Chapter 2: Taste

Chapter 2: Taste

Javier Peña x f!reader / (4,750)

Summary: You flirt with the man next door, and your legs end up around his shoulders. Bar fights, smut, and Javier Peña; what else does a chapter need?

Notes: Helllo, readers! I am so excited to be able to post Chapter 2 so soon. I'm having so much fun writing my first series! You finally get a taste ( hehe ) of the smut that will increasingly show up throughout the series. I encourage you to message me or comment below on what you did/did not like in this new chapter. I'm still figuring out this whole fac fiction writing process, so I'd appreciate any advice you could give me. And as always, my inbox is open to any requests for what you want to see in the upcoming chapters.

Disclaimer: This series is for adults only! (18+)

Warnings: fight scene and explicit sexual material

Without breaking eye contact with Javier in the window across you, you lift your hand to your chest and hook a finger under the strap of your tank top. You can feel the nerves swirling in your stomach, but before you talk yourself out of it, you slip your strap off your shoulder. Then, you reach across and do the same to the other.

Across the way, Javier’s eyes are pinned on you, unmoving. As you reach down with both hands and begin to lift your tank top over your head, you see his breath catch. Your shirt lifts overhead, exposing your black lace bra and the planes of your abdomen. You drop the shirt on the floor and wait for his reaction.

What you want to see is desire in his eyes, but he still stands there frozen with a hard-to-read expression on his face. Desperate for him to look at you like he did in the bar earlier tonight, you decide to keep going.

You hook your thumbs in your skirt's waistband to slowly shimmy it down your legs and step out. You stand back up with your body mostly exposed now, save for your bra and matching black lacey underwear.

You look back across the street, and to your delight, you see a change in his expression. Javier’s eyes travel down and back up your body with his brows knit together, and he takes a heaving breath that expands his broad chest, then exhales. From this distance, it's hard to be sure, but you think you see a world slip out between his lips as his fists bunch at his side.

The thought of him getting turned on from watching you brings heat to your skin. You feel your face flush and a vague ache between your legs.

Admittedly, you didn’t think very far ahead before you began whatever the hell kind of show you started putting on for the man next door. You could stop. You could end it right now before things go further and close the blinds. Or you could keep going to see if you can make Javier unravel at the sight of you.

Having aroused yourself just as much as you hoped to have done to Javier, you decide to keep going. The unabashed confidence you started with is starting to wane, however. Either because the buzz of the alcohol is beginning to fade or because this is the boldest thing you’ve ever done. You turn your back to the window, but you don’t leave. Instead, you reach around and undo the clasps of your bra and let it fall to the floor.

After a steeling breath, you turn around to face the window again, but your heart sinks when you notice Javier is no longer there. Across the street, his blinds are closed, and his lights are off, leaving you alone again.

Did you get the wrong idea? Was he not interested, and you just made a fool of yourself? Had you made him uncomfortable with what you'd just done? A wave of embarrassment washes over you as you realize things have gone terribly wrong. You reach up to snap the blinds closed and stand there momentarily.

You can't take back what you’ve done but can go to sleep and wake up tomorrow pretending like tonight never happened. You can avoid Javier like the plague and never open those blinds again. You think this to yourself as you turn out the lights and get into bed for the night.

Tossing and turning, you replay the night in your head to figure out where the hell things went wrong.

You should have known a man like that wasn’t interested in a girl 20 years younger. Yet, you could have sworn you sensed something between the two of you at the bar. It must have been your own attraction to him clouding your judgment.

You can’t believe his effect on you in those brief moments together. The sweep of his dark hair and the smell of whiskey on his breath. The velvet gruff of his voice and the piercing gaze of his soft and fierce brown eyes. Still thinking of Javier, eventually, you drift off to sleep.

Waking up the morning after was not pleasant, not at all. You aren’t hungover, but something far, far worse. The electricity of the night before was gone entirely, and you have a pit in your stomach thinking about what you did.

You feel so stupid for thinking that you could pull off something like that. You aren’t sure where the confidence came from facing a man like that. Yeah, you were tipsy, but it's hard for you to break out of your shell even then. Whatever it was, it's gone now. Back to your old self, shy and demure. Unsure of yourself and confused.

You let out a breath and kick those thoughts out of your head. Ready to move past the events of last night, you roll out of bed and pad across the bedroom into your bathroom. You turn on the shower and step into the hot water, letting it wash away your troubles. Even after washing your hair and scrubbing your body, you stand there until the bite of the warm water fades and starts to cool. Eventually, you turn the water off and step out to wrap a towel around yourself.

Feeling refreshed, you return to your bedroom to prepare for the day. Avoiding looking at the window and avoiding thinking about the man in the bedroom past it, you go to your closet to select an outfit for the day. You settle on an oversized grey shirt, then grab a pair of underwear from your dresser to step into.

You spend the day picking up around the apartment with some reality TV show playing in the background. The light from the floor-to-ceiling window across from you brightens the space. Three stories below, you can see the hustle and bustle of the streets of Austin. By evening, your belongings are as clean and organized as they will get, so you settle on the couch to read your book.

Usually, romance stories are your perfect escape, but today, not so much. You can’t get through the scenes without picturing Javier's large, rough hands sliding up your legs or the warm touch of his lips grazing yours. You can't get him out of your head. As the protagonist melts under her lover's touch, you do the same under the phantom hands of Javier.

You snap the book shut and place it on the coffee table before the couch. You need to stop fantasizing about this man you barely know. A man who is clearly not interested and who you embarrassed yourself in front of. You let out a huff of frustration and pick up your phone.

The screen says 6 p.m., so you order dinner, not feeling like going out after the night you had. Your Chinese takeout is left at your apartment door an hour later, and you bring it inside. You settle on the couch to eat and watch one of your favorite movies, Bridget Jonne’s Diary.

Eventually, the movie ends, dinner is finished, and you check the time. It's only 9:30. It’s 9:30 on a Saturday night, and you are in pajamas, stuffing your face, watching romcoms alone. You don’t want this to be how you spend your first weekend in your new city. You were so excited to move to downtown Austin and experience all it offers.

That’s it, you decide. You won't be a prisoner in your own home. You're going out and don’t care if you run into a particularly broody, gold-skinned, dark-haired man. You get off the couch and march into your bathroom, determined to go full glam for your night out like you did in college.

Two hours later, your hair falls in long curls down your back, and you look in the mirror to assess your work. Your eyes look big and bright thanks to the mascara and thin line of eyeliner. Your cheeks are rosy, and your skin flawless, with some freckles peeking through the light layer of foundation you smoothed on. You add a sheer gloss to your lips and determine you are done.

Having changed out of your oversized t-shirt from earlier, you are now wearing your favorite little black dress. It’s a satin, lace trim mini dress with a small slit on the upper thigh. The lace lining of the V-neck bust perfectly frames your chest, making it look full and perky. The satin fabric flows down your body in a way that accentuates your waist but still flows freely enough to be comfortable and falls at your upper thigh.

You stash your lip gloss, phone, and wallet into a small black handbag, slip into some short, strappy black heels, and then head out your door. You exit the apartment building and pause as you step onto the street. Your eyes dart around, searching for a familiar figure, but you sigh in relief when you see that the coast is clear.

An hour later, you find yourself dancing with a group of girls you became best friends with in the bar bathroom. Eventually, after several drinks and dancing until your feet hurt, you hug the girls goodbye and decide to seek out a dive bar for a more chill environment.

You walk down the street until you find an old-looking bar with a neon sign buzzing above the door. There isn’t a line of drunk young patrons waiting to enter like at the popular places you walked by earlier, so you decide this is where you'll end the night.

You walk into the unglamorous bar featuring dim lighting, shabby décor, and neon beer signs with the tang of cigarette smoke in the air. Definitely not your usual place, but you won't stay for long. There is a hum of steady chatter throughout the bar. Most of the patrons are men playing pool or darts. It's definitely a place for locals; everyone is dressed in jeans and T-shirts, so you stick out like a sore thumb.

You sit at the bar in the back and face the wall of assorted liquor bottles. You order a cranberry vodka from the seedy old bartender. He eyes you suspiciously but says nothing about you being out of place here. A couple sips into your drink, a group of younger patrons crowd the bar and take up the stools next to you.

 It’s three guys, older than you but not by much. You noticed them when you walked in; their heads had turned, and you felt their eyes on you as you walked to the bar. The one on the stool to your right is wearing old, faded jeans, dirty boots, and some old band t-shirt. He is tall and stocky with light brown hair that falls to his shoulders underneath a baseball hat. The two on the stools to your left are shorter, nearly your height, have dark hair and seem like brothers.

The tall guy to your right introduces himself and his friends. “Hey, pretty thing, what are you doing at our bar?” he slurs your way.

“Your bar?” you ask and shrink back when he leans in to talk to you.

“My name is Trent, and those are my buddies, Ryan and Alex,” he says, motioning to the two sitting on your left. “We’ve never seen you here before.”

Feeling slightly uncomfortable now at their closeness, you stiffen and respond, “I’ve never been here before, but I'm just finishing my drink and going home.”

“Oh, come on, sweetheart, why don’t you stay a while?” he says, leaning forward to put a hand on your knee. “We’ll keep you company.”

“No, I’m pretty tired, and my friends are waiting for me. I should probably head out now.” You say and stand to rid yourself of his hand on your leg.

Before you can leave your seat, Ryan's hand grabs your wrist and pulls you back down. “I said you should stay,” he says coldly, staring at you with glaring intent behind his eyes.

At that moment, you feel a breath on your neck from one of the guys to your left. You can smell the reek of alcohol on his breath when he says in your ear, “Or we could go home with you if you'd like.” He puts a hand on your shoulder and lets out a bone-chilling laugh.

Your heart is beating out of your chest as you realize your predicament. Frozen in fear, the voice in your head is begging you to devise a way to get rid of these guys and go home. Before you can mutter another excuse and try to stand up again, you hear a voice behind you.

“Get your fucking hands off of her.” the familiar voice rasps. You recognize it immediately.

The guy to your left heeds the warning, removing his hand from your shoulder and backing away. Your eyes dart to Trent as he tightens his grip on your wrist and sneers at Javier. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I said get your fucking hands off of her,” Javier repeats a bit louder and angrier as he steps forward.

Trent drops your wrist and stands to his full height, equal to Javiers's. You stand and turn to walk to Javier, but Trent extends his arm to block your path.

Before you can react, Javier grinds his teeth, throws a bunch directly at Trent's jaw, and connects hard. Trent stumbles over, and Javier kicks him to the ground before he can catch his balance.

Ryan stands with a liquor bottle in his hand and swings it toward Javier's head. Javier evades the blow and grabs the assailant's arm, twisting it to release a crack and yelp of pain from the man. Ryan drops the liquor bottle to the floor with a crash, and the amber-colored liquor bleeds across the floor. Holding his arm in pain, Ryan shrinks away from Javier and looks toward Alex.

Alex stands and begins to take a step toward Javier, but their eyes meet, and Javier growls out, “Take another step, and I'll break your fucking arm too.” Alex pauses, debating what to do. They stare each other down, but the look of cold, calm rage on Javier's face freezes Alex to his spot. Instead, he bends down to pick up a chunk of broken glass from the liquor bottle and turns toward you.

“This is all your fault, coming here dressed like a slut just to tease us.” He sneers at you and swipes in your direction with the shard of glass. As you brace yourself for impact, Javier throws his body between yours and the other man’s.

The broken glass cuts into his outstretched arm, leaving a 4-inch-long slice into his forearm. As blood trickles down his arm, you watch Javier throw a punch directly into the other man's stomach. Alex doubles over in pain, and when he does, Javier's knee raises in a blow to his chin, knocking the man back onto the floor.

You stand in terror at the scene that has unfolded before you. The rest of the bar had gone silent, all eyes on Javier and the three other men brawling. Before anyone else decides to step in, Javier puts his uninjured arm around you and leads you towards the exit.

Tears begin to sting your eyes the moment you are both out of the bar and around the corner to safety. You sniff as they roll down your face, and you look at the ground.

Javier stops walking and stands in front of you. “Woah, it's all right, darlin,” he says gently. “No one is going to hurt you; you’re safe now.”

When the tears don’t stop and you fail to respond, he reaches out with a finger and delicately lifts your chin to see your face. You look up through your lashes with more tears welling in your eyes. “I'm sorry,” you say in a choked-up voice, “I'm so sorry for tonight and last night. This is all my fault.”

His brown eyes soften as he looks down at you and answers, “You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart.” Your body hums in response to that word coming out of his mouth. “Those men are filth who can’t control themselves. I ought to go back in there and fucking make sure they learn.” He spits toward the old bar in a gruff voice.

“Thank you for getting me out of there. I'm sorry I ruined your night again,” you say shamefully.

His eyes dart back to you. “Ruined my night? Again? “What are you – “he pauses, understanding what you mean. “You didn’t ruin my night last night or tonight.” He says softly.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” you say, blushing at the ground. “I guess I got the wrong Idea. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t.” he answers quickly, “I wasn’t uncomfortable, and you didn’t get the wrong idea.”

He breathes and runs a hand through his hair, “I did want you last night. Hell, I still want you now. But it’s not a good idea. I’m not a good idea.”

“Why?” you ask, looking at him again. “Why did you close the blinds last night, and why isn’t this a good idea?”

He takes a breath. “Because,” he says and growls, eyes ablaze, “If I had watched one more fucking second of you last night, I would have shown up at your door to rip the rest of your clothes off.”

You stare in stunned silence.

“And this isn’t a good idea,” he continues, “because I’m not good for you. I’ve done things you wouldn’t understand, and it changed me. I used to be good, but not anymore. I can't be what you need, what you deserve. You saw all that I am good for tonight in that bar.” He says sadly.

“I don’t believe that,” you finally say under your breath.

The conversation ends without much else being said. Like the night before, Javier walks you to your apartment building and goes to leave after asking if you are okay one last time. As he turns to walk away, you reach out and grab his hand. Turning over his arm, you stare at the cut, which has stopped bleeding by now.

“What about you, Javier? Are you okay?” you ask.

He turns to you and answers, “Yeah, it's nothing.”

“Will you at least let me clean and bandage it for you? I can even get the blood out of your shirt before it stains,” you say, gesturing to the drops of blood on his tan, short-sleeved button-up.

He stands there, debating whether to take you up on your offer.

“Please,” you say, “It will make me feel better to do something for you after what you did for me tonight.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” he says, stepping toward you. “But if that’s what you want.”

“Yeah, come on,” you say, grabbing his hand and leading him inside before he can change his mind. “I’ll be quick.”

Once inside your apartment, you sit Javier on the couch. “I'll be right back,” you say as you kick off your heels and go to warm a washcloth to clean his cut. When you return to the couch, there is silence between you as you kneel before him, gently wiping the blood crusted on his arm.

You finish cleaning the cut and wrap a bit of gauze around it. Finished with the first task, you stand saying, “Take off your shirt,” and look down at him sitting on the couch.

A muscle feather in his jaw. “What?” he grounds out in a husky tone.

“The blood won't come out if we don’t treat that stain soon. Give me your shirt, and I’ll throw it in the wash.” You explain.

“Right,” he says. He stands up off the couch, close enough to touch. He unbuttons his shirt, exposing more of his smooth golden skin with each button undone. You can't help but stare at the lines of his broad chest and muscled arms as he shrugs out of the shirt and hands it over to you.

Without saying a word, you walk it over to the washing machine in the back, toss in some stain remover, set the wash to cold, and press start.

When you return to the living room, Javier is still standing, shirtless, in his tight dark wash jeans and boots. You can't help but rake your eyes up and down his body and gulp. He does the same, eyes washing over you in your short black dress, walking towards him.

You approach him, and he says, “I should get going now,” motioning to the door.

“Or you could stay,” you say, standing before him, looking up. “If you want me like you say you do, stay,” you breathe. Cheek’s reddening at the bold statement.

“You don’t know how badly I want you,” he growls. “How badly I've wanted you since I saw the look on your face reading that damn dirty book right in front of me,” motioning toward the book still lying on your coffee table.

“Then take me,” you whisper.

“Fucking and fighting, that's all I do.” He says, hands tightened into fists. “I can't give you anything else.”

“So, fuck me, Javier.”

The leash on his control snaps. His warm brown eyes turn dark, and he grabs you around the waist, pulling you in. Hungry, he meets you halfway for a kiss that only ignites the fire inside you both. You taste the whiskey on his tongue, and his soft lips crash into yours.

Your hands find their way up into his hair, grabbing fistfuls. He falls back onto the couch, bringing you gently with him, settling you over his lap. Your knees on either side of him are dug into the cushions. He pulls away for a moment, and you immediately miss the warmth of his lips on yours.

“Please,” you whimper, begging for more. You drop your hands from his hair and move to drag the straps of your dress off your shoulders, but he catches your wrists.

“Stop,” he says, “It's my turn to undress you,” he drawls out, words dripping with seduction.

He guides your hands behind your back with you still hovering over his lap. Gathering both of your small wrists in his large, rough hands, he instructs, “Don’t move these,” and holds them there.

You nod in understanding, and he takes that as his signal to begin. With his free hand, he hooks his index finger around the spaghetti strap on your shoulder and slowly drags it down. His finger grazes your arm the whole way down, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He does the same to the other side; when he does, the dress falls and pools around your waist.

You inhale a small breath as your nipples harden at the exposure.

“Is this what you wanted to show me last night, pretty girl?” he asks, not taking his eyes away from your chest. You can feel the bugle in his jeans beneath you growing. The outer layer of his jeans is now rubbing into your wet panties.

 “Yes,” you breathe. You can't help but grind into him, aching for contact between your legs.

A deep, grumbling moan of pleasure rises from Javier's chest, and he licks his lips. “You want it bad, don’t you, baby?”

Again, you can only produce that one pitiful word: “Yes.”

He stands, gathering you in his arms and twisting, now placing you on the couch. “Lay back,” he instructs and drops to his knees as he spreads your legs open enough to position himself between them.

Laying back against the couch with your legs spread wide before him, you lift to help him drag your panties down and off. He holds them, inspecting them.

“Is all of this for me?” he asks, referring to the dampness.

Your cheeks heat, and your eyes drop to the floor in embarrassment. Now he knows exactly the effect he has on you. You’ve been wet for him the moment you laid eyes on him.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he says, dropping your panties to the floor. He runs his calloused, solid hands up your legs from your knees to your waist and tugs you closer to the edge of the couch. “More for me to taste.” He finishes with a devilish grin.

He hooks your ankles over his shoulder and leans into that spot between your legs, already slick with anticipation. His tongue unfolds and lightly drags up the center of your folds towards the bundle of nerves at the top.

You let out a whine of pleasure, hands gripping the fabric of the couch.

That sweet sound drives him over the edge, and he licks into you once again, hungrier and harder. You close your eyes and writhe in pleasure. He hooks his hands under you, cupping your ass to hold you still against his tongue.

You can feel the tension inside of you rising, burning throughout your body. At that moment, One of Javier's fingers replaces his tongue and slips inside of you. Even just one is enough to have you moaning.

He continues to pump that finger in and out while he uses his tongue to circle the apex between your thighs. You feel your breaking point coming, and between breaths, you gasp, “Javi- Javi, I'm about to cum.”

Instead of letting up, Javier crooks his finger inside you and finds that spot that has you reeling over the edge.

“I know, baby,” he says, looking up at you, affection in his eyes “cum for me, baby, come on.”

As the words leave his lips, you fall apart on his finger. Your muscles clench and unclench around him as he massages into you, letting you ride out every drop of pleasure.  

“That's it, angel,” he croons, pulling his finger out of you, “you did so good for me.”

Still trying to catch your breath, you look down at him, kneeling between your legs. All you can do is watch as he slips that finger, covered in your slickness, into his mouth, licking it clean.

He stands, and you hear him walking to your bathroom to grab a towel. He returns and begins to wipe up the mess he made of you.

“What about you? I wanted you to feel good, too.” You say, sitting up and looking in his direction.

“Not yet, sweetheart. I don’t want to break you.” He says in that smooth voice you find yourself craving in every silence. “I enjoyed myself, don’t worry.” Those words reverberate through your body and almost have you aching for him again already.

With the tension expelled from your body and your muscles relaxed from the release you just had, sleep creeps into your mind. Your eyelids begin to feel heavy, and Javier can see it wash over you.

“Go finish cleaning up,” he says, nodding to the bathroom, and you're too sleepy to protest.

You start the shower and step into the warm water for the second time today. This time, though, you’re fast. You wash the makeup from your face and sweat from your limbs as quickly as possible while still being thorough. When you get out and wrap yourself in a towel, you stand still, listening for the sound of Javier inside your apartment. But you don’t hear a thing.

You crack the door and peek outside, confirming your suspicion that Javier is gone. He slipped out while you were in the shower, so he didn’t have to say goodbye. Your heart falls just a bit, even though it is what you should have expected.

Just sex, that was the understanding between you tonight and nothing more. He made that very clear.

Too tired to mull it over in your mind any longer, you turn out all the lights in your apartment and slip into bed. Just before you click off the lamp to the side of your bed to wash the room in darkness, you notice a tall glass of water sitting on the nightstand you don’t remember leaving there. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips, and you click off the light. Darkness washes over the room, and you fall asleep fast, thinking of Javier.

This is hands down, one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen!!!!!!🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵

oh fuck OFF DSJHKF

Tomorrow Never Came: Chapter 1

masterlist | ao3

pairing: joel miller x f!reader rating: 18+ warnings: unspecified age gap, hints at past SA, no break-out, no y/n, no reader description, discussion of past trauma, reader develops a reliance on him, hints at a ddlg relationship in terms of a caregiver x little relationship (reader is of legal age), joel is a vietnam war vet with a very tough exterior so it takes a bit to get it moving but it does by chapter 2! <3 word count: 5,495 summary: set in Texas in the 1980s, Joel picks you up on the side of the road when headed west, you embark upon a journey of self-discovery with the help of a seasoned man

“Do you wanna see the west with me? Cause loves out there & I can’t leave it be.”

The cold beer bottle contrasts your harsh, warm, two-handed grip on it as your feet sway from the bar stool sat at. Your cross-country adventure had landed you here, in west Texas, penniless & destitute, nothing but the jacket on your shoulders and the pistol in your pocket. 

You had traveled from west to east in an attempt to meet your father who you later found out wanted nothing to do with you. Having had saved up for years to make the trip, not accounting for how expensive shit was, landed you in the middle of nowhere Texas, trying to make your way back to your home in California. Truth be told, you set your hopes high that maybe your father had just desired to leave your mom and not you but you learned very quickly that wasn’t the case. 

Now you sit, in a dusty dive bar, men circling like vultures as you try hard to ignore their glances and as one next to you, leans into mumble something you can’t make out. Instead you focus on the sounds if Bob Dylans ‘knockin on heaven door’ that plays loudly from the busted jukebox. 

“Wanna dance?” You slur a bit, not necessarily because of the alcohol, but maybe an attempt to match the demeanor of the man next to you, who bought you the beer. He isn’t ugly, he isn’t pretty. He is drunk though, maybe drunk enough that you can slip some bills from his wallet. 

He’s eager you realize as his hand lands on the small of your back, tripping a bit over his feet to make his way to the dusty center, the wood creaking beneath your feet as you place your hands to his chest, slightly propping him up, the bourbon on his breath quite rich. 

Your eyes scan the room to find men and women watching, finding it a bit silly. Being from California, quite used to others dancing like no ones watching. Finding that in Texas, people are always watchers rather than dancers. 

A watcher catches your eyes, his grayish-green eyes narrowed towards you as he brings a glass to his lips, his face mostly shadowed by a brown cowboy hat as he leans against a pillar. 

You can’t help but be a little taken aback, his aura fogging up the space around him like a puff of smoke, as he tilts his head down, focusing on the drink in his hand, scuffing up his boot on the ground before turning his attention back to you. Swiping his tongue against his bottom lip as he adjusts himself, thumbing his belt loop. 

It fills your belly, the admiration, bubbling up into your throat as you smile, a little quirk of the lips as you stare at him, stupidly and obviously. 

He returns the stare. Not smiling back, but the stern gaze worn on his brows replaced by a softer one, more relaxed. 

You're pulled back into reality as the man’s hand slips below your back onto your behind as you sway to the music, causing you to break apart. Whispering nonsense into his ear comprising of ‘if he wants to get out of here’, knowing he’s drunk enough and will most likely barely make it to his car. 

You’re correct as he piles into his truck and falls asleep halfway out of the lot, allowing you to maneuver the vehicle to the side, eventually slipping into his pockets to pull out his wallet and the forty-three dollars.

Ditching him there, you head for a motel and pay them the $30 fee for one night, giving you enough time to bathe and wash your clothes in the bathtub before eating half of a candy bar and heading to bed. 

The nearest grocery store is a bit of a long haul as you walk a few miles until you head into the small mart. Its the size of a shoe box with people littered up and down the aisles as you make your way to the hygiene aisle, slipping a packaged bar of soap into your deep pockets along with tampons. Wandering onto other aisles, sifting through the snacks before landing on a few breakfast bars, deciding to slide one up your sleeve. Your eyes peeking to the side to find that you’re being watched by a familiar set of eyes. 

You slip up the bar into your sleeve before turning to the man you had seen yesterday, his brow raised curiously, having seen your little trick. 

He strikes you once again in a different light… his worn jeans, scuffed boots, his flanneled shirt, the sleeves rolled up exposing his tanned arms, thick veins roped within them leading to his hands, the one specifically carrying a cart with his own personal items. His dark beard ruffles as he bites on his inner cheek, studying you it seems, his eyes roaming around the aisle and then back to you. The same hat worn yesterday, sturdy on his head. 

You hum a bit, leaning back on your heels, not sure whether he means to turn you in or something else. You simply bring your finger to your lips to create a ‘shush’ sound in hopes he will keep your secret before heading for the exit, stopping to pick up a coke, tossing a quarter to the cashier, and promptly exiting. 

Finding a nearby patch of grass, you pass your time by watching the cars and drinking your Coke until it’s empty. You figure now might be the time to make your way from Texas, heading for the busiest road and sticking your thumb out as you follow along the white line on a dirt path. 

Five cars pass before a blue Ford pickup truck pulls up, the gleaming shine causing you to cover your eyes as they adjust, hearing the driver's door open & close. 

You instinctively take a step back, watching a familiar hat make its way from around the truck as you can’t help but break out into a smile. 

“Third times the charm huh?” You laugh a bit watching him remove a hat, letting it fall to the side in his hand as he runs his other hand through his hair. 

“Uh-huh,” He grunts, leaning against the side of the truck, observing you just as he did in the store and in the bar.

“You a cop?” You question, brows scrunching up to match his hardened gaze. The question makes him laugh, a short release of breath before composing himself. 

“Ain’t a cop darlin’…” He mutters, eyes going to your tattered shoes, biting on the inside of his cheek once more, followed by a clicking sound of the mouth.

“Who are ya then?” you place your hands on your hips, attempting to assert any dominance you have, feeling picked apart by his gaze. 

“Didn’t your mama tell you not to talk to strangers?” He inches closer, calculated, stopping far enough from you to bring you ease, his noticeable large size gaining your attention. 

“Tell me your name and you won’t be a stranger… this being our third meeting I find myself quite familiar with you…” You don’t know why your voice catches in your throat as you speak, but you clear it quickly.  

Maybe because he was unlike the men you came across during your journey. Quite honestly, the men you came across reminded you of the boys in high school. Unsure, dull, weak. A boy in the shell of a “man”. 

He wasn’t a boy in the body of a man, just a full man, through & through. 

“Joel.” He offers, his head pointed towards the ground, focused on a trail of ants, then back to you. It’s difficult to hold his gaze without blushing. “Where ya headed?”

“West… California.” You admit, watching as he nods, eyes searching the sky now, observing as he always seems to do. 

“What’s there for you in California?” He questions, eyes coming back to you as you feel your words stuck in your throat, his stare enough to cause your knees to buckle and weaken. It’s a hard gaze, one you hadn’t noticed as clearly beneath the shadow of his cowboy hat.  

“My mama…” you mutter, words coming out hushed, embarrassed, deciding to focus your own attention on the ants, you stupidly feel naked when he looks at you just bare and open.  

You don’t hear him head for the door, only hear the door opening, your eyes shooting up to Joel as he looks at you, bewildered as if you should know what to do, patiently waiting as your eyes swipe back from him to the truck and back to him. 

“Whatre you waitin on? Get in.” He speaks lowly as you attempt not to feel stupid, the blood rushing to your cheeks with a quickness as you bite your lip back.

“Not gonna kill me right?” You ask, stuffing your hands in your pockets watching as he lets out his same light laugh, just a puff of air. 

“I ain’t planning on it, sweetheart.” He bites on his bottom lip, the thick hair on his beard twitching as he waits. 

You hesitantly approach the vehicle, calculated steps leading you around where he stands by the door, sliding into the truck, the leather seating new indicating a certain amount of wealth that puzzles you. 

To be honest, the men who usually attempted to pick you up were composed of overly excited older men with fast food wrappers & cigarette buds piled up in the passenger's seat and the smell of beer wafting from the vehicle. 

It was rare you ever accepted rides from men, usually finding a chick who could take you a few hours down before dropping you off. 

His truck however seemed almost brand new, and clean, even the trash within it, was still kept nicer than most people who offered you a ride. 

The door shuts beside you with a click as he soon piles in, turning the ignition with ease and one hand steering the vehicle back onto the road with one smooth motion. 

It’s a routine, you think as you watch his legs spread apart along the seat, his free hand fumbling with the volume of the radio as he finds a station playing old country which seems to satisfy him as he relaxes into a manspreaded position. 

The motor and the hum of the songs is all you hear about an hour in as you realize he’s quite quiet. Which is rare. 

He hadn’t pestered you about your past, stared longingly at your exposed legs in the summer heat, or even tried to touch you. 

The few times you had gotten rides for men when you were younger and rather dumb, they had talked your ear off about something irrelevant, asked too many questions, or taken the first opportunity to lean over and try to fuck you right in the seat. 

He is quiet. Joel's quiet… hard set gaze focused on the road, the only constant motion being the rise and fall of his chest & occasional repositioning of the wheel.  

He pays you no mind. You would like to assume he’s gay but you don’t think so 100%

“You pick up strays often?” You break the silence, used to being the quiet one. 

He doesn’t answer immediately, only readjusts himself in the seat. You wonder if he is maybe a serial killer. 

The dirt under your fingernails seems interesting all of a sudden as you focus your attention on cleaning them, the awkward energy looming within the truck, 

“Strays…” He responds, finally, rubbing his hand over his beard before scratching at it with a deep sigh. 

“Don’t usually pick up hitch-hikers if’s what you’re askin’” He grumbles lowly, his Texan accent deep and thick. 

You think for a beat, wondering if his natural nature is stoicism and a cold front or if he’s already annoyed by his pestering passenger. 

“Why’d you pick me up then?” You question turning your head towards him, attempting to read him more. 

God, it takes him forever to respond. You aren’t sure if he’s thinking about the question or just in no hurry whatsoever, but it fills you with anxiety and anticipation. 

“Well…  when you stole from Earl, he sorta went around lookin' for you… Then when I saw you stealin' from that shop, I assumed it’d be best to get you to where you need’ta go so trouble doesn’t find you no more.” He admits shooting you a quick look, a quick raise of the brow in a disciplinary way, he means to scold you, you think.  

“Earl?”

“That man you went home with from that bar…”

“Oh… ha! earl,” you snort a bit remembering him. When you stole, you made sure to never stick around for that reason exactly. 

“Well, my thoughts on the matter are men take advantage of drunk women every day, I’m just leveling the playing field.” You respond in a sassy manner, crossing your ankles to sit up straighter, asserting yourself.  

“I ain’t judgin, I just didn’t want to see him comin’ down to find you.. he’s a drunk & a mean one,” He mentions cracking the window, the summer breeze picking up the strands of his dark brown hair & some gray.  

“You know a lot about this, ‘Earl’ ?” You roll down your window then, the wind blowing over your face a familiar and refreshing feeling, picking up your own hair as it tossles over your face. 

“Knew Earl all my life, worked for me…” He grunts, clearing his throat. 

“You hire drunks?” You giggle, feeling like you caught him, disappointed he doesn’t return the laugh as he only shrugs. 

“Like I said… I don’t judge, ‘f the work is done, it's done.” He switches his blinker on before pulling into a lot filled with shops, your eyebrows scrunching as you eye him. Bathroom break maybe. 

“Bout time to eat and get you some new shoes…” He gestures down to your feet as he parks, slightly far from other cars, maneuvering into the spot with ease as the truck comes to a jolt. 

You giggle dumbfoundedly, tickled by the thought that he thinks you walk around in tattered shoes because you choose to. “Joel… I don't have any money.” 

The sound of his door closing acts as a response as it barely grants you a moment to think until your side door is pulled open. “I am well aware of that, cmon now.” 

He’s confusing, his coldness, and lack of conversation, followed by an offering to purchase new shoes. You feel the need to make it clear to him you aren’t a prostitute. 

“I’m not a hooker,” Your nose naturally scrunches in confusion, ready to bolt if he accuses you of wasting his time or something worse. 

He laughs, a true laugh, his shoulders rising and falling as he tips his head down in a chuckle, the top of his cowboy hat revealed to you. 

“I know darling, now don’t rush on my account,” he teases, still propped up against the door, waiting for you, patiently. 

You bite your lip back to distract from your red cheeks. He’s quick to reach his hand out to help you down from the truck as you take it, calloused and warm. 

You don’t desire to let go, trying to remember the feel as he breaks away once you find your footing. 

His long strides are difficult to keep up with you find, his head moving from left to right then left again, surveying the lot for oncoming traffic or anything else that might come at you sideways in a lot, always on alert it seems as he leads you towards a store reading ‘PAYLESS’. 

The door opens with a jingle as he holds it open for you before leading you down the multiple aisles, past the men's section into the womens. 

You collide with his muscled back as he stops abruptly, your eyes narrowing as you back up slightly. 

It takes a few seconds to realize he is waiting for you. Looking down at you, your eyes connecting up to him as blood familiarly rushes into your cheeks, standing closer to him than you ever have been honestly, allowing you to smell his cedarwood aftershave, makes you wanna purr. 

“Well, you have to go select the shoes now don’t you?” He chuckles as he always does, fast and dry but warm as you look down the aisles, scrunching up your nose in confusion. 

“Where you will be?” It’s stupid to already feel a sort of attachment to him, curious about his well-being more for the safety of your own. 

“I’ll be parked right here,” He gestures to a nearby bench seated across a young child screaming and crying as a mother forces on their shoes. 

You only nod back, not trusting your mouth to form appropriate words as he gives you a nice playful push with his elbow passing behind you, gesturing for you to go on. 

He does just what he said he would and you find yourself slivering between row after row of shoes, eventually finding a nice comfortable shoe that doesn’t cost too much, moving to show Joel before being gobsmacked by a pair of leather western boots. 

You decide to pick both, coming to the conclusion that Joel can decide as you walk towards him with one shoe on each foot.

“Okay, okay, ya gotta choose alright?” You position yourself in front of him, finally getting the chance to be above him, feeling a sort of strength and confidence because of it.

His head rises from where it was slouched on his chest, his hat covering most of it until he takes it off with a puzzled look on his face, probably having just napped you think. 

“I gotta choose huh?” He questions slowly in a drawl, snorting a bit as he rubs his nose. 

“Mhm!” You nod turning to the back of the aisle before walking down the carpet as if it’s a catwalk, giving him a little twirl at the end watching as his brows raise in curiosity. 

He responds with a slow clap as you curtsey to finish it off, eyebrows high as they screw together. 

“Well, aren’t you just the bee's knees…” He smirks a bit turning his head to the side, biting the inside of his cheek in long thought as you rock back and forth on your feet in the silence.

“I say get 'em’ both.” He shrugs. 

“Joel…” you pout placing your hands on your hips, “You’re supposed to choose the best one.”

“Go’n and get both, s’ my choice, like you said… toss that pair on your feet and wear one out of the store. Those shoes have seen better days…” He gestures to worn ones nearby with his foot before sucking his bottom lip in, biting down as you scrunch up your face once again, confused by his generosity. 

You open your mouth to speak until you hear his name called, a gentleman his age heading over with a big smile on his face as Joel gets up to greet him shocked it seems by seeing the man. Before he dives into conversation about some time in Arkansas they shared. 

He seems to forget your presence until he fishes in his pocket before turning to you. 

“Check out baby, I’ll be there soon,” He mumbles, handing you his wallet before turning back to converse with the man about god knows what. 

Baby… 

It sits on your tongue as you repeat the word… baby. 

Once you pack up the western boots & toss your ratty pair, curiosity gets the best of you look through his wallet to find a hefty amount of cash along with a few cards, his ID reading ‘JOEL MILLER’. 

You ponder why he trusted you with it, you could bolt, to be quite honest, live off for months with the amount of cash stored. 

You don’t, finding zero need to. 

Eventually, you realize it could be because he trusts you since he’s the furthest from careless. 

It’s a funny feeling, trust, as you make your way to the checkout stand. A boy maybe a bit older than you reading a magazine as you have to muster up a ‘hello’ to gain his attention. 

“Fuh- Sorry, shi-, I mean, sorry I ain’t see you or nothin’” he nervously rambles taking the boxes, one empty but still necessary to scan.  

“Wasn’t ignorin’ you…” He adds as you smile a bit, attempting to ease his nerves. 

You are reminded of how you are able to make boys nervous, having been able to do so since grade school, and not necessarily because you were some Hollywood star, you simply carried yourself with a certain amount of confidence that had boys sputtering and timid. 

It’s refreshing you find after figuring you don't seem to do that to Joel. 

He is never nervous around you, quite the opposite as you feel as if butterflies are swimming in your belly every time he looks at you.  

The boy with a nametag reading, Ted, begins to bag as you slide the total amount on the counter from Joel’s wallet, your pinky hitting a jar of candy on the counter. 

“These free?” You question eyeing a red lollipop. 

“No, um, you can have it, it’s 25 cents, goes to helping out a kid in need,” He fumbles giving you your change as his sweaty hand releases it into yours. 

You return a quarter and fish out your lollipop, discarding the wrapper into your pocket before plucking it into your mouth. 

It isn’t difficult to notice the boys attention on your mouth as your lips wrap around the sucker as you turn your head a bit, sorta wishing it was this easy with Joel. It makes you smile a bit, the idea of getting this reaction from him but the boy thinks it's for him as he smiles back. 

You make sure to wear a look of disgust to dissuade him from thinking it’s for him, lost in your own fantasies as you stick the lollipop far into your cheek. 

“You uh- need help carrying this back, maybe I can help you carry this back to your car?” He offers a little breathless as you pop the sucker from your mouth. 

“Maybe, uh I don’t know where-” You start

“Sorry bout that darlin’,” the gruff voice behind you is followed by the warmth of a hand on your hip as he picks up the bag with the boxes, ignoring the cashier's hand on it. 

“We all square?” He questions looking down at you in a familiar stern manner, maybe questioning the fact that you didn’t steal this time.

“Uh huh,” you nod, “Bought candy too…”

“Oh yeah I can see that-”

You press the lollipop to his lips cutting him off suddenly, expecting to gain some sort of reaction from him finally, but he only opens his mouth to take it in before stuffing it in his cheek, “Delicious… let’s get a move on.” 

A giggle expels from your mouth as you find yourself bewildered as he leads you out of the store before handing the sucker back to you in which you take it swiftly, before waving goodbye to the clerk who wears the strangest expression of confusion, making you laugh even more. 

You expect to head to the truck, and instead follow him towards a sandwich shop as he holds the door open for an elderly woman before letting you pass in. 

“You know what you want? They got hot & cold sandwiches it seems…” He mutters moving up in the line as there’s a good amount of people in front of you. 

“Umm, just a coke…” you hum happily looking at the glass bottled drink behind the counters before hearing Joel sigh out gruffly. 

“Look at me.” He’s stern when he speaks yet soft as he turns towards you, curling over as he closes the space between your bodies. You attempt to make eye contact with his grayish-green eyes, before looking down at your feet, your stomach turning in on itself. 

It isn’t until his fingers move along your jaw to your chin, tugging it up so you can look at him right there, your face resting in the cup of his hand, his hats shadow covering the both of you, making it feel as if you are the only people in the room as a slow gulp glides down your throat, his eyes searching yours as you can feel his breath on your lips. 

“I need you to get real food, you’re gonna get a sandwich. You understand me?” You open your mouth slightly to breathe in his words, stuck in a trance that has you resting your hands on his forearms for balance. 

You wish to speak, to object but only nod as he seems satisfied before breaking away to move up in line with only two people now ahead of you. 

It feels as if your heart is beating through your throat as you expected him to kiss you then, wanted him to. Yearned for it, lips left unsatisfied as you take them between your teeth to gnaw at them. 

He doesn’t even seem bothered in the slightest as he continues to read the menu, distracted as you size him up. 

His tanned arms roped with veins leading down to his hands, his jeans bolted together with a belt as the jeans hang over his boots, the thick beard that holds specks of gray that creep down his throat. His face littered with scars, the most prominent on his nose… he’s truly one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever come across. 

Why didn’t he kiss you… 

Your thoughts are interrupted as the person making the sandwiches asks what you want. You list off an assortment of turkey and cheese and other veggies before turning to Joel, somewhat seeking his approval as he gives you a little nod. 

You slip his wallet into his jeans before heading to find a table in the back, immediately getting side-tracked by a little kiddie ride shaped as a horse, seen through the glass window of the building, fishing into your own pockets to pull out a little ten-cent coin before exiting through the back door. 

It isn’t hard to settle onto it, clearly made for those younger but something fun to do while you wait as it begins to rock you back n forth, popping your forgotten sucker back into your mouth as you move your hips with the ride, it brings you back to a certain comfort forgotten in your childhood as you close your eyes, listening to the carnival music that exudes from the speaker box next to it.  

“What… are you doing?” You're interrupted by a familiar voice as you turn your head to Joel as he stands by the door, propped up, arms folded across his chest in a questioning way, not judging but curious. 

“Ridin’ a pony…” You hum biting into your lollipop, turning back your attention to the machine as it ceases. 

“Seems like you’re done ridin’ a pony, come on in so we can eat.” He huffs out, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead, the summer sun shining down as you remove yourself before heading inside, sliding into a seat across for him, unwrapping your sandwich to find he’s already dug into his own, pastrami it seems. 

Your eyes narrow behind him as you find a group of teen boys, three, eyeing you. 

One spreading his legs open as another makes a gesture to sit on his lap, realizing they had seen you from the glass on the ride, a queasy feeling filling your stomach as you remove your hands from the wrapper placing them in your lap.

It doesn’t take Joel long to notice, his brow raising, chewing on the last bites in his mouth before leaning back in his seat, expecting some sort of reason as to why you haven’t touched your food. 

“Theyre just… starin…” You whisper, hushed, scared to provoke them, avoiding their gaze, and chuckles from behind him. You’re older than them, you know it, but there's more of them, and with men, when there's a will there's a way. 

He’s quick to set his food down, not missing a beat as his head swivels over his shoulder before back to you. 

It’s hard to hide your sickening expression, regretting your choice to reconnect with your inner child, “Can we maybe leave?” 

The stupid tears prick at your eyes as you once more feel dwindled to a piece of meat for the wolves to pick at. 

You don’t expect the reaction, you don’t expect Joel to get up with a loud screech of the chair against the tile that has patrons of the shop turning to see the commotion. His reserved, quiet, & sturdy demeanor, now replaced with a brash, harsh, mighty one as he approaches the table. 

“There a fucking problem?” 

He doesn’t yell… you think it’s scarier that way? His anger low and simmering yet already intimidating, you hope you never see his anger come to a rolling boil. 

The men, younger, stupider, shake their heads, one of them speaking up, “N- no just having fun, just fun…” You don’t hear Joel’s response but watch as the boys scurry out eventually, allowing Joel to return to the table after apologizing to a nearby couple for his language. 

He sits back down, not waiting to take a bite into his sandwich before gesturing to yours as you obey, unwrapping it and digging in to eat in comfortable silence, a strong wave of protection washing over you. An unfamiliar one, one never expressed to you before, it isn’t necessarily the possessive protection from toxic boys in the past, it’s healthy and feels good? 

You don’t notice he’s finished, lost in your own thoughts until you hear his mouth ‘tick’ and then feel his thumb swipe at the corner of your mouth getting at a bit of mustard there before pressing it to his mouth, sucking it off with a quick motion that leaves you biting into your sandwich to subdue the need to press your lips to his, squeezing your thighs together. 

It’s nice just sitting in silence with him, as he sips his beer, and you drink your coke, finishing eventually, keeping the bottle cap.

Eventually, you head back to the truck. 

Truth be told you hadn’t had a proper meal in weeks, making it hard to stay awake for the drive, eventually resting your head on the window as you think of telling Joel just that, maybe to show your gratitude. 

Instead, you drift off deciding whether to or not to. 

You don’t notice you’re awake until you collide with a plush mattress, groaning into the comforter as you come to realize you’re in a bed. 

You spring awake, forgetting the day, forgetting where you are, only knowing you are now in a strange bed placed there by a person…

“Easy…” A familiar voice sounds out as you scramble to get up, a warm hand pressing to your chest to ease you back down as you remember, it’s Joel, you’re safe. 

He pulls back the covers as you slip in, expecting to hear him follow in soon, expecting to feel his body heat warm the cold bed.  

Instead, you watch as his figure strides to the door, confusion setting in. 

“Joel… where are you going?” It comes out in a hush, feeling too vulnerable for your own skin, the exterior of hyper-independence you've worn since grade school replaced by an anxious curiosity.  

“Got a room right next door, just holler f’ya need anythin…” He moves to open the door, a gust of warm wind entering as you realize it’s night, a nearby clock reading 8:32 p.m.

You don’t know why you’re frustrated, it’s stupid. Your hands balling up the sheets as you clench onto them, attempting to figure out what it would to get him to stay. 

He’s being respectful you think, but it makes a certain loneliness you are familiar with, creep its way up your spine. You don’t have the guts to ask him to stay. 

“Okay… if some serial killer comes to get me in the middle of the night it's your fault,” is all you can get out, attempting to soothe your own anxiety with jokes. 

You can see him slightly as he exits the door, the soft moonlight reflected upon him in a way that makes your heart flutter, “Not on my watch baby, get some sleep.” 

The door shuts with a hard thud and soon you get up to lock it behind him leaving you wishing he shared the bed with you. 

You drift off that night imagining what it would look like if he did.

㋡🥀

after the rain (joel miller x f!reader)

summary: when life as you know it comes crashing down around your ears, only joel can fix it.

warnings: ex-boyfriend’s dad!joel, age gap (28/56), infidelity (not by joel or reader), cursing, lots of kissing, mild smuttiness, this is not beta’d so sorry for any mistakes lmao, 18+ mdni.

notes: this is a drabble for @janaispunk’s milestone celebration! congrats, babe. there is nobody more deserving of this than you 🫶🏻 i had so much fun playing along. i really hope you like this 🤍

“Thanks, Mr Miller. You really didn’t have to do any of this.”

“Darlin’, it’s Joel. You know it is, and ain’t no way in hell I wasn’t bringin’ you home. It’s the least I can do.”

The cab of the truck falls silent; howling wind and thunderous rain filling the spaces where words should be.

Where they fail you.

You glance over at Joel, agonising over how much you’ll miss him. It’s not his fault his son decided you weren’t worth his time anymore: texting you to say you had a day to remove your belongings from the house, that he was actually in love with the receptionist at his office, and had been for some time now.

Fuck him.

Four years of your life. Over as fast as the lightning flashes above you, freezing you to the bone and splintering your heart in two. You’re almost thirty, and alone again.

Joel had found you on his return home from work.

You and Sebastian had lived with him for two years, hoping to save for a house of your own. Joel made you dinner, helped you fold laundry, let you win at poker. The fact he was disturbingly handsome was neither here nor there — Seb had told you he’d been alone for a long time since his mom left, and you knew Joel found comfort in the time he spent with you.

You knew, because you felt the same.

Joel became a friend to you, in a city where you didn’t have many others. Seb was popular, the two of you unevenly matched — you’d heard his friend’s girlfriends say it enough times to know it was true. Overlooked, underestimated, by everyone but him.

Joel.

He’d listen to talk about your career dreams when stacking the dishwasher, let you play your favourite songs on his record player and ride up front in the truck when you’d drop Seb off at another soirée you weren’t invited to.

You couldn’t truly believe he was single. He was a little gruff, sure. Reserved, speaking only when spoken to. But beyond all that: Joel was patient, with a soft heart. You saw the way the creases by his eyes deepened when you told him of your loneliness: dark brown gaze holding your own.

You were soaked when he discovered you, dragging out boxes and bags in the driving deluge. Joel had tried to reason with you, told you to wait till the morning. You repeated Seb’s ultimatum, watched Joel’s brows furrow and lips curl into a snarl when he learned of his son’s deceit.

“Let me take you, darlin’,” he’d insisted, and you’d relented. One last drive up front with Joel sounded better than any Uber ever would.

You round the bend towards your parent’s house, now, Joel’s hand finding yours in your lap. You try not to jolt at the contact: Seb hasn’t touched you in any which way for a few months now, and you’re surprised by how much you’ve missed the touch of another human.

It didn’t help matters that his father’s hand was warm, calloused, downright huge over yours.

“They home? Your folks?”

You shake your head. “No, luckily. In Florida visiting my Grandma.”

Joel tuts, runs the same hand through his damp hair. It’s slicked back against his head, and you take in the gray at his temples, silver streaked through the rest of his drenched curls. You note the curve of his nose, full lips, black lashes. The smooth skin of his throat, thick biceps, drenched flannel sticking to him.

Something simmers in your belly, hot as hell, and so very fucking wrong.

It’s Mr Miller. Sebastian’s dad. Joel, for fucks sake.

“I’ll help you in with your things,” he tells you, and you protest.

“Mr — Joel. It’s fine, I got it.”

He turns to face you: stern as ever, and you wilt under his glare, knowing his frustration isn’t aimed at you.

“I just — I can’t be there when he gets home. You’re my priority right now, and I wanna make this as easy as I can for ya,” he murmurs, and you feel your eyes begin to well with tears; a contrast to the way you were feeling mere seconds before.

You don’t know which emotion is worse.

Joel pulls up outside the house, rain still lashing at the windows. You wipe your eyes hastily, shoulders drooping in your wet shirt.

“Hey, baby, don’t cry now. Come on. I’ll make sure you’re okay,” Joel leans over the console, his arm around you, lips against your forehead.

Baby.

He’s never called you that before.

You’re sure it’s a slip of the tongue; an instant reaction to the state you’re in, influenced by his urge to take care of you.

Still. The heat returns, making you squirm, closing your eyes and sighing as Joel heads out into the storm, pulling your boxes from the back.

Ten minutes later, it’s like you never left home at all.

Joel insists on bringing your belongings to your old room, mercifully not transformed into a gym or library by your parents yet.

“I know there’s nothin’ I can say to make any of this better,” he tells you, following you up the stairs. “But believe me when I say I never wanted this day to come. I thought you’d be in my life forever.”

You turn, lump in your throat.

“Me too, Joel.”

Soon, the last bag of your clothes is dumped on your carpet, and he follows you to the door in silence.

“Well.. I guess this is goodbye, then,” you mutter, voice wobbling as you turn the handle. The sky is still an angry grey, passing cars spraying water as it continues to pour from above.

Joel heads out, rain bouncing off his shoulders. He turns back, face unreadable, eyes narrowing.

“You can never know how sorry I am, darlin’. I know Seb’s my boy, but he never deserved you. ‘n you.. Christ. Just know I’m here — ‘f ya need me.”

You fold your arms across your chest, sighing heavily. The pain of Sebastian’s betrayal pales in insignificance to the agony of letting Joel leave your life.

“You mean that?”

He holds his arms open in lieu of an answer, and you cross the threshold, barreling into his chest. You feel the downpour sluicing down your neck, roaring in your ears as his hand caresses your back slowly.

You look up at him, rain dripping off his nose, clinging to his lashes. Your eyes travel to his lips, and you’re certain you feel his grip on you tighten, a growl in his throat.

You kiss him.

You’re so certain Joel will push you away, tell you it’s wrong, that you’re not yourself right now. But, he doesn’t: his tongue finds its way into your mouth, and you groan into the swirling wind, hands scrambling to grip the scruff along his jaw.

He’s kissing you so deeply; ferociously, fingers digging into your ass, clambering up your spine. You’re not sure you’ve ever been kissed like this in your life: you feel like Joel’s everywhere, commanding every sense you own.

“Fuck,” you moan, pushing him back inside. You break apart, chests heaving, water cascading to the floor of the entryway. Joel looks guilty, but you’re past caring about what Seb would ever think.

“Joel, I —“

“Don’t,” he whispers, reaching for you. He pulls you close, fingers trailing across your bare arms, coming to rest beneath your chin. “Just, kiss me.”

So you do.

Joel’s hands wander beneath your shirt, and you tear it over your head, reaching for the buttons of his flannel. “Can’t tell you how long I’ve been thinkin’ about you, like this,” he confesses, spinning you in his arms.

His hands — still so warm, despite the freezing rain outside — slide up your stomach, cupping you, squeezing you. It feels like you’ve always belonged here: feeling how hard he is against your back, how he knows your body so well already. You shiver, writhe in his grasp, and his lips find yours once more.

“Let me take care of you, baby.”

You open up to him, receiving his tongue so eagerly. He travels lower, pushing your jeans to the floor, thick fingers sliding inside your panties as you mould yourself to him. It’d never felt like this with Seb, or with anyone before him. Your blood is singing beneath your skin, and you wonder how it took so long for you to get here.

You have no idea the depth of Joel’s words: whether he means just for tonight, or for as long as he can.

You decide it doesn’t matter.

“Okay.”

Javi for the win!!!

rule: post a poll with five of your favorite characters and let your followers choose their favorite

thanks to @sizzlingcloudmentality and @charliehoennam for the tag! I just know this is gonna be hard as hell 🥺

Tagging : @gyllenhaalstories, @jacobqyllenhaal, @winchester126, @billyboyblue, @iamsherlocked-1998