent of sex and sweat still lingered faintly in the air, clinging to the room like a memory.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, still feeling the ache in his muscles, a hazy mix of satisfaction and guilt gnawing at him. Hope I didn’t wear her out too bad , he thought, glancing toward the stairs. You’d been so boneless, half-asleep when he kissed your temple and slipped out of bed, still curled up in the mess of sheets.

Joel filled the coffee pot and started a fresh brew before grabbing a rag to wipe down the couch. The dried streaks of sweat and arousal, and the faint outline of a handprint in the fogged glass of the side table, made his lips twitch in amusement.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, shaking his head as he scrubbed.

He’d just finished, the rag still in hand, when a sharp knock rattled the front door. Joel sighed, tossing the rag over his shoulder as he padded over.

The door swung open to reveal Tommy, leaning against the frame with a shit-eating grin and one brow raised.

“Oh good,” Tommy drawled, giving his brother a once-over. “You’re alive.”

Joel rubbed at his eyes with a groan, still half-asleep and in no mood for whatever this was. “Yeah, barely. Ain’t got patrol. Why the hell you here so damn early?”

Tommy didn’t answer immediately — just snorted and jerked his chin toward the house behind him. “Neighbors complainin’,” he said, barely holding back a grin. “Said they heard some woman screamin’ her head off last night. Thought maybe some infected made it past the gate.”

Joel’s stomach dropped, his eyes going wide. “ Shit, ” he muttered, heat creeping up the back of his neck.

Tommy’s grin split wide as he let out a bark of laughter. “Relax, big brother. I told ‘em it was just you bein’ an animal. Didn’t even blink.”

Joel scowled, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Goddamn it, Tommy.”

“Hey,” Tommy chuckled, backing down the steps, clearly enjoying himself. “Least now the whole town knows you ain’t as old and tired as you look.”

Joel shot him a glare, but there was no real heat. “Keep runnin’ your mouth and see if you don’t end up limpin’ on patrol tomorrow.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Tommy quipped over his shoulder as he walked away.

Joel watched him go, shaking his head with amusement before shutting the door. He turned, grabbed two mugs off the shelf, and filled them with coffee, still grinning.

Carrying them upstairs, he peeked into the bedroom, finding you still curled under the covers, hair a wild, messy halo around your head.

“Hey, darlin’,” he murmured, setting the mugs down and crawling back beside you, kissing your shoulder. “You know we got the whole town talkin’?”

You groaned, burying your face in the pillow. “Joel Miller, if you tell me what I think you’re about to…”

He chuckled, pulling you closer. “Might’ve made ya scream a little too loud last night.”

You smacked his chest with a sleepy grin. “Next time, I’m gagging you.”

Deep down in your mind, you have a selfish idea that you can still leave now. Everything will be forgiven. You do not have to stay if you are not sure. But you also know that this was your decision.

Either it was a wise decision or a desperate one, you are not sure.

Three weeks ago, when you were peacefully eating your stew in the hall, Tommy Miller approached you with a grin on his face. "Hey there, sunshine," he greeted.

"What do you want?" you eyed him.

"Can't I jus' say hello to my dearest ol' friend?" he chuckled, sitting down next to you. "Those boots suit you well," he nudged your boot with his.

You smiled but rolled your eyes at him. "I'm not interested in married men, sorry. Scram now, good sir."

Tommy let out a loud laugh. "M'not flirtin' with ya for fuck's sake. Maria would cut off my balls, y'know that."

"Yeah, I know. And I would help her happily," you said before eating a spoonful.

"Need a favor from ya," he muttered. "For old time's sake."

You turned to look at him. "And which old time's sake?" you asked. Tommy gave you a look that told you he was being serious. You sighed, "Alright. Spit it out."

You knew exactly what Tommy meant, but you just wanted to taunt him a little. You two had known each other long before Jackson. Tommy first met you when he saved you from a raider. His short-tempered nature made him smash a glass bottle over the head of the bastard, and he threatened to shoot him in the head if he did not want to leave you alone.

You did not trust anyone back then, so you spat on Tommy after he saved your life. One thing led to another. He had been friends with you ever since, despite how much older he was compared to you. None of that mattered when the two of you were just surviving, trying to see another day.

Until you two ended up here in Jackson, a place with a new hope. Where Tommy met the love of his life, Maria.

You had never seen Tommy so happy in his life as when you saw him after he married Maria. You were happy for them, even when you and Tommy had a fling a long time ago. It did not matter now. Neither of you made a big deal out of it. You loved him as a friend, and you were truly happy for him.

Tommy stared at you deep. "Promise me you won't overreact."

"I promise," you declared, feeling annoyed at him.

He looked around for a second, making sure no one was eavesdropping. And no one was. People were eating and chatting, minding their business.

Tommy cleared his throat, then he leaned closer and whispered, "I want you to try goin' on a date with my brother."

As the words left his mouth, you turned fully to stare at him in disbelief. "Your— WHAT?!" you yelled.

People turned their heads to look in your direction. Tommy muttered a sorry to them while you were still stunned. Shocked. Horrified.

"HAVE YOU LOST YOUR GODDAMN MIND?!" you yelled again at Tommy.

People turned their heads once again to check on you before returning to their own business.

Tommy flicked your forehead. "I told ya not to fuckin' overreact, goddamn it."

You finally looked around, finally noticing that you just made a scene before glaring back at Tommy. "You just fucking said you want me to go on a fucking date with Joel Miller," you whispered, feeling scared that anyone would hear. "Tommy— what—" you paused, "Are you fucking insane?"

"What's wrong about one date with Joel? S'not a big deal."

You made a face. "Did a clicker eat your brain out somewhere during patrol?" You scowled at him before whispering again, "He's old, Tommy. Like so, so old."

"You usually have a crush on older guys anyway. It's only Joel," he muttered as if it wasn't a big deal.

He wasn't wrong. But you still did not want to go. "Why does it have to be me? Can't you ask someone else? It's fucking weird. Joel is like a really mean old man. I have nothing in common with him."

"Hey, careful there. That's my brother you talkin' about," Tommy warned. "He's been through some shit. Things that would keep him at night. And now that Ellie's all grown up... he's been alone most of the time."

"That's not my fucking problem," you mumbled.

Tommy glared at you, making you stop complaining for a second, and listened to him. "Maria and I told him s'no good for him if he keeps drownin' in his loneliness. And guess what? The man finally listened once in his life. Now he's lookin' for a wife."

"The fuck?" you looked even more annoyed. "Do I look like I'm interested in getting married any time soon? I don't even wanna go on a date with him."

"Why not?"

"He's old."

"Didn't stop you from sleepin' with me back then."

You frowned at the reminder. "That was one-time. And— he's even older than you, asshole."

"It's jus' Joel," Tommy muttered. "He's way better than those punks you had a crush on."

"I don't even know him, Tommy," you grumbled. "The man's barely said three words to me since he got here years ago. He's mean."

Tommy sighed. "Listen, Maria told me you cried to her the other day," he muttered, making you turn your gaze from him. "Sayin' things like you feel tired doin' everythin' on your own. Said you need someone to love ya in this new part of the world we live in, 'cause you feel so alone, even in the crowd. Ain't that right?"

"Shut up," you mumbled as you looked away.

"Guess even your sunshine has its cloudy days, huh?" Tommy stared at you. "Then try with him."

"Ask someone else."

"I could've. Y'know, women in all Jackson would be all over him if I informed them of this. But I came to ya first."

"Why? Because you think he's the right one for me?"

"'Cause I care 'bout ya, stupid. I know my brother wasn't a saint, well, none of us was. But he sure does protect the ones he loves. And, hell, I jus' want the best for ya," Tommy said before getting up from his seat. "Though I can't decide anythin'. It's your call. Jus' sleep on it," he stated before patting your back and walking away.

You did end up going on that date.

The one that leads you here now. In your husband's house. Even if it still feels foreign to you to think that you are someone's wife now.

You refuse to believe that you are only here because you are desperate. But you know you are.

This marriage is supposed to be convenient for both of you. Joel needed a wife, and you wanted someone to love or care for, or to be loved. Hell, you were not sure. All you knew was that you were so tired of being alone. You were used to surviving all your life, so the calmness of the future days scares you. It made you feel so alone sometimes in the past few years. Even Tommy and Maria knew that, and they were trying to help you so you would not feel so alone anymore.

You were fine with it. Had always been fine with being alone. Finding peace in your own company and cherishing the moments you have with your friends in the community. But there were times when the voices in your head got too loud that you wished you had someone to make you forget about them, to tell you that everything is going to be fine.

And then there was this option for you to marry Joel Miller.

You had asked Tommy why Joel asked for your hand after one date, and the younger Miller said, "Joel don't do casual no more, not after he's lost so many people he cared about. He wants to make things right. Wants to live his life." Tommy stared deep into your eyes, even when you frowned as you considered the older Miller's proposal. "If he asked to marry you, then he meant it. He wants to marry you," he explained back then.

You keep fidgeting with the hem of your flannel as you sit on the couch near the fireplace while waiting for your husband, as he brews coffee for you both in the kitchen.

"You okay?" Joel asks, putting both mugs on the table in front of you.

You nod and grab one of the mugs. "Thank you."

The coffee smells good. You are not sure if you should have one, though. Your heart is already beating so fast. But Joel said it is a celebration for the two of you tonight, and you both love coffee.

It is so awkward now. You do not know what to say, and Joel does not say anything either. The silence is deafening.

"Where's Ellie?" you ask, breaking the silence.

"In her room in the garage. She seemed happy today. Talked a lot. A rare thing to see these days," he admits.

"What do you mean? I think Ellie talks a lot just fine. Well, maybe she wasn't as cheerful as she was when you two arrived in Jackson. She was just a kid who loved to tell silly puns back then."

Joel chuckles. "Yeah, she talks to you. Not t'me. She mostly jus' hates me now," he takes a sip of his coffee. "I remember how she used to lighten up when we talked about space. The girl wanted to be an astronaut. Not sure if she wants to be anythin' now."

You turn to look at him. "I'm sure she doesn't hate you, Joel," you mutter, "I think she's just going through a phase. All girls do."

To your surprise, Joel takes your hand in his calloused one and squeezes it. "Yeah. Hope so."

His hand is huge compared to yours. You stare at how he keeps holding your hand until he finally lets go.

"Wanna go to bed?" Joel asks.

Your breath hitches. "Mmm, not yet," you murmur.

"Are you nervous, sweetheart?" he turns to stare at your face clearly, and you turn your gaze to the mug on the table. You feel your cheeks getting hot from his stare. "Y'know we don't gotta fuck tonight if you don't wanna, right?"

That makes you turn your head to look at him. "We don't?"

"Yeah, we don't have to if you're not ready."

"You mean it?" you ask quietly.

Joel smiles, pulling your hand toward his lips, then kisses the back of your hand. "I mean it. We ain't gotta do what you don't wanna do, honey. You bein' here, lettin' me be your husband already makin' me full of joy."

You finally smile at him. "I thought you weren't really happy. You didn't look happy when we got married earlier today."

"That's probably jus' my face. Goddamn, I was nervous as hell, honey."

"You were nervous?" you ask in disbelief.

Joel nods. "Trust me. I was. My heart was racin' too damn fast that my ears started to ring."

"No way."

He laughs now. "What? Ya don't believe me?"

You shake your head. "You didn't seem nervous. You just look angry."

"Told ya that's jus' my face. How could I be angry when you jus' made me the happiest man today, hm?"

You open your mouth, but you are not sure how to say it, so you say nothing as you turn to stare at the empty mug again.

"What is it, darlin'?" he asks, concern in his voice. Joel lets go of your hand and reaches to cup your chin softly. "Hey... what's on your mind?"

"I just— I don't know. I'm scared, Joel."

He frowns. "Of me?"

"No. It's just... What if this is a mistake? This marriage. You know there is no love between us. Even when we took a vow."

The second it comes out of your mouth, you realize how stupid you are being. This is the night after your wedding, for fuck's sake, and now you are saying these things to your husband. What is wrong with you?

"Yeah, I know," Joel mutters. "I'm aware that there ain't no love between us. Well, not yet," he caresses your cheek with his thumb. "I had my doubts about this marriage too, sweetheart. But I ain't thinkin' it's a mistake. Not once. Especially not after I took a vow."

"Why did you wanna marry me?"

"Didn't we have this conversation already?"

"Yeah, we did."

"Then stop overthinkin' 'bout it, honey. C'mere," Joel reaches to hug you. "This okay? Me huggin' ya like this?" he asks.

"Mhm," you hum before hugging him back.

You stare at the fireplace from over his shoulder as you both hug. Staring at the flame as you cherish the feeling of how soothing his hug is. This is the closest either of you has ever dared. He kissed you earlier today in front of everyone after getting married, yes, but this hug is the most intimate gesture you two have ever shared.

"There will be a time... when we fall in love with each other during the mundanes," Joel whispers, "and there will be a time when we wish we'd done it sooner. But for now... we ain't gotta rush nothin', honey. We can jus' live our life."

His words... God, his words calm you down in an instant.

You have never considered that a man who looks as cold as Joel Miller could calm your mind down this very instant. This is only your first night with him, and he already brings peace to your chaotic mind.

Maybe you did feel that kind of peace when you were on that date with him. The magnetic pull you felt around him, even when you tried to deny it. The way he could make you feel seen when he gazes at you with those eyes of his. No one had ever stared into your soul that deep.

Maybe those feelings were the reason you said yes to the absurdity of this marriage.

"You wanna go to bed now, darlin'?" he asks, and you nod.

Once in his room, the tension in the air feels thick. The awkwardness comes back again. You stare at the ceiling of his room as you lie down on his bed, already in your modest nightgown with a blanket around your body.

"You comfy?" he asks before getting in bed himself. "Need anythin'? A glass of water?"

"I'm okay," you murmur.

Joel nods and lies down beside you on his side of the bed. "If you need anythin' in the middle of the night jus' wake me up, alright?" he turns to look at you. "And you ain't gotta ask my permission for anythin'. This is your house as well."

You nod and smile. "Thank you, Joel."

"Alright. Good night."

"Good night," you answer before turning to your side, facing away from him, and so does he.

But none of you goes to sleep. This is what happens when you drink coffee on your first night with your husband but without fucking.

Minutes later, Joel notices you keep tossing and turning behind him. He turns to look at you. Your eyes are closed, your face is scrunched.

"Sweetheart? You okay?"

You open your eyes and glance at him. "I can't sleep. I'm sure it's the coffee."

"Yeah, me neither," he sits up, "I think I'm jus' gonna do some carving until sleep gets to me."

"Alright," you nod.

You turn back to your side and close your eyes, trying to fall asleep, until around five minutes later, he comes back into the room. The sound of the door makes you open your eyes and look up at him.

Joel smiles at you as he stands near the bed, holding two mugs. "Hey... did I wake ya?"

"No, I haven't fallen asleep," you sit up on the bed, "What's that?"

"Raw milk. I jus' finished heatin' it. Here," he gives one of the mugs to you. "People say milk helps makin' ya sleepy. Don't know if it's true or not. Worth tryin' though."

You take the mug from him. "I thought you were carving."

"Yeah, I was about to carve," Joel mutters before he sits down on the bed. "But then you crossed my mind. I felt like a dick knowin' my wife was restless and alone on my bed. So I went downstairs to warm the milk."

"You don't have to..." you smile, "but thank you. It's so thoughtful."

"No problem. S'the least I could do after makin' my wife restless from the coffee I brewed for her," he smiles back.

The raw milk does not work like Joel thought it would. But somehow, the two of you manage to fall asleep around thirty minutes or hours later and sleep side by side through the night.

In the morning, you find his side of the bed empty. You get up to go to the bathroom and grab a robe to put over your nightgown before going downstairs.

"Morning," you greet him when you enter the kitchen.

Joel turns to look at you with a smile on his face. "You sleep well?" he asks, and you chuckle, knowing you both had terrible sleep last night. He grabs three bowls from the cabinet. "We're havin' soup and bread for breakfast."

"Here, let me help," you say as you grab the bowls from him and set them on the dining table.

"Ain't ya too sweet? Thank ya, darlin'." Joel smiles at you before hollering into the hallway, "Ellie! Breakfast. Now."

"Give me five more minutes," Ellie shouts.

"Now, Ellie," Joel orders.

A few seconds later, Ellie appears with a frown on her face. "I was playing the guitar. I'm not even hungry, Joel."

Joel looks at her with a stern face. "The guitar can wait. Eat first. Soup's gettin' cold waitin' for ya."

Ellie walks toward the table, feeling annoyed at Joel, then she looks at you. "Oh, hi. I totally forgot you live here now," she smiles at you, ignoring Joel.

Even before you and Joel became a thing, you had known Ellie first, so familiarity is not a problem between the two of you. Somehow, you even feel more comfortable with her than your own husband for now.

You smile back at her. "Good morning to you too, Ellie."

"Mm, yeah, my morning was shitty," Ellie mutters, "So how's your first morning being married to the old man?" she asks. You open your mouth to answer, but then she cuts you off, "Wait, no. Don't tell me. You two are clearly being gross. No, I don't wanna know. Let's eat."

Even if you did not make love to Joel last night, people would assume you did. Even Ellie assumed you did. Because that's what married couples do on their wedding night, normally.

Neither you nor Joel comments on it. But you do share a knowing glance. He gives you a smirk, and you hold your laughter before the three of you have breakfast together.

Days turn to weeks. The season gets colder, but Joel gets warmer and even warmer to you.

And you do feel happier, it turns out. You thought this was an unwanted marriage to you at first, but somehow it is everything you ever wanted.

You feel delighted having someone to come home to. Someone who always listens to all your problems without judging you. Someone who gives you hugs and kisses when you have a bad day. You had no idea that someone who was once so cold to people could be so very patient with you.

Your husband turns out to be the type of man who can calm you down and shut your brain off with his presence. He always holds your hand in the streets and leads the way while you chatter to him nonstop about everything as you two stroll around.

And somehow, even when he has a gruff expression on his face, Joel always reddens a little when any of the folks in Jackson congratulates you two. Never once did you think in your life that the icy-cold Joel Miller would blush over some simple comments.

Joel is the kind of man who always makes time for his wife, even after a long day. One time, he is about to take a nap after a long patrol, but the moment you mention going to tend to your horse, your husband ends up following you to the stable. Lingering in the stable and listening with a slight smile on his face as you tell him stories.

"I've always wanted a horse, so when Maria let me have one— a week after I arrived here with Tommy, I was so excited," you squeal. "Isn't she the most precious?" you ask as you guide your husband's hand to touch the mare.

Joel chuckles at your excitement. "Yeah, she is, sweetheart. Jus' like her rider," he smiles, watching you start to blush. "C'mon now, let's go home and get you a warm bath 'fore supper. Ya startin' to smell like horses."

You roll your eyes at him, but the smile on your face gets wider, letting him take your hand as you both walk back home.

You love how sometimes your inner child feels safe enough to appear around him. It just happens. Like he draws out a softness you thought you had outgrown.

Every morning, Joel would prepare breakfast for you and Ellie. Even when you tell him you can help with making breakfast, he tells you just to enjoy your mornings and have those extra minutes of sleep while he prepares breakfast. And it has become a routine for him to kiss your forehead before heading to the door when he needs to leave the house.

"You two are so gross," Ellie teases every time Joel is being sweet to you, making him glare at her.

And you would laugh at her comment and laugh even harder when Joel decides to kiss the top of Ellie's head. Even when she pretends to be annoyed at his affection, she always smiles later after Joel walks out the door.

One day, when you are out on patrol with Tommy, he keeps talking about Maria's morning sickness. "I'm sure the baby's torturin' her. My poor wife," he mutters.

"Then you should pamper her even more," you say before looking around at the scenery from your horse.

"I did everything I could," Tommy mutters, "and by the way, you're doin' a good job with my brother. The man has never smiled more in his life."

You turn to look at him with a grin. "He makes me happy too. Thanks, Tommy. For... everything."

Tommy chuckles, riding his horse beside yours. "Can't believe you're thankin' me. I remember you wanted to kill me with a kitchen knife the day after I told ya to go on a date with him."

"To be fair, my mind was all over the place because of you back then."

"Yeah, well, you're welcome," he says with a smile. "Marriage looks good on ya."

Everyone tells you that lately. Some say you look glowing. Your friends joke that you must have been fucked well by your husband.

None of them knows the truth. In the weeks you have been married to Joel Miller, you two have not had any sexual encounters. Yet.

He never urges you to do something you are not ready for. It is not like you never popped the cherry before you end up here in Jackson. It is not the lack of experience. Joel knows you were not comfortable enough to have sex with him yet, and he is okay with that. And maybe a little too okay with that.

But now you feel guilty because you feel like a bad wife. Have you been neglecting your husband? The realization hits you like a freight train.

"How's your patrol with Tommy today, sweetheart?" he asks during dinner.

It is just the two of you tonight. Ellie is out somewhere with a friend.

"Just a normal one," you answer. "How's yours?"

"Nothin' special either. Jus' saw some of those frozen infected," he picks up his empty plate before looking at yours. "You done eatin'?"

"It's okay, I can clean it up myself."

He shakes his head. "No worries, honey. Jus' get ready for bed. I'll be right upstairs."

You mutter a thanks and go upstairs. Sometimes you wonder if you have fallen in love with him already. Joel is so thoughtful and sweet to you. He never once raises his voice at you, even when his mood is sour. And he makes your life ten times easier to live.

The door to his room creaks when you open it. You walk toward the drawer in his room and smile when you stare at a picture of him and Sarah that he still keeps, and next to it, a picture of him and Ellie.

It always fills you with bliss to know how full of love your husband actually is. His heart is soft, though his past is rough.

You open the drawer and grab one of your modest nightgowns before walking into the bathroom to have a quick shower. But then you stop on your track as an idea forms in your head. You go back to the drawer that is filled with your nightgowns and underwear, then you grab one that you have not worn once since you got married.

It is a short nightgown. A really short one. The fabric is white and so thin that it is kind of see-through.

You have only worn modest nightgowns every other night, but tonight you have a plan.

After your shower, you expect to see Joel already in bed, but he is not. So you walk out of the bedroom and spot him at the carving table. He is working on the wooden bear you requested a couple of days ago, carving the wood with full concentration.

You notice how handsome Joel looks right now. He has always been attractive. You were just in denial at first because he was a real grumpy old man. But he is not as grumpy anymore, at least not to you.

"Hey... I thought you were already in bed," you mutter, making him turn to look at you.

The moment Joel sets his eyes on you, his eyes widen as he drops the wooden bear from his hand to the floor. "Sweetheart..." he murmurs.

"You drop the bear," you say before leaning down to grab it and give it back to him, "Here."

Joel blinks before taking the wooden bear from your hand. "Thanks, baby," he mutters, then puts it on the table. He turns to look at you again, "Your nightgown..." he freezes for a second before continuing, "It's real pretty."

"You think so? It's not too revealing?" you ask, teasing him while acting innocent.

You can see the blush forming on his cheeks, creeping down his neck.

Joel clears his throat before answering, "It's not if it's only for bedtime. It's real pretty on you."

"Okay..." you say as you hold back a laugh. "You wanna go to bed with me or... continue carving the bear?"

"C'mon, let's go to bed," he says, leading you by your waist.

You are unsure if you are teasing him or testing yourself. The way he puts his hand on your waist as he leads you to bed makes your insides all flutter. It's just a simple gesture, but the butterflies in your stomach go wild.

You watch him take off his watch and put it on the nightstand. The watch that stopped working around the time he lost his daughter, Sarah, in the earlier outbreak. He told you about that one night when you two stared at the ceiling while being vulnerable to each other.

You two slowly peeled back each other's trauma and talked it through during the nights you spent together as you got to know each other better. And it did feel great to have someone to talk to about it without feeling any regret afterward. You cried when you told him about yours, but he listened to you, and somehow the old man managed to make you laugh so loud that you had tears from laughing too much just two minutes later. Then he held you until you fell asleep in his big arms.

"Joel."

He turns to look at you after putting his watch down on the nightstand. "Yeah, baby?"

You say nothing else before you tiptoe up to kiss him on the lips. Joel kisses you back immediately as he puts one of his palms on your cheek and the other on the back of your head.

The kiss lasts for a while until you end up lying on the bed with him on top of you, his forehead on yours, and you both gasp for air.

"Joel... I want you."

He pulls back a bit to look at you better. "You ready f'me?"

You nod desperately and try to kiss him again, but he pulls back this time, making you frown at him.

Joel gets up from the bed and stares down at you lying on his sheets, all flushed. "Give me a sec, honey. I gotta appreciate how pretty my wife is."

That makes you chuckle. "Come back here..." you whine as you reach for him.

He smiles at your whine and gets closer to touch your stomach through the thin nightgown with his fingertips, making you gasp. The way his fingertips brush against your stomach through the nightgown gives you goosebumps all over.

"You look like an angel in this nightgown. And the pretty little bow... makes you look like a gift sent straight from heaven, f'me to unwrap."

"Joel..."

"I know, baby. I know," he mutters before pulling his undershirt over his head.

Your eyes widen at the sight. It is not your first time seeing his upper body bare like this, but it still surprises you to see how good he looks for a man his age. You stare at his salt-and-pepper happy trail, which leads to under his pants. Hell, there is a bulge there now.

And somehow it gives you more ideas to make it up to him since he has been so patient with you all this time. You want to make him feel good physically, as he did you emotionally so many times before.

"Joel..." you murmur, feeling nervous before you admit. "I wanna suck your cock."

The shame gets to you right after you said it loudly. Even Joel looks surprised at that.

"Honey..." Joel murmurs, getting closer to you again, then caresses your cheek with the back of his fingers. "You serious?"

"Yes."

"Alright," he reaches to take off his pants and briefs, finally showing you his hard dick for the first time.

Your face lights up as you stare at how huge it is, and you get on all fours on the bed in an instant, crawling closer to his veiny dick as he stands near the bed.

You palm his dick, already leaking on the tip, then smile at him. "Can I?"

Joel smiles back at you. "Wait, c'mere," he says before leaning down to kiss your lips deeply, making you melt as you close your eyes at the feeling, still on all fours. Then he pulls back and kisses your nose softly before pulling away to position his dick back in front of your face. "Okay, have at it, sweetheart."

You hold the base and kiss the tip before putting the head in your mouth. It is the biggest you ever put in your mouth. His girth, his length. Hell, even his balls are huge.

"Fuck..." Joel groans when you put his dick deeper in your mouth.

You take him even deeper until it hits the back of your throat, making you gag. Then you pull away on instinct and look up at him with teary eyes.

"Hey..." Joel reaches to cup your cheek, "you okay, baby?" he asks in a concerned tone, and you nod.

"I'm okay."

"You ain't gotta put it all inside your mouth, sweetheart," he caresses your cheek with his thumb. "Jus' suck the tip and stroke the rest with your hand, s'fine."

You do as he tells you for a while. But to Joel's surprise, you manage to almost put it all inside your mouth even when tears fall down your cheeks.

Joel groans at the feeling. This feels so unreal to him. His sweet wife is making every effort to take him all the way in her mouth. And fuck if it does not make him closer to blowing up his load deep in your throat.

When Joel feels you start sucking his balls while stroking his dick with your hand, then back at sucking his tip, he is losing it.

He accidentally starts spilling his cum all over your face as he grips your hair a little rough, making you gasp. It spills on your lips, your tongue, your chin, your nose, one side of your cheeks, and even some on your forehead.

"Goddamn..." Joel groans, "fuck— baby, m'sorry. I'm so sorry," he murmurs as he pulls his dick away from your face and looks down at you with full concern.

Joel stares at your face in regret and worry. His sweet young wife is all messy with his cum. He did not mean to cum so fast, nor did he mean to spill his cum all over you like this.

Now he feels bad because he made a mess all over your face, and he knows he cannot get it up again, at least not for a while. Fuck, he feels so guilty for being so old.

But to his surprise, you smile at him. "It's okay," you say.

"No, it's not okay. I'm real sorry, sweetheart," he mutters as he tries to wipe the cum off your face with his thumb, but then you clasp his hand and suck on his thumb instead.

He stares down at you in surprise.

"It's okay, Joel," you mutter, "I like it."

Joel shakes his head, but then he sighs and smiles at you. "I owe ya two or three orgasms at least 'cause of all this, darlin'. C'mon, let's get you cleaned up first. S'the least I could do for now."

You laugh at that. "Hmm, 'kay. I'm not complaining."

He prepares a hot bath for you and gives you privacy as he looks away, facing the wall when you take your nightgown off before getting in the bathtub. You really appreciate how he always gives you privacy, despite being married.

"I'll wait outside, alright?"

"You don't want to join?" you ask, looking up at him from the bath.

"Do ya want me to?" he asks, and you nod. "Alright. Scoot over, darlin'."

Joel gets in the tub and groans when he puts you on his lap, straddling him. He can see your tits fully bare now in front of him, glistening from the water. Your cheeks are slightly flushed now, either from the hot bath or from how intimate this night turns out to be.

He had cleaned up your face with water and soap earlier, saying that he felt so guilty seeing you all messy because of him, while you just giggled from the feeling of his calloused hand on your skin.

"I know you wanted to fuck, sweetheart..." Joel murmurs, "and I'm real sorry I can't get it up yet. Not after I came that hard. Guess it's jus' 'cause of how old I am," he caresses your cheek with his thumb, "m'sorry 'cause I'm so old, baby."

You shake your head at that. "No... don't be. I enjoyed it too, Joel. And I don't mind at all. I like that I could make you feel good."

He chuckles. "You're jus' too sweet. How could I get so lucky to have you as my wife, huh?"

You run your fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair. "Could it be that you and me are the lucky ones?"

Joel smiles and pulls you to him to kiss your lips. Then his kiss trails down to your neck, and down to your breast. You moan as you hold onto the back of his head. He licks one nipple, then looks up at you. "I taste soap," he mutters, "I didn't know you would taste like soap, darlin'."

You make a face for a while before laughing hard when you realize he made a joke. "That is so fucking lame, Joel," you say before splashing his face with water.

He laughs and shrugs. "It made you laugh, honey. Means it's a good one."

"I laugh at everything. Doesn't change the fact that you tell bad jokes."

After a bath and lots of laughter later, Joel helps you put on a towel around your body as you get up from the tub, and he accidentally gets a glimpse of your pussy for the first time. He did feel you on top of him during the bath, but he had not seen it properly. Not like this.

Fucking hell, he thinks. Now he feels like he just wants to fuck that pussy of yours with his dick. Not that he can do it anytime soon, though. Thanks to his old age.

When you walk toward your drawer, Joel pulls you to him. "No need to wear anythin', honey. C'mon, jus' get on your back on the bed," he watches you do as he says. Lying on your back with the towel still wrapped around your body. "Still as pretty as an angel, even in a damn towel," he murmurs as he stares down at you.

You smile at him.

"Can I unwrap this towel from my beautiful wife?"

"Yes."

The moment Joel sets eyes on your fully naked body, spread on the bed before him, he feels his old man's dick stir a little under his towel. He caresses your ankle before pulling it to his lips and kissing it. Then he rubs your foot against the salt-and-pepper stubble on his handsome face, making you bite your bottom lip at the sight.

Then he kisses your calf before bending your knees toward your chest, then spreads your legs in front of him, with his eyes all over you. You shiver beneath him. You can see the flames reflected in his eyes.

"Fuck if this ain't the prettiest pussy I've ever seen in my life," Joel murmurs. "Can I?" he asks for your permission.

You never nod so fast in your life.

Joel kisses your pussy. Then he sniffs on it while he rubs his stubble on your sensitive part.

You moan at the feeling. "Joel—" you grab at his hair, making him smile as he looks up at you.

Joel finally slides his tongue upward in one lingering stroke, licking you as if he were hungry for it. He sucks on your clit until you grab the sheets so hard while shaking.

"Hmm, s'wet enough now," he mutters before licking the two of his fingers and putting them inside you all the way to the knuckles. "I do okay?" he asks, looking up at you as he fingers you.

You nod and grab at his hair again as you get closer and closer to your orgasm. When he curls his fingers and nudges that spot while sucking on your clit, you are done. You cum on his mouth and fingers.

Joel smiles, licking the sweet nectar, his salt-and-pepper stubble wet as he pulls back from you to remove the towel from his lower waist. His old man's dick is finally half-hard.

"Do you want my help?" you ask as you come down from the high.

"S'okay, baby. I'm jus' gonna rub my cock on ya for a while. You mind?"

"Go ahead," you smile.

He rubs his half-hard dick on your wet pussy. Getting it all lubed up from your wetness. Then he jerks off with his hand, using your wetness as lube. "M'sorry, honey. S'not that you don't turn me on. My damn dick is jus' as old as me," he mutters.

"It's fine. Come here," you reach for him. He leans down to devour your lips while his hand keeps jerking himself off for a while until he is finally fully hard.

When Joel aligns his hard dick to your leaking hole, your breath hitches. You know it is going to feel like your first time again, having that huge dick inside you. You know his size would stretch you so good it hurts. But you are so wet now, and you really want your husband.

Only halfway in, Joel already feels how tight your pussy is gripping his dick. He can feel your wetness, your warmth, the tightness of it all around his dick. He looks down to stare at it. "Fuck, sweetheart. Your drippin' pussy looks so good around this old man's cock. Look at 'er suckin' me in."

But when he looks up at your face, you are wincing as if you are in pain. He stops his movement and reaches to touch your face. "Honey... you okay? Am I hurtin' ya?" he caresses your cheek, "You want us to stop?"

"Don't stop."

Joel feels your pussy clench even more when he leans down to kiss your cheek. "She wettin' my cock so good, baby. Fuck..." he whispers as he keeps thrusting in and out of you, still halfway in. He pulls back to stare at your pussy again before spitting on your swollen clit and pushing an inch deeper.

"Joel..."

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Feels so good," you whisper, moaning when he puts his cock deeper. "Hurts a little, but I want it all in me, Joel," you beg, "wanna feel all of you."

A few thrusts later, Joel finally manages to bottom out in you. He groans when he feels his dick nudging your spot. "Holy fuck..." he mutters when you cum on his dick for the first time after he scratches that spot of yours over and over.

Your second orgasm of the night makes you feel lightheaded as you feel Joel still thrusting in and out of you in a steady movement.

"I feel sleepy, Joel," you mutter as you look up at Joel, and he slows his movement a bit. Then you continue, "Maybe we should've done this on our wedding night instead of drinking that raw milk, huh?"

That makes him chuckle. He leans down to kiss your lips, resting his forehead against yours while thrusting into you harder, making you gasp.

"I'm so close, baby. Where do ya want me to cum?" he asks between thrusts.

"Inside me?" you offer.

His eyes darken at that as he stares down at you. "You serious, darlin'?"

"Yeah. Can we?"

Joel smiles. "I'll do anythin' you ask me to, honey. I'm all yours."

You wake up late the next day. It is almost noon when you go downstairs after you pull on a sweater and jeans, finding the house completely empty. You feel bad because now the breakfast that Joel prepared for you earlier has gone cold.

After you finish eating your meal, you wash the dishes in the sink when you hear the sound of him walking into the house. Just from the sound of the footsteps, you know it is him. Your husband.

The art of knowing. You smile to yourself when you think about it. The way you always know the sound of his footsteps around the house, notice the silhouette of his wide shoulder. The way you search for him in the crowd when you hear his voice from afar. The way a smile appears on his stern face when he sees your angelic one.

"Hey, darlin'."

You turn to look at him. "Hey..." you say with a smile. Then you reach out to grab a mug you are going to wash, but Joel stops you and grabs the mug first.

"I got it, honey. Jus' sit down. I'll finish the dishes."

"No, it's fine. I can do it on my own. You just got home anyway."

You try to take the mug from him, but he puts it up high in the air, out of your reach. Joel chuckles, seeing your annoyed face as you turn to wash your hands. He finally puts down the mug and circles his arms around your waist, brushing your hair to the side as he kisses your neck from behind. You giggle from the feeling of his stubble rubbing your skin. He keeps tickling your neck with his stubble until you yield.

"Okay, okay..." you laugh, "fine. Wash the damn mug if you want it that bad. Ugh, you're gonna get us both wet."

"I don't mind gettin' wet 'cause of ya," he chuckles.

You eye him. "Yeah, right," you mutter before opening one of the cabinets. "I'm gonna make coffee. You want some?"

"You know I never say no to coffee, sweetheart."

Minutes later, you both enjoy your coffee while sitting on the couch near the fireplace. This gives you déjà vu. The very similar setting and proximity to what it was on your wedding night a month ago.

But the feelings you are feeling now are a lot different from last month.

You two are chatting about what Joel did earlier today. He tells you that he did construction work with Tommy for the community. And one thing leads to another, you end up telling him the story about how you hunt Tommy around his house with a kitchen knife the day after he told you to go on a date with Joel.

"You did?" he asks in disbelief. You nod, and he chuckles. Then he shakes his head as he puts down his mug on the table. "Makes me think of our first date," he mutters.

"What of it?" you ask, taking a sip.

"You called me Mr. Miller," he chuckles. "It was the most ridiculous thing ever. I've never once gone on a date with a woman and got called Mr. Miller before you."

"I had to respect the elderly," you shrug.

Joel laughs so loud at that. "Oh, honey. That mouth of yours."

You smile at him then. "I was just being polite, calling you that. To be fair, we were not even friends back then, and you are a lot older than me, so..."

"Yeah, I know," he leans his head against the backrest of the couch, pulling you closer to him, and squeezes you into his big arms. "I thought you were real sweet back then. And hell, you laughed at my dumb jokes. Maybe that's the real reason I asked you to marry me right away."

You roll your eyes at his smirk but chuckle.

Joel brushes his thumb along your cheek. "I think I'm fallin' in love with ya."

Your heart nearly stops beating when you hear his confession.

He clears his throat and continues, "Think I was already in love with ya during those days we spent together. I honestly don't know when it started, sweetheart."

"Joel..." you murmur as you look up at him.

"You ain't gotta say nothin', baby. M'not tryin' to pressure ya on anythin'."

You hug him without saying a word. Joel smiles and hugs you back. You nuzzle him closer until you end up straddling him, and he puts his big hands around your waist.

You kiss his lips until the skin near your mouth reddens from his stubble as you grind on top of him. When you finally pull back, Joel notices the redness on your skin. "Damn it, sweetheart. You're all red 'cause of me."

"I love you, Joel."

The moment the words come out of your lips, Joel feels the world stop spinning around him. His mind goes blank, and he suddenly hears the ocean crashing against the shore in his head while the violins begin to play.

And then he blinks.

And there you are. His wife. The light of his life, staring deep into his eyes after confessing the words he was longing to hear.

A second later, you are pinned under him on the couch while he devours your lips. Kissing all over your face, making you giggle. Inhaling the scent of your neck while his hand travels down to unbutton your jeans.

"Wait, wait... Joel— what if someone walks in?" you ask, gasping from all his affection.

"I locked the doors," he mutters.

"But are you sure?"

Joel pulls away from you and gets up without another word to check on the doors. "Already locked," he hollers from the hallway.

You smile when he walks back toward you on the couch while unbuckling his belt, then unbuttons his jeans. You notice how attractive he looks right now. The sleeves of his flannel shirt pushed up to his forearms. The watch on his wrist. This view in front of you definitely drenches your panties.

"C'mere," Joel mutters as he sits back on the couch, his jeans and briefs pooling around his ankles. He helps you undress before positioning you on his lap.

"Me on top?" you ask, feeling unsure but aroused.

"Only if ya want to," he murmurs.

"I want to," you answer before helping him put his hard, leaking dick inside of you. "Oooh, fuck..." you curse when his dick is halfway in.

"Atta girl, darlin'," Joel murmurs as he helps you bounce on him slow at first. "You look so pretty bouncin' on my cock," he smiles at you. "My pretty wife. Doin' so good f'me."

The way he says those words makes you even wetter. Joel keeps helping you move on top of him until he finally bottoms out.

You moan hard at the feeling. "It's so deep, Joel."

"It is," he murmurs, "I can see the bulge on your lower belly."

You are too concentrated on chasing the feeling that you ignore him as you put your hands on his chest and bounce on his dick harder.

Joel gets so turned on seeing you like this. He lets go of you and leans back on the couch while looking up at you bouncing on his dick. "Yes, baby... fuck," he groans, feeling your warmth around him. "Ride me, my precious cowgirl," he murmurs. "Ride me all ya want."

The sound of your wetness around him is obscene.

You fall on his chest when you finally cum on his dick as he helps you grind your swollen clit on his pubic hair with his dick buried deep inside you, making you cum even harder from the sensation. He strokes your back with his calloused hand while whispering sweet words in your ear. His other hand is grabbing your ass cheek playfully.

"Did I ever tell you that you have a very nice ass?"

You look up at him from his chest and laugh at that.

After a minute or two, Joel pats your butt, "C'mon, lie on your stomach, baby. I wanna see my wife's perfect ass when I'm poundin' 'er drippin' pussy with my cock."

You hold onto the cushion as you lie on your stomach on the couch, facing the fireplace.

Joel leans down to bite your ass cheeks playfully before positioning himself behind you. "Fuck me..." he groans when he thrusts into you, bottoming out in one go. "So fuckin' wet f'me. Pussy takin' me so good," he murmurs before kissing your shoulder. His thrusts get harder as he pounds into you. "I ain't gonna last long now, baby. Where do ya want me to cum, hm?" he whispers into your ear.

"Inside me."

Joel grabs your face with his hand to look into your eyes. "You do realize if we keep fillin' that pussy of yours with my cum, we gonna end up with a bunch of little Millers sooner rather'n later, right?"

Heat creeps into your cheeks.

"Y'want me to make you a momma, darlin'?" he asks, his dick swelling inside you as the words leave his mouth.

You cannot think straight because of how much you are feeling right now. But the thought of giving Joel Miller a baby...

"Can we have one?" you ask, feeling nervous if he denies it because of his age.

Joel grins. "Anything you want, honey. One is fine," he kisses your lips briefly before whispering, "though ten more is tempting..."

You laugh, and he taps on your nose before starting to thrust in and out, deep until he hits that spot inside you again.

"Joel..." you moan, "I— I'm close again."

To your surprise, Joel wraps his hand around your throat as he pounds into you harder from behind. "This okay?" he asks, and you moan yes, yes, yes into the cushion before creaming around his dick as you reach your second orgasm. The feeling of your warmth around him makes him start spilling his cum deep inside you. "Oh, darlin', fuuuck—" he groans as his dick pulses inside you, shooting ropes of his seed. A broken moan you have never heard before slips from his lips as he fills your womb with his cum.

The two of you go quiet for a minute as you both catch your breath, with his weight pinning you down, until you tell him to get off because he is crushing you into the couch.

Joel chuckles when you settle back onto the couch, legs lifted against the backrest. "Don't laugh," you mutter, "this is supposed to help increase the chances of getting pregnant, I think."

"Alright, Mrs. Miller," he teases. "Y'want my baby that bad, huh?"

You turn to look at him, half smiling. "Don't call me that. You make it sound like I'm a hundred years old."

Your husband laughs at that before placing a blanket around your naked body and leaning down to kiss your nose. "I would still adore you when you're a hundred years old, sweetheart," he chuckles, "though, I'm sure as hell gonna miss that pretty ass of yours."

You chuckle and gently caress his scars. A flicker of surprise crosses his rough face. "Honey..." he murmurs.

"I think you're gonna be a great dad..." You paused, looking into his eyes, "You're a real good dad to Ellie, as I am sure you were a good dad to Sarah," you mutter. "You might not be a good man for what you did, but you've always been a good dad... and a good husband to me."

Joel says nothing, but he smiles at you as he caresses your cheek with his fingers.

You smile back, looking up at him from your position, then grab his fingers toward your lips and kiss the wedding ring on his finger, the one that matches yours. "I thought this kind of love's never meant that much to me, Joel..." you murmur, "guess I was wrong," placing the back of his fingers on your cheek as you look into his eyes, you continue, "It means everything to me if it's with you."

"Sweetheart..." Joel whispers, tears forming in his eyes as he puts both palms on your cheeks. "You mean everything to me. I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you, baby. Not after everythin' I've been through. But now I can't even imagine life without you in it."

Joel hugs you in his arms so tight, like he never wants to let go. And you smile as you hug him back, feeling content and full of love.

For the first time, the future days no longer seem so scary. Because you have him. Your Mr. Miller. Your husband.

Nothing worries you anymore. Not with Joel Miller beside you. Not with this kind of love.

Um... okay... I'm not okay... When I wrote this, I had so many emotions all at once. I felt excited most of the time, but also sad when I wrote the part with Joel and Ellie. It was like reliving Part II, but with my own ending, I don't know. I didn't mean this to be 9.4k words so sorry. This was supposed to be a special one for my birthday on January 12, and I didn't expect it to be this long.

I'd love it if you leave a note on what you think about this. Reblog would be appreciated. Love y'all! 🤍

Fun fact: I wrote The Older Miller for my birthday actually, but I couldn't help but post it because I was so excited when I finished it, so yeah. I'm glad that I posted it on November tho, 'cause it gave me so much motivation to finish my thesis.

Masterlist

Bow dividers by @cursed-carmine

You knew the sun would be baking today—the news alerted you of the rising tempers—yet it still didn’t prepare you to feel punched in the face by the suffocating humidity even when getting dressed, the sweat begun to pool around your forehead although you put on the smallest, thinnest clothing you owned.

Opening your backdoor, the bright sun instantly blinded you; the smell of booze and barbecue smoke sneaked up your nose as you walked out your white screen door to the backyard, the hinges snapping against the wall.

Thankfully you were just on time, walking through the soft grass, the freshly mowed clippings fluffed around your toes in excess, the strands sticking to your freshly lotioned skin causing your ankles to itch as you stride through the yard.

You can feel the sound of music beginning to shake in your eardrums—the country music booming out from the multicolored speakers.

As you approach the cul-de-sac, you quickly realize how crowded the block party has become.

Your neighbors have been hyping up this party for weeks now, an all-American, trashy way of celebrating Christmas, and if there was one thing people enjoyed most, it was drinking—always throwing unnecessary parties as an excuse to get shitfaced with little to no regrets, today being no different.

You were unable to complain as you imagined swimming in some rich neighbors pool, eating all of the free food you could muster and washing it down with expensive beer. Truthfully—that sounded like a damn good Saturday evening, and who were you to turn down some free ribs?

You could finally make out the lyrics to the end of the song that's played on your walk over. Getting distracted by all the people crowding the street, you almost trip over the spread out extension cords connected to the array of machines.

You didn’t expect it to be this crowded, the winter holiday was a time for families and cozy nights inside in front of the tv, but to your surprise—that didn’t stop everyone from showing up in abundance.

The strangers standing around the block weren’t dressed in the usual ugly Christmas sweaters, instead they shedded their layers for swimsuits and red sunglasses—you could only imagine how uncomfortably warm the large fuzzy Santa hats felt in this heat.

As you ventured further down the road, you stepped around the wooden corn hole setups and the booze spilt puddles, trying to find a good place to sit down and people watch, waiting to see someone you know. It was abundantly clear you misunderstood the popularity of the random celebration—the people going all out.

You watched in awe at the plastic fold up tables piled full with food, the lawn chairs and water inflatables filled the paved driveways, and the crowd? It was far too massive for the small space, hundreds of people spread out around the houses, their voices loud and slurred as they ran around rampant.

You quickly grew overwhelmed at the crowd, not recognizing any familiar faces, you finally found a safe spot out of the sun and underneath a tree. Leaning against the bark, you crossed your arms in an attempt to soothe yourself.

“Hey! Started to think you weren't gon’ show up.” A voice speaks, ripping you from your panicked thoughts.

Looking up in the direction of the noise, you see Tommy smiling brightly at you, holding a beer with his shirt unbuttoned. His cheeks looking flushed red from the sun, his freckles painting his nose bridge.

You go to reply, smiling big in his direction, but the grass crumbles behind him, a brown boot coming into your line of vision.

You quickly make eye contact with Joel, the man you always tried your best to make a good impression on, yet it always fell flat—him never bothering to start a conversation with you, no matter how hard you tried.

“Hey! Yeah-I um, I just got here.” You say loudly, yelling over the music. “It’s like, really crazy, I didn’t expect this many people to show up.”

You don’t mean to talk so much, yet the words effortlessly fall from your lips, quickly becoming overwhelmed with the party goers—and the quiet older Miller staring you down.

“You alright?” Tommy questions, raising his eyebrow in concern at your panic.

“Just…overwhelmed, lotta people here.” Humming quietly, you bow your head into the grass, staring at the small pale insects deep in the dirt. Joel instantly makes you start to second guess your actions just with his eyes—all without saying a word.

“We were just ‘bout to leave. Gonna head over to the gas station ‘n pick up some beers, you're welcome to join us.”

Tommy’s inquisition makes your ears perk up, more than ready to abandon whatever plans you had at the party tonight. “Okay, sounds good actually, thanks.”

Tommy looks over at his brother, yet Joel’s face remains stone cold. “Joel, you alive over there?

He doesn’t look at Tommy, instead he chooses to keep his eyes on you, holding eye contact as he lets out a grumble.

“You still comin’?” Tommy pushes, and you watch as Joel finally looks away from you, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, swallowing his spit.

“Yep,” he speaks, and you can barely hear him, his voice hoarse and raspy, his hand coming up to push his hat down over his eyes.

Joel stood there similarly to you, his awkward intimidating presence a much starker difference than his lively brother, Joel not bothering to talk to you.

It wasn’t that you were trying to irritate him, and you truly believed you’ve never actually done nothing wrong to him—but each time he’d stare at you, you were met with the same look in his eyes of pure indifference.

The same look he’s doing right now as you turned your head to look at him, his broad body standing firmly in place. His eyes met yours as he cleared his throat, cautiously taking a single step forward.

Joel knows you—well, he kinda knows you. He knows of your parents, far too old to pay attention to whatever their promiscuous daughter got up to.

He remembered the first time he met you, he was helping your dad replace his brake pads one early summer morning, his sweat dripping down his face into the collar of his shirt thanks to the Texas heat.

Bent over, he heard your flip flops clomping against the cement when you stepped into the garage, your voice sickeningly sweet as you asked your father for some cash to go shopping.

Joel peered up at the noise, his ears perking up your sugary feminine voice, and when he saw you? He knew you were it—a cute little thing, far too young for him, yet that didn’t stop his eyes catching on the flesh of your thighs hanging out your denim shorts.

He watched you stand next to your father, your eyes glazed with a hint of manipulation as you silently begged for the cash.

As he breathed in, letting the air fill his lungs full of breath he didn’t realize he'd been holding, he instantly got a whiff of your strong smelling perfume—the fruity substance just as sweet as your voice, he quickly grew dizzy in the large garage. As his sweaty hands stuck to the metal of the car, he wondered to himself if it was you or the humidity that had this effect on him.

Your father didn’t bat an eye at your presence, instead he smiled brightly, showing you his teeth, lovingly pulling you into his side. He balled his hand into a fist, carelessly messing your hair up with his closed palm.

Joel attempted to listen to what he mumbled in your ear, yet it was quiet enough to not pick up his words, and he couldn’t help his eyes fall back onto your face.

He watched as you giggled, kissing your father on the cheek, you thanked him loudly for the money, waltzing back into the house, but right before you closed the door—you smiled at him, the apples of your cheeks shining as your eyes crinkled, and Joel knew he was in trouble.

Less than a week later, on an evening where Joel came home late from work, he pulled into his driveway, the brim of his hat not helping in his favor as the setting sun burned orange hues in his eyes. As he approached the garage, something caught his eye—there you stood, twirling your hair between your fingertips, giggling at some nonsense Tommy was spewing.

Joel felt puzzled, his brother—and you? Hitting it off? He simply couldn’t believe it, Tommy was cocky and raunchy, and a girl like you wouldn’t be caught dead being friendly with a guy like him.

He felt a sour feeling tucked tightly in his abdomen, jealousy creeping itself up deep inside of him, and he quickly began to hate the feeling.

He was green with envy as he shut the truck off, the roaring engine coming to a silence, he stepped out his seat, rounding the truck to grab his paperwork out of his tool chest.

Joel could instantly tell his presence cut your conversation short, and when he walked up the pavement—his instinct was right, watching as Tommy gripped your arm, nodding his head at whatever you were whispering.

Joel didn’t look over as he brushed shoulders with Tommy, the action hard enough he stumbled, but Joel paid no mind, slamming the front door behind him.

Tommy causally brought you up in conversation that night, doting on how funny you were, the two of you having a lot in common. Joel couldn’t hide the snarl that appeared on his face as Tommy babbled on about his new connection with the cute girl across the street.

As if God was playing a cruel joke on him, Joel always saw you outside after that, typically with little to no clothes on, parading around your yard doing god knows what.

Sometimes he’d catch you outside next to his own backyard, swimming or tanning—you always greeted him with that same big smile, and Joel couldn’t stop himself from staring at you.

He felt dirty—and maybe he was, always turning around, hiding himself behind the white fence, swiftly adjusting himself in his suddenly too tight jeans.

He began to wonder why you never started a conversation with him and why it seemed like everyone got a chance to get to know you except for Joel, and that began to piss him off.

From that moment on, he constantly caught himself looking out his window, hoping to see you in the grass, ready to finally talk to him, but for Joel? The world never worked out correctly, and when he finally saw you out the window, it was a much different sight than he expected.

The clock rapidly blinked in the pitch black bedroom, the green flashing lights shined brightly at Joel, reading just a couple minutes past midnight.

Cursing to himself—he was exhausted, the long days and even later nights were starting to eat at him mentally, finding himself unable to fall asleep easily nowadays, his work schedule not helping.

Throwing the covers off his legs, he decided to get out of bed, maybe walk around the house and get a glass of water, striving to reset his mind from the unnerving task of sleeping.

Running a hand over his eyes, he looked over to his cracked window, the cool air filling the bedroom in a comfortable manner. Walking up to the window, he leaned himself on its steep edge, peering outside into the night.

As his eyes adjusted to the warm street lighting, he instantly caught something in his tired gaze, there stood you—completely bare, inches away from your own open bedroom window.

Maybe it was too much over the counter sleep medicine, or maybe he shouldn’t have had a beer after dinner that evening—surley, his eyes were deceiving him.

But there you were, your bare spine glistening in the soft light of your bedroom, the warm hues from what he presumed to be your lamp, hugged the curve of your plump ass. Your silhouette somehow appeared to glow through the closed window—even from hundreds of feet away.

Holding a white towel in your hands, you shimmied it side by side, delicately ridding yourself of the droplets of water that trickled down your body from your late night shower.

Joel’s heart fell into his stomach, his blood pressure instantly turning his ears pink, he cautiously hid himself behind the navy curtains.

Rapidly blinking his sleep deprived eyes, he attempted to rid himself of your image but it was no use—like each time he sees you, your essence burns a perfect cutout tucked away deep inside his memories.

He felt like a teenage boy once again, peeping on his attractive much older neighbor—yet this time it felt increasingly dirtier, you were young—too young to be gawked at like a piece of meat, but Joel couldn’t stop himself, feeling the same growth in his pants he's felt all week long, and with each time you being the cause.

Bringing a hand down to palm himself, his nostrils exhaled the underlying tension he was holding in, feeling his cock jerk in the combines of his sweats.

Watching you was an adrenaline rush he never knew he needed, his eyes trailing your bare frame as you bent over, fumbling in your wooden dresser.

Joel’s breath stuttered as he gripped himself through the cotton, his dick rock hard at the sight of you, and he couldn’t help himself from pulling the elastic waistband down—his cock wildly springing up to his stomach, his typical pink tip reddened and angry.

Stroking himself, Joel watched as you pulled your panties over your ass, hiding the delicious view of your ass. Joel bit his lip, thinking of how soft and plush your thighs were, watching how they jiggled as you turned around.

Joel collected a loogie of spit, letting it fall onto his cock with a small ‘tut’, he rubbed it on himself, the wet squelching filling his bedroom. He pounded his free hand against the wall in a fist, the cool smooth paint against his calloused hand, but all he could think about was how you’d feel on his cock.

Your unaware movements caused Joel’s knees to buckle, your swollen breasts now in his view, your nipples looking right back at him. He turned his view to your face in an attempt to not cum so quickly, and he was unable to tell your exact emotion spread across your face, yet your features were much softer alone in the relaxing moonlight.

Raising your arms, you quickly scrambled into a cut-off white tank top, the hem tickling right under your breasts. The covering was incredibly thin—so thin Joel could see the outline of your pebbled nipples.

He began to feel disappointed, the show ended as quickly as it started, but Joel was so enamored by you—and he could feel his balls tightening, growing increasingly close to his release.

His hand was rapid against his cock, pumping it as fast as he could, the motion burned deep in the muscles of his inner thighs but then—he saw it, your eyes looking over in the direction of his house.

You looking in his direction caused his hips to buck in his hand, you none the wiser; had no idea someone was watching you—touching themselves at your naked body.

The concept was so juvenile and dirty, it caused Joel to cum hard and fast, his cum spurting down his hand, making a mess of his sweatpants.

After an outfit change, Joel finally slept well that night, dreaming about you, and when he finally could get his hands on you.

You think he’s going to finally say something to you—finally address you like you mean something, but instead, he pivots his movements—his boots kicking up a small mountain of dirt as he turned around, heading over to the parked truck.

You could tell Tommy’s teasing was beginning to effect Joel, his jaw ticking each time Tommy opened his mouth, the bones tightening in his face so strongly, the tenseness spreading to his neck, highlighting his veins.

“We takin’ my truck?” Joel questions, the first time he’s really spoken up in front of you today.

“Nope,” Tommy responds quickly, his lips popping the ‘p’ sound. “Gotta take mine, was gonna fill up my tank, ‘s almost about on empty."

Joel shivered at the inclination, Tommy’s truck couldn’t fit the three of you, hell—it could barely fit him and Tommy. The red two-seater truck was old and cluttered, the middle console so tall it could barely squeeze a second body in, let alone three.

“Ain’t enough seats for three.” Joel grumbles, furrowing his eyebrows.

You look at Tommy, his lips spread into a smug smile, and back at Joel—his face ghostly white at the idea of having to take you with them.

“Where am I supposed to sit?” You question, butting in their brotherly conversation with a curious glint in your eyes.

Tommy pats your hip, wiggling his eyebrows. “Hey that’s alright, me n you can share a seat.”

Joel blinks hard at Tommy, watching how he raises his eyebrow at you, his lip curled into a cocky smirk. There’s no way in hell Joel is going to let that happen.

“No chance I’m driving your truck, last time I did the tire fell off the axle.” Joel blurts out, his words charged in dominance.

Tommy sighs at Joel, staring at him with the knowing brotherly look in his eyes you can’t quite decipher.

“Then how about yall share the passenger seat then, just a couple minutes away, shouldn’t be too big of a deal right?”

Joel gets into the truck first, his boots flicking up the dirt stuck to the running board, his knuckle gripping the handrail with a groan.

He adjusts his legs against the floorboards, graciously giving you enough room as he spreads them wide, your own personal seat for the next uncomfortable sweaty minutes.

Shakily, you mimic his movements, grabbing onto the hand rail, you yank yourself up into the truck, clumsily landing in between his open thighs.

The position wasn’t terrible, you just felt awkward—sitting on a man’s lap who’s barely ever uttered a word to you made you feel funny, you could feel the clammy sticky skin of your lower back against his forearms, the uncomfortable situation already beginning to swirl deep inside your belly.

Bump.

Bump.

Bump.

Tommy should have told you he was taking the backroads, the terrain uneven and filled with potholes.

It was growing impossible to hold still on top of Joel’s lap, each time the truck plowed into a pothole—you couldn’t control your movements, your ass rubbing directly in between Joel’s legs, the friction driving straight into his cock.

You tried to force your weight into the balls of your feet in an attempt to relieve the tension on Joel—but it was impossible, each time you’d go over a hump in the ground, you’d end up right where you started, directly on his clothed cock.

You could tell it was affecting him by the way his hands flew down onto each side of your hips, gripping the flesh in his palms. His big hands held you so tightly his fingertips were sure to leave bruises in the soft flesh.

The short ride seemed much longer with Joel pressed against you like this. Arching your back—you could feel the outline of his cock against the inside of your thigh, the large imprint poking into your ass.

You tried to distract yourself from the tense situation, focusing on the dirty floor, the build up of sawdust so strong it ticked your nose, but you were unable to stay focused—especially when Joel’s hands swallowed your waist so easily, you caught yourself tracing his veins with your eyes.

“Tommy, outta all the ways you coulda went, why the hell you’d pick this one?” Joel questions, his gravely voice vibrating behind you.

Joel can feel you let out a shaky sigh against him, your back moving against his belly.

If you could only hear what Joel was thinking, or—what his dick is thinking, you’d probably scramble off of him, hell—you’d probably ride back home in the trunk with the metal tool box, far away from his perverted self.

“You saw how busy the street was, ain’t no way I was drivin’ through that fuckin’ crowd.” Tommy bites back, and you can’t help the feeling in your gut of nervousness, maybe you shouldn’t have come along with them, the air in the truck suddenly feeling suffocating.

In an attempt to get some fresh air, your arm reaches over to the passenger side door, pushing your finger down onto the window button, you hear it screech as it rolls down, the warm wind beginning to blow your hair back.

Catching a glimpse out the open window, the hot air flows into the truck as you stare blankly into the open fields, watching the sun begin to dip below the horizon.

But one particular swerve of the car causes your body to jump in the air, and as you land down against Joel’s legs you see him staring at your face through the passenger side mirror.

He looked angrier than the last time you saw his face, his lips pursed into a tight line, the irises of his eyes deepened into a dark black—frustratingly staring directly into his target—you.

Joel wasn’t holding up well, your ass feeling much better against him than he could ever imagined, and oh was he was growing mad— his body furious at how oblivious you seemed to the situation, he was sure that you were purposely rubbing yourself on him in an attempt to rile him up, and Joel was seconds away from snapping.

Joel angled his hips in such a way to feel the space where your thighs met between your cunt, the feeling instantly gratifying—your weight snug against his dripping cock.

The feeling made him quickly grow dizzy, and he could smell your sugary perfume mixing into your sweat—the smell causing his tastebuds to wetten.

He watched how your face seemed scared and uncomfortable, your wide eyed gaze staring back into his through the mirror made him want to take you right there in front of Tommy—that will show him, show him who you’ve belonged to this whole time.

The idea of taking you now, slipping his cock out of his jeans and pushing your panties to the side was a wet dream for another night fisting his cock alone.

Joel was too focused right now, remaining calm with your body on him in the tight angle—the gravel under the tires vibrating your ass onto his dick.

The heat omitting from your barely covered cunt seeped through the denim of his pants, you continuously tried to take your ass of his cock, yet the movement causes your skirt to raise up your thick thighs, placing your thinly veiled pussy right onto his cock, and he could ever so slightly feel the pulsating squeezes from your cunt.

Tommy remains completely oblivious to what’s occurring beside him, humming to the song that plays low on the radio and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

As the truck finally pulled into the gas station, Joel couldn’t help himself from “accidentally” pushing his hips up into yours, and he couldn’t hide his chuckle that slipped from his throat when he heard a small squeak slip past your own lips.

You couldn’t wait for Tommy to unlock the truck, pushing the button yourself—you peeled off Joel and out of the truck quickly standing on your wobbly legs, desperately trying to get yourself out of the uncomfortable situation.

“Gonna go use the restroom,” mumbling, you tucked your arms over your chest, staring back down at the beige gas station pavement.

The lights from the sign buzzed in your ears as you waltzed over to the glass door, pushing your body into it, the bell rang as you walked inside, heading straight to the only bathroom at the back of the store.

Joel watched your hips bounce while you ran away from him, and Joel wasn’t going to let you get the chance to slip away once again. He’s been waiting on this moment for far too long, a chance to finally get you alone.

He takes one look at Tommy, mumbling an excuse about buying the beer, he hops out of the truck—following you inside.

The shifty bathroom smells of stale disinfectant and mold, the old rusted lock barley works as you attempt to wiggle it shut, a sliver of the isles still leaking through the small crack on the side of the door.

Turning the faucet on cold, you push down on the plastic soap containers grey button with your palm, fighting with the thick old soap that refuses to drip down.

Cursing to yourself, you bang the side of it, watching as it tumbles off the wall and down onto the floor with a loud shatter, the contraption busting wide open, pink slimy soap seeping on the vintage tiled flooring.

“Shit!” You curse to yourself, bending down to clean up your growing mess, you don’t hear the door creeking open over the faucet pouring water down the drain.

“The fuck was that?”

His voice startles you, jumping so hard you feel as if your heart stopped, you look over in the direction—instantly knowing who it is.

“What?” You question, wondering if he heard the crash echo through the thin walls, but your response only pushes his temper further.

Joel steps further into the bathroom, pushing himself up against the wall, making sure to actually lock the rusted door into place.

“Shit, don’t you look at me like that, you know exactly what you were doin’.”

Your stomach sinks further at his admission, the adrenaline pumping in your blood. “I-I didn’t mean to, I swear!” You exclaim, your eyes wide and desperate as you defend yourself. “Went to get soap and it fell off the wall.”

“What?” He scoffs, looking at you then the disheveled container. “I…I ain’t talking about that.”

Joel takes a step forward, the floor creaking underneath his boots as he closes you in.

“Fuck, you got no clue what you’re doin’ to me do ya?”

You really don’t mean to irritate him, even though he came into the bathroom you were using, you still feel like at nuisance, his aggressive demeanor making you feel small.

“Is this about the truck? You could have drove, Tommy said-”

“Don’t you bring him up right now,” Joel’s voice ticks, his eyes darkening.

You watch him in the reflection of the mirror slowly steps forward, his frame easily filling up the small bathroom. Squinting, you brace yourself—having nowhere to hide, the feeling of him brushing up against you makes the hairs on your arms prickle.

The lighting is hazy in the bathroom, the hissing green hues distorting his face, and like a hunter hunting his prey—Joel has finally caught you right where he wants you.

Gripping your hip, he pushes you back onto his hard cock, and you can instantly feel him against you, the denim tight from his swollen cock—all from your teasing.

“You feel that? Been doing this to me since you met me, prancing ‘round outside like a slut, never payin’ me any fucking attention.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you watch as he bends your spine down lower, forcing you to arch your back. Your shirt lifts up at the position, feeling the cold porcelain on the freed skin of your belly.

Joel absentmindedly grinds his cock into your ass, watching every quirk of your face through the mirror. He feels bad for what he’s about to do, but you’ve been teasing him for far too long and a man can only take so much.

“All on purpose right? Trying to get me riled up? Well shit it’s working.” He spits, his words like venom, and in some sick way—you feel your wet cunt get even slicker, rolling your hips back into his, meeting his movements.

“Answer me.” Joel orders, his tongue clicking.

He slides his free hand up your spine, and you can feel his calloused fingers twitch ever so slightly through the material of your top.

His hand travels up towards your head, his fingertips grazing the hairs nestled at the nape of your neck. His hand coasts around to your face, his palm resting snugly against your chin, he forces you to stare back at him in the cracked mirror.

“Yes I-yes, ‘s all on purpose. ‘m sorry,” you manage to choke out, giving into his sick game, his cock feeling too good against your covered pussy.

“You ain’t sorry, actin’ all sweet, ‘s an act ain’t it?” Joel whispers into your ear, bending his body weight onto you.

His belly crushes your frame, unable to breathe as your chest is pressed so deep into the sink, you can smell the fruity soap swirling deep downwards the drain, yet you remain focused on him, your eyes meeting his.

“Yes, been wanting you Joel, just too scared to talk to you.”

“Yeah? Things ‘bout to be real scary, shoulda been good, spoken up in the first place.” Joel scoffs, finally pulling himself off your body.

The hand that remains on your side comes down the hem of your skirt, he has you believing he’s going to pull it off, but he doesn’t bother—instead pushing the flimsy fabric up past your hips, he uncovers your cunt, barely confined inside of your cotton panties.

“All it took was one word,” Joel mumbles, more so to himself as he throws his head down against his chest, fumbling with his belt buckle.

“Woulda took ya out, nice dinner.”

You can hear the metal of his zipper pulling against the grain of teeth, the denim brushing in his hands as he yanks them down to his knees.

“Took ya back to mine and fucked ya real nice ‘n slow.” Joel hisses, and you can tell it’s from his cock hitting the cold air from behind you, even though he’s not focused on your face, your me focused on his, watching him as if smoke will erupt from his ears in anger.

“It’s a shame, taking such a pretty thing in such a nasty fucking bathroom.”

He finally looks back at you, his head shaking in disappointment, he takes a hand down to your soaked puffy cunt, pulling your panties to the side in such aggression, the fabric burns, scratching on your inner thighs.

“But you want that don’t you? A dirty fuck for a dirty girl.”

And with that, Joel pushes his cock into your entrance, stuffing you full of his thick red tip, the head already filling you up as you mewl, the feeling ripping your thighs open.

Your jaw turns slack at the stretch, choking on your breath; the feeling of his cock is incomparable to anything you’ve ever felt before. You were far from a virgin, but for someone this big and strong, your cunt couldn’t take it, squeezing down hard on his cock in an attempt to still his movements.

“J-Joel, you’re hurtin’ me.” You cry, begging for him to give you a chance to take him, yet he smirks at you in the mirror, his lip curling just barely enough you almost miss it.

He’s never heard a painful plea sound so pretty, and he hopes you can forgive him, but when it comes from your pouting distraught lips—he almost busts right then, before he’s even got the chance to fully fuck you yet.

“Good, need ya ta learn a fuckin’ lesson.”

Joel was telling you the truth, he wishes things were different—he would have loved to be a gentleman, do all the sweet things he’s telling you, yet Joel knows himself—he knows what he needs and more so what you can handle.

Pulling himself out of your tight pussy, he watches as your slick coats his dick. He shutters as he slams back in, your warmth sucking him back in; he grabs your hip to stabilize his movements, his thrusts picking up speed.

“Knew you’d be too damn tight, just needed me to loosen ya up huh?” Joel tuts from behind you, his cock ramming so hard into your pussy, you can feel the tip of his dick prodding at your cervix, the tight muscle aching against the protruding presence.

God, Joel feels obsessed with your cunt—the way you pull him inside, it’s everything and more he could have ever imagined. Your velvety walls smooth over the skin of his dick, so soft and wet, makes his legs shake with each thrust.

Your pussys quickly becomes a sopping mess around his dick, feeling him mold himself into the perfect shape in your cunt; he fucks you deep—each thrust knocking the wind out of you.

“J-Joel, ‘s too much!” You gurgle, gripping on to the sink so tight it begins to shake off the wall, you can see the porcelain's dirt-stained caulk looking back at you.

“Shit you like that don’t ya?” Cursing, Joel grinds his cock into you, his pelvis flush fo your ass.

Your hands react faster than your brain can realize, throwing your arms back, your right arm instantly finds Joel’s neck, pulling him closer.

Joel’s quick to respond—spreading his large hand over the expanse of exposed skin on your belly, he rushes his palm up the flesh, his hand rubbing your shirt off your chest.

The fabric gives at your breasts, watching in the mirror as Joel manhandles flimsy fabric off the fat of your chest, exposing your soft breasts—you watch him carelessly touching you in the mirror as if he owns you.

“Looks even better up close,” Joel breathes into your neck, bunching the fabric of your top so far up your body it begins to rub angrily at your neck.

The grinding sensation he’s giving you is too dull for the intensity you’re craving. You push your ass onto him—pushing his hips backward in an attempt to use his cock for your own pleasure.

Joel pulls back slightly, watching the way you take his cock all by yourself, the noise of your ass clapping echoing off the walls and deep into his eardrums causes him to shudder.

“Fucking yourself using my cock, lookin’ so damn pretty.” Joel coos, approving your movements.

But Joel has waited for this moment for far too long, and he would be crass to allow you to use him like this, he much rather use you—just like he planned

He grips you tightly around him, pushing his belly deep into your spine, his arm comes around your neck; his bicep sitting snug around your throat.

You let out a gargled moan at the new angle, his cock tilting itself just right it begins to rock fast against your g-spot.

“Tell me how good I feel, hell—can see it in your face, just how bad you want this dick.” Joel pushes, not wanting you to be quiet.

He needs to hear every single squeak out of your mouth, the need for your pretty little voice to scream his name would be a stroke of his ego he could only imagine in his dreams and he’s so close to getting it—knowing exactly what you need from him.

He brings the hand on your hip down in between your legs, pushing his pointer finger and middle finger on your clit, he begins to rabidly rub the bead, the feeling making your eyes roll into the back of your head.

His skilled fingers are too much for your body to handle, the feeling only intensified by the bicep around your throat, you can’t help but feel breathless, your moans becoming raspy as he holds your limp, fucked out body up.

He can feel your cunt fluttering around his cock, your legs clenching around his hand tells him you're close and Joel isn’t far behind, his balls skin tight as they slap loudly onto your skin.

“How ‘bout I cum inside ya? Make you prance around town with my fucking kid in yer belly?”

His words make your belly quiver, imagining Joel out of all people in town to be the one to claim your cunt as his makes you feel a way you’ve never felt before—his seed knocking you up in an aged gas station bathroom is disgusting—yet so satisfying you can’t help but moan out in agreement.

“Can feel ya clenching on me doll, shit-know you want it, want my cum inside of ya like a slut.” Joel babbles, himself coming closer to his release.

Joel cums before you, his girthy cock spurting thick ropes of his seed deep into your walls, you can feel the cum seeping deep past your cervix.

“Cmon, gotta feel ya cum for me baby.”

His words do it for you, pushing your knees together, your body begins to shake, your bones prickling with stars as your muscles burn. Your orgasm snaps through you like a rubberband, Joel having no choice but to help you stand up straight, your legs feeling like jelly.

As you cum, Joel’s hand comes down on your clit, slapping the puffy bead into overstimulation, you scream out loud, your knuckles turning pale on the edge of the sink.

Screaming, you thrash around his grasp, using both of your hands to release yourself against his angry palm, he finally lets off your pleading cunt, your clit throbbing in agony.

“Gotta take it out, ‘s gonna sting.”

Pulling out, his cum instantly falls from your stretched out cunt, the warm clear liquid seeping down your legs, Joel is quick to rip a paper towel, wetting it in the bathroom sink.

Swiping it up your cunt, you hiss in discomfort—although it’s a nice gesture after he abused your cunt, the scratchy surface of the towel burns the inside of your thighs, each wipe of his hand hurting more than the next.

“I’ll see ya outside,” Joel mutters under his breath, “gotta buy beer, ‘s what I came in here for.”

You watch as he zips up his jeans, the dark spot of precum dampening against his denim catches in the light as he walks out the bathroom, leaving you in your messy clothes, ass and tits out with his cum still seeping out of your pussy.

Confusion washes over you, and if you thought you didn’t understand him before—you sure as hell don’t get him now.

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After returning Bandit to his stall, he spots you near the entrance of the stables feeding Dakota. When he first rode in, he’d seen other volunteers milling around but none of them were you. 

Much like the trees, your skirt catches the wind to reveal the boots you wear beneath. Joel’s cowboy hat shadows his eyes, but you feel the heavy weight of his gaze even before you cast your glance his way. You pass Dakota her last carrot as the gentle thunk of his footsteps quiets several feet away. He tips the brim of his hat when you look up. 

“Howdy,” he rumbles. “Figured you’d gone home early or somethin’.” 

“So you were looking for me, huh?” Your smile is teasing. 

You stroke Dakota’s neck when she presses towards you, though your attention remains on Joel. He clings to the grace of your movements. “How was it out there today?”

Your interest makes him straighten. “Good.” You nod for him to continue when he stops himself. “Looks real nice this time of year with the trees and all. Those forest routes are somethin’ else.”

“Oh, I bet.” There’s a wistfulness to your tone. 

You weren’t a part of the patrol team, so it’d been two months since you ventured beyond the wall. Joel had been the one to take you, but the Clickers you encountered dissuaded your eagerness thereafter. He shot each one before they posed any real threat to your lives, but the prospect of what could’ve been was a blemish that lingered in the back of your mind. Only now, as Jackson creeps towards dormancy, had the desire to leave begun to bud anew. 

“I can take you.” Joel’s eyes flick across your features. “Whenever you’re ready to get back out there.” 

“I’d like that.”

Silence settles in the space between you as he nods. Laughter carries from the near distance. Horses shuffle through hay in their stalls, puff breaths from their noses. Joel lingers as you grant Dakota your undivided attention, petting her while cooing the whole while. He doesn’t realize he’s begun to smile until the pull in his cheeks has grown too great to ignore.

“You’re such a sweet girl, aren’t you?” you ask her. “My best girl.” 

The way you pitch your voice to be airy and saccharine stirs warmth in Joel’s stomach. He could stand around and watch you for hours, which is how he knows it’s time to go on about his way. If it wasn’t so easy to be around you, he’d be a more disciplined man. 

“Did Ellie mention I’m helping her out this evening?” you ask. 

Joel sets his hands on his hips. “With paint night for the kids?” He thinks a few extra seconds to ensure he doesn’t make a liar out of her. “No.” If she’d told him, he would’ve already planned to be in attendance as opposed to making the decision ten seconds ago. 

“That one hardly tells me anything these days.”

You hum in amusement, studying him. There’s a faint rosiness to his cheeks, flecks of gray in his beard. His hair is long enough to peek from beneath his cowboy hat like Tommy’s. He’s rugged. Handsome. Joel studies you in turn. There’s endless life in your eyes along with that discrete sparkle of mischief. 

“Guess I’ll see you this evening,” he says. 

“You’re coming? Yeah, no, great. Guess I will then,” you ramble. “Should be a lot of fun.”

A smile tugs at his lips. “Should be.” 

With a parting tip of his hat, he turns to leave. He figures he’s said all that’s left for him to say. If you two weren’t in different stages in your life and it wasn’t the end of the world, he likes to believe he would’ve been braver a long time ago. 

There’s a buzz beneath your skin as you dare to call out to him again, “Wanna see something cool before you go?” 

Once upon a time, you wished you knew Joel well enough to call him back to you. To enjoy more of his steady presence. To watch the way his lips moved when he spoke. To see those matured quirks of his up close. Time has granted you access you once dreamed of. Yet, every night when you go home to your uncle’s house and fall asleep alone, it still isn’t enough. These days you cling to every second with him. 

Joel starts back your way with that slow, easy stride you’d always rather see coming than going. Curiosity lifts the corners of his lips in a smile you never have to work hard to earn. 

When he’s close enough, you pluck his cowboy hat off his head and place it on your own, backpedaling a few paces away with a grin. 

Joel pokes his tongue into the inside of his cheek to tamp down his instantaneous smile. There’s magic etched into the crinkles by your eyes, the glint of your teeth. He takes a few steps in your direction before he’s decided whether or not he wants his hat back or wants to be closer to you. A squeal as giddy as they come breaks into the air. He stops then, not because he wants to, but because he can feel the curious eyes that have settled on the two of you. If he were a few decades younger, he wouldn’t mind an audience. 

“Ain’t gonna chase ya.”

“What if that’s the whole point?” 

When Joel starts your way again, you become all the more aware of how broad he is. How much longer his legs are. How many years he’s had to be torn down and strengthened by the world. There’s no chance you’re making it far, but the spark within you dares you to try. 

It’s snuffed seconds after it ignites. 

A misstep over an uneven plank sends you backwards. Air punches out of your lungs the moment your butt hits the ground. 

Joel’s above you in seconds. 

“Jesus,” he breathes, gaze filled with concern. “You okay?” 

He extends a helping hand, but all you can think to do is hold his hat secure to your head so he can’t snatch it back.

“Ain’t thinkin’ about that,” he says. “Here, c’mon.” He wiggles his fingers. 

Joel pulls you to your feet like you’re light as the air. Embarrassment rises to your cheeks with the warmth of a summer’s day. 

“Gotta be careful.” Then, softer, “Didn’t hurt anything, did you?” 

“Yes.” Joel frowns at that. “My pride.” 

A gruff chuckle sneaks up on him. Even then, he looks you over for any signs of discomfort. You still aren’t convinced he can’t see straight down to your marrow. It’d be easier to feel less seen if his gaze wasn’t always so tender. 

Like everyone else in Jackson, there was a period when you only ever saw the intensity. Something had changed towards the end of last year, and you haven’t had the courage to acknowledge what. 

“If that’s the only thing, I reckon you’ll be okay,” he says. 

“I’ll take your word for it.” You place his hat back on his head, pushing it down to cover his eyes, “Cowboy.”

“Good.” Joel readjusts his hat. “Cause I’m gonna need you to be okay.”

He doesn’t backtrack or spin the sincerity of his statement into the fabric of a joke. Both of you are forced to stand there as it lingers in the air and cements into an invisible truth bound to endure. He eventually clears his throat and pushes his hands into his pockets. 

“Is that what you wanted to show me?” 

All there is to do is offer a shy nod that somehow remains unashamed. 

•••

The memory of the night lives in him after it passes. Joel can still hear the chatter, the laughter, paint being squeezed out of tubes, and brushes swirling in water. He can feel your thigh against his, and the sensation of your finger smearing a cool dab of white paint onto the tip of his nose. 

A little boy named Thane had dared you, and Joel would never shy away from your touch. Not when you were as delighted as the kids to mess with him without consequence. That’s what happens when you make people feel safe. 

Three knocks sound at his front door as he reaches the bottom of the staircase. 

It’s you. 

“Hi.” Your voice is small like you hadn’t just spent the evening by his side. “You left this masterpiece behind after clean up.” 

You hold up a small canvas that features the landscape painting you’d convinced him to do. It teeters towards abstraction, but nonetheless features the Teton Mountains and the colorful trees at their feet. 

“Ain’t nothing special.” He opens the door wider, closing it after you step inside. 

“It’s not bad.” 

“Ain’t good either.” 

“I don’t think any of us gave da Vinci a run for his money,” you amend. “I like it, though.” Your sincerity isn’t lost on Joel. “The kiddos loved it.” 

“Alright, alright.” Joel chuckles and scratches the back of his neck. 

You pass the canvas to him. “Gotta find a good place for it.” 

He walks it to the entryway table for now. The hardwood creaks beneath his feet. He’s already changed into his pajamas, plaid bottoms and a gray t-shirt. You’re in jeans and a cable-knit sweater. The stillness of his house washes over you. The refrigerator hums in the kitchen. 

As his back is turned, you say, “I’m really glad you came.” 

There’s a weight to his gaze when he faces you again. You had a habit of saying things that forced him away from the easy out of neutrality. 

Instead of overthinking, he opts for honesty. “Me too,” he decides. “Probably wouldn’t have if you weren’t gonna be there.”

“Guess a little incentive never hurt anybody.” Sparkles dance in your eyes. 

“No,” Joel agrees, glancing down to his feet. “Were you, uh, plannin’ on staying over a while?” 

You lift a shoulder. “If you’ll have me.”

“You’re always welcome.” It’s the most earnest he’s sounded all evening. “Could use the company.” He can’t read the look that flickers across your face. 

“Drink?” 

“Water’s fine.” Your small smile eases his nerves. 

Joel pours two glasses and joins you on the couch. Pictures of the great American West adorn the living room walls—Yellowstone, Yosemite, the Grand Canyon. A few faded Polaroid photos are also peppered around the space. 

“When was that one taken?” You point to a picture of him on the fireplace mantel. 

Joel wets his lips and squints because his vision isn’t the same these days. However, the sway of your hips is crystal clear as you spring up to retrieve it. 

You sit closer to him than before upon your return. He drapes an arm across the cushion behind you as you assess the photo in silence together. He looks tired and a bit disheveled in the light of the flash, but wears that signature closed-lipped smile packed with fondness. From what you can make of the background, he’s indoors. The dark walnut cabinets suggest a kitchen. 

“That was before Jackson. Before all of this.” Reminiscence is thick in his voice. “Had bought Sarah a camera for her thirteenth birthday.” He starts to smile. “Don’t think I’d ever heard her scream that loud.” You smile too. 

“She was so over the moon, I thought I’d never be able to outdo myself again.” 

Drawn in by the warmth of Joel’s voice, you begin to trace absentminded shapes on his thigh. 

“Never did like bein’ in front of the lens, but those puppy eyes got me every time.” A host of other memories ride palpably on his words. 

You share a hushed laugh that wanes into a comfortable silence. Joel’s focus drifts to your hand when your palm stills on his thigh to deliver a soft squeeze. He can feel you everywhere. In his head, beneath his skin, consuming him whole. On New Years Day, you’d hugged him for the first time—properly—and there was only ever after that moment. It’d been a freefall since then. 

“You still look the same,” you murmur after a while. 

Time has etched its passing in some of his features, but it hadn’t completely erased the man he used to be. 

“Think so?” 

Joel holds his breath when you reach out to run a gentle finger along his hairline, then venture down to follow the curve of his jawline. Your touch is so featherlight, it tickles. His lashes flutter when you trace a finger down the bridge of his nose. When it slides off the tip and lands in the divot of his Cupid’s bow, you proceed to line his lips. Then you pull away. 

“A little different,” you amend. “But the same.” 

His cheeks are flushed now. 

“Think I might’ve been a bit braver back then.” His voice comes out thick. 

“I’m sure a few gray hairs haven’t changed much.” 

“Think it’s a bit more than a few.” 

You shrug. “I don’t mind.”

Months worth of tension expels out of him in the only way his body knows how. A laugh. Even though you join in, he’s convinced he’s the only one who feels laid bare and wanting. He was done for the moment he asked if you intended to stay. You, with all your heart, warmth, and charm. Another hush falls over the room. 

For the first time in his life, he can no longer hold your gaze. 

“Y’should probably head back home before it gets too late.” Joel’s posture doesn’t match his words. Nor does the warmth in his gut or the pressure in his pants. He forces himself to look at you. “Can walk you, if you’d like.” 

 “Did I say something wrong?—” 

“Listen, sweetheart.” Joel looks sorry for interrupting, but his dark eyes are nevertheless imploring. Even after he has your attention, he takes a few extra seconds to gather himself. 

“I’ve taken a liking towards you.”

Time stills. You blink at him. 

“I keep tellin’ myself it’ll pass.” He continues when the ghost of a furrow forms between your brows, “But I can’t shake you.”

Your voice comes out quiet but sure, “I feel the same way.” 

Joel doesn’t let himself accept your words quite yet. 

“You’ve got your whole life ahead of you,” he says. “I promise you don’t wanna get wrapped up in whatever the hell I’ve got going on.” 

“Is that your decision to make?” It’s a soft question with a hard punch. 

“‘Course not, s’just,” he straightens up and runs a heavy hand down his beard. “You being here like this, touchin’ me… it’s makin’ it difficult for me to keep minding my manners.”  

“And that’s my fault?” 

That stumps Joel long enough for the corners of your lips to lift just so. Maybe it is a bit funny, all this dancing between the lines when the whole ballroom lies open. He gives you a helpless look that makes him appear years younger, less like a man with all the answers. 

“Jus’ don’t wanna ruin a good thing,” he finally says. 

You stand to your feet. 

“Is me walking out that door the solution?” 

His heart sinks like it’s attached to a millstone. Fear, longing, regret, and hope flicker across his face like changing seasons. 

“Don’t want it to be,” he murmurs hoarsely. 

He peers up at you when you move to stand between his legs. As you run your fingers through his graying curls, his brows furrow and his eyes close like it pains him. It’d been too many moons since someone paid him this much mind. He stops himself from reaching for your hips. 

“You can touch me.” 

Joel tells himself it’s your permission that drives him to place his heavy hands on your waist. That makes him guide you down to straddle his lap. That makes him press a steady palm to your back so you’re forced to lean forward into his kiss. The permission. Surely not the undercurrent of need in your voice that made him realize he couldn’t let you go without. Surely not his own reservations being thrown to the wayside. 

All that exists is his lips, the brush of his beard against your skin, his grip on your waist that you’re certain is the only thing holding you together. Not God or science, just a man. There’s nothing hurried about the way your lips tease and taste, heavy breaths passing between you. Joel kisses with the same steadiness he’s known for everywhere else in his life. 

His body is solid beneath you like he’s a new creation who’d never known doubt a day in his life. You’re soft, and warm, and still smell of the fresh mountain air. A small groan catches in the back of his throat when you roll your hips. 

Joel hasn’t run this hot in a long time. 

He takes the opportunity to catch his breath when you pull away to press kisses along his jawline. Then down his neck where his pulse point flutters with life. He feels like an exposed wire. Left to do nothing but spark and crackle as you scoot to the floor between his legs. 

When the smoke clears, the sight before him robs him of his breath again: you on your knees, lips curled upwards in the coyest smile. Him with his legs spread wide, desire proving itself in the bulge at the juncture of his thighs. 

To reclaim a semblance of modesty, he adjusts himself and rests a hand over his crotch as a shield. You don’t let him get away with it, grasping his hand to kiss over his scarred knuckles. Joel huffs a flustered sound, caught. 

“Lemme take you upstairs,” he insists. 

You nuzzle the inside of his knee in feigned objection. 

“Upstairs, babygirl,” he says again. “I’ll take real good care of ya.” Then he grows even more forthcoming, “Won’t last if you get those hands or that pretty mouth on me.” 

“You won’t?” You palm him and he shudders. 

You clench around nothing when he cups your cheek. There’s hopefulness in his big, brown eyes. You turn your head to lazily kiss the meat of his thumb. It feels like an act of mercy when you stand, extending your hand to him so he can get up and lead the way. 

•••

Dim lamplight fills the bedroom. Moonlight peeks through the curtains. Joel’s lips are even gentler when they find yours after stripping you bare and bracing himself overtop of you on the matress. One calloused palm slides up your ribcage to gently cup your breasts, thumbing over your pebbled nipples. You keen into the warmth of his bare chest because there’s nowhere else to go. Joel strains into the confines of his briefs. 

At your whimper, he parts from your lips with a final peck before he begins his descent. Your chest rises and falls with deep breaths as he kisses down your throat. Across your collarbones. Down the valley of your breasts, and to your midsection. Arousal pools between your legs as he bypasses where you need him most. 

It’s him who now lowers himself to the floor. He grunts as his knees pop, but he gets there in the end. The muscles of your inner thigh twitch at the plushness of kiss paired with the scratch of his beard. His breath fans over your core and, for a brief moment, that’s enough. Patience is a virtue. Then he stops. On weak arms, you push yourself to sit upright, peering down at him with fawn eyes. 

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he rumbles. 

Your cheeks grow warm. “I feel that way when you look at me.” 

“You are.” He tugs you closer to the edge of the bed. “Every part of you.”

More hot kisses are dotted along your inner thighs. Closer and closer to where you need him until he parts you open with a careful finger. For a moment, he observes. You’re already a mess. 

“Mind if I have a taste?” His question leaves him bashful. It’s been a while. For all his confidence, you still knock him off his feet and he wants to make you feel good. 

“You can have whatever you want,” you lilt.  

A shaky exhale escapes you when he leans forward to run his tongue alongside either side of your seam. Then straight up the middle as you clench. Each time, his tongue stops shy of your clit. 

“Joel,” you whine. 

Your fingers don’t know what to do when you place your hands on his head. 

He kisses and licks through your slick with a languid, exploratory sort of ease, aquiline nose just barely bumping the swollen bud that aches for his attention. That whisper of contact makes you writhe. Joel soothes his hands over your thighs. You tug his hair. 

His mouth and chin are wet with you when he lifts his head to meet your pleading gaze. 

“What’s wrong?” The tenderness of his voice makes your stomach flip. “You needin’ me somewhere, is that it?” 

At last, he presses a light kiss to your clit. Then another, suckling it between his lips on the tail end. It’s enough to make your walls contract. As he begins to lap through your folds again, he nurses that swollen part of you after every few drags of his tongue. 

You don’t realize he’s suspended you on the edge until you notice how heavily you’ve begun to breathe, how much you’ve begun to squirm, how quivery your thighs have grown. It’s enthralling, the helplessness and desperation he’s invoked in a matter of minutes. And he hasn’t uttered a single word, just hummed along to your pretty sounds.

“I-I’m close.” 

“You close, sweetheart?” he echoes.  

You hum a frantic sound of agreement. 

Devastation strikes when he stands. Your dazed eyes sweep over his bare chest, the pudge of his belly, down his strong legs. His body is a canvas, bearing scars, and moles, and the lot. You swallow when Joel tucks his fingers into the waistband of his underwear and pushes them down. His flushed cock bobs upwards as it’s set free. 

The air of the room is cool where it meets the pearly bead along his slit. Veins ribbon along his shaft. The line of hair beneath his navel leads to the wiry curls surrounding the base. Just below, his balls hang with a heavy fullness. 

He has the nerve to blush, but doesn’t subject himself to your gaze for long. “Scoot back.”

You shakily scramble up the bed. The mattress dips as Joel joins you. Broad-shouldered and longing, he crowds into your space to prop himself overtop of you with care. Electricity buzzes through you as he reaches between your legs to gather your arousal, using the moisture to stroke himself a few relaxed times. 

You’re so turned on, a breath of laughter escapes you. Joel’s cock twitches at the sweet sound, the way it makes your chest shake. 

“What?” He smiles. 

“I really need you,” you murmur.

 Joel runs himself through your folds. Each methodical pass taps your puffy clit. Already, he’s worked you back up to the cliff he left you on. 

To your dismay, he trades his cock with his fingers. They slip through your slick with ease. There’s no resistance when he pushes one into your warmth, humming when your mouth falls open. After a few steady pumps, he adds another, both curling into you with skillful reverence. 

“Feeling good?” he asks, eyes warm. 

“I still—” your breath catches he rubs firm, steady circles over your bundle of nerves. “Still need you.” 

Joel’s stomach flutters. “M’right here.”

Your face prickles with the beginnings of frustration. “Please?” 

He eases his fingers out of you. “Said I was gonna take care of you, right?” 

“Yes,” you croak. 

“So let me.”

Joel grabs his base and returns to your folds. Tears prick in your eyes. You’re frayed around the edges, every nerve at alert.

“Know you’re aching,” he purrs. “I’m achin’ too.”

With a steady push, he eases into the warmth of your cunt. 

“Thank you,” you sigh in relief. 

The ridge of his plump mushroom tip is as far as he gets before your climax catches you by surprise. Joel groans as you whimper, fluttering around the head of his cock. 

“You’re welcome,” he manages, pressing in further. 

There’s hardly any distinction between the pleasure of your release and the pleasure of him filling you. It’s a continuous swell that you tremble through. You close your eyes to find solace in the dark.

“That’s it.” 

“Almost there.” 

“There you go, babygirl.”

Joel’s reassurances sound unreal and far away. When your eyes reopen, he’s fully sheathed. He swipes your tears away as you adjust. 

“You’re okay,” he whispers.

You nod. 

“You trust me?” 

You shake your head, but a wobbly smile pulls at your lips. 

Joel’s chest shakes with a low chuckle. “Yes you do.” He slips a hand between your bodies to rub a few chastising circles where you’re most sensitive. 

Your gasp is cut off with a slow kiss. When you shift your hips to encourage him to move, Joel stills you with a strong hand and sets his own rhythm. It’s better than whatever you were attempting to spur. There’s no helping the way your back arches, how your hands grip along his arms like they’re your tether to Earth. 

One of your hands strays to his chest, fingertips brushing through the sparse hair. Then your palm flattens against it like you’re debating pushing him away. 

“You can take it,” Joel assures. Then his voice softens, “Know it feels good.” 

There’s so much of him. Everything about him is so much, you knew that before tonight. Heads turn towards him in every room he enters. When he speaks, people listen and things change. 

“So good,” you sigh.

The squelch of your bodies fills the room. Joel makes the mistake of looking to the place where you’re joined, and curses himself a million times over. He glimmers in you. Even though you’re tender and swollen, there’s a greed to the way you continue to suck him in. Stars shine in your eyes when he meets your gaze. Sweet, and gone, and bright. 

Maybe this is what the stories of old warned of when they spoke of flying too close to the sun. Here he was in the midst of the flames, enveloped in your warmth so wholly that the two of you were one. After tonight, everyone in Jackson would see the mark you left behind. It was haughty to think he ever stood a chance.  

“M’close,” he groans.

You look directly into his eyes and say, “Fill me up.” 

Your voice sounds too caught up in the clouds for you to have realized the gravity of your request. Yet, with his hand to God, he can’t deny the surge of eagerness that courses through him. 

He gives you a second chance, “Where do you want me?” 

You hold his gaze because you’ve already supplied your answer. Dizziness strikes him. It starts in his head and works its way down to his gut. Joel makes to pull out before he does something unwise, but you hook your legs around the backs of his thighs to keep him near. 

Sweat dots his hairline, glistens in the divot of his sternum. “Can’t say stuff like that, babygirl.” 

A lopsided smile stretches across your face. “I hope it’s a girl.”

Every rational inclination in Joel’s body dilutes to a whisper. Then he sees it. Rogue flashes. His hands cradling your rounded belly. A baby girl with your eyes, your smile, your joy. A family. More laughter within these lonely four walls. He loses himself to the fantasy.

“Goddammit.” He touches his forehead to yours. “Me too—shit. Me too.”

Joel’s thrusts deepen like he’s taken your words to heart. An unashamed moan falls past your lips. You guide him in for a clumsy, loving kiss. His thumb works clit until you arch beneath him, falling into the thralls of another release. One clamp after another, you pulse around him as he sees you through the relentless waves of pleasure. 

“Christ, I’m comin’.” 

The fantasy begins to fade. 

Your legs have fallen from around him, lax with pleasure, so there’s no resistance as he slips from your warmth like he was never really there. 

All that’s left to attest that he was is your swollen folds, the shine of his cock. He strokes himself with a firm fist until his stomach tenses. Until his balls draw upwards, and he surrenders to the inexplicable tug of outward-rushing pleasure. A restrained grunt accompanies each strong rope of his release onto your skin. Low on your tummy, the top of your mound. You admire the scrunch of his face as he shudders through the aftershocks. 

The soreness in his biceps registers as he comes down. He kisses your forehead, your cheek, then rolls to collapse alongside you. Trembling when you reach over to take him in your hand, stroking him a few knowing times before you move to massage his balls. 

“I’m all done, sweetheart,” he rasps, tucking his nose into your shoulder, kissing you there. 

You pull away, but not without letting a lone finger sneakily grace along his shaft one last time.  

“Wanted you to come inside,” you murmur after a few quiet moments. 

And you truly did, a two minutes ago when having his baby didn’t seem like as big of a deal. You repeat it now as a temperature check more than anything. 

“You think you did,” he corrects. 

“I did.”

He believes you a little more this time. 

“‘Member what I said about not wanting to ruin a good thing?” 

“A baby wouldn’t—”

“That ain’t what I’m suggestin’.” Joel props himself on his forearm and tenderly traces along the underside of your breast. The furrow between his brows lets you know he’s deep in thought. 

“Let’s get to know each other. Truly.” His fingers move to the other side of your chest. “No more of this dancing between the lines.” 

He pauses to make sure you’re still with him. “Lemme take you to dinner—hell, all the things. Start over and do this right.” 

Joel’s fingertips brush down to your tummy, avoiding where his spend is gathered. “Then I’ll come wherever you want me to.” 

A shiver runs down your spine at his touch, his words.  

He finally lets his fingers pass through his sticky spend, running them down between your thighs. Your legs startle closed as they bump over the swell of your clit and brush through your folds.

“Joel.” Your hips shift, oversensitive but his touch still feels good. “Okay, okay, okay.”

He pulls away and kisses your temple. “That was just payback,” he murmurs, a smile in his voice. “You alright?” The question is much kinder. 

You nod, entirely too satisfied. Entirely spent. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” You watch as he stands on shaky legs to head to the bathroom. 

“Joel?” 

He stops, faces the bed again. 

“Everything you said,” you start, taking all his nakedness in. “I’d like that too.” 

To begin again; what a lovely gift to come about in the night. 

-

Thanks so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all!

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST 

He didn’t stop. He kissed you once more—loudly, obnoxiously—right on the top of your head, arms wrapped around you so tight you could barely reach for your keys.

“You ain’t leavin’ yet,” he said against your hair.

You tried to twist out of his hold, but he just shifted with you, his body like a weighted blanket. “Joel—”

“My birthday is tonight,” he murmured, cheek pressed to the side of your head. “Keyword: Tonight.”

“You’re not six.”

“Don’t need to be,” he muttered, “To wanna spend it with my wife.”

Somewhere down the hall, Sarah’s laughter drifted from her room, soft and muffled. You exhaled, melting into his chest despite yourself. He smelled like sawdust and soap, and you hated how safe it made you feel, because you did need to go.

“Joel,” you whispered again, gentler this time. “It’s an ER shift. You know I can’t just—”

“I know, I know.”

He finally leaned back enough to look at you. His face was that ache that always peeked out when you had to leave for your night shifts.

“I packed you dinner,” he said finally, nodding toward the counter.

Your gaze followed. A brown paper bag sat neatly by your keys, the folded top pressed flat with ridiculous precision. You could see his handwriting scrawled across it: Eat every bite.

You looked back at him, and his expression was stubbornly casual, like you hadn’t watched him make sure your thermos didn’t leak and your sandwich didn’t get squished while you changed into your scrubs.

“You didn’t have to—”

“Yeah, I did,” he cut in, quiet but sure. “You forget to eat when it gets busy.”

“I do not forget.”

“Mm,” he said, unconvinced. “That’s why last week you came home and inhaled pizza like you ain’t seen food in a week.”

You shoved at his chest, and he caught your wrist with a smirk, pressing one more kiss to your knuckles.

And that’s when the sound of socked feet sliding down the hallway interrupted you.

“Ew,” Sarah groaned, appearing in the doorway, half-eaten apple in hand. “Not this again.”

Joel didn’t even look her way. “What’s this ‘gain?”

“You being a total sap,” she said, hopping up on one of the stools. “She’s just going to work.”

Joel’s head turned slowly to his kid. “You don’t get it.”

“Oh, I get it. You’re dramatic.”

You covered your mouth to hide a smile, pretending to check your bag again.

Joel lifted a brow at her. “You done?”

“Not even close,” she said sweetly. “Stop hogging her.”

He glanced back to you, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. “Why’d wanna talk to her so bad, huh?”

“Maybe I wanna talk to someone other than you for the next twelve hours.”

Joel let out a low noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, and grabbed his mug. “Uh-huh. I’ll remember that next time you need a ride to the mall.”

You and Sarah watched him disappear around the corner. There was a beat of silence, and then the sound of him shutting the bedroom door echoed faintly.

“Did it get fixed?”

Her grin was instant, mischievous, like she’d been waiting for that cue all night.

“You bet it did.”

She glanced over her shoulder once more, then ducked into her backpack and pulled out a small box. When she cracked it open, the soft ticking filled the quiet kitchen.

Joel’s watch. Working.

You hadn’t seen it tick since—well, since ever. Not once in all the years you’d known him. She smiled so wide it almost broke your heart. “He deserves it,” she said softly.

You wrapped your arms around her before she could hide her blush. “You did good, baby.”

Her hair smelled faintly of coconut shampoo and laundry detergent. You pressed a kiss into her curls, and she squeezed you tight.

“When I’m back in the morning,” you murmured against her hair, “Your dad gets me, then it’s all you and me, okay?”

She pulled back, grinning. “Deal. I need a dress. Homecomings, like, next week and everyone already has theirs.”

You smoothed her hair from her face. “Then we’ll find you the perfect one. Promise.”

Her eyes sparkled. “It’s gonna be the best.”

You smiled, meaning it. “It will.”

For a moment, it was just the two of you, the low hum of the fridge filling the silence, the clock ticking in time with the watch.

Then you glanced up—and froze.

“Shoot,” you muttered. “I’m late.”

You moved fast—badge, phone, keys—but she was still standing there, smiling at you.

“I love you, Sarah!” you called as you backed toward the door.

“Love you too!”

The night air was cooler than you expected, the kind of fall chill that hinted at rain but hadn’t quite decided to commit. The street was quiet, just the whisper of trees and the hum of a streetlight flickering at the corner.

The porch light cast a pale gold over the hood of your car, and you were halfway to opening the door when you heard it.

“Hey!”

You turned.

Joel was coming down the porch steps, hair mussed.

“What—?”

Before you could finish, he reached you. His hands found your face, warm and calloused, and his mouth was on yours before another word could form.

Steady. Familiar.

You smiled against his lips, your fingers curling in his shirt. “Happy birthday,” you murmured.

His eyes softened, lines crinkling at the corners. “Thank you, baby.”

He kissed you again—slower this time—and then rested his forehead against yours.

“You sure you can’t call in sick?” he whispered, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Y‘know I can’t.”

“Doesn’t hurt to try.”

For a few seconds, neither of you moved. You brushed your thumb along Joel’s jaw, tracing the familiar edge of stubble.

“Tomorrow morning,” you promised quietly. “I’m all yours.”

He nodded once, like he was filing it away. “All mine,” he repeated, voice low, half-rasp, half-prayer.

You stepped back, his hand still holding yours until the distance forced it to fall away.

“Go on,” he said, smiling now. “‘Fore I think of another excuse to keep you.”

You opened the car door, sliding in. The engine coughed to life, headlights washing the driveway in white.

Joel leaned down to your window as it rolled open, bracing one hand on the roof. “Text me when you get there.”

“I always do.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Still.”

You looked up at him for a moment—just a man standing under the porch light, watching the woman he loves drive away to work.

Then you smiled one last time, lifted your fingers in a small wave, and pulled out of the driveway.

The taillights disappeared down the street.

And behind you, Joel stood there for a long while, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes on the road that led toward the hospital, until the light finally went out.

That was the last quiet night.

┈┈・┈┈

The gas station sits at the edge of the highway like a fossil—half-buried in snowdrift, windows caked in frost, the faded sign creaking against the wind.

You pull your scarf higher over your nose and push through the door. The bell above it gives a tired little jingle, the sound swallowed almost instantly by the emptiness inside.

The place smells of dust and fuel. Rows of cracked candy wrappers and long-dead flies line the counter. A can of peaches sits upright on a shelf like it’s been waiting for you all these years.

You pause, listening. Wind sighs through a shattered window. Nothing else.

Good.

Your boots crunch on the tile as you move down the aisle. You check under the counter—some old batteries, half a lighter, a few shotgun shells. You pocket the shells, roll the lighter between your fingers, flick it. Spark. No flame. You toss it back.

You find the storage room behind a warped door, push it open with your shoulder. The metal hinges wail.

Inside: shelves toppled over, a spill of canned goods frozen to the concrete. A single cot in the corner—torn, mold creeping up the side. But it’s shelter.

You run a hand through your hair, exhale through your scarf.

You start sorting through the wreckage. Your bag was already heavy, but there’s always room for something that might keep you alive another week. A can of beans, a box of ammo if you’re lucky, maybe even a flask with something that burns on the way down.

Outside, the wind changes pitch—sharper now, colder. Snow was coming quick.

You glance through the window. Clouds roll over the mountains, dark and low, swallowing the last streaks of light.

Wyoming. You’d always wanted to see it. The peaks in the distance look soft under the gray sky, like something out of a dream you half-remember. You lean against the window frame, watch the world blur behind the snow.

The beans taste like dust. You chew anyway, slow and mechanical. You swallow, stare at the dented can in your hand, and wonder—not for the first time—why food never tastes like anything anymore.

The silence stretches long and thin.

Outside, the wind howls low through the busted doorframe, slipping under your coat. The storm’s closer. You pull your scarf tighter and sit cross-legged on the moldy cot.

The flickering fluorescent light above you buzzes. Once. Twice. Then dies completely. You sit in the dark for a long moment.

You fish out a flashlight from your pack and click it on. The beam slices through the dark in a narrow cone. Dust motes float like ghosts.

You set the can aside, grab your knife, and start sharpening it against a stone. The rhythmic scrape fills the space. Shk. Shk. Shk.

You stop only when you catch your reflection in the blade. Eyes sunken. Hair streaked with gray. Skin roughened by twenty-four winters too many.

You huff a breath through your nose, letting the knife fall beside you and lean your head back against the wall.

For a moment—just a flicker—you see it again.

The hospital. The gurneys. The screaming.

You still smelled antiseptic and blood, heard the alarms, and felt the heat of panic flooding every hallway.

Your hands had been shaking so badly back then that you couldn’t even hold the scalpel right. And when they shoved the rifle at you—you’d dropped it. You remember that clearly. You’d dropped it, and the nurse beside you had died two minutes later.

You open your eyes fast, drag in air until your ribs ache. You stare at your hands. Calloused. Scarred.

The storm outside is getting heavier now, snow slamming against the roof in thick, rhythmic waves.

You sit for a while, just breathing.

Then you reach pass your collar. Metal is cold against your fingers, smooth from years of handling. You pull out the necklace—its chain tangled from travel, the ring catching faint light from the window.

Your wedding ring.

It still fits around your finger, though you haven’t worn it in years. The gold has dulled, edges rough from weather and time. You turn it between your fingers, feeling the tiny engraving on the inside—J.M. The letters are faint now, nearly worn away.

Since rings were a ripping hazard through gloves, you always ended up leaving your ring in Joel’s hands. Meaning you left it when you escaped.

Years later, you went for it. Maybe to see if someone took it, or if it was possible that time had stopped in that house, just waiting for you to come home.

Half the roof gone, windows shattered. You’d stepped over the debris, heart thudding in your chest, and found the ring sitting in your dresser. Dust-coated. Waiting.

The rest of the house had been silent, save for the groan of wood and wind slipping through the cracks. There’d been blood by the entryway—dark, old. But no bodies. The truck was gone.

That had meant something. You’d clung to that, smiling through the tears back then.

“They made it out,” you’d whispered into your old bedroom. “He got her out. He always does.”

Now, years later, you still hold the ring like it’s proof that somewhere, somehow, they’re still alive.

That Sarah’s grown—thirty-eight now, if you’ve done the math right—maybe with her father’s strength, that same stubborn tilt of her chin.

You smile, just a little. And for that small, fragile moment between exhaustion and faith, you let yourself believe it.

That if you keep walking, keep breathing, fate might finally let your paths cross again.

The wind howls against the window. And then—a noise. Not the wind. Not the shifting of snow. You freeze.

It’s faint, beneath the storm. A crunch of a can, the muted thud of boots.

You snap out of it fast, tucking your necklace back underneath your layers, and you grab your rifle. You move silently, muscle memory taking over. The scarf wanted up, covering your mouth. You sling the rifle over your shoulder, knife in your other hand.

Another sound. Closer this time.

You forced your breathing to be small. Listened. The sound is human—not the ragged rasp of infected but even, purposeful steps. You creep to the door, ease it open a crack. Cold air hits you.

You don’t take chances. You move through the gas station like a ghost.

Shelves cast long black teeth. You navigate by sound: the snap of a plastic wrapper, a muted clink of metal. You pass an aisle and there—under a hanging sign that reads ‘SNACKS’ in flaking red paint—is a person.

She’s young-ish, brown hair dusted with snow. Pale. Focused on canned goods. You watch her for a beat, then you’re beside her; blade at her throat, gloved hand clamping her jaw before she can scream air into the room.

“Don’t make noise,” you whisper, teeth pressed to the syllables. Cold breath fogs between you.

She makes a sound—a sharp intake—but you clamp harder until it’s a single pulse under your fingers. Her green eyes are wide and furious.

You press the tip of the knife, close enough the metal kisses her skin. She doesn’t flinch. “Who are you with?”

Her eyes flick left, then right, then back up to your face. She groans something obscene. You tilt your head.

“Nod if you’re alone.”

Slow, stiff nod. Her gaze keeps sliding. You don’t believe her.

“Walk.”

She huffs and starts shuffling. You edge behind her, blade at the hollow of her throat in case she bolts.

Outside, horses stand tethered to a dented pickup. Two adult-size steeds, their breaths steaming into the night. Packs sewn onto their flanks look new—canvas stitched and mended, not the scavenged mess you usually see.

“Community,” you mutter.

The girl mumbles behind your glove—garbled words, half-swallowed by the wool. You pause, glancing down at her. Her eyes flicker with something sharper than fear. You can’t tell if it’s anger or a plan.

You loosen your hand just enough for her to speak. “You’re making a mistake,” she says, voice low, shaky but not scared. Not really. There’s defiance there. “You don’t wanna do this.”

“That right?”

“Yeah,” she breathes, chin tilting toward the dark. “Because—”

She stops. Eyes dart past you. Just a flicker. Barely a second. But it’s enough. Your instincts snap tight.

You spin, knife still at her throat, snow exploding under your boots. The world narrows to metal and breath and the small, frantic drum in your ribs. A man stands a few yards off. Broad shoulders, an old bandana pulled up over his mouth, thick winter jacket bulking up his frame more that it is; only his eyes are free.

They’re cold. Wild. Protective.

He’s holding a blade too. The wind howls between you.

“I’ll slit her throat before you take a step.” you snarl.

He doesn’t blink.

You circle, keeping the girl as a shield. He mirrors you both of you counting the breaths, looking for the twitch that means fight. Wind keens between the pillars, the horses stamp and throw up more steam.

“Back off, I swear I’ll—”

“I’ll kill you ‘fore you can.” he interrupts, stepping closer. There’s a cadence to the sentence that slips under your skin, some pattern you know but can’t name. Texan accent. Worn by the years, but Texas nonetheless.

Your hands tighten around the girl. Then she jerks—twists. You shove her back against your chest and press the knife harder; she hisses.

“Stop movin’, Ellie!” The man yells.

“Goddammit!”

She spits, and the world completely inverts—just by one word in her next sentence detonating in your chest.

“Kill her already, Joel!”

Joel.

The name stops you cold.

Joel.

It hits like a gunshot under your ribs. Your grip falters—barely, but enough.

Joel.

“...What did you just say?” you whisper.

The girl feels it, the hesitation. She wrenches free. In the same motion, she grabs your scarf and yanks it down. Cold air hits your face.

Then—pain. A hot, sharp slide near your ribs. You stumble back with a strangled noise, clutching your side.

For a second, you don’t feel it. Not really. Your body’s in survival mode, your mind already screaming move, move, move.

Two against one. You’ve been in worse. You’ve survived worse. But still—your pulse hammers so loud it drowns out the rest of the world.

The wind whooshes past your ear. White noise. You can barely hear anything else.

Except the softest call you’ve heard in years. Your name. Spoken like a memory dragged out of the grave.

You haven’t heard it in years. You’d forgotten the shape of it, the way it used to sound. You’d forgotten what it felt like to belong to it.

You look up.

The man’s eyes are on you—wide, unsteady. His chest rises and falls like he’s staring at a ghost. His knife is forgotten, dropped to the snow. You stumble back a step, confused, dizzy. He mirrors it, stepping forward, matching your retreat. One for one.

“Stay back,” you rasp, though your voice cracks halfway through.

He doesn’t. The girl says his name again, a sharp exhale of confusion. “Joel! What are you—?”

No.

No, no, no.

The world tilts. The light from the moon flickers across his face, and in that fractured second, you know. He rips the bandana from his face—

It’s him. Your life. Your love. Your other half. Your soul. Your husband.

Your Joel Miller.

Lines carved deep into his face, gray hair decorated his beautiful brown. His face is more wrinkled than before, his body more wider. But those eyes—same as the day you lost saw him.

Your breath catches in your throat. “Joel…”

The word breaks, splintering halfway out. It sounds nothing like how you used to say it. He takes another step. His voice shakes.

“Darlin’...”

You want to run. To reach for him. To scream in fear. To laugh. You can’t do any of it. You just stand there, the world narrowing until it’s just the two of you and the ghost of everything you lost.

Your knees go weak. You can feel pain now—the slow, spreading warmth of something sticky seeping through your coat. You press your hand harder to your side, but it doesn’t stop the tremor.

Joel takes another step.

“Don’t…” you manage, breathless. “Don’t—come any closer.”

You stumble back again, your boots slipping in the snow. The light-headedness hits harder now. The sky spins. You reach out, steadying yourself against the cold metal of the building behind you.

The girl’s hand tightens around her knife. Her voice is shaking now, too. “What are you waiting for?! She’s…she’s—why are you hesitating—”

You sway, vision blurring. Ellie takes another step, as if she’s going to finish the job for Joel, and that’s when you see it—the blade in her hand. Red. Glinting as it drips. Your blood.

“Christ…” you whisper.

You can barely keep your eyes open now. The snow feels softer under your boots than it should. You blink, slow and heavy, your breath coming out in short, white bursts.

Then, you fall.

Joel moves fast. A shadow through the storm. The next thing you feel is his arms wrapping around you, pulling you in. The warmth of him hits like a blow, his chest against yours, his breath shaking against your temple.

You forgot this.

The sound of him breathing, the rough rasp in his throat. The weight of his hand and how they shake when they press against your side, trying to stop the bleeding. His voice breaks through the wind, hoarse, terrified—words you can’t quite catch, just the vibration of them.

Your fingers find his coat, clutching it. It feels real. Too real. You lift your head—barely—and see his face. That face.

The man from your dreams, the one you used to stare at when you couldn’t sleep. The one you buried with your past. The one you thought you’d never touch again.

You try to speak, but it comes out as a shiver.

He presses his hand harder, cursing under his breath. His mouth opens over and over, forming words but you can’t really hear him. The wind eats at his words. You can only see his eyes frantic.

You forgot how soft his eyes could be when he was afraid. Your vision blurs around the edges. His face flickers in and out, the snow dimming into a wash of gray and white.

He yells something over his shoulder—maybe to the girl, maybe to no one. You can’t tell. The world’s shrinking too fast.

Then—his voice, raw, breaking:

“Not ’gain. Not ’gain.”

You blink slowly, trying to focus on his mouth, the way his voice trembles like he’s said this before.

Again?

The thought cuts through the haze for a second. Did he mean you? Did he dream of you, too? See your face in strangers? Hear your voice in the dark like you did his?

The thought makes you smile. You look up at him—just once more—and the sight fills you whole.

Then the light fades. You go limp in his arms.

He calls your name again, but you don’t hear it. The world folds inward—black and quiet.

┈┈・┈┈

The church wasn’t much.

A narrow, sunlit room with peeling paint and crooked pews. The air smelled faintly of wood polish. There was no music—just the soft hum of cicadas outside and the creak of the floorboards under your heels.

It was perfect.

Your mother sat front row, tissues clutched in both hands, whispering something to your father that made him chuckle under his breath. Tommy was beside them, sleeves rolled up, tie loose, trying and failing to keep a squirming little girl in her seat.

“C’mon now, darlin’,” he muttered as Sarah kicked her legs and reached toward the front of the hall. “Your daddy’s a little busy right now, alright? You’ll see him in a minute.”

Sarah let out a squeal that echoed through the church, a bright little sound that made Joel’s shoulders stiffen and then sag.

You laughed under your breath, watching him. His hands were clasped nervously in front of him, the tie around his neck slightly crooked. His hair was damp from sweat, combed back but already falling out of place. There was a flush high on his cheeks.

“I swear I listened when you told me to feed her. She jus’—” He sighed, the corners of his mouth twitching. “She don’t like sittin’ still. Guess that’s my fault.”

“She just wants her daddy,” you said softly.

Joel’s eyes flicked to you, warm and nervous all at once. “Well, can’t say I blame her for that.”

“You always this confident at the altar?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Confidence or stupidity—hard to tell.”

There was a pause. Sarah let out another squeal and Tommy groaned, muttering something about ‘should’ve brought snacks.’ Joel grinned, shaking his head, then looked back at you with that same teasing glint.

“Still time to back out, y’know,” he said. “Ain’t too late to change your mind.”

You gasped, hand flying to your chest. “Excuse me?”

“I mean—not like that, darlin’. Jus’... y‘know I’m not exactly prime real estate.”

“Joel Miller…” you said, voice full of mock outrage.

“What?” he said, laughing now. “I’m jus’ bein’ honest!”

You took a step closer, your dress brushing the floor. The minister cleared his throat softly, but neither of you looked away. You reached up, caught his tie in your hand, and tugged him just enough that his eyes widened a little.

“Never,” you whispered.

He blinked, his breath catching. And then you kissed him.

The world went still for a moment. It was just the two of you—your hand fisted in his tie, his palm finding your waist, the rough scrape of his stubble brushing your cheek. He kissed you back, slow at first, then deeper when you smiled against his mouth.

Behind you, your mother and dad sniffled audibly. Tommy muttered something, but there was laughter in his voice.

When you finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.

And when Joel finally whispered, “For as long as I got breath…”, you knew—this was how it was always meant to be.

┈┈・┈┈

You wake to the sound of wind and the slow, steady rhythm of breathing that isn’t your own.

Your lashes flutter open. Wooden beams. No patched roof. The air smells faintly of pine and smoke, warm from… a heater? For a moment, you think you’re dreaming. Then a deep ache blooms along your side.

You jolt upright—too fast. The pain punches through you. A strangled noise escapes your throat as you clutch your ribs. Bandages. Tight, clean, freshly changed.

That’s when you hear it again.

You whip your head toward the sound—instinct first, reason later—and shove back against the headboard, teeth bared, ready to fight through the pain if you have to.

“Hey—hey, easy, easy.”

That voice.

Joel’s sitting in the chair beside the bed, elbows on his knees, that same rugged face you’ve seen a hundred times in dreams, weathered now by years and loss. The gray in his beard catches the light. His flannel’s frayed at the cuffs. Sleep wears on his face. He must’ve just woken up.

It’s all impossible. It has to be.

“Joel?”

His mouth parts just slightly, like he’s afraid to breathe wrong. “Yeah, darlin’. It’s me.”

You shake your head, trying to make sense of it, but the world feels warped. His eyes are the same—warm brown, flecked with gold—and that hurts worse than anything else. Because they look real.

For a long, unbearable moment, neither of you move. The room hums around you—wind through the cracked window, the faint thud of boots outside—but all you can hear is your heartbeat and the sound of Joel’s shaky breath.

You shift again, the pain in your side flaring white-hot. A groan slips out before you can stop it. Joel’s expression crumples.

“Stop movin’,” he mutters, half rising, hands twitching uselessly like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t dare. “You’ll rip the stitches.”

You swing your legs over the bed, ignoring the protest in your ribs. He flinches like it physically hurts him to see you do it. He stands with you, crossing around the bed to get in front of you.

His jaw works, like he’s trying to find something to say.

But all that comes out is your name.

It roots you to the floor.

You blink hard, throat burning, and when you look up again, his eyes are wet. He tries to blink it away, to look like the same man who used to fix things, who used to steady you.

He says it again. Softer this time.

Your breath stumbles. There’s a tremor in his hand when he finally reaches out.

When his fingers brush your cheek, you flinch— from a strange mix of fear and disbelief. His hand’s rough, warm. He drags his thumb slow across your skin, tracing your jaw, your cheekbone, your nose.

Like a blind man who had just earned his sight back.

For a second, there’s nothing but the sound of both of you breathing—fast, uneven, disbelieving.

And then—

You take a step back. Another. Another.

Distance.

You hit the metal tray behind you, the clatter piercing through the air, and Joel’s brow furrows. “It’s alright,” he says, voice low, coaxing, like you’re some frightened animal.

You shake your head, breath catching. “No—no, it’s not.”

“Darlin’, it’s me—”

“Don’t.” The word rips out of you, sharp and trembling. “Don’t call me that.”

His mouth parts, but nothing comes out. His hand drops uselessly to his side.

You can’t breathe. The air feels too thick, the walls too close. Your body won’t stay still—your fingers twitch, your shoulders jerk. You can hear your pulse in your ears.

He was here. You wanted this. You wished for it, but now that it was here… it was all too much, him standing here, alive.

“I knew you died,” you whisper, voice cracking. “I knew and I still believed—"

“I didn’t,” he interrupts, desperate. “I didn’t die, darlin’. I—”

“Stop!” You press your hands to your temples, nails digging in. “Stop calling me that!”

“You’re shakin’. Lemme me—”

“No!” You stumble back, hand slamming into the cabinet. “You can’t—no—you can’t just—”

Your chest caves. Breath stutters. You can’t fill your lungs, can’t find air. The room tilts, the fluorescent light overhead flickering like a heartbeat gone wrong.

He’s reaching again, trying to catch your shoulders, but the touch only makes it worse. You jerk away, a strangled sound tearing out of you.

And then—

Bang.

The door slams open.

“Joel!” Tommy’s voice, rougher now, deeper, but still that same drawl that once filled your old house with laughter.

You stare at him. He’s got a mustache now. Older, broader. Wrinkles that line the corners of his eyes.

You make a small, broken sound in your throat. It’s too much—the sound of his voice, the sight of Joel, your world cracking open and mending together all at once.

Tommy’s eyes soften when he sees you, but his tone is firm. “Step outside, brother.”

“Hell no,” Joel snaps, stepping in front of you. “My wife’s panickin’, Tommy—”

You twitch at that word—wife—and your breath catches, shuddering.

Tommy lifts a hand. “Out. Now.”

“Tommy—”

“Joel.” His tone hardens. “Get out.”

The two stare each other down, that familiar stubborn silence passing between them. Joel’s chest heaves. His jaw flexes.

Then his eyes flick to you. Just once. And that look—raw, gutted—undoes something in your chest. He goes. But not without a fight in his stance, not without looking like every step toward the door costs him blood.

Tommy stays behind long enough to look at you. His smile’s thin, a shade of what it used to be. “Why don’t you sit down, huh? Maria’s comin’ over real soon. She’ll take care of you.”

You don’t even nod, just stare like those abandoned mannequins in the windows of clothing stores. He hesitates, looks like he wants to say something else, but doesn’t.

Then he leaves. The door shuts behind them with a soft click.

You stand there for a long time, trembling, until the sound of your breathing evens out. The air still smells like alcohol and metal. You press your back to the wall, sliding down until you’re sitting on the cold wooden floorboards.

You don’t cry. You just listen.

Through the crack of the door, their voices filter in—muted, low, but heated.

“You’re overwhelmin’ her, Joel. Can’t you see that?”

Joel’s voice, rough and unsteady, comes right after. “She knows me, Tommy. She—she looked at me. You saw it too. She knows me.”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, dry. “Don’t mean she can handle you right now.”

“I ain’t some stranger, dammit! I’m her husband. That’s my wife. You understand? My wife. I thought she was gone. I thought—”

“You thought a lotta things, but that don’t change what’s in front of you. I get it.”

A pause. You imagine Joel’s face—the way he presses his lips together when he’s holding back something too big to say.

Then his voice again, lower. “You didn’t see her eyes, Tommy. I did. She remembered me. She didn’t forget.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“She belongs with me. She should live with me—get used to things ‘gain, get used to me.”

“The hell she should,” Tommy snaps. “That’s the worst idea I’ve heard come outta your mouth, and that’s sayin’ somethin’.”

“Why? Why the hell not? Y’think I can jus’—what—leave her sittin’ in some damn corner, pretendin’ like she didn’t spend almost half her life with me?”

Tommy doesn’t answer right away. The silence stretches, filled with the sound of boots shifting on wood, wind against the windows.

When he does speak, his voice is steady. “’Cause she’s scared of you, Joel.”

The words land heavy. You can feel the air change on the other side of the door.

“She flinched when you touched her.”

Joel says nothing.

“She damn near stopped breathin’ when you got closer,” Tommy goes on, quieter now. “And not ‘cause she don’t care. It’s ‘cause she’s been out there, alone. Y’know what that does to a person.”

Joel finally mutters something, too low to catch.

Tommy sighs. “Y’think she had folks lookin’ after her all this time? Hell, for all we know, she’s been walkin’ ‘lone for years. One, two, five, ten—Christ, maybe since the whole damn thing started.”

A pause. Then Tommy again, voice soft but heavy.

“She ain’t the same person you lost. And neither are you.”

The words twist deep, where you don’t want them to reach.

Eventually, you hear the floor creak again—Tommy’s boots moving away, Joel’s slower behind him. The sound fades down the hallway, swallowed by the hum of your own thoughts.

You tilt your head back against the wall and stare at the ceiling light until your eyes blur.

He’s alive.

He’s here.

And you don’t know whether to thank God or curse Him.

┈┈・┈┈

To say you’re skittish is an understatement.

Tommy and Maria’s house feels too clean. Too normal. Every sound—every creak, every low murmur from the kitchen—puts your nerves on edge. You keep expecting someone to barge in and tell you to pack your things, that you don’t belong here.

The curtains remain half-shut, and you sleep on top of the blanket instead of under it, because the bed is too soft. The first night, you woke up gasping, the fabric bunched around your throat, the scent of cleanliness sharp enough to make your eyes sting.

Now you avoid it altogether. You sit on the edge, knees drawn up, staring at the wooden nightstand. You run your fingers over the lamp switch. The clock. The drawer handle.

Twenty years ago, these things were nothing. Background. White noise. Now they feel like relics from a life that belonged to someone else.

Beds. Nightstands. Floors that don’t creak from rot.

Hot water. Toothpaste. A door that locks from the inside.

You leave the room only the bathroom, since they bring you your food. Once, Maria knocked to tell you that there had been snow on the Christmas tree they just set up, and it was gorgeous with the lights, and you almost said yes to following her out there.

Almost.

But the second your hand touched the doorknob, something inside you froze. You mumbled an apology and stayed put.

They never complained. Not once.

Maria—she tries. She smiles at you when she offers you fresh bread, tea, small comforts. She has that kind of strength like she’s seen her share of ruin and decided not to let it show. You can see why Tommy married her.

He checks your wound every couple of days, his hands steady, his voice low. “Healin’ good,” he says. “Maria’s been keepin’ the bandages clean. You’re lucky she’s the one runnin’ the place.”

You nod. You never know what to say back.

He talks a lot, though. Tries to fill the silence with something easy. “Jackson’s different,” he tells you. “We got systems. Rules that keep folks fed, safe. We all pitch in.”

You hum under your breath, skeptical. “Sounds like a QZ,” you croak out before you can stop yourself.

Tommy chuckles, but his eyes narrow just slightly, like he knows what you mean. “Ain’t no QZ. No FEDRA. No soldiers. Nobody hoardin’ food. We look out for each other here.”

You study him a long time, trying to decide if you believe it. He must see the hesitation in your face, because he adds, quietly,

“I wouldn’t have stayed if it wasn’t what I said.”

He means it. You can tell.

Days pass. A week and a half. You fall into a rhythm, if you can call it that. You wake up, sit on the edge of the bed, watch the light crawl across the floorboards. You listen to the faint laughter that sometimes drifts from the street outside. You eat when someone leaves a plate at your door. You wait until night to move around.

Then one morning, Maria breaks it by knocking softly.

You’re sitting on the bed, fingers picking at the loose threads of the sheets, half-lost in thought.

When she opens the door, her face is lit by that calm, unshakable smile. “Got someone who wants to see you,” she says.

Your stomach tightens. Your hands flex, unflex. “Who?”

Her smile widens, but her eyes study you carefully, gauging every twitch of your face. “A visitor.”

You nod, pushing yourself up. The floor feels uneven under your bare feet. Your heart thuds in your throat. “Alright.”

She waits in the doorway until you follow her. The house smells faintly of coffee and wood polish. You pass the family photos hanging on the wall—Tommy with Maria, and beside them, a small boy with his father’s grin. You pause for half a second, staring.

A son. You hadn’t known.

Your pulse stutters.

Maria’s voice pulls you back. “You doin’ okay?”

“Yeah,” you lie.

Every step down the hallway feels heavier than the last. The closer you get to the living room, the louder your thoughts get. What if it’s Joel? What if he came here, decided he’d had enough of waiting? You can almost hear his voice already—low, stubborn, that Texas gravel tone saying your name.

No. You can’t do that. Not yet.

Maria stops at the doorway, her hand on the frame. She glances back at you, softens her voice. “Don’t worry. She’s kind. Sometimes.”

She.

The breath you were holding spills out, shaky and uneven.

Then you see her.

Sitting on the couch, her elbows on her knees, head down, fiddling with something in her hands—a knife, no, a pocket tool. Her hair’s brown and tamed now, no longer wild from the wind. The anger that once burned in those green eyes is gone.

It takes you a second to place her. That girl from the gas station.

Maria’s voice is light. “Ellie. I brought her.”

Right. Ellie.

She looks up then, blinking at you, and for a moment you both just stare.

Her mouth opens first. “Uh… hey.”

You nod once, your throat too tight for words.

She clears her throat, awkwardly rubbing her palms on her jeans. “You, uh… you probably don’t remember me. I mean, I guess you might. Back at the station, you were kinda…” She makes a vague gesture with her hands, grimacing. “Y’know. Your knife to my throat, my knife in your side, whole thing.”

“I remember.”

“Oh.” She blinks too, like she wasn’t expecting that. “Cool.”

Maria hides a smile, stepping back toward the kitchen. “I’ll let y’all talk.”

You and Ellie both look after her as she leaves, then at each other again.

The silence is prickly. Ellie shifts in her seat, taps her knee a few times, then blows out a slow breath. “I wanna… apologize.”

She says that last word like it’s a grater dragged across her throat.

You raise an eyebrow.

“For—uh—stickin’ you like a pig.”

Your frown comes without effort. “You stabbed me.”

“Yeah. Guess that’s another word for it. My bad.”

You just stare at her.

She scratches at her eyebrow, mutters, “You were sneakin’ around, and I was freaking the hell out, and I just—look, I didn’t know who you were, okay?”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, maybe because her discomfort is so naked, maybe because she’s just a kid trying too hard to sound grown, you huff out something that almost sounds like a laugh.

“I’ll live,” you say quietly.

She sighs, quick and relieved. “Yeah, looks like it.”

Ellie seems to notice the change in your posture, how you loosen slightly, and leans back a little, studying you in that curious, unfiltered way teenagers do.

“So,” she says, drawing out the word. “You were… married to Joel?”

You stiffen. That one hits bone.

“Okay, too soon.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s—” You pause, gathering your voice back into something flat, neutral. “Yes. We were married.”

“Wow.” She whistles softly. “I mean, huh. You and Joel. That’s—” She stops, shakes her head, smirking. “Never mind.”

“What?”

“Nothin’. Just. Hard to imagine him married. He kinda strikes me as the lone-wolf-and-whiskey type, y’know?”

“He wasn’t always.”

“Yeah?”

“He liked to dance.”

That makes her laugh—loud, surprised. “Bullshit.”

“He did. Badly.”

She snorts. “Okay, now I gotta see that someday.”

You don’t answer. You just look down at your hands, tracing the small scar near your knuckle. A moment passes. Then she shifts again, like she’s working up the nerve to keep going.

“So… you guys got, uh…” She squints. “What’s the word—divorced? Before the outbreak? You said ‘were married’.”

The question hits you like cold water.

“No,” you say softly. “No, we didn’t.”

“Oh.” She looks at you for a second too long, then nods slowly. “Just been a long time, huh?”

You exhale through your nose. “Yeah. Long time.”

Ellie is easy in a way you’ve forgotten how to be. She swears under her breath, uses her hands when she talks, doesn’t know how to sit still. She reminds you of… you, before the world before it burned down.

You find yourself leaning forward, asking her small things. How long she’s been with Joel. Where she came from. Whether she likes Jackson.

She answers, haltingly at first, then quicker, sharper. You learn she’s got a sense of humor that you enjoy. You understand it.

And then—

Ellie hesitates. Her gaze flicks toward the window, then back to you. “You… you must’ve known Sarah, then.”

The name slices through you like wire.

Sarah.

You blink, too slow, too hard.

“Sarah,” you echo, the syllables thick on your tongue. “Of course I do.” You can’t stop the small laugh that breaks out of you—shaky, a little too high. “God, how did I not ask? I didn’t even—she’s grown now, right? Almost forty. Jesus. Does she—does she still paint? Or play soccer? She always had that little pink ball she’d kick around the kitchen—drove Joel crazy, used to leave scuff marks all over the floor—”

You stop. Because Ellie isn’t smiling.

She’s staring at you.

And her whole face has gone still.

“Oh.”

Just that.

And you know.

Instantly.

Your mouth opens, but no words come. The world seems to narrow, sound folding in on itself. You can’t feel your hands. You can’t feel anything.

“No,” you whisper, but it’s barely a sound. “No. Not Sarah.”

Ellie doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just watches you, stricken.

You shake your head, your body already rejecting it, like maybe if you move fast enough, you can outpace the truth. “No, she—she’s just a kid. She is—she—”

You don’t finish. The words choke, collapse.

Something inside you caves in slow motion. The air leaves the room, the floor vanishes. You sink to your knees before you even realize you’ve moved.

You see Sarah’s hair, the way it stuck to her forehead when she ran. Her laugh. The way she used to look at Joel. The way she looked at you. The smell of pancakes on Sunday mornings. Her tiny hand tugging at yours when she wanted to show you something she’d drawn.

Gone. Forever fourteen.

Gone twenty years ago, while you were out there convincing yourself it wasn’t true.

You cover your mouth with both hands. The sound that breaks out of you isn’t human—it’s raw, keening, dragged from the deepest part of you that never healed.

Ellie’s eyes are wide. She moves before she thinks, kneeling beside you, uncertain, awkward. “Hey, hey, I’m—shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

You stumble backward, your legs barely obeying you. The room is too bright, too close. Ellie’s voice is muffled, like it’s coming from underwater. You don’t even hear what she’s saying anymore. You can only hear Sarah. Sarah laughing. Sarah crying. Sarah’s voice calling for you in the dark.

Your throat closes. You can’t breathe. You can’t see.

“She’s gone,” you whisper to no one. “She’s gone. Sarah’s gone.”

Maria appears in front of you, gentle hands hovering but not touching. “Hey—hey, slow down. It’s okay. You’re safe, you hear me?”

You shake your head. “No. No, I—she—” You choke, your chest collapsing under invisible weight. “She’s just a kid. She—she calls me—she calls me mama—”

Maria’s eyes soften, and that’s worse. You can’t bear it. Her pity feels like fire.

You hear Tommy’s boots pounding against the floor, his voice low but urgent. “What happened?”

Ellie’s voice, trembling. “I—I told her about Sarah.”

Maria glances over her shoulder, and Tommy growls. “Christ almighty.” He doesn’t look at you for long—maybe he can’t.

You hear Tommy leave with a string of curses, his boots thumping until he disappeared into the snow.

You press your palms over your face, rocking slightly. The room feels like it’s tilting. Every breath comes in sharp bursts, tearing your lungs.

“She’s gone,” you whisper, voice trembling. “She’s gone, and I didn’t—”

Your breath shudders out of you, and you clutch at the wall like it might hold you up.

Maria glances toward Ellie, and something passes silently between them—understanding, guilt, something like fear. Tommy curses quietly under his breath. “I’ll get him,” he says, and he’s gone before Maria can stop him.

Your voice breaks. You press your hands over your face, curling inward. “I wasn’t there,” you whisper. “I wasn’t there.”

Maria’s hand hovers near your shoulder, then pulls back. She looks helpless.

A sound—heavy boots, the door opening. You don’t have to look up. You know that sound. You could find it in a storm.

Joel’s frozen in the doorway, chest heaving. His eyes land on you. You see the recognition hit him like a hammer.

“Darlin’,” he breathes, his voice hoarse, wrecked.

You shake your head, stepping back.

He doesn’t listen. He never did. In three long strides he’s kneeling in front of you, hands hovering before settling on your shoulders. His touch is rough, too warm.

“Don’t—don’t touch me—” You push at him weakly. “She’s gone, Joel. She’s gone.”

He pulls you into his chest anyway, his arms tight around you as you struggle. “I know,” he says, his voice low, shaking. “I know, baby, I know.”

You pound your fists against him, but the strength’s gone from your body. “You don’t—”

“I do,” he cuts in, desperate. “I do.”

You stop fighting. His arms hold steady, the kind of hold that used to calm you down. You can feel the tremor in his hands, the way he keeps his face buried in your hair.

“She’s gone,” you whisper, smaller now. “Our girl. She—”

He doesn’t let you finish. He shifts, lifting you the best he can, one arm under your knees, the other at your back. You cling to his shirt on instinct, your body shaking as he carries you down the hallway. You can barely see through the blur of tears.

Joel shoulders the door to your room open and nudges it shut behind him with his boot.

He sets you down gently on the bed, but you push yourself away the moment your feet touch the floor. You back up, hands shaking, your breath sharp and uneven. “Don’t—don’t do that,” you rasp.

He goes quiet. The silence stretches. You can hear the whoosh of snow starting against the window.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low. “You wanna know what happened?”

You don’t answer, but he tells you anyway.

He talks like a man digging up a grave. His words come in fragments—him and Sarah on the couch, the sirens, the Alders, Tommy’s truck, the soldiers, the gun. His voice falters only once, when he says her name.

“\We were tryin’ to get out. Got stopped by a soldier. They told him—told him to take us down. I was holdin’ her when he fired.” He swallows hard, eyes shining wet. “She was scared. Cryin’. I told her I had her. That I wasn’t gonna let go.”

You stare at him, unmoving. Every breath feels like swallowing glass. “You held her,” you say, the words barely forming. “You—”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” he murmurs. “I couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t—” His voice breaks, and he turns his head, like looking at you hurts.

You sit on the edge of the bed, shaking. The words echo in your skull, each one heavier than the last. The room feels too small, the air too thick.

You look at him. His hands hang useless at his sides, his face drawn, hollow. You think of all the years he carried that weight alone. How you carried your own.

You reach out.

He hesitates, then closes the distance, kneeling in front of you again. You rest your head against his chest, the fabric of his shirt damp from your tears. His arms come around you, slow and sure.

You cry until you can’t anymore—quietly, your hands fisted in his shirt. He doesn’t tell you to stop. He doesn’t move to fix it.

Now it’s just the two of you again. Broken. Breathing. Holding on because there’s nothing else left to do.

┈┈・ ☣・┈┈

Joel didn’t give Tommy a choice to get you to move in with him.

He showed up the next day, the expression on his face enough to silence any argument before it began. Tommy stood there on the porch trying to say something that wouldn’t get his head bitten off. But when he looked at you—eyes blank, body barely holding itself upright—he just sighed, nodded once, and stepped aside.

The guest bedroom smelled faintly of cedar and dust, and cleaner than it should’ve been—like he’d gone through it himself and made it ready before he even brought you here. You didn’t thank him. You just sat down on the bed and stared at the wall until it blurred.

The first night, you cried so hard you made yourself sick. Joel stayed outside the door the whole time, boots heavy on the wood floor. He didn’t come in.

By the third night, he’d moved a chair into your room and sat there while you slept—if you could call it that.

Every memory twisted just enough to hurt. You’d wake up gasping, and Joel would already be there, and sometimes just murmur, “You’re alright,” though neither of you believed it.

By the end of the first week, he’d stopped pretending to sleep in his own bed. He just curled up at the foot of yours with a blanket and pillow, a quiet shadow. When you woke up sobbing, he was there. When you refused to eat, he was there, pressing a spoon into your mouth, his jaw tight with that quiet patience that looked more like punishment than care.

Never turned away when you cried from shame. Wiped your face clean. Tucked you in. Never said a word about it.

Tonight is like every one of those nights.

It starts before the sun sets. The light through the blinds looks too much like the color of fire, like the burning hospital, and something in your chest just snaps. You curl into yourself, hands gripping the blanket, and Joel’s there in a second, just coming off his patrol.

“Hey,” he says softly, like you might shatter if he breathes too hard. “Hey, now. Look at me.”

You don’t. You can’t. You’re somewhere else entirely.

He sits on the edge of the bed, careful, slow. “You’re safe,” he tries again. “You’re right here, darlin’.”

That word—it tears something open in you. You turn your face into the pillow and sob so violently your ribs ache. Joel just sits there. Then he moves closer, kneeling beside the bed, his hands braced on the mattress.

“It’s okay,” he whispers.

But it isn’t. It isn’t okay.

Your voice comes out hoarse, like you haven’t spoken in years. “She was scared.”

Joel freezes.

“She was—she was scared, and I wasn’t there.”

He swallows hard, the sound loud in the quiet room.

“I just know it.”

His jaw flexes, and his breath stutters. For a moment, he looks like he’s going to argue—but then he just lets out a sound that’s almost a laugh, only it’s broken right down the middle.

Joel drags both hands down his face, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes until his knuckles go white. “I was supposed to protect her,” he chokes out. “That was my job. My one Goddamn job, and I failed.”

Your breath catches. You reach out before you can stop yourself, fingers brushing his arm.

He doesn’t flinch away.

“She was—she was so little,” you whisper.

He nods, eyes closed. His chest rises and falls too fast. “She was,” he breathes.

Neither of you speak for a while. You can hear the crickets outside. The faint, uneven hitch of his breathing.

When you finally speak, it’s a wish you didn’t plan to say.

“I wish Ellie’s knife killed me.”

Joel’s head snaps up.

“What?”

You meet his eyes—really meet them this time, even through the blur of tears. “That knife,” you say, voice breaking. “When she stabbed me—I didn’t think it then. But now…” Your throat locks. “It should’ve killed me. I can’t… can’t live in a world that took Sarah.”

He stares at you like you just reached into his chest and pulled out something he’d buried. His eyes glisten. His mouth opens, then closes again.

“Don’t say that,” he rasps.

“Joel—”

“Don’t,” he snaps, sharper now, voice cracking under the weight. “Don’t you ever say that. You hear me?”

You flinch. His hand shoots out before he can stop himself, gripping your wrist.

“I can’t lose you too,” he says, barely more than a whisper. “I can’t—I ain’t strong ‘nough for that.”

“You already lost me.”

“No. No, you’re still here. You’re breathin’. You’re here.”

Something inside you caves in. You don’t know which one of you moves first, but suddenly he’s holding you, arms around you tight enough to hurt, his face pressed to your shoulder. His whole body trembles.

You cling back. For the first time since you moved in, you hold him just as tightly.

He leans in until your foreheads touch again, his thumb brushing over the tear tracks on your cheek. There’s no logic in the way he looks at you—just devastation and recognition, like you’re both staring into the same pit and realizing you’ve been standing beside each other the whole time.

He stays that way until the trembling stops, until your breathing evens out, until the room softens around the edges. Then, quietly, he moves to the foot of the bed, to settle in like always.

But this time, when you reach out, your fingers find his sleeve.

He looks up, startled at first, like he’s not sure he felt what he did. Your hand stays there, curled into the fabric, your knuckles white.

“Don’t,” you whisper.

He blinks. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t go.”

The words come out small, almost childlike, and you hate how fragile they sound—but they’re true. Every piece of you feels hollow when he’s not near.

Joel’s throat works. He studies you like he’s trying to find the right answer in your face. “You sure?” he murmurs.

You nod, but it’s shaky. He still doesn’t move.

“I mean it,” he says again, voice rough. “You—don’t gotta say things you don’t—”

“I said don’t go.”

That’s all it takes. The bed dips when he sits beside you. You move without thinking—your hand on his shirt, then his chest, then his arm, like you’re checking to make sure he’s real.

He doesn’t stop you. You pull him closer.

He hesitates, every muscle in him tight, like he’s fighting instinct. His hand hovers in the air for a moment before it lands gently at your waist.

You tug him down until he’s lying beside you.

You can hear his heartbeat, feel the heat of him under your fingers. The two of you are stiff at first—two unfamiliar bodies trying to remember something that used to be second nature.

You don’t know what you’re doing. Neither does he.

He exhales against your temple, like he’s afraid the air itself might hurt you. You breathe him in, and it feels like something old and safe and terrifying all at once.

His hand finds yours under the blanket. His thumb moves, back and forth, the smallest stroke. You don’t realize you’re crying once more until he brushes one away with his knuckle.

He whispers something you can’t quite catch. Maybe it’s your name. Maybe it’s hers. You don’t ask. You just trace the rough line of his throat, the scars on his hand, the dip of his collarbone. He does the same, learning you by touch—your shoulder, your hair, the hollow at the base of your throat.

It’s clumsy, reverent, too gentle for how much it hurts.

You both crack there—slow, like spreading a fracture through glass. Thumb brushing along the edge of his jaw, his nose skimming your cheek, your jaw. He tucks you in against his chest. You listen to his heart until it steadies.

And this new ritual continues.

Time folds in on itself—weeks slide past like snowmelt, impossible to hold. You stop counting by days or calendars; you measure life instead by the smallest things.

The sound of boots at the door. The shape of his hand around a hammer, around a map, around the edge of your world.

By late November, you’ve grown familiar to the smell of coffee, sharp and earthy. He always makes two cups, one waiting for you by the sink. You don’t always drink it. Some days you only stand there, palms around the mug, letting the heat soak into your fingers until it cools.

He pretends not to watch. Sits at the table with a stack of repair notes or a half-folded map, eyes flicking up just long enough to catch you breathing. Sometimes you think he’s waiting to see if you’ll join him. You rarely do.

Instead, you spend time washing dishes. Folding blankets. You cook, sometimes—only simple things. Never what Sarah loved. Not the pancakes she’d drown in syrup, not the chicken stew she’d claim was “better than school lunch.” You can’t.

The world outside turns whiter, the light shorter each day. Ellie drifts in and out of the house, mostly keeping to the garage. You learn she’s been staying there. She has her own rhythm—friends, her girlfriend. It’s soft, watching her have something sweet.

Some days, Joel tries to coax you outside. Mentions the farmers’ meetings, the community dinners, the patrol schedules. You always shake your head.

“Maybe next week,” you say

He nods like he already knew. But he keeps asking.

And he keeps bringing things home. A pressed flower. A basket of foods you loved. A novel he found in the old library, the corners worn soft. He never makes a show of it. Just leaves them on the counter.

Sometimes you thank him.

Sometimes you just stare at the gift, fingertips brushing its edge, shock and disbelief running through your system.

Then one morning, the sky pale with early snowlight, you wake up to the house quiet. You move through the rooms on autopilot—bare feet against cold floors, the air sharp in your lungs.

You’re about to shower, something you’ve started looking forward to. You love the feeling of water washing away the ache, if only for a little while.

But when you open the drawer for clothes—nothing. Every shirt, every pair of jeans you’ve gathered from Maria and Tommy over the past few weeks is gone, tangled in the bottom of the basket. Unwashed.

You curse softly under your breath.

Passing through the kitchen, you spot a folded note on the counter. Joel’s handwriting—blocky, uneven.

Went to help at the barn.

Didn’t get to the laundry yet. My bad.

You can borrow whatever of mine you need.

—J.M.

You stare at it for a long time, thumb brushing over the edge of the paper. The thought of him doing your laundry hits you sideways. You can picture it too easily: at the sink, sleeves rolled up, that furrow between his brows.

Your face warms. You forgot he’s been the one washing your clothes. Your shirts. Your jacket. Your jeans.

Your bras.

Your panties.

God, you were married to the man for almost 15 years, yet now you were getting bashful and flushed over the fact that he was touching your underwear. You cursed your mind.

The note ends with a postscript, scribbled small:

Stay warm. Water heater’s touchy again—let it run first.

You let out a quiet, reluctant smile.

You take a shower. The water sputters and steams, hot enough to sting. You stand under it longer than you should, until the mirror fogs and your skin glows.

When you step out, the air bites against your damp hair. You wrap yourself in a towel and pad barefoot to his bedroom. The floorboards creak like they recognize you. The dresser drawers are stiff; they don’t like being opened. You rummage through the top one, the smell hitting you before your fingers even find it—cedar and faint tobacco.

Soft flannel. His.

You pause, thumb running over the collar, the worn edges. You haven’t worn Joel’s clothes in years—a whole lifetime has happened since. But the muscle memory is still there; you remember exactly how the fabric has been mended to shape.

You hesitate anyway.

“Jesus,” you whisper to no one. “You’re ridiculous.”

You slip it on.

The sleeves hang long, brushing your wrists, the fabric rough. It still smells like him, even washed. You close your eyes and breathe, until it almost hurts.

And suddenly you’re back there. In that other life.

The early mornings. The arguments about stupid shit. The way he’d leave his boots by the door and say, “I’ll get ‘em later,” and you’d roll your eyes and pick them up yourself. The nights when he’d come home late, exhausted and half-awake, and still manage to find you in the dark.

You don’t mean to move, but you do—backward, step by step, until your knees hit the edge of the bed. His bed. You fall onto it, the mattress giving beneath you. You press your face deeper into his pillow, chasing that comfort.

“Goddamn you,” you whisper into the cotton.

But what you mean is thank you.

It’s like being wrapped in him. And God, you’re terrified of what it means. Not of him—never of him—but of this. Of the way he lingers in everything.

He lingered on everything. Your soul, your life, your heart. Your body on those cold winter nights, him between your in a way only a lover knows how. Your body as you pinched and stroked you to ecstasy like it was his sole purpose.

Your breath hitches, and your fingers twitch against the fabric. You shouldn’t. You won’t. You’re stronger than this—or so you tell yourself. But your resolve frays like threadbare cloth.

Your hand moves before you can stop it, tentative at first, grazing the hem of his flannel. A shiver runs through you, sharp and electric.

No, you think, biting your lip hard enough to sting. Don’t do this.

But his voice echoes in your mind, soft and teasing, unraveling you.

C’mon, darlin’. Let go for me.

You’re lost in him, in this need whispered against your skin.

Your hand drifts lower, fingertips grazing the skin just above your knee. The touch is feather-light, testing.

You part your thighs, with cool air kissing your slick heat; you’re already drenched. When’s the last time you let yourself feel this? Years, maybe. Survival doesn’t leave room for want.

You slide through your folds, parting them, circling the swollen ache that built so quickly, just off his smell.

Please, Joel. Touch me. I’ve been so cold.

One finger slips inside, then another. The stretch is perfect, but not enough. You curl them, searching, and when you find that spot, your breath stumbles out in a broken moan.

You take me so good, baby. Always have.

You nod against the fabric, and then hastily pull the buttons undone down to your navel, and you push one side aside with trembling fingers.

Your breast spills free—flushed, nipple peaked tight. You cup it, thumb flicking with your nail once, twice, then pinching hard enough to make your breath hitch. The sting shoots straight to your cunt. You roll the nipple between finger and thumb, tugging until your back lifts off the mattress.

You move your head to the side, the collar in front of your nose, and you stay inhaling him while you fuck yourself on your fingers, deep, steady strokes that match the pulse in your ears.

The rhythm turns frantic. Wet sounds fill the small space, obscene and perfect. You add a third finger; the burn is exquisite. You imagine his weight pinning you down, hips snapping, voice rough in your ear.

You want me to come in the pussy I put a ring on?

You come with a muffled cry, body shuddering. Your walls clamp down, thighs trembling. Pleasure crashes in sharp, endless waves, your fingers still buried deep, slick coating your hand and the inside of your thighs.

The world narrows to the pulse of your heartbeat, the ragged rhythm of your gasps. Slowly, the waves ebb, leaving you trembling in their wake. Your hand falls away, slick and heavy, resting against your exposed breast. You don’t move to cover yourself.

The room is quiet again, save for the soft creak of the bedframe beneath your weight and the faint chirping of morning birds.

Your chest heaves, each breath a struggle. Staring at the ceiling, your eyes tracing the cracks as your mind catches up to your body. The pleasure lingers, but it’s drowned by the slow creep of something else.

Guilt, maybe.

You close your eyes, willing the thought away, but it lingers like the scent on the pillow, like your next thought:

You might be falling in love with your husband again.

┈┈・ ☣・┈┈

He was early.

You spotted him through the restaurant window, standing under the awning with one hand tucked into his jacket pocket, the other rubbing along his jaw. He looked… nervous. The sight did something funny to your stomach, seeing this broad, quiet man fidgeting like a teenager on prom night.

When he caught sight of you walking toward him, he straightened so fast it almost made you laugh. His hand dropped from his face, and a faint, almost shy smile tugged at his mouth.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and rough, that easy southern drawl curling around the word. “You look—uh. Nice.”

You smiled. “You too.”

He was wearing his usual—plaid shirt, denim jacket, jeans—but somehow it worked differently tonight. Maybe it was the effort. The way his hair was combed down, neat but still a little messy near the edges, or the fact that his boots looked like he’d actually wiped them off before coming.

The hostess seated you near the window. The two of you sat across from each other, menus up like shields, both pretending to read while you waited for the other to speak first.

“So,” Joel started after a few moments, clearing his throat. “Uh—”

You looked up. “Uh?”

“I should probably jus’—jus’ say this upfront.”

You set your menu down, a small smile forming. “Okay.”

He leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping against the table once before curling into a fist. “I got a kid,” he blurted. “Her name’s Sarah. She’s one. Almost two.”

He paused, eyes flicking between you and the salt shaker.

“She’s… well, she’s my whole damn world. I jus’ don’t wanna waste anyone’s time pretendin’ otherwise.”

He said it like he was bracing for a hit. His shoulders were stiff, jaw tight. You could tell it wasn’t something he said often—probably something he practiced in his head on the way here.

“You love her.”

He let out a breath, softer than a sigh. “Yeah. More’n I thought I could love anythin’, to be honest. It’s jus’ been me and her since—well, since birth.” His lips twitched, almost a smile. “So that’s kinda my life. I work, I come home, I make sure she eats somethin’ other than pancakes, and I pass out by nine. Not real excitin’.”

You grinned. “You sound like a good dad.”

That stopped him. He blinked, mouth opening like he didn’t quite know what to do with the words. “You ain’t—uh—you’re not scared off?”

“By a good dad?” you teased. “No. I think that’s actually kind of attractive.”

His ears went a little pink. He looked down, rubbed the back of his neck. “Well,” he murmured. “That’s a first.”

After that, the tension broke.

You asked him about his work—how long he’d been building houses—and his face lit up when he talked about it. He told you about learning carpentry, working with his brother Tommy. You told him about your job, about the people you worked with, the work politics he’d probably hate.

And then somehow the conversation drifted back to Sarah.

“She’s wild,” Joel said, shaking his head with a fond smile. “Got more attitude than I do. Last week she told Tommy he was ‘too old’ to play hide and seek.”

You laughed, and he grinned wider, encouraged.

“She’s obsessed with dinosaurs right now. Keeps askin’ me if there’s any still walkin’ ‘round Texas. I told her, no, but she says maybe there’s one hidin’ in the Hill Country.”

“She sounds smart.”

“Too damn smart, sometimes.” He took a sip of water, then added in a quieter voice, “Her mama—well. She ain’t ‘round. So I’m jus’ tryin’ to figure it out best I can.”

You didn’t press. You just nodded, the silence that followed soft.

Between courses, you caught him watching you once or twice—quick, flickering glances that he pretended didn’t happen when you met his eyes. He asked if your food was good, made a few jokes about the size of the portions, grumbled when the waiter brought him a fancy small plate that “wouldn’t fill a bird.”

It was nice. Simple.

By the time the check came, you felt lighter. The awkwardness from the start had melted into something easy, something warm. You tried to grab for your wallet, but Joel was faster, already sliding his card onto the tray.

“Joel—”

“Nope.”

“C’mon, at least let me—”

“Darlin’, don’t even try.”

You stared at him, fighting a smile. “Darlin’?”

He froze, caught off guard by his own mouth. “Oh. Uh—slipped out. Sorry.”

You laughed. “Don’t be.”

He looked down at his plate, hiding a grin.

When you stepped outside, the night was cool and damp. Streetlights hummed overhead, and the air smelled like rain waiting to happen. Joel walked beside you, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, close enough that your sleeve brushed his once or twice.

At your front door, he stopped.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “I had a lotta fun tonight. Really did.”

“Me too.”

He shifted, eyes darting between you and the porch light. “If you wanna… maybe—I don’t know—keep goin’. Not tonight, I mean—well, maybe tonight, but not like that—jus’… I mean, if you wanna see me ‘gain.”

You tried, you really did, but the laugh bubbled out anyway again. He went red to the ears.

“Sorry,” you said between breaths. “You’re just—”

“Terrible at this?”

“Adorable,” you corrected.

“Ain’t heard that one ‘fore.”

You stepped closer, your voice quieter. “Then I guess you were overdue.”

And before he could come up with another flustered thing to say, you leaned up and kissed him.

It was gentle, brief, testing. His breath hitched, the soft scratch of his stubble grazing your chin. But then he kissed you back, slow and certain.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were smiling without meaning to.

“You wanna come inside?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

He hesitated, mouth curving into something between a grin and a question. “Sarah’s with Tommy.”

You blinked, and shook your head at your mind. “Right. So you should probably—”

“I’ll jus’ pay him more,” he said quickly, like it was the easiest decision in the world.

That made you laugh. “You sure?”

He looked at you, really looked at you, eyes soft and steady. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

You stepped back, opened the door. He followed you in.

The click of the lock behind you sounded louder than it should have. The rain started to fall outside, soft against the windows.

And that, was the start of it all.

┈┈・ ☣・┈┈

Lights wind around the lampposts, glowing gold through the frost, and you swear the whole town smells faintly of cinnamon and pine.

The crowds gathered around the tree—families, couples, kids running around with half-eaten cookies and sticky fingers. The fire pit crackles, throwing warmth into the cold night. You stand beside Tommy, watching Maria up on the platform giving a short speech about community, about making it through another winter together.

Tommy’s got Benji in his arms. The kid’s nodding off, head tucked under his chin, thumb hanging loose from his mouth. His curls are sticking up in every direction.

You lean a little closer, smile softly. “He’s about two minutes from a faceplant.”

Tommy grins, voice low so he doesn’t wake the boy. “Yeah, he’s a fighter though. Ain’t givin’ in easy.”

Benji stirs, blinking up at you with heavy-lidded eyes. You offer your arms without thinking. “Want me to take him?”

Tommy looks between you and the sleepy kid, then chuckles. “Hey, bud, wanna go over to Aunt, huh?”

Aunt. You’re not even sure he realizes he said it until your throat tightens. You just nod, arms open, and Benji reaches for you without hesitation.

He’s warm and smells like sugar. His little hand curls into your jacket as his head droops against your shoulder. You sway a little, rocking him out of habit you thought you’d forgotten.

Tommy watches, something soft flickering in his expression. “You always were good with kids,” he says.

You smile, brushing a curl from Benji’s forehead. “Guess it’s like riding a bike.”

“Yeah,” Tommy murmurs. “One hell of a bike.”

You don’t respond. Your eyes trace the curve of Benji’s lashes, the faint freckles under his eyes. He’s got that same Miller look—those brown eyes, that furrow even when he’s half-asleep. You’ve seen it in Tommy. In Joel. In Sarah.

Your chest tightens. You look away before Tommy can see the wet shine starting in your eyes.

Maria’s speech winds down, her voice softening into a smile. The crowd claps. Maria steps off the platform, her eyes finding Tommy and Benji immediately.

“There’s my boys,” she says, coming over.

She holds her arms out for Benji. He mumbles something sleepy, reaching one hand back toward you before his head falls against Maria’s shoulder.

“Out cold,” she whispers, smiling.

You nod, hands feeling strangely empty once he’s gone.

The music starts again—a few people strumming guitars, someone singing off-key but earnest. Around you, people start exchanging small, wrapped gifts. You’d almost forgotten you brought yours.

“Hey,” you murmur, reaching into your coat pocket and pulling out the little parcel. “This is for Benji.”

Tommy takes it, grinning as he peels back the paper. Inside is a tiny carved horse, the wood polished smooth, the details careful—each line of the mane precise. You spent weeks finding it, trading with an older man in the workshop who’d carved it by hand.

“Look at this,” Tommy says, awe threading through his voice. “You serious? You got this for him?”

You shrug, a little bashful. “He’s obsessed with the ones you keep in the barn. Figured he needed one he can keep in his pocket.”

Maria smiles, kissing her son’s temple. “He’s gonna love it.”

You hand her two more small bundles—one for each of them. A new leather glove set for Tommy, stitched tight and warm. A scarf for Maria, deep green, softer as anything you’ve felt in years.

Tommy whistles low. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.”

They glance at each other. That wordless kind of look. Then Maria reaches behind her coat and pulls out a square, neatly wrapped in cloth.

“This one’s from us.”

“You didn’t—”

“Jus’ open it,” he says, voice low.

The paper rustles softly. You fold it back, careful with the corners. Then your breath catches.

It’s a photo.

A real, glossy photo in a simple wooden frame. The edges yellowed with age but the image clear.

You and Joel—both asleep, tangled up on a sunlit porch. His arm draped across your waist. Your head resting against his chest. Sarah’s in the background, hands on her hips, grinning at the camera like she’s in on a secret. And in the far corner, barely visible in the reflection, a familiar shadow—Tommy, holding the camera.

Your throat closes.

You trace the edge of the frame with your thumb. “Tommy… how—”

“After the outbreak,” he says quietly, staring into the fire instead of at you. “First couple years. Went back to Austin. Most of it was gone, but the photo box was still there. Been keepin’ it safe.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until the tears blur the image in your hands. You blink fast, but it doesn’t stop the ache building in your chest.

“I thought they were all gone,” you whisper.

Tommy shrugs, smiling a little.

You step forward and hug him. Tight. Your arms around his shoulders, the photo pressed between you so you don’t drop it. He hesitates, then holds you back just as firmly.

Maria watches with a soft smile, Benji sleeping peacefully against her.

You pull back eventually, eyes red, voice rough. “Thank you,” you murmur.

Tommy’s face is all soft lines. “Go eat. You look like you’ll fall into the fire otherwise.” He grins and gestures toward the Tipsy Bison like he’s offering you heaven on a platter.

It smells like cinnamon and cheap liquor and something toasted that turns your stomach into guilty wanting. You thread through people, keeping the picture safe against your ribs. The crowd moves slow; laughter spills from somewhere, and someone is playing the guitar off-key and everyone loves it anyway.

A man steps in front of you—too close, his breath warm with old-cologne regret. He’s around your age, maybe a decade younger if you squint, wearing a patched jacket and confidence like it’s a badge.

“You lookin’ lonely,” he says, grin crooked. “Mind if I—”

“I’m not,” you say. Your smile is small and final. You tuck the word away and step to the side to keep the crowd moving. You make it to the bar, and order your drink. It comes quickly.

He doesn’t take the hint, following you. “Come on, lighten up. I’ve got a bottle with your name on it.”

“Not interested,” you say, firmer. The drink in your hand clinks. You can feel the edges of the photo under your palm like a talisman.

He laughs like you’re the joke. “Someone’s touchy. You look like you could use a good time.”

“Or maybe you could use a lesson,” you say. “Either way, back off.”

People nearby glance. A woman in a knitted hat gives you a sympathetic look; a boy laughs and points. The man’s jaw tightens. He takes a step closer until his fingers brush your arm.

“Don’t,” you say. Loud enough now. Heads turn.

He bends, leans in. “I said—”

You lift the cup and pour. The liquor arcs, wet and immediate, over his face. His hair plastered flat, his mouth opens in surprise, then anger.

“Jesus—” he spits, hand flying to his face. His laugh is gone. He wipes at his eyes, fury hot and immediate.

“Don’t touch me,” you snap. “Don’t touch any woman who doesn’t want it. Fuck off asshole.”

He glares at you, anger thick enough to taste.

The he moves.

Your body reacts before your brain: the shove, the pressure of a palm against his chest to put distance between you and the hand that hovered too long. Something clamps down on your neck—hard—and cold fingers braided through your hair. Pain flares hot along your scalp as he pulls. Instinct roars, everything narrowing to the shape of the man’s face.

You twist, ready to break his nose, but you doesn’t get the chance.

A blur of motion—then the man’s body jerks sideways. He hits the ground hard, air leaving him in a grunt.

You stumble away from the sudden relief of pressure on your head. You cradle it, and look over your shoulder with harsh breaths.

Joel’s there.

Not the quiet Joel. Not the ‘coffee in the morning’ Joel. Not the Joel who sleeps in your bed, holding you tight. This is something else. A version of him pulled straight out of the man you met at the gas station—feral and unfiltered. His chest heaves once before he moves again, towering over the man.

“Get your fuckin’ hands off my wife!”

The words tear out of him, raw, louder than the music, louder than the people shouting. And then he’s on him.

Fists. Over and over. Flesh hitting flesh, the sound thick and wet. Someone screams his name.

Joel doesn’t hear. He’s somewhere else: lost to the sound of his own heartbeat, to the cruelty of a world that took too much from him and dared to reach for you.

“Joel!” you shout, pushing through the people trying to pull him off. “Joel, stop!”

He doesn’t.

You grab his shoulder, hard, nails digging into the fabric of his jacket.

That gets him. His fist hangs midair, knuckles split, breath ragged. He turns. His eyes—they’re wild. Like he doesn’t even recognize where he is.

Then he sees you.

The rage drains fast, leaving him pale. His hands fall. He looks down at the man beneath him, half-conscious, face bleeding into the floor. The silence that follows is brutal. Everyone’s staring. No one moves.

Joel’s chest rises and falls, too fast. Then he stands, his hands—bloodied and shaking—on your face.

“Hey. Hey, look at me. You okay?” His voice cracks halfway through, the old, broken edge of it cutting through everything else. His thumbs brush your cheeks, leaving streaks of red. “He hurt you? Tell me if he did.”

You shake your head, swallowing hard. You’re fine. You were fine. You always were.

He growls something at your lack of words, looking around the crowd before tucking you against his side and his hand steady at your back. You can hear the crowd murmuring, whispers darting like fish through water.

Exiting the Tipsy Bison, you spot Tommy’s face through the haze—brows drawn, mouth tight. Maria’s beside him, arms crossed, listening to someone whisper in her ear. Her expression doesn’t change.

You hold your photo tighter. You stare straight ahead, past the people, past the lights.

The fear comes slow.

Maybe Joel did love you once. Maybe he still did. But you can’t stop thinking about what love costs now. What it demands.

He doesn’t speak until you’re well past the town square, the noise fading behind you. The snow crunches under your boots, slow and steady, the kind of silence that feels heavier than shouting.

Then you pull away.

“Stop,” you say.

He does, immediately. Turns to you in the middle of the empty street, breath clouding in the cold. Snow gathers in his beard, catches on his lashes. He looks older like this—softer really, though the blood on his hands hasn’t dried yet.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “If I scared you. I didn’t mean to. I’m—so sorry, darlin’.”

You shake your head, words shaking with your breath. “No. It’s not that. I just—” You press a hand to your chest. “I can’t do this anymore.”

His brow furrows. “Can’t do what?”

“This,” you say. You motion between you, your voice thin. “You. Me. The way you—look at me like I’m still…” You stop, shaking your head. “Like we’re still the same people.”

He steps closer, hand half-raised, hesitant. “What are you talkin’ about?”

“You scare me, Joel.”

The words hang there, suspended. You can see the way they hit him, like a punch he doesn’t block.

He blinks. “What?”

“You scare me,” you repeat, quieter now. “Not because of what you did. But because you think you owe it to me. Like I’m still yours.”

“You are mine.”

You close your eyes. The snow’s starting to fall harder, catching on your lashes. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

He shakes his head, steps forward again, pleading. “I didn’t mean to lose control. I jus’—he touched you, and I saw red. I couldn’t—hell, I ain’t proud of it, but I’d do it ‘gain if it meant—”

“Joel.” You interrupt, firm. “Just stop.”

He freezes mid-sentence, mouth still open like the air left him.

You take a step back. Then another. “You keep saying you’re sorry, but you’re not. You’re still justifying it. You think it’s love, but it’s not. It’s fear. It’s control. You think if you hold on tight enough, you won’t lose me again.”

His chest rises and falls, ragged. “You don’t understand—”

“You were my husband,” you say, your voice shaking now. “You were the best thing I had. And then the world ended, and I lost you. I learned to live without you. To fight. To protect myself. And now—now you’re back, and I don’t know how to breathe with you around, yet at the same time I can’t. You smother me, Joel.”

“I ain’t tryin’ to smother you, I’m tryin’ to keep you alive.”

“I don’t need you to keep me alive,” you fire back. “I already did that for twenty years without you.”

He takes a step closer, voice breaking. “I don’t know how to not care ‘bout you. You understand? I don’t know how to turn that off. I’ve already lost everythin’ once, I can’t—”

“But you aren’t my husband anymore.”

He stops cold.

The snow falls thicker now, lazy flakes settling in his hair, catching in his lashes. His breath comes out uneven, fogging the air between you. He looks at you like he’s trying to recognize a face in a dream—one that keeps slipping away every time he blinks.

“No.”

“Joel—”

“No.” He shakes his head hard, eyes wide, something wild behind them. “Don’t say that. Don’t—don’t do that to me.”

You step forward, voice soft. “Joel, listen to me—”

“You don’t get to just say that like it’s some Goddamn fact. Like it ain’t—” He cuts himself off, running a hand down his face, the motion trembling. “Y’think I can jus’ stop bein’ your husband ‘cause the world went to shit?”

You feel your throat close. “That’s not what I—”

“‘Cause I never stopped.” His voice cracks, raw and broken. “Not for one second. Every day, I—” He presses a fist against his chest, like he’s trying to hold something in. “I woke up, and I thought of you. I went to sleep thinkin’ of you. When I saw—when I saw Ellie—I thought, ‘you’d like her,’ because I still—still thought about what you’d like.”

“Joel…”

He’s breathing hard now, his voice shaking. “Y’think I don’t know what I am? What I’ve done? Y’think I don’t hate myself every time I look in the mirror? But I never—” He stops. His jaw clenches, and then, in a shaky motion, he reaches for the zipper of his coat.

“Don’t—stop—”

But he’s already pulling it open, shoving the heavy fabric aside. His fingers dig under his flannel, and when something comes out, something holding on a thin chain.

The moonlight catches it. A dull glint of gold. A wedding band, pressed against his chest like a second heartbeat.

You go still.

Your throat burns, but no sound comes out.

“I didn’t wear it for twenty-somethin’ years, carried it ‘round in my pocket,” he says hoarsely. His eyes glisten, fixed on yours. “Couldn’t. Didn’t feel right. But when I found you ‘gain, when I—when I saw you—” His hand trembles as he grips the ring. “I started wearin’ it ‘gain.”

You stare at him, lips parting, chest heaving with too many emotions at once.

“I thought of you every day,” he says, voice rough as gravel. “Beat myself bloody over losin’ you and Sarah. Over not savin’ you. And now you stand here and tell me I ain’t your husband.” His voice cracks. “How the hell am I supposed to live with that?”

You want to speak. You want to tell him that this isn’t fair. But when you open your mouth, nothing comes out.

Because your hands are already moving.

You reach up, fingers shaking, fumbling at your collar. The chain catches against your skin as you pull it free, and the air leaves your lungs when you pull our your own glint of gold.

Joel’s breath stutters. He takes a half step forward, like he’s afraid it’ll disappear if he gets too close. His lips part, trembling.

“You… you didn’t have it, when you left. How did you—”

“I couldn’t let it go.”

He makes a sound—half sob, half gasp—and suddenly he’s moving.

The distance between you collapses in a heartbeat. His arms are around you before you can breathe, before you can think, and then you’re both crashing together like you’ve been pulled by the same gravity. His mouth finds yours, desperate, broken, and you respond just as fiercely, clinging to him like he’s the only thing holding you upright.

The picture slips from your hand, falling face-down into the snow. You don’t even notice.

You taste salt—tears, his or yours, you can’t tell. His hands are in your hair, on your back, clutching, trembling. Yours are pressed to his chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat under your palms, the metal of the ring chain warm against your fingers.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. His forehead rests against yours, breath mingling in the freezing air.

“Please,” he mutters against your lips, his voice trembling like the rest of him. “Don’t—don’t go.”

“No,” you whisper back, voice rough, almost lost in the wind. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He chokes again, pulling the picture from the snow with shaking hands. His eyes go wide and hollow for a second, taking in what it is, before the sound escapes him—low, guttural, broken.

“C’mon,” he says hoarsely, tugging you toward him. “Let’s go… home.”

“Okay.”

He pulls you in close again as he guides you down the snow-lined street toward home. Rancher Street comes into view, quiet and empty, the glow of porch lights soft against the dark.

Inside, the house smells faintly of woodsmoke and something sweet. You see light spilling from the garage; Ellie’s there.

Joel sets the picture frame down gently on the entry table, reverent almost, before his attention snaps back to you. He steps forward, pressing you harshly against him again. A kiss, long and desperate, his hands clutching at your arms, your shoulders, like he’s relearning your weight against his.

You reach to his side, and he lets out a sharp wince against your lips. He curses softly, half-grunt, half-groan. “Joel—” you start, moving to check, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t care. Keep goin’,” he insists.

He leans in again, brushing against your lips, but you step back, firm. “No. Joel, c’mon. Sit.”

He huffs, muttering, but follows your gesture, settling onto the couch where you point. You rush to the kitchen, retrieving the small medical kit you know is there. When you return, he’s already watching you, breathing a little faster, eyes shadowed with something between exhaustion and longing.

“Take it off,” you instruct softly.

He frowns but complies without argument, peeling off the heavy winter coat, then the flannel, then the shirt beneath. Now bare to the waist, he’s different. The chest beneath your hands is broad, scarred, marked by years you don’t need to ask about. Hair dusts his shoulders and chest. His wedding band glints at the center, catching the firelight.

Your fingers move to the red mark forming along his ribs. You hiss softly, careful, cleaning and pressing gently. He leans into you, eyes closed, letting the quiet comfort of your care anchor him.

“You need to be careful. You aren’t young anymore, can’t heal at the same rate. We can only hope that it just stays a bruise and not something really bad.”

He doesn’t answer with words, just tilts his head, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly. Then, without thinking, his hand brushes a strand of hair back from your face.

You feel it deep in your chest. The brush of his fingers lingers longer than necessary, a gentle weight that makes your pulse catch.

You can tell he’s unsure what to say, and for once, it’s the same for you. Just the storm, the couch, the soft clink of mugs.

Joel’s thumb traces along your jaw, quiet, careful. He’s watching you, and it makes your chest ache.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” you finally whisper, voice soft, almost swallowed by the roar of the snow.

You shift closer, letting your forehead rest against his. There’s something in the way he exhales, a tension you’ve both been holding for months, released in the brush of skin to skin.

There’s a beat of silence, and then another. Neither of you moves. The room shrinks until it’s just you, him, and the heat simmering between your bodies.

You finally tilt your head up, catching his eyes.

Both of you know what the other wants. Words aren’t needed in a relationship like yours and Joel’s.

“I… are you sure?” you still check. “It might be too much. And your side might be—”

“Darlin’.”

“Yes?”

He leans up to press a quick kiss to your temple. “Stop talkin’.”

You smile just a fraction. He drags you down to be on the couch with him. Then, slower than you expect compared to before, he lowers his head, lips brushing yours—soft, tentative.

Your body responds instantly. Your hands roam from his back to your chest. He moans softly, lips parting, teeth grazing, tongues brushing, and you taste him like you’d dreamed of for countless nights.

Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and he responds in kind, his grip firm on your waist, his body pressing into yours.

The kiss turns into a tug-of-war, pull and counter-pull, lips and hands claiming, taking, giving in equal measure.

In the midst of it, you find yourself on his lap, heart pounding. It’s been years since you’ve experienced anything like this, and your body recalls only fragments.

Your cheeks flush, and you give him a shy, light peck on the lips.

Joel pauses briefly, pulling back just enough to study your face with concern and intensity. “Hey… are you ‘kay?” he asks, his voice low and gentle.

“I’m fine,” you reply, slightly breathless, hands resting on his shoulders. “It’s just… been a while.”

His lips curve into a small, crooked smile. “You’re ain’t alone in that.”

Relief washes over you, comforting you like a warm blanket.

Joel’s hands steady your hips, guiding you as you press against him. Your hips move together, a desperate rhythm. The couch creaks faintly beneath you, but neither of you notices.

Your hands slide up to his neck, fingers threading into the hair at his nape, and he lets out a low, shuddering breath. His eyes darken, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle.

“Goddamn,” he breathes, almost to himself, his voice rough with awe. “Look at you.”

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, but there’s no room for embarrassment. The rhythm slows, and he leans back and before you can process it, he’s easing you off his lap, guiding you to lie back.

He kneels between your legs, his movements unhurried. His fingers find the hem of your jacket and shirt, and he pauses, looking to you for permission. You nod, and he peels the fabric away, exposing your skin to the cool air. His hands move to your jeans next, unbuttoning them. You lift your hips, helping him slide them off, leaving you in just your panties and bra.

Joel sits back on his heels, his eyes raking over you. He huffs out a breath, a low sound that’s half awe, half restraint. His fingers trace a slow path over the fabric covering your slit, and you both shiver at the contact.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “One thing I forgot was how pretty you looked in these. How fuckin’… soft.”

You whimper, the sound escaping before you can stop it. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and his expression shifts to something almost pleading.

“Touch yourself. Wanna see.”

You hesitate for a moment, but his gaze is patient, urging you on without pressure. Slowly, you slide your fingers down, pulling your panties to the side. You touch yourself, tentative at first, moving through slick, then with more confidence as you feel his eyes on you.

Joel groans, a deep, guttural sound. His hand moves to the front of his jeans, unzipping them but not pulling them down, just enough to let his bulge sit heavy in his boxers. You swallow hard, your eyes flicking to the outline of him, your fingers faltering.

“Keep goin’,” he murmurs, his voice strained. “Need somethin’ pretty to watch. My cock… it don’t work the same no more, but you—” He breaks off, his hand palming himself through the fabric. “You’re doin’ so good.”

His words sink into you, warm and safe, fueling the fire. You circle quicker, your fingers finding a rhythm, and Joel’s breath grows uneven.

He shifts, pulling his boxers down just enough to free himself, his soft cock in his hand as he begins to stroke slowly. The sight makes your breath hitch, and you reach behind to unclasp your bra, letting it fall away. Your skin prickles under his gaze, and a flicker of insecurity creeps in.

“I’m… sorry,” you mumble, eyes dropping. “My body’s not what it used to be.”

Joel’s hand stills, and a low growl rumbles from his chest. “Get that the fuck outta your head,” he says, his voice sharp but not unkind. “I ain’t a catch, darlin’ no more. Look at me—gray hairs, creaky knees. But you? You’re still everythin’.”

You moan softly, emboldened, and slip a finger through your folds, the stretch drawing a shudder through your body. His gaze darkens, his strokes growing firmer as his cock hardens, springing up against his soft belly.

Without warning, Joel leans forward, his hands finding your waist. “C’mere,” he says, and before you can protest, he’s standing and pulling you up with him, and promptly bent down to put you over his shoulder with a grunt.

You gasp, your center of gravity thrown off.

“Joel, don’t show off!” you say, swatting at his back.

He chuckles low, and gives your ass a smack as he climbs the stairs. “Don’t matter if I’m sixty or thirty-six, darlin’. I’m makin’ sure you don’t lift a damn finger.”

The world tilts back to normal as he sets you down on his bed with a huff. He steps back, eyes raking over you, then lies back on the bed, his hand brushing his lips as he looks over at you.

“Sit,” he says, his voice low and commanding.

Your cheeks flush, and you hesitate, glancing down at yourself. “I’m… I’m too heavy,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

“’Gain with this? Sit, darlin’. I ain’t askin’.” His hand reaches for yours, and the certainty in his voice pulls you past your hesitation.

You slip your soaked panties off and move to hover over his face, your thighs framing his head, your own gaze drawn to his hardened cock, now fully erect and resting against his stomach. Joel’s hands grip your hips, and with a low growl, he pulls you down, his tongue finding you with familiar skill that makes you gasp.

The heat of his mouth, the way he works you, makes you wetter than you thought possible.

Your eyes drift to his cock, and you lean forward, your breath catching as you take in the sight of him. Tentatively, you reach out, your fingers brushing against the ridges, and Joel groans against you, “Keep touchin’ me.” he mumbles into you, his voice muffled.

You wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly, matching the rhythm of his tongue. “You’re so good,” you whisper, barely aware of the words spilling out. “Joel, I—”

His hands guide your hips, urging you to move faster, and you comply, grinding harder against his mouth as your hand works him in tandem. Suddenly, a thought crosses your mind, and before you can shy away, you lean forward further, taking him into your mouth, and Joel’s hips buck slightly, a choked groan escaping him.

You hum around him, the vibration drawing another groan from deep in his chest. Pre cum fills your mouth, and you kitten lick at the tip. You can feel Joel’s thighs tense around your head, his groans against your pussy groaning.

The rhythm between you grows frantic, you sucking deep with hollow cheeks, his tongue entering and exiting.

“Joel—” you gasp, pulling back just enough to speak. “I’m close—oh fuck—shit, shit, shit!”

He doesn’t respond with words, but his tongue moves with renewed purpose, pushing you closer to the edge. The tension in your core snaps, and you come undone, a wave of pleasure crashing through you as you cry out, your body trembling against his mouth.

You ride it out, hips moving instinctively, chasing every last pulse of sensation until your breath steadies and you slump forward.

Joel’s hands are gentle now, easing you off him as he shifts beneath you. Before you can catch your breath, he flips you onto your side with a swift, the sudden change making your head spin. You laugh, breathless and a little indignant.

“Joel, you gotta stop manhandling me like that.

He chuckles, his eyes glinting with mischief, his cock pressed flush against your ass. “What, you don’t like it?” he teases, leaning over shoulder, his hand braced on your side. “Thought you’d be used to me by now.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Joel’s gaze locks on yours, and he moves closer, notching himself against your sopping core. This feels different—different to all the touching and kissing and sweet gestures. Like the years apart have carved out a space that only this moment can fill. .

You turn your head, looking over your shoulder, and the sight of him—his weathered face, the gray in his stubble, the liver spots on his face, the unguarded emotion in his eyes—hits you like nothing before. Tears prick at your eyes, unbidden, and your voice trembles as you speak.

“I’ve missed you.”

He groans like you stabbed him.

“...I love you.”

He lets out a sound that’s half pleasure, half pain, and pushes into you slowly, filling you with a tenderness. “I love you too,” he says, his voice rough with emotion, cracking slightly on the words. “Always have. Always fuckin’ will.”

Your lips meet over your shoulder, the kiss sloppy and desperate, but neither of you cares. It’s love, pouring into every messy press of lips, every shared breath.

His hands find yours, fingers lacing together, grounding you as he moves, slow and deep, each thrust a reclamation of what you’ve both lost.

His forehead rests against your shoulder, and you feel the tremor in his grip. “Missed you so damn much,” he murmurs, like a secret meant just for you. “Thought I’d never get this ‘gain.”

“Me too,” you whisper, your voice thick with tears. “I didn’t think… I didn’t know if we’d ever—”

“Don’t think all that,” he cuts in softly, his lips brushing your shoulder. “We’re here now. That’s what matters.”

You nod, and let the moment carry you. His movements grow steadier, more purposeful, and you match him, like when things were simpler, when it was just you and him against the world.

His hand slides up your side, resting over your heart, and you feel its frantic beat under his palm, mirroring his own. Eventually, his hand holds your ring, holding so tight your worried it might snap off, but all you can focus on is the pleasure and the cold sting of his own ring against your back.

You feel the tension coiling in your core, and Joel’s movements falter slightly, his own release building. “Your close…” he simply notes, his lips brushing your ear.

“Yes…” you breathe, your voice trembling. “You?”

“Fuck, yeah,” he mutters, a faint chuckle in his voice, but it’s laced with something else. “Together, alright? Stay with me.”

His hand moves to your cheek, turning your face so he can look at you, and the vulnerability in his eyes undoes you. You move together, faster now, chasing the edge together.

You cry out, your body trembling as the pleasure overtakes you, and Joel groans, deep and guttural, his grip tightening as he spills into you, his forehead pressed to your shoulder. His cum fills you warm and sticky.

Your bodies shudder together. You’re both gasping, clinging to each other, the intensity leaving you both raw and exposed.

For a moment, neither of you speaks, staying tangled together, his arms wrapped around you, your fingers still laced with his. The silence is comforting, a space where words aren’t needed.

Joel shifts slightly, his breath still uneven, and reaches for his handkerchief on the nightstand. “C’mere,” he murmurs, his voice soft but steady. He gently wipes the sweat from your skin, his hands careful and deliberate. You lean into his touch, your body relaxing under his care.

“You okay?” he asks, his eyes searching yours, concern etched into the lines of his face.

“More than okay,” you whisper. “You?”

“I’m good.” His thumb lingers on your cheek, and for a moment, the world feels soft, safe, just the two of you.

His eyes search yours, and then, something sparks behind them.

He sits up with a sudden burst of energy, slipping out of you gently. “Sit with me.” He gestures to the edge of the bed, his voice gentle but insistent. Your dazed, but you still follow him, pulling the covers with you. You wrap yourself and Joel underneath the sheet, pressed flush against each other.

No words are traded, no noise, nothing but feelings.

Joel’s hand moves to the chain around his neck. He tugs it, snapping it free. He holds your gaze, then reaches for your neck. You swallow hard, your heart pounding, but you nod, giving him permission. He tugs, and the chain breaks with a quiet snap, falling away.

He unspools the rings from their respective chains, tossing the broken metal over his shoulder without a second glance. He stares at them, his eyes glistening, and you feel your own throat tighten.

“What are you doing.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Are you going to make me guess?”

Mwah!

“Joel…”

Mwah!

You giggled this time, voice caught somewhere between exasperation and a smile. “Joel.”

Mwah! Mwah!

“Oh my God! You’re gonna ruin my hair!”

He didn’t stop. He kissed you once more—loudly, obnoxiously—right on the top of your head, arms wrapped around you so tight you could barely fight him off.

“Joel, what are you doing with our rings?”

He looks down at them, tracing the gold edge.

Then he began to speak, low and raw.

“I loved you ‘fore everythin’, y’know?”

“I know baby.”

“I loved you in every sunrise I saw without you, every quiet night I spent thinkin’ of you. I loved you through fear, through anger, through losin’ myself trying to find you ‘gain. And I… I still love you. Always have, always will.”

Tears spring to your eyes, and you hide your face against his shoulder.

“I never stopped,” you whisper. “Not once.”

“I know darlin’.”

His hand lifts yours, and together you trade rings—his for yours, yours for his—as a silent acknowledgment of every scar, every loss, every year separated.

“I vow,” he continues, voice steady despite the tremor beneath it, “To keep findin’ you. To stand with you through the shit, through hell. Ain’t ever let you feel alone, not ‘gain. You are my heart, my home, my life.

He swallowed.

“My wife.”

You reach for his hands, steadying them in yours. “And I vow… I vow to love you. To stay by you side, never let something come in between us again. I will walk with you, always.”

You smiled wider than you have in years.

“My husband.”

The rings slip onto fingers that know each other so intimately.

You pull each other close, pressing foreheads together. And then, finally, lips meet—slow, then urgent, sure. A kiss that stitches together all the lost time.

And you knew—this was how it was always meant to be.

Ah yes, tragic lovers. My favorite hehe

Tag list (just for this fic):

@spookychaossuit, @joeldjarin

You moved into the trailer park about a year ago. You wanted to live below your means to save up for a house. Blue Moon Trailer Park mostly houses divorced guys, you realized. There are a few families, a few other single people.

Then, there’s Joel, your next-door neighbor. He’s single, never been married, doesn’t have kids, and in his late forties. He works in construction, and for fun, he ogles your ass and your cleavage.

The day you moved in, he was sitting on his porch, wearing just his green plaid boxers, a beer bottle in one hand, a joint in the other. As you started unloading your car, he went inside his trailer, put on some jeans and a plaid shirt that he didn’t bother buttoning, then met you at the trunk of your car.

“Need some help, darlin’?” he asked, wearing a toothy grin.

You didn’t respond at first. You tilted your head to the side in slight confusion. 

He held his hand out and introduced himself. “Name’s Joel Miller. Noticed ya ain’t got anyone to help ya bring in all o’ your things. Just thought I’d offer.”

In all honesty, you were immediately attracted to him. Maybe you watched too much Sons of Anarchy, but there was something about a nasty, slimy guy that always did it for you. 

A guy who carried himself with confidence, unapologetic for his less than (typically) desirable habits. This guy was sitting half-naked on his porch with a drink and a joint in his hand when you rolled up twenty minutes ago. Now, he had put a shirt on, sure, but he hadn’t even bothered to button it, his slight gut sticking out. Joel fits the bill for nasty and slimy perfectly.

You shook his hand and gave him your name. You let him help you bring your things in. When he picked up especially heavy boxes and grunted in exertion, you felt your panties grow slicker.

He must’ve fucking smelled it on you or something, because by the time the two of you finished, he was suggesting he help you christen your new bedroom. 

//

After living in the trailer park for a while, you recently got a second job waiting tables on weekend nights just to keep busy.

Apparently, Joel hasn’t been taking it very well.

The text on your phone comes in just as you’ve plopped onto your bed, still in your waitress uniform. 

-Horny. R u up?

Is he serious? Did he seriously text you this at 3:00 in the morning, ten hours after you told him you’d be working until 2:00? Seriously?

Are you seriously putting your shoes back on and already crossing the eight feet of grass between your and Joel’s trailers?

…Yes.

You walk right in. Joel never locks his trailer when he’s in it, said he doesn’t see a point, and left it at that. 

You’re greeted with the sight of Joel sitting on his couch, clad in his unzipped jeans and an unbuttoned denim shirt, with his cock in his hand. 

“Thank the Lord,” he mumbles. “Get your pretty ass over here.”

You roll your eyes as you lock Joel’s front door, kicking your shoes off as you cross the living room.

“3:00 AM? Seriously, Joel?” you grumble. You stand in between his legs, undoing your jeans.

“Not like I forced you to come over here. Just asked if you were still up,” he points out, already slightly breathless as he lazily jerks himself off.

To the right of him, you spot old Playboy magazines.

You open your mouth again, but before you can give a speech about how offensive you find those magazines, Joel nods, saying, “Yes, seriously. Now c’mere. Need that sweet pussy real bad, baby.”

You push Joel into a lying down position, then shuck your jeans off, along with your panties, and kick off your shoes. He grabs the backs of your thighs and pulls you to the couch. You hover over his face, straddling his chest. He doesn’t waste time; he dives right in, pulling deep moans and groans from your mouth with ease.

He licks stripes up and down your slit until your thighs tighten around his head, a silent signal that he needs to get it together and actually eat.

Joel switches from long licks to concentrated swirls around your clit. You and Joel never really cared for drawing it out. The longest you’ve ever spent with Joel was an hour and a half, and that was only because he popped a viagra.

He feels your clit pulsate against his tongue, and that’s when he pushes you off him. You stumble back on his body while he sits up, his hands palming your bare ass.

“You worked a night shift at the diner, then came to my place to fuck,” he murmurs, his breath hot on your face, smelling of cheap whiskey and Marlboro Reds.

“So?” you groan.

“So... Someone likes me,” he teases as he pulls your shirt over your head, revealing the lace of your bra.

“Asshole,” you mutter as you roll your hips against his crotch.

“You’re not denyin’ it,” he hums in your ear, his hands still rubbing your cheeks.

“You got a condom or what?” you snap.

Joel shuts his mouth, purses his lips into a thin line, then nods. He reaches into his back pocket and holds up a single condom.

“Look,” he chuckles, waving the wrapper in your face. “Ribbed for her pleasure.”

You scoff and furrow your brow in annoyance, but pull his jeans down to his knees anyway so he can get the condom on.

“You’re scoffin’, but you know you like it,” Joel remarks as he rolls this condom over his hard length. “You just hate that you’re into me. The residential pervert, was how you put it last month, wasn’t it? Not like anyone’s gonna stone you for lettin’ me fuck you. We’re consentin’ adults, sunshine.”

“You think you could keep your mouth shut for five minutes?” you grumble as you hold him up to your entrance.

Joel clicks his tongue and gives a look of feigned offense. “Aw, baby, you know I always last longer than five minutes.”

You’re about to respond, but now he’s completely filling you, and you’re so full of him, so you have to moan.

“See? You love this,” he whispers.

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumble. “Big dick to match your fuckin’ personality.”

Joel’s hand comes down on your ass as you speak. A sharp pop pierces the air, and your moan follows.

“Hey, I’m bein’ nice,” he says, no anger in his voice. If anything, he might be a little hurt. “Didn’t force you to come over here. All I did was ask if you were awake.”

You don’t want to apologize because you know Joel isn’t being fully serious. Instead, you lean forward and kiss him, pulling a low growl from his throat. His hands move from your ass to your head, planting a firm grip.

“Mm,” you whine when he bites your bottom lip. “Jesus, fuck.”

Joel laughs, the sound deep and gravely in his chest. “You love this shit, dontcha, baby?”

“Shut up,” you pant, forehead heavily leaning against his.

His hands move from your head to your breasts, squeezing and kneading your flesh through your bra. 

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, a little less rough now. 

You moan softly and shut your eyes for a moment, focusing on the feeling of his cock pistoning in and out of you, his hands on your breasts, his warm breath fanning against your face.

“Hey,” he murmurs, squeezing your breasts, just a little too hard, which has you inhaling sharply through your nose, your eyes opening wide. “Eyes on me, darlin’. Didn’t ask you over here just so you can hide those pretty eyes from me.”

You open your eyes but narrow your gaze and purse your lips, nearly likening yourself to an angry bull, Joel thinks, and it makes him smile.

“Attagirl. Yeah, is that so hard? Hm? I just wanna see ya. All o’ your pretty face, darlin’. Can’t come right if I don’t.”

Oh, he was doing so well. He just had to add that last part, didn’t he?

“Do you have some sort of contractual obligation where you have to ruin every remotely nice thing you say with a perverted afterthought? Huh?” you ask, rolling your hips harder against Joel’s.

He chuckles and thrusts up even harder, pulling a soft, pleasure-filled hiss from your lips. 

“No,” he grunts. “Just don’t see a point in filterin’ myself when I know the way I talk makes you wet.”

You roll your eyes at that, and Joel grabs onto your jaw in such a way that has your lips puckering as he holds your gaze.

“Say it,” he demands, his voice low and husky.

You moan and ask, “Say what?” with a muffled voice as Joel keeps a tight grip on your jaw.

“Say you like hearin’ me run my dirty mouth.”

Joel doesn’t comment on the little gush of fluid he feels around his cock when you hear his words. He just keeps holding your gaze and waits for you to say the words.

“I-I like hearing you run your dirty mouth,” you say, your voice just a little higher-pitched than you’d like it to be.

Joel moans in appreciation, then shakes his head. “Mm, I don’t know, darlin’. I think what I actually wanna hear you say is that you love hearin’ me run my dirty mouth. Let’s try that, huh?”

You let out a soft whimper, then mumble, “I love hearing you run your dirty mouth.”

He nods in appreciation and lets go of your jaw.

“That’s my girl. Yeah, you’re such a good girl,” he praises as he plants both his hands on your hips and starts thrusting into you harder now.

You moan and lean forward, your hands planted on the arm of the couch behind him, your forehead against his as you watch his hips thrust up into you.

“Yeah, you like that?” he rasps. “Like watchin’ me fuck you? I can feel ya clenchin’ tighter around me. You’re just as fuckin’ perverted as me, aren’t ya, baby?”

“Shut up,” you moan, leaning your head back, moving your hands to his biceps, his thick, strong fucking biceps.

Joel doesn’t say anything; he just slaps your ass, which pulls a whiney moan from your throat.

“Yeah, you like hearin’ me talk, like watchin’ my cock split ya open, like it when I spank that pretty ass… You’re just too high up on that horse o’ yours to admit it.”

“Joel…” you moan, practically shaking on Joel’s lap now.

“Joel,” he mocks. “Don’t worry; I ain’t gonna make ya say it. Just somethin’ for you to stew on when you go home.”

You moan and lean your forehead against his again, your hands moving to his shoulders.

“I’m gonna come,” you whisper.

You feel him nod against your forehead. “I know, darlin’. You go on ahead. Show me how much you love hearin’ this nasty old man’s dirty mouth run. Go on. Be a good girl for me.”

That’s all it takes to have you turn into a shaking, whining mess. Joel fucks you through it, moves his hands to your breasts, massaging them through your lace bra.

Once you’ve come down, he whispers in your ear, “Okay, sweetheart. It’s Daddy’s turn now.”

You’re not expecting it, but you moan at his words. You’ve never called him that, and he’s never called himself that. It’s new and unexpected, and Joel doesn’t even realize it’s that word specifically that has you moaning. He thinks it’s just leftover from the orgasm he just gave you.

You don’t even realize you’re changing positions until the scratchy fabric of his couch hits your naked back. 

Joel’s entire body covers yours, and he’s thrusting again, clearly focused only on his orgasm now.

“This pussy’s fuckin’ magic, darlin’,” he grunts above you.

“You’re fucking pussy whipped,” you whisper, and he snorts in response.

“Not a very nice thing to say, baby,” he laughs before leaning down to kiss your chest and tug at the lace of your bra with his teeth.

“Take this off. Wanna see that gorgeous fuckin’ rack o’ yours before I finish.”

You scoff in indignation at how crude his request was, but comply regardless, reaching behind your back to unclasp the garment, arching your chest in his face in the process, given the position you’re in. You toss your bra to the side once it’s off, and Joel immediately dives in, sucking on your nipple and taking it between his teeth, just edging it, not biting down.

“Nicest fuckin’ tits,” he mumbles around your nipple.

He lets go with a loud pop, a string of spit connecting from your nipple to his lips.

Then, he brings his fingers down to your clit. “Want you to come with me this time. Come on, I’m so close. Know you can do it. Still feel you squeezin’ and drippin’ all over my cock. Come on, pretty girl,” he coos before bringing his lips down to yours.

You bury your hands in his hair and bite down on his bottom lip, pulling a soft grunt of surprise from him, but he doesn’t pull away. 

“Feelin’ feisty?” he rasps against your lips before ducking down and biting your jaw, then your collarbone, then the top of your breast, pulling a throaty moan from you each time.

You tug on his hair and present his chest to yourself. You take his nipple between your teeth and actually bite down.

Joel growls, but doesn’t pull away.

You clench around his cock, and he falls forward just a bit, inadvertently giving you access to his shoulder.

He moans, and his thrusts speed up.

“I’m gonna come,” he whispers, pressing down on your clit, pushing you over the edge with him.

You feel the warmth of his cum through the condom, and moan as your cunt flutters around him.

“Jesus, Joel,” you moan.

“I know, darlin’. It’s a lot, huh?”

He leans down and kisses you, gently this time. Then he turns the two of you on your sides, his back to the couch, so he doesn’t crush you. He keeps a tight hold on you so you don’t fall off, then buries his nose in your hair.

“You okay?” he whispers. “Didn’t go too hard?”

He’s asked this since the first time. Even though now the two of you know each other well enough to know the other’s likes and dislikes, he’ll still check in, just so you feel cared for.

“I’m okay. You okay?”

He nods and kisses your forehead. “You can stay over if you want. No pressure, though.”

You smile up at him and nod. “I’d like that, actually.”

Joel pulls you into the shower with him a few minutes later, taking care to be gentle and sweet. He dries you off and gives you a clean t-shirt to sleep in. 

When the two of you get in bed, he tucks you in, then gets in on his side, before scooting over to the side you’re on just so he can hold you.

He’s just a big dick with big feelings.

He’s also the reason you’ve extended your stay in the trailer park. You had the money for a down payment two months ago.

taglist: @person-005 @spectralgalaxygauntlet @marty-mccunt

dividers by @/saradika-graphics