#high infidelity (joel miller)

[dancingtotuyo]

High Infidelity Part IV

Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: Mature Explicit

Summary: Joel goes on a date.

Tags: Tommy x Reader, Joel x Reader, Tommy's Wife Reader, infidelity, emotional affair, slow burn (as much as you can get for 5 chapters), Tommy goes to jail, Reader has had a child

Warnings: pining, jealousy, masturbation (male and female), voyeurism, self loathing, emotional affair, boundaries crossed

Notes: Things are getting a little spicy hehe. As usual, shout out to my beta readers @janaispunk and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin (special shout out to Ang for the ✨spicy✨ idea 😜) and @saradika-graphics for the dividers!

Words: 4818

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When Joel asks you to watch Sarah on Friday night, you don’t hesitate to say yes. Then, two minutes later you call him back and ask why. You’re surprised when he tells you he has a date. You should tease him, nag for details, but it’s none of your business. You find yourself wanting to know everything and nothing.

Joel is a grown-ass man. A single man at that, but it nags at you. Who is she? Where did he meet her? The two of you spend most of your free time together. In the six years you’ve known Joel, you can’t remember him ever mentioning a woman. 

His sole focus has always been Sarah. You suppose Tommy is on that list too, and Nathaniel. The two of you have matching worry lines thanks to your husband, and you guess by default you’re on the list too. If there’s one thing Joel Miller is committed to, it’s family.

Joel comes down in dark-wash jeans and a simple button-down. You didn’t know he owns jeans that nice, hugging his thighs, leather belt cinched at his waist. Your eyes rake over him perhaps a moment longer than needed. He hadn’t looked that nice at your and Tommy’s courthouse wedding. 

You raise an eyebrow letting out a low whistle as he enters the kitchen. “Lucky lady.” You take a bite from your apple slice. You point the paring knife at his jeans. “Those new?”

Joel knits his eyebrows together. “No. Why?”

“I’ve never seen them before.”

“You keep tabs on my closet?”

“We’ve basically lived together for 3 years. You wear the same two pairs of work jeans and five ratty T-shirts in rotation. I wouldn’t be surprised if your shirts have the days of the week labeled on the inside.”

“Church clothes.”

You scowl. “We don’t go to church.”

“Speak for yourself, Darlin.” He chuckles, checking his watch, the one you gave him for Father’s Day. You shoot him a suspicious look. “The kids out back?”

“Yup.” You say, taking another bite of apple. 

Joel’s fingertips brush across your shoulders as he passes by, the warmth of his cologne fills your nostrils as he rushes out. A pit settles deep in your stomach. You’re not sure where it stems from, but you don’t like it. You feel uneasy. 

The back door shuts just as a tap on the front door echoes through the house. You sigh, not really wanting to answer it. The pit grows and you still don’t understand where it’s coming from. Sarah and Nathaniel’s muted laughter filters through as you open the door. 

She’s pretty you think. Not someone you consider to be a show-stopper, but exactly what you would picture Joel going for. There’s something almost familiar about her. She looks taken aback when you open the door. You plaster your well-practiced Southern hospitality smile on your face. 

“I’m Joel’s sister-in-law. Just here to watch the kids.” You hold out your hand. Relief floods her features.  

“Tracy.” She takes your hand.

“Nice to meet you.” You can’t shake the nagging air of familiarity about her. It itches your brain, hanging on the tip of your tongue. Have you seen her at parent pick-up before? “Joel should be back soon. He’s just saying goodnight.”

Tracy nods, clutch held tight in both hands. Maybe it makes you an asshole, but you don’t invite her in, forcing her to stand at the threshold of an open door. She wears a solid dress. Her makeup is tasteful and leagues ahead of anything you’d ever be able to pull off, especially with a rowdy toddler. 

For a second you miss it. The freedom that is. You wouldn’t give up Nathaniel for the world. Hell, you wouldn’t give up Tommy for the world even with the shit you’re going through, but the ability to go out at a moment’s notice and let the alcohol loosen your inhibitions, you miss that. Tracy couldn’t be much older than you. Maybe a year or two. Did you go to high school together? Is that why she looks familiar? 

There’d been a couple Tracys in your small high school, but none that look like her. 

“You have a son, right?” Tracy says. You nod. She smiles as if proud of herself for remembering the fact. “Joel mentioned that you two do a lot together- with his brother being in prison.”

“Yeah, we do.” Your shoulders stiffen and your smile tightens. So this wasn’t their first date. They knew each other well enough for Joel to divulge your business like it was front-page news. Though, you suppose it had made the paper. 

“Well, I got them both riled up for ya,” Joel says, walking through the house. He plays with the cuffs of his shirt before looking up. He seems startled to find the door wide open and Tracy on the other side. “Oh- Hi.”

“Hi,” Tracy laughs.

He looks between the two of you like he’s seen a ghost. You cross your arms, a faint smirk playing across your lips. “Just remember payback’s a bitch.”

“Yeah... I don’t doubt it.” Joel almost mutters it under his breath. He joins Tracy on the other side of the threshold, pressing a distracted kiss to her cheek. “You ready to go?”

You catch the weirdness of Joel’s demeanor, familiar with all of his tendencies by now. You raise an eyebrow in question, but Joel won’t look you in the eye. His arm wraps around Tracy’s waist, pushing her toward his pickup. 

“Make yourself at home.” Joel throws his hand up in a wave despite his back being turned to you. 

“Always do!” You call back. 

You watch them until the truck is out of the driveway, confusion written across your face as you process the odd interaction. Why was Joel acting so weird- like you weren’t supposed to meet the mysterious lady he’d obviously been out with more than once, and why hadn’t he told you yet? And why did she look so damn familiar?

The moment the door clicks behind you, it hits. You freeze. The familiarity in her face is one you see every time you look in the mirror. She’s not your twin by any means, but Tracy could be your cousin, your sister even. Something you can’t place settles in your gut.

The kids are finally asleep. The TV drones on, but you don’t hear a sound of it. The whole interaction plays on repeat in your mind. You chew on your thumbnail. You can’t stop thinking about them, where they are, and what they might be doing. 

You glance down at your watch. 10:30. You don’t typically go to bed this early, and you’re not tired, but you can’t get it off your mind. Sleep is your only option for relief. 

Checking on the kids, you slip into Joel’s room. You’ve stayed in here more times than you can count as Joel always insists you stay in his bed. It’s automatic how you pull one of his shirts from the drawer. Not one of his five shitty work shirts but one of the well-worn ones he wears on the weekend after he showers. They’re soft. They smell like him, sawdust and old spice, not the cologne you caught on him this evening. You slip under the cool sheets, stretching out your bare legs and burying your face in his pillow. You’re surrounded by him here. 

You thought it would turn off the thoughts, silence your mind, but it doesn’t. If anything they ramp up. You know there’s no way Joel’s had her here. He wouldn’t bring a strange woman into his home, Sarah’s home, that quickly. No, it’s all him in here… and you. 

It’s just after eleven. You’re not asleep. Joel’s not home and your mind is running through the memories as it often does when you lay alone. You’ve spent more nights alone than with someone since you got married. You should be used to it, but you’re not. There should be someone next to you right now. 

Tossing and turning, an idea sparks in your mind. There’s one surefire way to get yourself to sleep. The mere thought sets desire through your veins. Goosebumps prickle your flesh. Your nipples perk up under Joel’s soft shirt. It’s been a while since you’ve touched yourself. 

Kicking the blankets off of you, you let your fingers skim over your bare thighs, moving them upward until your shirt is tucked under your breasts. Joel’s shirt. It has you pausing. This crosses so many lines. You can’t do this here, in your brother-in-law’s bed, in Joel’s bed where it smells like him. Where it feels like him. 

Your cunt clenches and a soft groan escaped from your lips. You’ve barely touched yourself, not enough for that response. Your heart rate refuses to calm down, the flame of desire already spreading from deep in your stomach. You shouldn’t do this, not here, but your fingers trace up and over your sternum again, slipping under Joel’s shirt. You brush your thumb over the hardened buds. You’ll change the sheets tomorrow. He’ll never know. 

A soft moan tumbles over your lips. Your body moves of its own volition, pressing into your touch. Your hands move down and across your skin. You run them over your favorite places to be touched, everywhere except where you want to be touched the most. You avoid it, waiting until your panties start to cling to you, excess moisture soaking into them. A finger runs over the seam of your lower lips. Another moan falls from your mouth, hips bucking up. 

You push down your panties, flinging them off once they hit your ankles. Your fingers slip between your folds. You’re slick, spreading it up and down, over and around your clit as need builds in your body. Another moan threatens to fall from your mouth, each one growing in volume. You bite down on the collar of Joel’s shirt. Another whiff of him overtakes you. Your cunt clenches as you finally slip a finger in and then a second. 

The house is dark when Joel gets back. He feels like a dick. He’d been distracted the whole time. He saw it the moment he spotted the two of you together- the resemblance. He felt like an idiot for not seeing it sooner, and even more when he couldn’t stop thinking about you the whole night. There’s nothing wrong with Tracy. She’s perfectly nice, but the bubble has popped. She’s not you. He won’t be seeing her again.

It doesn’t help that he knew he’d come home to a dark house. He knows you’re asleep in his bed right now in one of his shirts, and Lord help him, it kept him distracted all night. 

He’s quiet as he walks up the stairs so as to not wake you or the kids. He stares at his bedroom door, taunting him. You’re in there and he knows what you feel like sound asleep in his arms. You haven’t talked that night. In fact, you’ve acted like it never happened and he’s followed suit. He wonders if he could slip behind you now. If you would let him hold you. 

He lets out a long sigh, fighting with himself. He needs to slip in, grab a pair of sweats, but he’s not sure if he’ll be able to pull himself out. He can sleep in his boxers, maybe find some sweats in the laundry. His hand drops from the door. 

He’s going to walk away. He’s not going to cross that line again. That’s his brother’s wife. The woman Tommy told him to take care of. He has to stop this. He can’t- and then he hears it. Soft and quiet at first. A soft gasp that hitches, like it got caught on something. 

He freezes. It’s probably nothing, a dream, his imagination. Then he hears it again, this time pitched lower, like it comes from a deeper place. He can’t discount that one. As much as his brain screams at him to go, run, his feet stay anchored to the floor. He’s desperate to hear it again, and he’s rewarded with another moan. 

They’re intentional. You’re doing that to yourself in his bed. He bites his lip, hand falling to the door frame to stabilize him. He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be envisioning you spread out on his bed, toes curling against his sheets. The blood rushes straight to his cock and Joel knows he’s about to cross a line he can’t come back from. 

Another moan comes out of the room. He flips open the button of his jeans, hand slipping beneath the waistband stroking his already hard cock. Maybe it makes him a creep, but he’s never been more grateful for the thin walls in the house. 

Your noises of pleasure grow. Joel bites back his own, nails digging into the door frame. Precum leaks from the tip of his dick. He catches the way your moans grow more desperate as you take yourself closer. He works himself to the edge with you, wanting to hold off until you’re there. 

You’re so close to falling over the edge. Your fingers glide over your clit with ease, soaked with your slick. You’ve been pushing the images away the whole time, trying not to go there, but the closer you pull yourself to bliss, the harder it is to keep them at bay. Your eyes drift shut as you lean into the feeling, willing yourself over the edge. They flash in your mind, pictures of him over you, calloused hands running over your bare body, his deep baritone in your ear as he pulls you apart. The tension between your thighs breaks free. You don’t realize how loud you cry out, ears ringing with pleasure as his name effortlessly rolls off your lips. 

You lay there, still, chest heaving. Not Tommy’s name. Joel’s. 

Before you have time to comprehend what just happened, it breaks through the silence. A soft, bitten back moan on the other side of the door in a tone you can only recognize as his and the faint whispers of your name. Your eyes widen. Had he…? 

Your brain races with the possibilities as you lay bare, tshirt pushed above your breasts. He could walk in. You hadn’t locked the door. You could open the door to him, take his hand, invite him into his own bed. 

You cringe. When did you become this person? The one who lusts after another man while married? As much as you’re ashamed, you fight against the temptation. You want to give in. You want to be touched and desired again. You’d seen it in Joel’s eyes that night at the beach. He would give you what you needed. Before you can make a decision, you hear the steps creak. He’s walked away. 

You let out a deep breath, not sure if you’re disappointed or relieved. You roll over, burying your  head in Joel pillow, wrapping yourself in his comforter, cunt still slick and dripping. 

Lucky for Joel, he’s able to find clean sweats in the dryer and then starts the washer with his jeans and boxers, washing away all evidence of his sins. 

He settles on the couch with just the decorative pillow and throw blanket. It’s hot anyway so the blanket is quickly kicked to his feet. He can’t put it out of his mind. Any of it. You. 

He tries not to think about the sounds you made in his bed, the things you did. He tries not to think about you asleep in his arms, but with all things, the more you try not to think about them, the more you do. 

Joel has accepted that he’s not a good man. His intentions with you are no longer pure, but self seeking. Yes, he cares for you and your well being, but he wants you. He needs you near him. He needs you to realize he’s been here through it all. That Tommy has done nothing to be worthy of you. Joel has spent more of your marriage being your husband than Tommy has. 

He clenches his fists. Anger surges through him. Joel doesn’t care if it makes him a bad person. If he had a way to go and turn back time, he would. He’d find a way to meet you before Tommy did. He would make you his. He would save you from the heartache of being Tommy’s wife. You would be his Mrs. Miller. 

Joel wishes he’d kissed you at the beach. He wanted to. God knows how badly he’d wanted to. It took every last ounce of self control not to. His stores are depleted. Between that and tonight, Joel has no more restraint to offer this situation. If you ever give him the chance again, he won’t hold back. He doesn’t care that you’re married to his brother. You deserve better. You deserve the world. Joel believes he can give it to you. 

You both sleep better than you have in weeks. 

“I never understood back to school nights,” Joel grumbles, stuffing a store bought chocolate chip cookie in his mouth and washing it down with cheap faculty room coffee. “Want some?”

“You know I don’t drink caffeine after two.” 

Joel shrugs, taking another sip. “It’s not that good anyway.” 

You roll your eyes. “What about back to school nights makes you grumpy? It’s a chance for Sarah to see where she’ll spend most of her time for the next nine months.”

“Then where is she?” Joel raises an eyebrow. “Out on the playground because it only takes 5 seconds to see the classroom and she’d rather play with her friends.”

“You’re a grump.”

“Yeah, a grump who’d rather be watching the game.” 

You roll your eyes, swatting his shoulder. “Have you at least talked to her teacher yet?”

He grimaces. “Haven’t worked up the courage yet.”

It isn’t that Joel doesn’t want to know the person responsible for educating his child. It’s the fact that Sarah has a knack for ending up with the young, single teachers as her educators, ones who seem very interested in her father as more than a parent. He’d been granted reprieve last year, but you’d caught the visible shudder in his frame the moment he’d laid eyes on Sarah’s teacher for the year, young and not a ring on her left hand in sight. 

“Stop judging a book by its cover. You’re a grown up.”

“Fine.” He sets down his coffee with determination. “Let’s go.” His hand finds your waist as he propels you both toward the teacher. 

“What are you doing?” Your eyebrows knit together. You have a sneaking suspicion you know what he’s playing at. 

“We’re going to meet Sarah’s teacher.” He shrugs, but a smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “Mrs. Miller.”

Your stomach does little flips. You’ve been mistaken for his Mrs. Miller more times than you can count at this point. You’ve attended Sarah’s parent teacher conferences when Joel got held up at a job sight, letting the teachers assume whatever they wanted. You are Mrs. Miller after all. But you’ve never done anything like this, not alongside him.  

He introduces himself and you to Miss Holly as he tugs you in closer to his right side. Your left arm instinctively wraps around his middle and you see the moment she watches the glint of your engagement and wedding ring under the fluorescent lights. 

It’s hardly the first time you’ve been mistaken for Joel Miller’s wife, but it is the first time he’s played into the assumption on purpose, with confidence. It’s the first time you let your mind forget it’s not true, even for just a few seconds, playing a part that doesn’t feel like playing at all. Joel lets his southern charm show now, protected by the guise of you as his bride. Before you know it, it feels too natural. Joel’s hand falls a bit, grasping your hip, tugging you closer like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You think maybe it is.  

Joel leads the conversation. You’re too caught up in the feel of his hand on your hip and the breathing of his chest under your palm. The night you almost kissed, the night you crawled into his bed and he held you through some of the best sleep you’ve gotten in years flashes in your mind. You think back to just last week, his name on your lips, that strangled, soft moan, and your own name you swear you heard. 

“It was nice meeting you, Mr. and Mrs. Miller,” Sarah’s teacher says, pulling you from your thoughts. 

Joel offers his own goodbyes and you echo them, still fighting the haze inside your own mind. You wonder if there’s a world where this is your life, one where you and Joel aren’t playing make believe. One where you crawl in bed beside him every night instead of your empty bed. It’s an awful thought. Your husband gets released from prison in a few weeks. These thoughts will be gone by then. They have to be.

It was one night of indiscretion, two at the most, and you never actually did anything. You didn’t know Joel was on the other side of that door. Tommy doesn’t need to know. By his own admission, he’s actually crossed those boundaries. He’s broken your wedding vows. You glance at Joel’s profile as he leads you out of the classroom, a proud smirk on his face. The bastard enjoyed that way too much. 

When you make it to the hall, his fingers lace through yours. Is he forgetting too? Giving himself a moment to linger in the unspoken what ifs that seem to crowd around you these days. 

He drops your hand once you’re outside in view of the playground. He waves Sarah over, but you stay a couple steps behind, deep in thought until someone calls your name. Your head snaps in their direction. Julia and Micky Hall stand before you. Your eyes widen in recognition. Micky was one of Tommy’s Army buddies. They’d moved to Dallas after the group came back from their deployment. 

“Hi,” the words fall from your mouth in shock. “I didn’t know y’all were back in Austin.” Your feet carry you toward the couple. 

“Just moved back last month,” Julia says as you move to hug her and then Micky. “We’ve been meaning to call.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s just good to see you both.” The smile across your face is genuine as you talk to your friends. You’d grown apart since their move. Other than Joel, Julia had been your closest friend during Tommy’s deployment. “How have you been? The boys?”

“Starting first grade,” Julia grins, pointing to her twin boys on the playground.

Your eyes catch them, running around. “They’ve grown so much.”

“How’s Nathaniel?” Julia asks.

“Good, growing like a weed as I’m sure you’re familiar with.”

“Too familiar,” Julia laughs. 

“Nathaniel isn’t going into Kindergarten, is he?” Micky asks.

“Next year. I came for Sarah’s back to school night. Joel’s daughter.” You point to where Sarah is just rushing over to her father. You feel the ghost of Joel’s touch when you utter his name. “We’ve been helping each other out a lot with everything.”

The couple nods, an awkward silence forming between you as if they don’t want to address the elephant in the room. The heat has let up a little bit as the sun begins to dip behind the trees. 

“I’ve written to Tommy a couple of times,” Micky says, hands tucked into his front pockets. “Haven’t heard back much.”

You force a nod, feeling the tension grow in your limbs. “I haven’t been able to get much from him.” 

You catch the way both their eyes widen. They were there the night you and Tommy met. They’d seen the way you fell, both of you. How inseparable your bond is, or was. 

“Shit,” Micky says, running a hand over his face. “How are you holding up?”

“Not sure I am most days. Joel’s been a big help to us.” It feels like you’re concealing the whole truth. Joel’s been the crutch keeping you going most days. Julia’s brow furrows with concern.

Micky nods. “I’d like to go see him if that’s okay.”

“Of course. Maybe you can get through to him.”

“And we should get the kids together,” Julia adds. “Catch up ourselves.”

“That would be nice,” you smile at her as you catch Joel and Sarah waiting by the truck, laughing about something. “I should go, but you should call. Number’s still the same.”

“I’ll use it.” Julia smiles as you wave at both of them before crossing the parking lot with a weird feeling in your gut.  

Seeing Julia and Micky was nice. It brought back a lot of good memories. The four of you. It’s another reminder of how lonely the last years have been. How much you’ve depended on Joel. How much he’s been there. 

As you join Joel and Sarah at the truck, Sarah catches you up on all her friend’s summer vacations and updates, mouth moving a million miles a minute. She doesn’t stop as you climb in or for the click of your seat belt. You stay quiet, watching Austin wiz by out the passenger side window. 

When Joel pulls into your driveway, you let out a sigh staring at the door. He leans over the center console, keeping his voice low.  “You okay, Darlin? You’ve been quiet since we left.”

“Just tired. I’ll see y’all tomorrow.” You fling the door of the pick up open. 

“Darlin?”

You bristle, smoothing out your skirt as you turn to face him. His brows knit together. “I’m fine, Joel.”

“You’re coming over tomorrow, right Aunt Bonnie?”

“Of course, Sarah Bear.” You blow her a kiss, shutting the door before Joel can protest. He makes sure you’re inside before pulling out of the driveway. 

Nathaniel is already asleep thanks to an afternoon at the playground and the magic your sitter works. You pay her extra tonight. You’ve never been more thankful to come home to a sleeping child, too distracted by the run in with your friends and Joel’s hot hands on you, the way he held you as if to tell the world to back off, you’re his. 

You pull the bottle of Tequila out of the cabinet. You’re tempted to pull straight from the bottle but you pour a finger or so into a glass instead. Your mother raised you better than that. She also raised you better than to pine after your brother in law. 

You throw back the whole glass. The cheap liquor burns your throat. You ran out of the good stuff last week with Joel and hadn’t made it to the liquor store yet. Joel had drunk you under the table, your tolerance not what it used to be. Not that you had ever been able to keep up with him. You fill the glass with another finger and toss it back. You can’t think about Joel. Can’t think about the way your wedding bands burn against your skin as if they are punishing you for tonight, for last week, for Father’s Day and for everything else. 

You pour more tequila into the cup, but you add ice and margarita mixer this time, knowing the first two shots will catch up to you soon enough. You fall onto the couch with a sigh. Three weeks. Just three weeks and Tommy will be back. You won’t see Joel everyday. Your husband will take care of you, satisfy you. That’s all this is. The deprivation of the last two and a half years. You can make it three more weeks. 

You try to reason it away. It makes sense. You and Joel have been so close in all this. He’s been your partner, not your husband, but partner. He’s an attractive man, thoughts were bound to pop up, lines were bound to get blurry, but all will correct itself when Tommy’s home. Yes, it all makes perfect sense. 

You take a sip of the margarita. Condensation trickles down your hand and ice rattles in the glass. Even as the numbness of the tequila shots begins to take over your body, the reassurances feel weak. 

Even if you can’t admit it, something has shifted. You and Joel are playing with fire. 

Three more weeks you push. Tommy will be home. You’ll have Your Tommy back. 

But you can’t erase the last two and a half years. Tonight, with the ghost of his hands on your body, you remember all the ways Joel has been there for you over these past years, filling in the gaping caverns Tommy left.   

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@la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @lotusbxtch @ravenn-darkholme

[joelsgreys]

someone to be thankful for

DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: It’s Thanksgiving—when dinner with your nightmare of a family goes south, you find comfort in the person you least expect it from: your father’s best friend, Joel Miller.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. (AU, NO OUTBREAK) non canon, DBF! Joel, AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s, i do not specify her age, but she’s a recent college grad so do with that what you will, not everyone graduates at the same specific age ya know? Joel is in his mid-ish 50’s). Reader’s a teacher, she is visiting her suburban childhood home from a big city. Reader’s parents are religious and practice traditional-ish gender norms (i.e father is head of the household kinda thing) reader’s family celebrates Thanksgiving (sorry) several mentions of food and alcohol, reader’s parents suck, she has two brothers who come with names, a lot of her relatives come with names, watch out for Aunt Ines she’s a bitch. (TW) body/weight shaming (twice) PLEASE BE MINDFUL if this could be triggering. mentions of and implications of childhood abuse (not graphic) reader’s dad gets in her face, implied infidelity (reader’s dad), implied toxic marriage (reader’s parents). soft, caring, protective Joel. Joel’s recently divorced, mention of Sarah, mentions of the ex-wife. SMUT. oral sex (female receiving) p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) reader states she’s on baby blockers (birth control), creampie, DADDY KINK (bc reader clearly has a few daddy issues), LOTS of pet names (darlin’, baby, pretty girl, sweetheart, honey), size kink (ish?), cockwarming. think i got it all?

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. if this isn’t your thing, that is fine but just keep on scrolling.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.

word count: 11.5k

a/n: yeah…idk. this was very delayed because it turned into a whole thing. if anyone actually reads all 11k of this, i will bake you muffins.

You take a deep breath and look in the mirror.

Skirt pressed, not a wrinkle in sight.

Hair brushed, not a single strand out of place.

Makeup done, not a blemish to be seen.

And somehow, someone will still find something.

Something to point out.

Something to comment on.

Something to criticize.

If not your appearance, it’ll be something else.

Because someone always had something to say.

“Should you be eating all of that?”

“Another year gone and still no boyfriend?”

“Don’t you want to get married?”

“When I was in my twenties, I had two children.”

Boundaries didn’t exist on Thanksgiving.

Actually, for your family, boundaries didn’t exist at all—somehow, they are still scratching their heads and wondering why you’d decided to up and leave the minute your high school principal handed over that diploma, your ticket to freedom.

“Sweetie!” Your mother’s shrill voice calls from the kitchen downstairs. “I need a hand! Our guests are going to start arriving soon and there is still plenty left for us to do before they get here!”

You groan outwardly.

There’s still plenty left to do?

How’s that even fucking possible?

You’ve been cooking and baking since sunrise.

“Don’t you think it’s too early?” you’d grumbled at five o’ clock in the morning when your mother had pulled you out of bed, declaring it was time for the big dinner preparations to begin—even though it’d be several hours before your family came over and gathered around the table to break bread. She had pulled the turkey out of the freezer a few days ago, a massive, thirty-pound whole bird that looked big enough to feed a small village. In addition, she had picked up a ham and a brisket. “Mom, why’s there so much food?” Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the sleeve of your robe, you’d started making your way over to the Nespresso only to realize that the coffee machine was hidden behind paper bags full of groceries. “Are we cooking for all of Texas or something?”

“Very funny,” she had glared at you. “Of course we aren’t.” She started unwrapping the turkey. “We’re simply making sure we have enough food and that we have different options for everyone to enjoy, so knock it off with the wisecracks and get to peeling those carrots for me for the stuffing. There is not a single minute to waste today, you hear me, missy? We’re hosting a dozen people, so everything must be absolutely perfect. I won’t accept anything less than perfection today, do you understand me?”

Thirteen hours later, she’s still driving you insane.

You’re only home visiting until the end of the week and then it’s back to the Midwest. You can survive her for three more days, right?

You hear her calling your name and exhale a small, frustrated sigh. “I’m coming, mom!” you call back. It’s difficult to mask the annoyance in your tone of voice, but somehow you manage it. “One minute!”

Smoothing down your pleated plaid skirt, you take one last look in the mirror to make sure everything is in order—there is a loose thread on the sleeve of your brown, knitted sweater and you carefully snip it off with a pair of scissors before sliding your feet into the comfiest pair of ankle boots you’d packed and head downstairs, nose leading the way as you follow the warm, delicious scent of the made from scratch biscuits and rolls baking in the oven.

You find your mother standing at the center island counter garnishing a charcuterie board with sweet gherkins and sprigs of fresh herbs. She is donning festive apron embroidered with fall leaves over her designer dress; her hair’s still up in rollers. “Finally, there you are,” she huffs out loudly the second she hears you walk into the kitchen. Down the hallway, your father and two younger brothers are shouting at some football game on the flat screen television in the living room—men don’t lift a single finger on this day, at least not in this household. “I need you to start setting the table for me. I have place cards in that bag over there. Make sure your dad’s at the head of the table. Oh and don’t forget to bring out the children’s table for all your little cousins—” She glances up, letting out a small gasp when she sees you. “What in the world are you wearing?”

Frowning, you look down at yourself. “Clothes?”

Her ruby red lips purse together in a tight thin line.

“Honey, that skirt is too short. It’s inappropriate.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at her. “It’s like an inch above the knee, how is that inappropriate? It’s not like it’s a miniskirt, mom.” As she eyes your skirt with disapproval, you decide you’re not in the mood to argue and say, “Okay, fine. I’ll go upstairs and change into something else then—”

“No, no, forget it,” she shakes her head. “We don’t have the time for that.” Your mother whirls around, picking up the bag of place holders—she’d special ordered little turkeys carved out of wood. She also takes a marker and a notepad, shoving everything into your hands. “Here. I wrote down all the names of everyone who’s coming for dinner. The children get place holders too but make sure the little ones are sitting beside someone older to help them. Oh! Did I already mention putting your dad at the head of the—”

Tuning her out, your eyes scan down the guest list and if there’s one thing to be thankful for today it’s the fact that your mother’s given you the power to seat everybody wherever you want. Halfway down the list, you see the names of several relatives that you don’t want anywhere near you at the table. An Aunt Miriam who smells like the inside of a casino; a cousin Jennifer who refuses to acknowledge her forty-eight month old is actually four years old; an uncle Richard who always has one too many beers and winds up spewing antigovernment conspiracy theories, ranting until he’s passed out somewhere, such as on the floor of the guest bathroom.

You get to the bottom of the list and can’t help but raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Joel Miller?”

She nods, returning to her board.

“You remember Mr. Miller, don’t you, sweetie? He and your father went to college together—he’s one of his oldest and dearest friends. Don’t tell me you forgot about him? You’ve met him plenty of ti—”

“Yeah, I remember who Joel is, mom,” you mutter, cutting her off. “Didn’t he and the family move out to Arizona like, four years ago? To Phoenix, right?” You’d been away for college then. Taking a second glance at the list, you notice she had forgotten the names of Joel’s wife and daughter. Surely, it’d just been a mistake on her part, though. “I had no idea they were in town visiting. Dad didn’t mention it to me at all.”

“They’re not.” She lowers her voice, as if someone else is standing in the room listening. “Joel moved back to Austin, he’s been back for a few days now. He and Connie, they um—” Pausing for a moment, she reaches up and clasps the cross hanging from her neck before whispering, “They got divorced.”

Taken aback, your mouth parts slightly. “What?”

“I know. Joel and Connie were the last people that I ever thought would get divorced. Such a shame,” your mother remarks, shaking her head. “I ran into Mrs. Adler at the super market and she was telling me all about it. Thinks they could have saved their marriage if only those two—”

“Would get right with Jesus,” you finish, biting the tiny smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “She says that about everything, mom.”

“Well, she isn’t wrong! The sacrament of marriage is a lifelong bond that shouldn’t be broken. It’s not right.” Dropping her hand away from her necklace, she crosses her arms over chest. “Anyway, Connie stayed in Phoenix. Sarah’s spending Thanksgiving with her. Your father didn’t want Joel spending the holiday alone and invited him over for dinner. That means I need you to be on your very best behavior tonight. I don’t want you embarrassing your father in front of his closest friend. Is that understood?”

You can’t help but scoff a little. “I’m not a child.”

She narrows her eyes at you and scoffs right back, planting her hands on her hips.

“No, you’re a smart aleck. Need I remind you what happened last Thanksgiving with Aunt Ines?”

Of course she didn’t have to remind you about last year’s fiasco with her insufferable bitch of a sister.

“That’s an awfully big piece of pumpkin pie,” she’d remarked loudly, eliciting snickers from everybody sitting at the table. “Don’t forget, dear—a moment on the lips, forever on the hips. And you have quite a few forevers on your hips already, darling.”

You had smiled sweetly at her, your fingers itching to fling your mother’s fine china at her. “I wouldn’t really worry about my pie, Aunt Ines,” you had said as soon as you realized that nobody, not even your parents, would be coming to your defense. “Much less when your husband’s stepping out and eating someone else’s pie when he’s away on all those so called business trips. Worry about that instead.”

That comment hadn’t gone over all too well. Three months later, Aunt Ines and Uncle Louis started to see a marriage counselor. Whoops.

“Well?”

“She deserved that,” you say, shrugging lightly.

“She’s family.”

“She’s a jerk.”

“You crossed a line.”

“She crossed it first.”

Before your mother can respond, the sound of the doorbell ringing echoes throughout the house.

“Jesus, we don’t have time for this!” Your mother’s eyes widen when she tries running a hand through her hair and realizes she still has her rollers in. “Oh no, people are arriving and I’m still not ready!” She makes a beeline for the hallway. “Get the door and greet our guests, I’ll be down in five minutes!”

She disappears upstairs into her bedroom and you hear the doorbell ring again. Your father shouts for someone to go answer it, someone other than him or your brothers because it is the end of the fourth quarter and they just can’t possibly miss that.

You make your way through the foyer and open up the front door expecting it to be one of your family members, but it’s not.

Your throat instantly goes dry at the sight of him.

He’s broader than you remeber, so much broader.

The fabric of his sage green dress shirt is nice and snug on his frame—stretched taut over the planes of his chest and his wide shoulders. He’s holding a box of store bought something or other but you’re much too preoccupied with the way the sleeves of his shirt are hugging his biceps to notice what it is although you assume it’s some kind of dessert. He looks far more delicious than whatever sweet treat could be in that white box he’s got in his hands.

After a minute, you realize you’ve been gawking at him and the heat rushes to your cheeks. “Hello Mr. Miller,” you greet him politely. “It’s very nice to see you again. Please, come on in.”

He smiles, his brown eyes warm and sweet behind his square, black-rimmed glasses. “You remember me,” he states and the syrupy richness of his voice sends a pleasant tingle up your spine. Stepping off to the side, you allow him inside—as he steps past you over the threshold, the tantalizing scent of his cologne almost brings you to your knees. Notes of a citrus accord like tart grapefruit, fresh bergamot mixed with the woodiness of vetiver and musk; it’s intoxicating, something you could easily get drunk off of if you’re not careful. “I’m surprised. S’been a real long time since you last saw me.”

“It hasn’t been all that long,” you reply, closing the door behind you. You speak to him in the steadiest voice you can muster, with nonchalance—as if you aren’t one missed heartbeat away from feeling like a silly little schoolgirl with her first crush. “Has it?”

He thinks about it. “‘Bout four and a half years.”

“That’s really not that long.”

“S’not,” Joel admits with a chuckle. “But with how much I’ve aged in that short amount of time, I just wasn’t sure if you’d recognize me, y’know? I look a lot different than I used to.” He pauses and laughs, shaking his head. “I must look like an old geezer to you now, don’t I?”

Grays lightly pepper his thick dark brown curls, his beard and his mustache. He’s got crows feet when he smiles, he has worry lines and creases between his eyebrows—he does look a lot older, but he’s so goddamn handsome, wrinkles, fine lines, and all.

You toss him a playful eye roll, prompting a grin. “I don’t think you look like an old geezer, Mr. Miller.”

“Well, you’re sure as hell makin’ me feel like an old geezer by callin’ me that, darlin’ girl.” He gives you a little wink and you’re not quite sure if it’s that, or if it was the way he’d used a pet name that knocks all the wind out of your lungs. “Please, just call me Joel.”

You nod and shyly agree to it. “Okay, then. Joel.”

“S’much better.” His grin widens and a prominent, deep dimple appears on the left side of his cheek.

There’s a silence that follows, but it’s not awkward or weird. It’s comfortable—being in his presence is comfortable. His sweet disposition makes you feel so calm, so at ease.

Joel’s always been a nice man of course, although your interactions with him had been limited—kind, quick hello’s in passing on Sundays whenever he’d come over to watch football with your dad, maybe a polite how are you here and there if you bumped into him at gatherings like a backyard barbecue or birthday party. But you’re older now, no longer the child who greeted her father’s best friend because it was bad manners if she didn’t. You don’t want to throw him that kind, quick hello or that polite how are you and then scurry off the way you used to as a little kid. You actually want to talk to Joel Miller.

But you suddenly remember he’s not here for you.

He’s here for your father.

Joel!” Your mother screeches, five-inch high heels clacking loudly as she descends the staircase. She had ditched the apron and hair rollers—and put on one too many layers of her heaviest perfume. With a delighted squeal, she rushes up to Joel and pulls him into a bone crushing hug, almost causing him to drop the box he’s still holding. “Oh, it is so good to see you! It’s been far too long!”

You force back a small, amused snort.

As if she hadn’t been judging the man for a failed marriage just minutes ago in the kitchen.

It’s performative, too over the top to be sincere.

“S’good to see you too.” He steps back and laughs as he adjusts his glasses with one of his hands. He holds out the box to her with the other. “Picked up a pecan pie on the way over here. I would’a tried to make it myself, but the kitchen’s still all packed up in boxes.” He pauses, laughing again. “Then again, I ain’t really much of a baker. Store bought was for the best I reckon,” he admits, sheepishly. When he shrugs his shoulders, his shirt strains a bit over his frame and even your mother can’t help but stare a little.

Lightly clearing her throat, she takes the box from him and reminds him, “Didn’t I tell you that all you had to bring tonight was a nice, healthy appetite?”

Joel lightly pats his stomach. “Brought that too. In fact, I didn’t eat a thing all day long. I’m absolutely starvin’ right now. Could eat a whole horse.”

“Good! Dinner’s going to be served soon. William’s in the living room with the boys, watching football game after football game. Come with me, I’m sure you’re eager to see him.” Your mother spins on her heel and hands you the dessert. “Sweetie, will you be a gem and go put this in the kitchen for me?” It isn’t a request, it’s an order masked as a request—it’s the kindest she’s been to you all day. She takes Joel’s arm and leads him down the hallway, calling out over her shoulder, “And please set the table!”

You do set the table, and when you do, you decide to sit yourself right next to Joel Miller.

Your mother lightly clinks her knife against the rim of her wine glass and clears her throat. “Everyone! It’s time to join hands and say grace before we dig into our meal,” she announces, her voice breaking through the loud, buzzing chatter at the table. She waits until there’s complete silence and then takes her seat, the chair adjacent to your father’s. You’re on his opposite side and Joel’s right beside you. “I think you should do the honor, William. You are the man of the house, after all.”

Nodding, your father begins the prayer.

“Heavenly Father, bless this food we are about—”

You’re not listening. You’re distracted by the jolt of electricity that zips through your entire body when you put your hand in Joel’s. His hand dwarfs yours and it’s rough and calloused, but somehow it’s the most gentle, soothing touch. Heat prickles at your face and neck when you feel him sweep his thumb across the back of your hand—you open your eyes and glance over at him, wondering if that had just been an accident. You’re convinced it was, until he does it again, running his finger over each knuckle one at a time. Slowly, like he’s savoring the touch.

Biting your lip, you give his hand a gentle squeeze.

His head is bowed and his eyes are still closed, but a faint smile tugs lightly at the corner of his mouth and he firmly squeezes your hand back. There’s an unmistakable desire that’s already burning deep in your lower belly, a flame you can’t extinguish even when the angel on your shoulder reminds you that not only is Joel Miller twice your fucking age, he is also your father’s best friend. His best friend.

“…through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” your relatives chime together in unison.

You force out the declaration. “Amen.”

“Amen,” Joel murmurs, opening his eyes. He turns to you and his gaze flits to your hand in his and for a moment, it almost seems like he doesn’t want to let it go. It feels like Joel doesn’t want to let it go—and he doesn’t. He doesn’t let it go until the sound of your father’s loud, booming voice announcing it is time for him to carve the bird startles the two of you apart. Clearing his throat lightly, Joel turns his attention forward and reaches for his cabernet. He gulps down half his glass in one easy swallow.

Dinner’s fairly uneventful.

You eat in complete silence, as does Joel.

Part of you wonders if it’s because you’re sitting in between him and your father, the only person that he’s most comfortable conversing with. Assuming this is the case, you’re just about to ask him if he’d like to trade places when he turns to you and says, “Your dad told me you went to school in Chicago.”

He’s just being friendly, you remind yourself when your heart starts to flutter wildly at the notion that he wants to talk to you. He’s friendly. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Yeah. I did.” You pick up your glass of wine, taking a sip hoping it’ll ease the nerves. “I graduated over the summer and took a teaching job out there.”

“You became a teacher?”

“Yeah. I teach kindergarten.” You smile proudly.

“Can you believe that, Joel?” Your father lets out a scoff and shakes his head. “I spent thousands and thousands of dollars to send her to school. All that money and for what? For her to learn how to teach little ankle biters how to color inside the lines?” He rolls his eyes and gestures to your two brothers on the opposite side of the table. “Now my boys, they are smart. Chose good careers to pursue. Brandon starts applying to medical school in the spring. Oh and Matthew? He got early acceptance to Yale. He plans on studying law.” He shifts his attention over to you once more and shrugs. “Not too sure where I went wrong with this one.”

You stare at him in complete and utter disbelief.

“Dad.”

Chortling, he waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, come on, honey. I’m just kidding around. You know that I don’t mean it.” He then reaches out, pinching your cheek roughly. “Don’t be so sensitive,” he tells you before turning his attention back to his plate.

But he does mean it.

His comments hurt, and you hate that they hurt.

Joel nudges your arm with his. “Y’know somethin’, it takes someone real special to become a teacher, ‘specially to kids that age,” he states in a matter of fact tone. “Someone who’s real sweet and patient, someone real smart too. Someone just like you.”

Warmth radiates through your entire body. It’s not just his words, but it’s the sincerity behind them.

You shoot him a small, grateful smile.

The two of you wind up talking to one another.

Joel’s moving his contracting business, bringing it back to Austin from Phoenix to run it with Tommy, his younger brother who you vaguely remembered meeting a time or two in the past. He mentions his daughter here and there, but doesn’t bring Connie up once—perhaps it’s too painful for him? It’s hard to tell. He seems to be in good spirits and truth be told, it doesn’t appear he’s mourning his marriage; but it’s difficult to believe he’s not missing her, the woman he’d spent three decades of his life with. It shouldn’t even matter to you whether he’s missing his ex-wife or not, if there are residual feelings still lingering around. But it does matter and you don’t know why. Or maybe you do know why, but you’re too ashamed to admit it.

“Do you like Chicago?” Joel questions, curiously.

Shrugging, you respond, “Yeah. It’s a cool city.”

“You plan on stayin’ out there permanently?”

“I’m not too sure,” you admit. “It’s too expensive. I don’t want to live with a roommate forever. Unless teachers start getting paid more, I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to afford to live alone in Chicago.”

Joel seems hesitant about his next query. “Do you ever think ‘bout comin’ back to Austin at all?”

Suddenly, you’re not too sure about that either.

You’ve been itching to go back and get as far from Austin, Texas as possible, but now, it means being far from Joel Miller. There’s a deep, sinking feeling inside of your chest at the thought.

Realizing he’s still waiting for a response, you have no choice but to tell him the truth. “I don��t think I’ll ever come back here, to be honest. Not to stay.”

“Oh. I see.” He sounds disappointed. “Are you—do you plan on visitin’ home again for Christmas?”

“I do. I’ll be here for Christmas and New Year’s.”

He’s being friendly. He’s being friendly. He’s—

“It’d be real nice to see you again then.” Flushing a deep shade of red, subtle regret flashes across his features, as if he’d said it without thinking. Picking up his glass, he drains the rest of his wine and you can swear he’s nervous. About what he’d just said, and about whether or not your parents, who are in such close proximity, had overheard him. Because what business did he have in telling their daughter it would be nice to see her again?

They’re both much too preoccupied. Your father is attempting to be slick checking his text messages underneath the table and you can tell by the smirk on his face that it’s one of his secretaries. He’s got a penchant for perky blondes in tight pencil skirts. Your mother is well aware of this. She is also aware he’s on his phone, but she turns a blind eye just as she always does and distracts herself by being the perfect hostess.

Feeling foolishly courageous, you turn back to him and nod, heart pounding against your sternum. “It would. It’d be very nice, actually.”

Relieved, he nods and murmurs quietly, “We’ll talk ‘bout it later, then. That okay, darlin’?”

Not wanting to seem too eager, you nod again and turn away from him, teeth sinking into your lip in a futile attempt to hide the giddiness in your smile—but the soft chuckle Joel elicits under his breath is a clear indication that it’s useless.

He knows how he’s making you feel. He likes it.

Your mother returns from the kitchen carrying two baskets of fresh crescent rolls, one for each end of the table. She sets one of them down right in front of you and you reach out to take one when a voice, one that sounds as awful as nails scraping down a chalkboard, remarks loudly, “Should you be eating so much bread, dear?” Ines, who’s sitting a couple chairs down, next to your grandmother, looks over at you and raises an eyebrow. There’s a smug little smile on her face, almost as if she were daring you to run your mouth like you’d done last year.

For as much as it pains you, you make your choice and decide not to take the bait. You pull your hand out of the basket of rolls and pick up your glass of wine instead, chugging it down like it’s water.

Frowning, Joel picks up the basket and takes a roll that you assume is for himself, but it’s not. Putting it on your plate, he shoots her a frigid glare. “Don’t you listen to her.” He says it loud enough for her to hear him. “You just enjoy yourself, alright?”

Your aunt bats her eyes, innocently. “Well, I’m just saying. If my skirt was that tight on me, I would be thinking twice about what goes into my mouth.”

Hushed laughter sweeps across the entire table.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” You slam your empty glass down so hard onto the table that the entire dining room goes completely silent. The little ones at the children’s table stare with big and wide eyes, mouths full of food hung open because a grown up had just used a naughty word.

Your mother says your name warningly. “Don’t you start,” she hisses, shaking her head. “Be quiet.”

Angrily, you round on her. “Seriously? You’re going to let her say that to me? You don’t care that she’s making comments about my weight?” You almost laugh. Of course doesn’t care, she has never cared and she never will. “I’m your daughter! Would it kill you to defend me for once in your fucking life?”

“Shut your mouth!” Your father stands up, shoving a threatening finger into your face, so close the tip of it almost touches the tip of your nose. He hasn’t put his hands on you since you were nine, but he’s as drunk as he is angry, and you find yourself back in the shoes of the little girl who would curl up into a ball in the corner of her room as she begged and pleaded for him not to hurt her. “You hear me?”

Joel stands and walks around your chair. Placing a hand on your father’s chest, he mutters, “Hey now let’s take a step back from her, alright?” He guides him back down into his chair. “Ain’t gotta be in her face like that, Will.”

“I’m sick and tired of her ruining everything—can’t get through one dinner without her screwing it up! Always has to run that fucking mouth of hers! She still acts like a goddamn fucking child—”

You can’t bear to sit there and hear another insult.

Fighting back the hot tears that are threatening to spill over, you quickly stand up and rush out of the dining room. You make a beeline for the front door and step outside onto the porch. It’s about sixty or so degrees in Austin and the cold nips at your bare legs, but that’s the least of your worries. Without a place to go, you descend the porch steps and find yourself walking towards the swing that’s hanging from the old bur oak tree in the front yard. You had asked your father for a swing when you were three years old—it wasn’t until your brothers asked for a swing a couple years later that he’d hung one up.

You sit down, hands curling around the rope that’s so old and weathered it’s beginning to fray slightly but not so much so that you’re concerned about it snapping. You’re so busy trying to keep it together that you don’t notice the sound of crisp, autumnal leaves crunching under a pair of boots behind you. A hand gingerly touches your shoulder. You let out a startled gasp and glance over to see it’s Joel.

“Hey there, darlin’,” he says, gently.

You stare at him in surprise.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Needed to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” you grit the lie through your teeth.

Joel’s expression softens. “You ain’t gotta pretend with me, sweetheart.”

His concern is genuine. It’s real.

You don’t quite know how to handle it. Accept it.

“It got real ugly in there, ‘specially with your dad.”

Tears prickle at your eyes all over again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Baffled, Joel walks around the swing and a minor labored grunt escapes him as he squats in front of you. “There’s a few people who need to be apologizin’ for what happened, but darlin’ you sure as fuckin’ hell ain’t one of them.”

It’s odd. Feels foreign, even.

You’re not used to someone being on your side—it prompts more tears to spring forward and despite your best efforts to fight them off, it’s useless. You manage to whisper his name. It’s a feeble warning, one that’s telling him to go back inside before he’s caught in the torrential downpour of emotions you are mere seconds away from unleashing on him.

But he doesn’t budge. He waits. Joel knows you’re about to break and he’s ready to catch the pieces.

Finally, a tear slips and rolls down your cheek, only to be followed by another and then another. You’re holding onto the swing for dear life now, emotions that you’ve been holding in for your whole life now coming to the surface. The rope digs painfully into the palms of your hands. He reaches out and curls his fingers lightly around your wrists.

“S’okay to let go,” Joel encourages you and you’re certain he’s not just referring to the swing. “Listen to me, darlin’ girl. I ain’t gonna let you fall, alright? I’m right here to catch you. You can let go. I’ve got you, okay?”

You allow Joel to take your hands off the rope and he guides them around his shoulders as you begin to crumble. Leaning forward slightly off the swing, you wrap you arms around him and bury your face into his neck. “Joel,” you choke out his name as he wraps his own arms around your waist, pulling you closer into him.

He feels like stability.

He feels like security.

He feels like safety.

Your entire body shudders as you cry, cry, cry.

“S’alright, sweet girl. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He repeats his reassurance over and over again.

He wants you to believe it.

And you do believe it.

Joel’s as patient as can be. It’s growing colder and his knees are begging for a change of positon, but couldn’t care less about the discomfort. He rubs a soothing circle into your back and waits until there is nothing left except little hiccups and sniffles.

“Shit,” you mumble when you pull back and notice you’d left behind a wet spot on his shirt along with light traces of mascara. You wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. “I ruined your shirt.”

“S’okay. Nothin’ the dry cleaners can’t take care of for me.” Joel chuckles and lets go of you. “You feel a little better now, darlin’?”

“I do.” You glance over your shoulder at the house, then exhale a sigh and turn back to him, admitting quietly, “I don’t want to go back in there, though.”

He rises to his feet and pulls out a set of keys from the pocket of his black jeans. “Well, y’dont have to go back in there,” he states. “Is there somewhere I can take you? Friend’s house, maybe?”

“My best friend Megan went to Puerto Vallarta for Thanksgiving. Most of my other friends left Austin like I did,” you explain, sighing again. “Anyone who didn’t leave is spending their time with their family tonight and I don’t want to bother them.”

Joel hums, mulling it over in his mind. “Well, don’t know how comfortable you’ll be with the idea, but my place ain’t all too far from here. Ten minutes or so. Less if there’s no one out on the roads.”

“Joel, that’s so nice of you to offer, but I’ve already ruined your dinner tonight. The last thing I want to do is put you out even more,” you say, sheepishly.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t ruin a fuckin’ thing for me tonight. And you wouldn’t be puttin’ me out at all,” he promises. “S’gettin’ late and truth be told, I just wanna get you somewhere warm.” Holding out his free hand, he adds, “And comfortable.”

“But Joel—”

“I can be real stubborn too, y’know,” he teases you with a playful grin. “We’ll be out here all night long freezin’ our fuckin’ asses off.”

He isn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Okay,” you relent, accepting the offer.

You place your hand in his and he helps you off the swing. He doesn’t let it go as he leads the way to a sleek, black Dodge Ram that’s parked behind your grandfather’s silver Mercedes. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before dropping it. “Sorry, sweet girl. It’s a bit of a trip up into the seat,” he remarks, chuckling as he opens the passenger side door for you. He gives you a boost into the truck; the scent of new leather is mixed with that of his cologne. It is all man and couldn’t be sexier. “Good up there?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Joel closes the door and hurriedly walks around to the driver’s side of the pickup, climbing up into his seat with ease. “Seatbelt,” he tells you as he sticks the key into the ignition. The first thing he does as soon as the engine roars to life is turn on your seat warmer. He switches on the heater as well, waiting a minute before asking, “You warm enough?”

“I am. Thank you, Joel.”

“‘Course.” He nods and pulls away from the curb.

As Joel’s driving you further and further from your parents’ house, all you feel is sweet relief.

“M’sorry the place is such a mess.”

Joel leads you into his living room and touches his hand to the back of his neck, embarrassed.

Amused, you raise an eyebrow at him and say, “I’d hardly call cardboard boxes stacked neatly over on one side of the room a mess, Joel.” You take a look around his townhouse—most of his furniture’s still wrapped up in plastic, except for the black leather couch and the rustic, acacia wood coffee table. He has a flat screen mounted over the brick fireplace; he’s been sleeping on the couch, or at least, that’s what the pillow and Texas Longhorns fleece throw tells you. You turn to him. “If you want to see a real mess, you should see my apartment in Chicago.”

You watch him as he takes off his glasses and puts them down on the coffee table.

“S’it pretty bad?”

“My roommate’s a kindergarten teacher too. You’d be surprised at how many popsicle sticks two girls in their twenties can end up bringing home. Not to mention all the glitter.”

“If you’re tryin’ to make me feel better, it’s workin’ like a charm.” Joel picks up his blanket and drapes it over the armchair adjacent to the couch. “Go on and make yourself comfortable, darlin’. You thirsty at all? I’ve got water or I can make coffee. Also got a pack of beer in the fridge,” he adds, jokingly.

“What kind of beer?” you ask curiously as you sink down onto the couch.

He seems pleasantly surprised by your interest.

“Lone Star.”

“I’ll have one. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“‘Course it’s not too much trouble. Not at all.”

It’s hard not to stare as he walks away towards the kitchen. Your thighs clench together—his back, his shoulders, those unkempt salt and pepper curls of his that tuft at the nape of his neck right above his collar—this man is the epitome of utter perfection. Your mind wanders and you can’t help imagine the way your legs would look thrown over those broad shoulders. How his large hands would feel on your plush skin as they wrap around your thighs to hold them in place against his chest while he fucks y—

“Here you go, darlin’.”

Joel’s deep voice shatters your train of thought.

He’s standing beside you, holding out the bottle of beer, which he’d uncapped along with his own.

Blood rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you,” you say as you accept the beer from him, trying not to lose the sliver of composure that you’re holding onto—it wavers when your fingers accidentally brush his.

“S’it too cold in here for you?” he asks. “I normally keep the thermostat pretty low.”

“It’s a little cold,” you admit. “But it’s not a prob—”

It’s too late. Joel walks over to the fireplace and he manages to strike a match and light it with just his free hand. After tossing in a couple logs, he makes his way back over to the couch and he takes a seat beside you. “That a bit better, sweetheart?”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “You said it was cold.”

He takes a long, generous swig of the golden lager before setting the bottle down on one of the green ceramic coasters on the coffee table. He sits back; an arm stretches out over the back of the couch in a casual manner and his legs spread open causing your thighs to clench together once more.

“You feelin’ alright?”

“Huh?” You then realize he is referring to what had happened at dinner. “Oh. Um. Yeah, I’m alright.”

Joel peers at you, his concern evident, clear in the depths of his dark brown eyes. “You sure?”

“No. Not really,” you confess, tracing the mouth of your bottle with your index finger. “But I’ll get over it. I don’t have a choice but to get over it.” Another lump starts forming in the back of your throat and you swallow it, quickly chasing it down with a gulp of beer.

“M’guessin’ your family’s got somethin’ to do with why you decided to leave Austin?”

“Bingo,” you deadpan. “I was so sick and tired of it all. How I was talked to, how I was treated. Like I’m such a fucking disappointment.”

He frowns. “You’re not a disappointment, though.”

“My parents think I’m a disappointment. My dad’s never told me he’s proud of me, Joel. Nothing I do, nothing I have ever done is good enough for either of them, but especially not for him.” There is a dull ache that settles in your heart and all you can do is silently will yourself not to breakdown again, not in front of him, at least. You sigh. “Do you know what it’s like, not feeling good enough for someone that is supposed to love you no matter what? Someone who’s supposed to love you unconditionally?”

Joel knows it’s a rhetorical question, he knows it’s not something you’re expecting him to answer.

But he does answer, because he does know.

“I do, actually. I know all too well what it feels like.”

He looks down at his left hand, which is resting on his thigh and you do too. Your eyes flicker over the fading tanline on his finger—where he once wore a wedding band. You don’t even think twice about it and reach over, sweeping your own finger over the patch of pale skin. Without missing a beat, you tell him, “You’re good enough, Joel.”

He can’t help but laugh a little. “She’d disagree.”

“She’s wrong.”

“You don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t have to know what happened.”

“That ain’t how it works, sweetheart.”

Stubbornly, you lift your chin. “I don’t care.”

Joel laughs. “Y’think you know me, darlin’? Y’think you know what kinda man I am? Hm?”

“I do know.” You place your hand on top of his and his jaw clenches. “You’re a good man, Joel Miller. I know that you’re a good man.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong ‘bout that.” There’s a brief pause and he hesitates before confessing, “A good man wouldn’t be sittin’ here just fuckin’ dyin’ to kiss his best friend’s daughter.”

You freeze and grip your bottle so tight, you would not be the slightest bit surprised if it shatters right in your hand. “You—you want to kiss me?”

“Since the moment you opened up that front door and said hello to me.” Joel shakes his head. “S’not right.” He’s riddled with guilt, with shame. He pulls his hand out from under yours. “I ain’t a good man at all. You’re half my fuckin’ age and I shouldn’t—”

You cut him off, softly uttering his name. “Joel?”

“Yeah?” His voice sounds hoarse. Strained.

“Can you—will you kiss me? Please?”

You need more than just his kiss, so much more.

You need him to unravel you in every way possible, but beggars can’t be choosers and if one kiss was all you’ll get tonight, then you’ll fucking take it.

Joel swallows dryly. “That really what you want?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to meet your sweet, innocent gaze.

“Yes,” you breathe in reply. “Please. Kiss me.”

He leans in, and there’s brief hesitation on his part and he stops mere centimeters from your face, his nose lightly brushing against yours. “We shouldn’t be doin’ this.” His warm breath fans over your lips; they’re parted, eager to meet his own. “I shouldn’t let this happen. I—I should take you back home to your family before I do somethin’ real stupid.”

Your heart sinks. “That really what you want?” you parrot his own question back to him and hold your breath, knowing there’s a chance his answer could be the answer that you don’t want to hear, the one that could end up crushing you.

Joel lifts his hand, cupping the side of your face in his palm. “‘Course it’s not what I want.” His thumb strokes your cheek, his dark eyes taking in each of your features. He’s studying, memorizing them, as if he’ll never get another chance to be this close to you again. With the line he’s about to cross, you’re both about to cross, that just might be the case.

The tension seeps through your skin and into your bones.

You exhale shakily. “Then just kiss me already.”

He moves his hand and gently curls it around your chin, holding you steady as he leans further in and closes the gap of space in between you. He moves slowly and he’s gentle—too gentle. You want to tell him you’re not made of porcelain, but you’re much too preoccupied with how Joel’s mouth feels, how perfectly it molds against yours. He delicately nips your bottom lip with his teeth. It’s a silent request.

He wants more, more, more. Your lips part for him, granting him the access he’s seeking. Joel doesn’t waste a single moment and he explores every inch of your mouth with his tongue, eliciting a whimper from you. Without breaking contact, he takes your beer and somehow he manages to lean over to set it down on the coffee table without dropping it. He then pushes you back into the couch and the next thing you know, you’re lying on your back and he’s settled in between your legs, using one of his arms to keep himself propped up, while the other wraps itself in your hair. Your own hands clutch at fistfuls of his shirt, fingers gripping the fabric so tight, the skin over your knuckles stretches painfully thin.

You whimper out again, the noise prompting a low growl to rumble through his chest—suddenly, he’s not being so gentle. He isn’t being rough. But he is hungry, he’s possessive, and he’s letting it show in the way he’s swelling your lips with his kisses, how his fingers are gripping the hair at the base of your neck as he firmly tilts your head backwards to give himself better access to your mouth.

Your mind is racing, and yet, you can’t think at all.

It’s not until his hips buck into you and you feel his bulge through his jeans against you that you break away from him. “Joel,” you gasp his out name. You grip his shirt even harder, chest heaving as you try to catch a much needed breath of air. You can feel the arousal pooling between your legs. The flames burning in the fireplace are nothing in comparison to the ones that are burning deep in your belly.

“Fuck,” he curses, pulling back. “M’sorry—”

The last thing you want is for him to be sorry.

“No! Please don’t be sorry,” you rasp, gazing up at him. Your eyes are glazed over with a lust you have never felt for another man before. “I want this, you know I want this—don’t you?”

Joel sighs, brushing a soft kiss to your temple. You wish he could take a peek into your mind, see how badly you want to be wrapped up in his arms—you want to get lost in his embrace, feel him all around you, inside you. You want him to write his name on your bare skin with his tongue, whisper his secrets into the spot where you’re aching for him most.

He sighs again and lightly shakes his head.

“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”

“I want this,” you repeat yourself. “I want you.”

Relaxing the death grip you have on his shirt, your hands release the fabric and move to the buttons. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo each one of them; after an embarrassing fumble or two, you manage to get them all and push Joel’s shirt off of his shoulders. He sucks in a quick, sharp breath as your greedy hands begin roaming, exploring every inch of smooth, tan skin on his upper body.

Your touch erases all the uncertainty he’s feeling.

“Wanna feel you too, baby.” Joel takes the hem of your sweater and gestures for you to sit up slightly so he can pull it over your head. Carelessly tossing it somewhere behind him, he glances down, blood rushing to his cock as he takes in the sight of your supple curves clad in sweet, delicate white lace. “Christ, you look so fuckin’ soft.”

He doesn’t even realize he’s saying it out loud, not until he catches the flirtatious little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. You sit up slightly once again and reach behind you to unhook the lingerie and take it off, adding it to the ever growing pile of clothes on the hardwood floor. Licking his lips, he meets your gaze for just a moment before dipping his head down, wrapping them around one of your hardened nipples. “Joel,” you mewl his name as he flicks the pebbled flesh with his tongue.

Joel releases it with a lewd, wet pop and he tosses you a smirk before he moves to the other to give it the same attention. He’s a biter, you find out as he takes it between his teeth, nipping over and over.

Your throbbing center clenches around nothing.

“Joel, please. I need you—I fucking need you.”

He tears away from your nipple. “Where, baby?”

You open your mouth to answer him, but your own gasp cuts you off as he starts trailing his lips down the length of your body until he comes to a stop at the waistband of your skirt. One of his hands finds the zipper on the side and he looks up at you, as if asking for permission. Desperate, you nod. Pulling the zipper down, he slides the skirt, along with the pair of lace white panties you’re wearing off of you and discards them, leaving you completely naked.

Your insecurities begin to trickle in, but Joel’s able to halt them right in their tracks.

“You’re too fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart,” he says, his reassurance calming your nerves instantly. “So beautiful. So beautiful and so fuckin’ perfect.”

You watch as he makes himself comfortable—well as comfortable as he can—in between your legs. He shoots you a sheepish look.

“Knew I should’a put the damn bed together. But I been puttin’ it off and puttin’ it off all week long.”

You giggle breathlessly. “Who needs a bed?”

Chuckling, Joel feathers a kiss on your inner thigh.

Your smile is all but slapped right off of your face.

“Joel.”

Any traces of humor vanish. You’re both reminded of the next wall that’s about to be broken, the next line that’s about to be crossed.

He looks down and groans. “Such a pretty, perfect little pussy,” he remarks, his voice low, husky. “Bet she’s nice and wet for me, ain’t she baby?” He lifts his hand and drags the tip of his finger up your slit slowly, your slick coating his digit. He smirks up at you. “Oh, she’s fuckin’ soakin’, sweet girl. S’this all for me?”

Foreplay wasn’t in the vocabulary of guys your age and while part of you wishes Joel would hurry, you also find yourself enjoying the fact that he’s taking his time, teasing you—making you really want it to the point where you’re willing to fucking plead him for it. Joel Miller’s the only man you’d ever beg for.

He skims your other thigh with his nose and kisses it just like he’d done with the other. “Tell me darlin’ s’this where you need me? Right here?”

Frantically, you nod your head.

“Words, honey. Gotta use your words for me.”

“Yes!” you choke out. “That’s where I need you. So bad. Need you so fucking bad. Please Daddy—”

You freeze and momentarily, he does too. Truth be told, you wouldn’t really blame him if he just stood up, gathered your clothes and tossed them at you, demanding you put them back on and leave.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Daddy, huh?”

Your face is on fire. “I—it slipped,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to call you—I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m not even sure where that came from. I’ve never—”

You’re on the verge of panicking, then notice there is a certain glimmer in his eyes and realize he liked it when you’d called him that. You’re taken aback.

He fucking likes being called Daddy.

“Sweetheart, there ain’t nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout. I promise. You can call me that. But on a condition.”

You stare at him, no idea what the condition could possibly be.

“Ain’t allowed to call anyone else that. Ever.” There is a possessiveness in his tone and it nearly makes you come on the spot. “That understood?”

You nod obediently. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” he prompts.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good. That’s a real good girl, honey.”

For a split second, you can’t breathe.

This man will surely be the death of you.

Joel plants one final kiss, this one on your mound.

“Please,” you whimper, the heat in your lower belly growing and fizzling out to the rest of your body at the feeling of his breath over your aching core.

“Please what?” he murmurs into the sensitive skin as his arms curl around your legs. “Tell Daddy—tell Daddy what you need baby, so he can take care of you.”

“Your mouth,” you beg him, desperation mounting with each passing second. Your hips buck upward; his biceps flex as he tightens his arms around your thighs, pinning you down in place. “Your mouth—I need your mouth. Please.”

Joel moves his head to the junction of your thighs, his mouth hovering right over where you needed it the most. He looks up at you with hunger, like he’s a ravenous, starved man who hasn’t had a thing to eat in days. “What a good girl,” he praises, dipping his head even lower. His mouth waters at the sight of your glistening folds. “Bet you taste as delicious as you fuckin’ look, don’t you, pretty girl?”

He flattens his tongue and glides it up your slit, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he gets his first taste. You gasp out when it grazes your swollen, aroused clit and your head falls back onto the couch. “Oh fuck,” you whine, reaching for his hair. You weave your hands through his graying locks and pull his face closer. Another swipe of his tongue causes your back to arch up off the leather and the edges of your vision to blur.

He pulls an arm from around your legs and drags a finger down your drenched entrance, lips securing themselves around your clit. His gaze stays locked on you as he pushes his long, thick digit into you—you feel him smirk as he curls it upwards, pressing the pad of his finger firmly against the soft spongy spot inside you, making you see stars. Joel slips in a second finger and curls it along with the other to double the pleasure. He begins thrusting his digits in and out of your warm cunt, eliciting what had to be the sweetest sounds that he’d ever heard in his entire life from you. He combines it with with slow, firm, and precise stokes of his tongue on your clit.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” you encourage him, your loud, breathy moans bouncing off the bare, freshly painted walls of his house. “Yes Daddy, fuck—feels so fucking good, please don’t fucking stop—”

It’s not like you have to tell him what to do.

Joel knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows it too. He listens to every single one of your moans and feels every single buck of your hips. He is sure to pay extra attention to when your hands pull and tug at his curls; he remembers what combinations of licking, sucking, and fucking make you squeeze your plush thighs tighter around his head; reminds himself of which technique brings your body off of the couch, what makes your toes curl. Joel’s quick to learn your body’s cues, each and every last one. He already knows when to give you more, when to give you less—when he needs speed up, when it is time to slow it all down.

You sing his name over and over again, pressure of an orgasm already building between your hips. His tongue swirls around your sensitive little bundle of nerves as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt and you glance down. You almost choke when you catch a tiny glimpse of the muscles in his forearm, the way they flex underneath his skin with each of his movements as he’s fucking you. Your gaze flits to his face. His own eyes are fixed intently on you.

You’re milliseconds away from release.

“Joel, I’m so fucking close. I’m gonna come—”

His arm squeezes your thigh in encouragement.

One last, broad stroke of Joel’s tongue on your clit sends an overwhelming wave of pleasure crashing over you. Strangled cries tear themselves from the back of your throat as your velvet walls flutter and convulse, squeezing his fingers. Joel, who’s face is still half buried in your pussy, takes it upon himself to help you ride through the high. He peppers soft, delicate kisses onto your swollen clit as his fingers continue to slide in and out of you slowly. He waits patiently until your loud cries dissolve into nothing but breathless little whimpers before he crawls up, positioning himself on top of you, a hand on either side of your head. His beard and mustache glisten with a mixture of saliva and slick—and somehow it it ignites another fire and you’re ready for more, so much more.

“Sweet girl,” Joel murmurs. Leaning down, his lips meet yours and you taste yourself on his tongue

You place a hand on his chest, right over his heart, which beats strong and steady against your palm.

You start dragging your hand down his chest, your fingernails raking over his skin. It travels lower and lower, gliding over the softness of his stomach. He tenses when you brush the waistband of his jeans.

Tearing away from you, he grits out, “Baby. No.”

You immediately snatch your hand away from him.

“You changed your mind?” you question, stomach sinking at the thought of it being over already.

You’re just so fucking greedy for this man.

He offers reassurance—and an explanation.

“No, that ain’t it at all. S’just—” Joel pauses briefly and flushes a shade of red. “S’just that, well, I ain’t got condoms on me, darlin’.”

Relieved, you assure him, “It’s okay. I’m clean.”

“Me too. But that ain’t what I’m worried about,” he admits, his face going from red to maroon.

You smile, finding his embarrassment endearing.

“I’m on birth control.”

Joel clenches his hands into fists. His cock strains against his zipper at the thought of it—taking your cunt bare. “Y’sure you want this?” He rasps out. “I need you to be a hundred percent sure ‘bout it.”

“I’m a thousand percent sure, Joel. I fucking need it. More than anything I’ve ever needed in my life.”

That’s all he needed to hear.

Joel stands up, his gaze never leaving your own as he kicks off his black leather boots. You sit up, and it takes every ounce of strength you have in you to remain composed as he unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans and pushes them down his legs. You bite down on your bottom lip and try not to stare at his bulge like it’s your first time ever seeing a dick, but if he’s as big as he looks in his boxer briefs, maybe this would end up being a lot more than what your body could handle.

He hooks his thumbs underneath the elastic of his boxer briefs and slides them off, allowing his thick, hard cock to spring free from its confinement.

You swallow harshly. He’s fucking massive.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” Joel chuckles at the expression on your face as he kicks aside all of his clothes. His length rests on his lower abdomen and precome smears the skin there. Wrapping one of his hands around it, he gives it a couple strokes, just a hint of relief until you come into play. “Hm?”

Licking your lips, you nod and stand up. You take a couple of wobbling step towards him—Joel’s cock hasn’t been anywhere near you and you’re already fucking walking side to side. “Come here,” you say to him, taking both his hands in your own. You pull him back to the couch and gently guide him down into a sitting position. Swinging your leg over both of his, you straddle his lap. You gingerly place your hands on his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh softly when you feel him brush against your pussy; the contact makes you both moan in unsion. “This okay?” you ask him, breathily. You can’t be sure as to why you’re suddenly feeling a bit shy, like you’re not planning to ride his fucking soul out of him.

“More than okay.” Joel brushes your hair over your shoulder and then drags his hand down the length of your body, committing to his memory every one of your curves. “Gonna be a real good girl and ride my cock, baby?”

You gift him with a cheeky grin. “Yes, Daddy.”

The shyness begins to dissipate and you dive your hand between your bodies, wrapping it around his cock, causing his breath to catch in his throat. You lift yourself slightly off his lap, teasingly gliding the head of his cock down your drenched slit, then up, letting it graze over your clit, which is still senstive to the touch thanks to his lips and tongue.

Joel’s hands find their way around you, running up the curve of your spine. “Wasn’t aware that my girl was such a little fuckin’ tease,” he remarks in a low tone. He slides his hands back down and his large, warm palms cup your ass, fingers kneading flesh.

“Your girl?” you repeat, your heart skipping a beat, stomach fluttering at the idea of being his. “Is that what I am to you, Joel? Your girl?”

“S’that what you want, honey?” Joel whispers, his eyes finding your own, two hopeful gazes meeting in the deepest, most intimate moment that you’ve shared all evening. “Y’wanna be my girl?”

Leaning forward, your reply is preceded by kiss, so soft and so sweet his heart swells inside his chest.

“I do,” you mumble against his lips. “I really do.”

Still gripping your ass, Joel eases you up and lines himself up at your entrance. He bucks his hips and slides the head of his cock past your folds and into your heat. “Breathe, baby,” he whispers, his hands moving to your hips, thumbs grazing your skin. He slowly guides you further down his shaft, grunting as you sink down, taking him inch by inch. “Christ, you’re so goddamn fuckin’ tight—”

The initial stretch is almost too much for you. Your nails sink deeper into his shoulders as he pulls you down further down onto him. “Joel,” you whimper, biting back a loud cry. You’re fully seated, his cock completely sheathed inside you, his head pressing against your cervix. You’re so full of him.

One of his hands abandons your hip and slips over your lower belly.

“This where you’re feelin’ me, pretty girl?” he coos gently. “This where you feel Daddy’s cock? In your belly?”

“Yes,” you sigh out contentedly. “Feels so good.”

You lift yourself off of him, then slide back down in a slow, languid motion.

Joel’s head falls back onto the couch. “Christ.” He mutters the word, his chest heaving. Staring up at the ceiling, he takes a moment to catch his breath and silently wills himself not to explode. Once he’s managed to somewhat compose himself, he looks at you again, pupils blown so wide you can’t find a single trace of brown. “Go on, then,” he rasps. “Go on, sweetheart.”

The living room fills with the sounds of low moans and panting breaths as you move, alternating your maneuvers between rocking and bouncing on him in a frenzied, fast paced rhythm. The friction of his pelvis each time you grind into it winds up the coil between your hips and suddenly you’re desperate, so pathetically desperate for another release.

“Yeah, that’s it baby,” Joel encourages, feeling the beginning of his own climax building quick—much too quick for his liking. “Jus’ like that, honey. What a good girl you are for me, so fuckin’ good for me. Just like I fuckin’ knew you would be.”

“Fuck,” you whine. “You feel so good, Daddy. Feel so fucking good inside me—”

Leaning back, you firmly plant both your hands on his thighs and arch your body, head falling back as you pick up the pace. The burning fire casts a soft, orange glow around you and his jaw falls slack. His eyes drink in every single fucking thing about you, watch you with an adoration that, for the first time in your whole life, makes you feel wanted. Actually wanted.

“Joel,” you whisper his name over and over. You’re both beginning to lose track of where you end and he begins. You can hardly hear the praises that are spilling from his plush lips over the squelching wet sounds of your cunt sliding up and down his cock. There’s no chance to warn him—your mouth parts in a silent scream as you come undone on him.

“M’so fuckin’ close,” Joel grunts. He feels his cock twitch as your pussy grips him like a vice. “Where? Where do you want it, pretty girl?”

“Inside me. Please, I need you to come inside me,” you plead him, the innocent tone of your voice the last thing to push him over the edge he’s teetering on. “Fill me up, Daddy—please, want every drop of you inside me—”

Joel reaches for your arms and yanks you forward, into him. Throwing them around his neck, his own arms wrap around you and roughly slam you down onto him, holding you firmly in place. He bucks his hips upwards, balls tightening, his cock pulsing as he comes. Strings of hissed curse words and deep gutteral groans muffle when he drops his face into your collarbone. Still holding you in place, he spills his load into you, his seed filling you to the brim.

He sags back against the couch and pulls you with him. Wrapping his arms tighter around you, he lets himself stay buried inside of you, the primal in him relishing the heavenly feeling of his come dripping messily out of your pussy and all over his thighs.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks after a minute.

“M’perfect,” you mumble against his chest. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re coming down from a high or if it’s because he’s tracing patterns on your shoulder blade with his finger, but you shiver in his arms.

“Let me get the blanket—”

Joel starts to move to get up, but you stop him.

“No, please don’t,” you say, pushing him back. You put all of your weight onto him, as if he can’t move you off to the side if he really wanted to. “I—I want you inside me for a little while longer. Please.”

“But baby, you’re cold—”

You don’t bother explaining to him that you’re not.

“Just hold me. Please.”

And that’s exactly what he does.

Snuggling into him, you close your eyes and Joel’s hand strokes at your hair. Between that, the thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek and the sound of the fireplace crackling behind you, you’re nearly soothed into sleep.

“Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“I hate Thanksgiving,” you admit, smiling tiredly to yourself when you feel a laugh rumble in his chest.

“Do you, now?”

You nod. “I do. But I’m really thankful for you.”

Giving you a gentle squeeze, Joel kisses the top of your head and murmurs, “Well, m’thankful for you too, sweet girl.” He pauses momentarily. “I ain’t all too sure how I’m s’pposed to just let you go home. I know I have to but—”

Lifting your head off of his chest, you take the side of his face and cradle it in your palm. You meet his gaze, heart sinking when you see the sadness that has replaced the lust from earlier.

He doesn’t mean home to your parents’ house. He means Chicago.

You graze his beard with your thumb. “I’m coming back in a few weeks,” you remind him, gently. “I’ve only planned to spend a week out here just for the holidays, but I can visit sooner. As soon as the kids go on winter break, I can come back to Austin.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course I would, Joel. I’m not sure how it would work what with my parents and all, though. I don’t want them catching onto us.”

“C’mere.” Joel brushes your lips with his before he makes his promise. “I’ll figure it out, baby. Leave it all to me and I’ll figure it out.”

divider credit to @saradika-graphics 🤎

[punkshort]

i'll be home for christmas | part one

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Having just caught your fiancé cheating on you, you decide to come back home from the big city to Austin for the month of December to try to figure out your next step. You had no idea you would be getting more than you bargained for with the handsome single dad who built your parents' house.

Chapter Warnings: no outbreak, modern day but Joel is 40, language, fluff, flirting, reader has a childhood nickname only her family uses, Hallmark tropes up the wazoo, soft!joel, reader's sister is pregnant, talks of infidelity, talks of divorce, alcohol use, kissing, (smut in part two)

WC: 9.1K

A/N: this is my take on a cheesy, fluffy, soft, smutty, Joel Miller Hallmark Christmas movie. It's just sweet and silly and makes me smile, and I hope it does the same for you. I also wrote this in less than 2 days and didn't really edit it much, so sorry in advance if there's any errors.

Found the pic on Twitter but can't remember the source, if you know please send me a message and i will credit them

Series Masterlist

It was the second week of December as you stood inside the airport in Austin, Texas, waiting for your luggage to emerge on the conveyor belt. You thought by coming home early, you would have avoided the holiday traffic, but you were wrong. All around you, people squealed with excitement and embraced, dragging their worn out luggage behind them as they made their way out of the bustling airport. You tried to keep the scowl from your face as you watched, but it was next to impossible, so you wrapped your Burberry scarf around your neck instead, hoping to hide your displeasure.

This was not the plan you had for Christmas. You should be in New York in a high-rise apartment in front of a roaring fireplace with a glass of wine and your fiancé - ex-fiancé - not back in Austin with your parents, who begged you to come visit for the holidays after you told them the news.

Coming home to visit wasn't your favorite thing, but you felt guilty having avoided the holidays with your family for so many years, and you would have ended up all alone in the city anyway. So you caved, using up all the PTO you saved for the wedding, and took the rest of the year off from work.

Your designer luggage stood out like a sore thumb when it tumbled down the conveyor belt. You winced after watching the impact and snatched it up quickly. Glancing around, you saw a beacon in the storm: a familiar green, glowing sign in the distance - Starbucks. The line was long, but your flight was early, so you waited and got a latte, hoping it would lift your spirits a bit before you had to face your parents.

You tapped the side of your coffee cup anxiously as you rode the escalator down to the first floor, scanning the crowd for your mom and dad. There were a few people holding up signs with names on them, and when you saw the sign that said "Bucket" on it, you cringed.

Your dad's tall, round frame came into view when the people in front of him dispersed. He looked almost exactly the same, except a little greyer. Still sporting a shockingly full head of hair and his signature thick mustache, he grinned and pulled you into a warm hug.

"Really, Dad? 'Bucket'?"

"Well, that's what we call you, ain't it?" he said with a smile. You rolled your eyes and tried to be annoyed, but you had to admit that you were happy to see him.

"Where's Mom?" you asked.

"She's waitin' in the car, didn't wanna pay for parking so we're in a pick up zone, let's hustle," he said, wrapping his arm around you as he led you outside. "How was the flight?"

"Long," you said, then gasped when the cold air hit you. "Wow, I didn't think it would be this cold yet."

"It's been a cold one so far this year," he nodded, directing you to the left where you could see your mom smiling and waving from the passenger seat of their white SUV. You waved back and grinned. Maybe coming home wasn't such a bad idea, after all.

"Hiya, Bucky!" your mom said happily, leaning out of the window to give you a half hug while your dad loaded up your belongings in the back.

"Hey, Mom," you replied. "I like your sweater."

She was wearing one of her tacky Christmas sweaters that she wore every year - unironically. It amazed you how some things never change.

You climbed into the back seat as your dad carefully exited the parking spot and joined the line of cars that were slowly inching towards the main road.

"We're so glad you decided to come home this year, you can finally see the new house!" your mom said excitedly. They had built a brand new house, and the way she provided updates and pictures to you over the phone for the past year, you felt like you had already seen it.

"Yeah, can't wait," you said, staring out the window.

"Hope you don't mind, but we're throwin' a party tomorrow night," your dad said, glancing at you in the review mirror. "Wanted to have our friends over to see the place and have an early holiday party. They'll be so happy to see you, it's been so long since you've been home, Buck."

You had been hoping to spend most of the next three weeks in bed moping and scrolling on your phone. The thought of a party and seeing all those people looking at you with pity made your stomach turn. Your mom must have sensed your discomfort.

"It's alright, honey. They won't say anything," she said softly, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

"Okay," you replied, your voice pained as you opened your eyes to stare at the passing traffic on the thruway.

You'll make an appearance for an hour, and then try to sneak back upstairs until the party ends, already fabricating a headache to blame it on.

The house your parents built was impressive, even you had to admit. It was a two story colonial with four bedrooms and three bathrooms. The open floor plan was stunning as you made your way from room to room. The first floor alone had a spacious living room with vaulted ceilings, a kitchen with an attached dining room, and a separate family room off the back. There was even a small office by the front door that you missed the first time around, and a pantry as big as your closet back home.

You cringed at the thought, reminding yourself that it was no longer your home. That was part of the problem. You had moved in with Will, and when you discovered he had been cheating on you, you crashed at your friend Melanie's place. When you tearfully told your parents the news a few days later, they asked you to come home. Just for the holidays, your mom had said. Just to give you time to figure out your next move.

"This is beautiful, Mom," you said honestly, admiring the fine details on the cabinets.

"Thank you, sweetie. Took a long time, but Joel built it just right for us," she said, beaming.

"Oh, the contractor, right?" you replied, distracted now by the backsplash above the counters.

"He's such a sweet man, he was so patient with us when we changed our minds a million times over every little thing."

"Well, tell him he did a great job," you murmured, opening and shutting different drawers.

"You can tell him yourself, he'll be at the party tomorrow," your dad said, opening the fridge to scrounge for some snacks.

"You invited your contractor to your holiday party?" you asked in disbelief.

"Sure we did. We either saw him or spoke to him almost every single day for a year. He's a good man."

"Okay," you said slowly, still finding it a bit strange, but reminding yourself that things worked a little differently in the south.

"Bucket!" you heard your sister call from the front of the house. A smile plastered across your face instantly as you rushed to the door, both of you squealing as you wrapped your arms around each other and jumped in a circle, unable to contain your excitement.

"Cassie!" you said, pulling back to look at her, brushing her sleek, dark brown hair over her shoulder. "You look fantastic!"

"Ugh, I feel like shit," she said, and you laughed, glancing down at her barely swollen belly.

"How far along are you again?" you asked.

"Twenty weeks, but I'm ready for this to be over! I'm so tired all the time, it sucks," she said, flopping down on the couch in the living room after she gave your parents quick hugs.

"Where's Josh?" your mom asked, referring to your brother in law.

"He's still working, he'll be by later," Cassie said, waving her hand. "Gives us a chance to catch up," she added with a wink.

"You girls do that, we need to go to the store for tomorrow night. Do you need anything?" your mom asked, and you shook your head, eager for them to leave so you could be alone with your sister.

"Tell me everything," Cassie said the moment the door clicked shut.

If it were anyone else, you wouldn't have been in the mood to talk about the mess that was currently your life, but you've always been able to talk about anything with your sister. You trusted each other implicitly and there was no judgement, no matter if you had cheated on a test or gotten drunk during prom, you told each other everything.

So you did. You told her how for months, you felt like something was off with Will. How he would stay out late and say it was for work, but none of his work friends ever posted about going anywhere those nights on social media. He grew more distant and you tried to ignore your paranoia, but when he collapsed into bed one night, too out of it to wash up, and you saw the lipstick on his neck the next morning, you lost it. He hardly even tried to explain himself, barely even attempted to lie, and you began to think maybe he wanted to get caught. Maybe he wanted you to do the dirty work and end things so he didn't have to. Fucking coward.

"What a piece of shit. I never liked him," Cassie said when you were finished. "He acted like he was so much better than everyone when he was here, do you remember the comments he made about the wine mom had? It was so fucking rude."

"Yeah, I know," you agreed.

"So why were you even with him?"

"We had been together since college, Cas," you said, exasperated. "I knew him before he was like that. He used to be sweet and fun. Then he got that finance job and met all those assholes and he became just like them."

"Well, I'm just glad you didn't end up married before finding out what he's really like," she said, shifting her weight on the couch with her hand cupping her small stomach. "That would have been a huge mess."

"It's still a huge mess, I have no where to live now, and I can only couch surf for so long," you said, burying your face in your hands.

"You'll figure it out, Buck. I'll help you look for places online while you're here. Maybe set up some appointments so you can tour them when you get back."

"Thanks," you said, giving her a weak smile. "That would actually be great."

"Now, on to more important things," your sister said, slapping her palms against her knees to stand.

"Baby names?" you asked.

"No! Let's figure out what you'll wear to the party tomorrow," she said, wiggling her eyebrows. "I wanna look through all your fancy designer clothes."

You giggled and stood to join her.

"Fine, but I'm still dropping baby names while you look," you replied.

After spending a majority of the next day helping your parents decorate and prepare food for the party, you finally were able to excuse yourself to shower and get ready. Cassie had picked out a Ralph Lauren lace cocktail dress that Will had bought for your birthday last year. You slipped it on, running your hands over the fabric as you adjusted the dress in the mirror. Just because he bought it didn't mean you couldn't wear it again. You snatched the glass of wine from your dresser and took a sip, trying to push the thought of him from your head as you made your way downstairs.

Cassie and Josh were already in the kitchen, munching on appetizers and chatting with your parents. Cassie let out a low whistle when you entered the room. You waved her off and gave Josh a big hug and kiss on the cheek.

"Good to see you," you told him with a smile. "All ready for the baby?"

"Getting there," Josh replied, wrapping an arm around Cassie's waist. You tried to ignore the ugly, jealous pit in your stomach as he told you how the nursery was coming along. You wasted so many years of your life on Will. Your sister was already married and starting a family, and here you were, basically homeless and starting over. Pathetic.

Family friends slowly began to trickle into the house, luckily being whisked away by your parents to give them a tour after you meekly greeted them and hid back in the kitchen. As more and more people arrived, you began to wonder how your parents kept so many close friends when you barely had a handful back in New York.

A few kids raced by you in the kitchen as you made your way to the bar to refill your wine. Even though it was loud, you could still hear your dad's booming voice as he regaled a friend with a fishing story. You wandered around a bit, trying to find Cassie and Josh so you didn't look out of place, but stopped dead in your tracks when you saw them chatting with Mr. Tanner and his son, Troy, backing away before they could see you. Troy used to have the biggest crush on you when you were kids. If he found out you were single, you wouldn't be able to shake him all night.

You eventually found yourself alone, back in front of the snacks. You picked at the chips on your plate, not really interested in eating but hoping to avoid any awkward conversations, so you kept your eyes down, scrolling mindlessly on your phone. Apparently, it wasn't good enough because you felt someone sidle up next to you.

"Those any good?" a deep, unfamiliar drawl spoke from your side. You looked up to find the softest pair of brown eyes you've ever seen on a man. Blinking, you took a moment as your gaze raked over his patchy beard and the dark, tousled curls on his head. They looked so soft, you had to resist the urge to reach out and touch them. What was wrong with you?

"Huh?" you managed to squeak out after you realized you had waited too long to reply. Idiot.

"The, uh, chips," he said, pointing at your plate before rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh!" you said, looking at your plate, completely forgetting you even had it. "Yeah, they're alright."

He nodded and glanced around the room, unsure of what to say next. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"How do you know Paul and Martha?"

Distracted, you watched as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, stretching the fabric of his red flannel over his shoulders, pulling the material taught. You had to remind yourself to pay attention and stop gawking at this man like he was a piece of meat. Jesus, maybe you should stop drinking.

"They're my parents," you said after a moment, your eyes flicking across the room, finding them with a group of their friends with your dad's arm wrapped around your mom's shoulder as she giggled and gazed up at him adoringly.

"Oh, you're Cassie," the man said, his eyes dropping from your face to your stomach, and you swore you saw a glimmer of disappointment.

"No!" you said quickly, your hand subconsciously resting on your midsection. "That's my sister, I'm their other daughter." You told him your name and briefly explained you lived in New York and were just visiting for the holidays.

"They must be real happy, havin' you home for so long," he replied, and you shrugged.

"Yeah, it's been a while since I've come home for a visit. I was feeling pretty bad about that," you said, choosing to leave out the biggest reason you were there. This stranger didn't need to be burdened with your love life drama. "Besides, they were so excited to show off the new house," you continued, waving your arm around the room.

"Took us long enough, but it finally came together," he replied with a smile.

"Oh! You must be Joel," you said, realization finally dawning on you.

"Yeah, sorry," he said, shaking his head and stretching out his arm. "That was rude of me, don't know what I was thinkin'." His cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you shook his hand.

"My parents always have such wonderful things to say about you. The house is beautiful, I was blown away when I first saw it," you told him. "I especially love the little details on the cabinets."

"Thanks," he said with a soft smile, averting his gaze to look at the cabinet behind you. "I actually did that myself. It's kind of a hobby of mine. Closest to art I'll ever get, I guess."

"I don't think it's just 'close' to art, I think it is art. It's stunning," you told him, running your fingertips over the intricate floral design. "You're very talented."

"Well, thank you," he said sheepishly, rubbing his beard to hide his smile. You could see the blush creeping up his neck and you bit your lip with a grin, turning your head to try to give him a moment. Were you making him nervous? He was painfully good looking, could this guy actually be into you? Were you even interested? The break up was still so fresh and it had been so long since you've dated anyone besides Will, you hadn't even considered it yet.

"So, how long have you worked in construction?" you asked after a minute, discarding your plate on the counter to give him your full attention.

"Oh, my whole life. Me and my brother started the business when we were in our twenties. Only thing we were any good at, and luckily it pays the bills," he told you with a shrug, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "What do you-"

Joel's question was cut off by a young girl with curly brown hair in a red velvet dress bouncing up to him.

"Dad! Can Uncle Tommy take me outside so we can look at the pool?" she asked. Dad? You looked down when he pulled his hands out of his pockets, palming one of the girl's shoulders to quiet her down, and noticed the gold wedding band. Of fucking course.

"The pool? Sarah, it's freezin' out," Joel said, and she grinned.

"I'm not going in, Dad, I just wanna see," she said, rolling her eyes. She glanced over, noticing you for the first time, and smiled. "I really like your dress," she said.

"Thank you," you said, running your hand down the fabric. "I like yours, too."

"Uh, yeah, that's fine. Just make sure Uncle Tommy sticks with you, alright?" Joel relented, and she clapped her hands gleefully before running off again.

"She's cute, how old is she?" you asked him, looking around the room to see if Sarah had run back to a woman who could be Joel's wife.

"She's sixteen," he said, eyeing you carefully. He hadn't thought this far ahead and hoped he wasn't scaring you off.

You turned to him, startled, having guessed she was younger.

"You must have had her young," you said, the words slipping out before you could catch them. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean that like it sounded-"

"No, it's alright," he said with a chuckle. "I did. I'm forty."

You nodded and took a sip from your glass, letting your eyes drift away, rethinking your conversation. Maybe you misread him and he was just being friendly. There was no way he would be flirting with you at a party with his kid right there. But then he cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to him.

"Listen, I hope I'm not bein' too forward, but are you here with anyone?"

You raised your eyebrows at him over your glass. There was no misreading that. Blinking rapidly, you tried to formulate a reply that wouldn't cause a scene. Was he seriously hitting on you with a ring on his finger? You put your glass down on the counter and opened your mouth to reply when your sister's voice interrupted you.

"Bucket! Come here, you remember Troy, right?"

You cringed, at both the nickname and the person in question, before slowly turning your body towards her and forcing a fake smile.

"Of course. How are you?" you said with a hug.

"Doing great, just got a new job with a law firm downtown," Troy said, rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans and shifting his weight nervously. He began to ramble about his new job as your sister introduced herself to Joel behind you. You resisted the urge to strangle her, reminding yourself she was carrying your baby niece or nephew and that you'll have to wait until after she gave birth to kill her. She knew you couldn't stand Troy, but she probably couldn't get rid of him, either.

You stood there, draining your wine glass while he prattled on for the next twenty minutes. By the time Troy's dad walked over and ushered him away, Joel was nowhere to be found.

Probably for the best, anyway. You were getting really sick and tired of only attracting unfaithful men.

You hadn't considered how annoying it would be to have your parents hovering around you all the time, worried that you were slipping into a depression and trying to get you to join them on activities outside the house. After you felt forced to go sledding with them the day before, you decided to make yourself scarce today, which is why you found yourself at the mall in downtown Austin browsing for a Christmas gift for your future niece or nephew.

As you were looking through a storefront window, you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. Taking it out, you saw a text from a friend back home.

Sydney: You'll never guess who i just bumped into

You were typing out your response, chin tucked into your chest, when you felt someone knock into you. Startled, you looked up only to lock eyes with Joel the contractor.

"Oh!" you managed to stammer out. His deep brown eyes lit up and a warm smile spread across his face when he looked up and recognized you.

"Sorry, wasn't payin' attention," he said. "How, uh, how are you?"

"Good," you said, nodding and clutching your phone in your hand. "You?"

"Good. Was actually just thinkin' about you," he admitted, looking down and shifting the bag he was carrying from one hand to the other. "Never got to say goodbye to you the other night."

"Yeah, it was pretty crowded. I didn't realize my parents were so popular," you joked. "Is Sarah with you?"

"No, she's in school," he replied, and you bumped the heel of your hand against your forehead, rolling your eyes. Of course she was, it's the middle of the day.

"Duh," you said quietly, finding it hard to hold his gaze without getting butterflies, so you looked away.

"So, uh, I hope this doesn't sound creepy, but I asked your sister if you were seein' anyone the other night," he began, and you felt your face instantly heat up. Why didn't Cassie warn you?? "-was wonderin' if I could get your number."

"Huh?" you asked, your eyes widening as you tried to control your breathing. You glanced down at his hand again when he looked away and saw he was definitely wearing a ring.

"Thought we could go out sometime? If you're interested?" he asked, his own nerves wreaking havoc as he shifted his weight and chewed on the inside of his cheek, praying his face wasn't as red as it felt.

"Are you serious?" you asked him, narrowing your eyes. The audacity of some men!

"'Course I'm serious," he said with a nervous smile. "Thought we hit it off the other night-"

"Joel, listen. I'm not going to say what I'm really thinking for the sake of my parents and everything you did for them, but I am not interested in dating married men," you said with a scowl. He frowned, giving you a confused look before you turned on your heel and stormed away, joining the crowd of Christmas shoppers bustling by.

He looked down at his hand, making a tight fist before swiveling his head around, trying to locate you in the crowd before he lost you.

"Hey, wait!" he called out, pushing past clusters of people as he jogged to try and keep up with you. He called out your name as he got closer. You stopped suddenly but didn't turn around, causing surprised shoppers to have to redirect at the last minute to avoid running into you.

"Hey, I'm sorry-"

"You should apologize to your wife!" you said loudly, causing a few people to turn their heads in your direction as they walked past. Joel looked around nervously.

"I'm not married," he clarified quietly. You looked down at his hand again and he flexed his fingers.

"Can we get a coffee or somethin'? And I'll explain," he begged, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each second that passed as you considered your answer. "Please."

"Fine," you agreed, and his face relaxed once again.

You sat down at a coffee shop within Barnes and Noble as Joel ordered you both something to drink. As you watched him at the counter, you admired his long legs and broad shoulders underneath his brown coat and wondered what possible excuse he was going to come up with.

Oh my god, what if she died?

You rubbed your eyes, hoping you didn't just insult a widower in the middle of a crowded mall.

Joel joined you at the table and set your coffee down in front of you with a smile.

"Thank you," you said softly, fiddling with the cup and avoiding his eyes as he shrugged his coat off, revealing a navy blue V-neck sweater underneath. Your eyes drifted to the small patch of bare chest that was exposed and your stomach clenched. Swallowing hard, you forced yourself to meet his gaze, but he was staring down at his ring finger.

"I'm not married anymore, just wanna make that crystal clear," he began, still staring at his ring.

"Okay," you said slowly, waiting for him to continue. He sighed.

"We've been divorced for a few years now," he said, finally looking at you. "It was... hard. Really hard. I, uh," he scratched his beard as he struggled to find the words. "I've had a tough time lettin' go. Thought for a while we might get back together, so I didn't take it off. Then I guess I just got so used to it, I never thought... I'm sorry, I sound like a mess," he said with a sad smile.

"It's alright, I think I understand," you told him, and he looked at you with renewed optimism, encouraged to continue.

"I never took it off because I never thought 'bout askin' anyone out til now," he said. "Didn't realize how that would come across, you just took me by surprise that night and I couldn't stop thinkin' 'bout you."

You blushed and looked down at your coffee, trying to hide your smile behind your cup, but he saw it and grinned.

"Are you still in love with her?" you asked him. You didn't want to get wrapped up in something that would end up hurting you in the end.

"No," he said firmly. "I mean, I'll always care for her. She gave me Sarah, how could I not? But I'm not in love with her anymore."

You nodded as you absorbed his words, glancing around the little coffee shop before dragging your eyes back to his. He was looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to ask anything else that would make you comfortable with accepting a date from him.

"Well, thank you for being honest with me, but I'm not sure I'm ready for a relationship just yet."

Joel tried to hide the disappointment in his face as he nodded in understanding. The first time in five years he asked someone out and he got shot down.

"It's not you," you clarified. "It's bad timing. I just got out of a really long term relationship. Well, I was actually engaged, and I caught him cheating," you explained with a wince, not expecting to bring this up today. "Probably why I was so sensitive about the wedding ring," you said with a half smirk. He nodded quietly and looked down at the ring on his hand, twisting the metal around with the pad of his thumb as you spoke.

"Sounds like we've both been through a tough time," he murmured, and you quietly agreed.

You sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping your coffees and trying to figure out how to end this awkward interaction without making things worse. You were going to lie about having plans so you could leave when he suddenly spoke up.

"No pressure, but, uh, what if we just went on one very casual date?" He looked at you with those soft, brown eyes and you felt your resolve crumbling. "Sounds like we could both use some practice. You're leavin' at the end of the month anyway. Could just be fun, help get us both back out there."

You paused, not expecting that. He had a good point. It's been so long since you've gone on a date with anyone, and it sounded like he was just as rusty. Besides, what else would you be doing with your time over the next three weeks?

"Okay," you agreed softly. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, parting his lips slightly as he straightened up in his chair.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you said with a grin. "Why not?"

Early the next morning, you heard your phone buzz on the nightstand next to your bed. With a groan, you cracked an eye open to look at the time, then reached for your phone.

"7:30? Who the hell..." you grumbled, squinting at the bright screen, your eyes widening when you saw Joel's name. You sat up in bed, fully awake now, and slid the notification over to open the text.

Joel Miller: Morning. Are you free tonight?

You grinned, flicking on your light so you could see better to respond, then you paused. Should you make him wait before replying? Would you look too desperate if you answered right away?

You shrugged, deciding to answer him. It was casual, you both knew it wouldn't go anywhere, so who cares how it looked?

You: Good morning, you're up early! And yes, what did you have in mind?

You chewed your thumb nail as you waited for his answer.

Joel Miller: This is nothing, I've been up since 5. For some reason, clients expect me to be at job sites early. How about ice skating?

You giggled and tapped out a reply.

You: I'd love to!

Joel Miller: Great - I'll pick you up at 7

Realizing you forgot to reply to Sydney the day before, you switched messages and shot her a quick answer before sliding back down under the covers to scroll on your phone.

You resisted the urge as long as you could - a whole fifteen minutes - before you typed Joel's name into Facebook. His name popped up with two mutual friends and you rolled your eyes. Of course your parents were friends with him. Clicking on his name, you scrolled down his page, tapping through photos of him and Sarah that looked out of date. He didn't seem like the type to update social media often, and his page reflected that hunch. He didn't have many pictures so it didn't take long until you scrolled all the way to the end, presumably his first photo from when he joined. It was a grainy picture of him with a huge smile and his arm slung around a woman with dark, curly hair, just like Sarah's.

She was pretty, you couldn't deny that, and you vaguely wondered why they broke up. He made it sound like he didn't want a divorce, and you figured he would have mentioned cheating since you brought it up.

You closed the app. If Joel wanted to tell you, he would.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you made your way downstairs on the hunt for coffee. Pouring yourself a cup from the machine, you burrowed into the couch, wrapping yourself in a blanket as you waited for your coffee to cool down and flipped through the various streaming services your parents subscribed to.

"Hey Buck, you're up early," your dad said as he descended the stairs and headed to the coffee.

"Hey, Dad," you said, taking a sip from your mug and wincing as you burned your tongue.

"What're you up to today? You wanna come to dinner with your mom and me?"

"Actually, I have a date," you told him, bracing for the reaction.

"Whoa-ho! Been here not even a week and you got yourself a date? Don't tell me... Troy?" he asked with a big grin, sitting down at the other end of the couch.

"Ew, no!" you said, scrunching your nose. "It's, um, Joel," you said quickly, taking another sip from your mug.

"Our contractor?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah, we met at the party," you told him. "Then I ran into him at the mall."

"Ran into who at the mall?" you heard Cassie's voice from down the hall.

"When did you get here?" you asked as she rounded the corner and gazed at your coffee enviously.

"Just now. Who did you see at the mall?"

"Joel," you said, glaring at her. "Got something to tell me about that?"

"Oh, yeah," she said, wiggling her eyebrows. "He was asking about you at the party. I made sure to let him know you were single."

"Yeah, he told me, thanks for the heads up, by the way," you said. "We're going out tonight."

"I didn't realize he was single, I just assumed he was married because he's always got Sarah around," your dad said, beginning to zone out to the movie that was on the TV.

"He's single," was all you said, picking your phone back up.

"He's cute," Cassie said, and you blushed. "I'm glad you said yes, mom and dad already love him, so he'll fit right in."

"I don't even live here. It's a casual thing, we're just hanging out," you told her.

"Yeah, okay," she said, giving you a wink. You rolled your eyes and pinched her as you passed by.

"I'm going to shower, then maybe you can help me pick out something to wear," you told her over your shoulder, walking back upstairs.

Joel arrived at your parents' house promptly at 7, just as he promised. He pulled into the driveway, checking his hair in the review mirror quickly before sliding out of his truck and making his way up the porch. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this nervous as he glanced down a the green flannel he wore, praying he didn't miss a button or a stain. He was with his ex for so long that he could barely remember a time when he was nervous around her.

But with you, he felt the butterflies the moment he saw you at the party. You didn't notice him at first, but he saw you enter the living room and freeze in the doorway, your eyes locked on someone across the room before backing out the way you came, as if you were looking to avoid them. He couldn't catch who it was, having hardly known more than five people in the whole house, but he felt compelled to follow you. To see if you were maybe looking for a husband or boyfriend. But when he saw you alone in the kitchen, staring down at your phone, he couldn't stop himself from saying something to you.

Joel never did things like that. He always kept to himself, very quiet and reserved. He was content with his work during the day and hanging out with Sarah at night.

For the most part, he was happy. It was only at night when the loneliness crept up, when he tucked himself into his big, cold bed and tried his best to fall asleep as fast as he could, so he wouldn't lay there wishing someone who cared for him was just in the bathroom washing up.

Tommy had been encouraging him to get back out there, always offering to watch Sarah if he caught Joel looking a little too long at a waitress or a neighbor. Sarah was old enough to be on her own for a few hours, but he still asked Tommy to stop by, anyway. Maybe part of him wanted his brother to know that he was going on a date, if only so he would stop trying to set him up all the time with women he had no interest in.

Joel reached out to ring the doorbell, cringing when he noticed it was one of those camera doorbells. Paul must have installed it after the house was finished. He heard heavy footsteps on the other side of the door and held his breath, realizing he hadn't thought about your dad's reaction to your date.

Paul swung the door open, greeting Joel with a deep scowl as he leaned up against the doorframe.

"What's up, Joel?" he asked. Joel cleared his throat.

"Hey, Paul. I'm here to pick up your daughter," Joel replied, bracing himself. Paul just stared at him, breathing deeply as he looked Joel up and down. Joel wasn't a small man, but Paul had at least sixty pounds on him. He tended to have an intimidating look until you got to know him.

"Oh, yeah? For what?" Paul asked, clenching his jaw. Joel froze, wondering if there was a reason you didn't tell your parents about tonight, unsure what to say. Finally, Paul's face broke into a huge smile as he began to crack up, doubling over at the waist.

"I'm sorry, Joel, I had to," he wheezed, standing back up and clapping Joel on the shoulder. "Couldn't help myself. Come on in," he said, still laughing as he led Joel down the hall and towards the kitchen.

"Jesus, Paul, scared the shit outta me," Joel admitted, his heart racing as he rubbed his forehead.

"Beer?" Paul asked, and Joel shook his head.

"No thanks, I'm drivin'," he replied, and Paul raised his eyebrows with a nod.

"Good man, passed the first test," he said with a wink as he twisted open a beer for himself. "Hey, uh, in all seriousness, I just wanna talk with you before she comes down."

"Yeah, 'course," Joel replied, leaning up against the counter.

"I ain't sure what she's told you about the asshole she was with before, but he really hurt her. Now, I know it ain't got nothin' to do with you, what's in the past is in the past," he said. "But just keep that in mind, will you? I can't stand seein' my little girl hurt like that again."

Joel nodded solemnly, understanding completely.

"I ain't like that, I'll be respectful, I promise," Joel replied. "Besides, we both know she's goin' back to New York in a few weeks. We're just gettin' to know each other, is all."

"Yeah, she said the same thing to her sister earlier, but then she spent all damn day on the phone, pickin' out an outfit and gettin' herself ready," Paul said with a sigh. "I'm just sayin', be careful with her."

Joel felt a flutter in his chest and tried to hide his smile when he found out you had been thinking about him all day. He was glad he wasn't the only one.

"I hope you weren't waiting long," you told Joel as he backed out of your driveway.

"Not at all," he said with a smirk. "You're worth the wait. You look beautiful." He glanced down again at the light pink sweater with a small designer logo he was unfamiliar with in the corner.

You blushed and bit your lip, quietly thanking him and trying to hide your reaction behind your scarf, but he saw it. He always does.

Now that he knew you were looking forward to this date just as much as he was, he felt a little more confident.

"Did you have a good day?" he asked, giving you a sideways glance as he merged his truck into traffic.

"Yeah, did you?"

"It was alright," he said, slowing the truck down at a stop light. He turned to face you now. "Couldn't wait to see you, though."

You turned a darker shade of pink and he smiled, pleased to see that he could elicit that reaction from you, the same way you do to him.

"So, ice skating?" you said, trying to take the heat off of you. You looked at his hands on the steering wheel, noticing he made sure to take his ring off.

"Yeah," he said, pressing his foot on the gas as the light changed. "Thought you could teach me somethin'."

"Teach you? How do you know if I can even skate?" you asked teasingly.

"Just a hunch. Was I right?" he replied, his mouth turning up into a half smirk. You giggled and he felt his stomach tighten. He needed to hear that again.

"Yeah, you were right," you relented. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth and slapped the steering wheel in victory, making you giggle again, and his chest filled with warmth at the sound.

"Where's Sarah tonight?" you asked him as he pulled into a parking spot at the skating rink.

"My brother's watchin' her," he replied, disappointed that you got out of the truck so quickly. He had planned on opening the door for you.

"Does she like to ice skate?" you questioned as he led you inside to the counter to rent your skates.

"Oh, of course she does. But I usually sit it out and just watch her have fun," he said, picking up your rentals and heading over to a bench.

"You should have brought her, I wouldn't have minded."

"We don't have to talk 'bout her, you know," he said quicky, and your fingers froze over your laces.

"Why wouldn't we talk about her? She's your daughter," you asked slowly, straightening back up to look at him.

"No, I know. What I mean is, I know it ain't every woman's fantasy to go out with a single dad and all the baggage that comes with that. So, if you don't wanna talk about her, I get it," he said, casting his eyes down as he focused on tying his laces. You reached out a hand and gently placed it on top of his, immediately making him freeze at your touch.

"She's part of your life, so I want to hear about her. You shouldn't think like that, Joel. It's really not a dealbreaker for most women," you assured him, gently rubbing your thumb over his knuckles, his eyes glued to your hand as he listened. "And if it is, fuck 'em."

His eyes snapped up to yours now, then a slow smile spread across his face.

"Okay," he said softly, and you smiled, pulling your hand back, leaving him wanting more.

"Besides," you said, standing up on your skates as you made your way to the rink. "You have no idea what kind of fantasies I have."

You turned to give him a wink as you effortlessly stepped out onto the ice, holding out your hands encouragingly for him to follow. It was a miracle he was able to move his legs after that comment, but he managed just because he knew he would feel your warm hands on his again.

Joel was a quick study. He was nervous at first, you could tell that he didn't want to embarrass himself, but he did surprisingly good. Especially considering how crowded the ice rink was and how fast people were skating by. After about half an hour, he was able to skate - albeit, slowly - around the rink next to you without any assistance. Part of you wondered if he pretended to need more help than he really did just so it would make you feel good.

"So, anyway, that's basically what I do for work. It's pretty boring," you said with a sigh.

"Not boring. Marketing in New York City sounds like a dream," he replied.

"Yeah, except I work on all the behind the scenes stuff. It's not really as fun as it sounds," you admitted, not missing work in the slightest since you've been back in Texas.

"Well, d'you work with some fun people, at least?"

You paused, considering his question for a moment, before shaking your head with a dry laugh.

"Not really," you said, but he still tried to help you find a reason why you would put up with it.

"You were able to take off almost a whole month, that's pretty great. Not many places'll let you do that, can't be that bad," he offered, and you scoffed.

"It's the time I saved up for the wedding I was supposed to have," you told him sadly, and he groaned.

"I'm knockin' it outta the park tonight, ain't I?" he said, rubbing his face before almost losing his balance. You giggled and he couldn't stop the huge grin that plastered itself across his face.

"It's fine, you didn't know," you said, waving him off. And for the first time, you really didn't mind talking about it. Something about him made it easier.

"What'dya say we get some hot chocolate?" Joel asked, jutting his chin towards the vendor where you first came in.

"Yeah, that sounds great," you replied. Joel turned towards the exit without looking when a teenage boy, who was speed skating around the rink trying to impress a girl, smacked right into him, sending him flying backwards on the ice.

"Joel!" you exclaimed, rushing to his side. He groaned, rubbing the back of his head.

"Hey, why don't you watch it!" you yelled angrily at the teenager, who had managed to only stumble a bit upon impact.

"Sorry, man," the kid mumbled before taking off.

"I'm gonna kick his ass," you said, about to stand up to go after him, but Joel reached up to grip your arms, holding you in place.

"I'm fine, sweetheart," he said with a chuckle. Sweetheart. Your heart skipped a beat at the term.

"Are you sure?" you asked, your brow furrowed with concern.

"Yeah, just gimme a hand," he said, and you stood to give his arm a firm yank, allowing him to stand.

"Let's get you off the ice," you told him, ushering him carefully to the exit and finding a bench.

"Does your head hurt?" you asked, sitting down next to him. Your fingers reached up to graze the back of his head.

"No," he said breathlessly, staring at you as you continued to study him for any injury. God, you were so beautiful, he couldn't force himself to look away.

"That's good. How about your vision?" you pressed, still so focused on the fall and not seeing the way he was looking at you. But when you finally locked your eyes on his, your breath caught in your throat.

All the laughter and playful yelling surrounding you faded. You couldn't look away from his heated gaze, his deep brown eyes boring into yours so intensely, you almost forgot to blink. He brought his hand up to gently cradle the side of your face, his calloused palm meeting your soft skin. Your lips parted to accommodate your sudden need for more oxygen, and his gaze fell to your mouth.

"Joel," you whispered, and the way his name sounded coming from you was so damn sweet, it almost did him in.

"Yeah?" he whispered back, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Kiss me."

He didn't need to be told twice.

He leaned forward, eyes sliding shut and slotting his lips against yours, deeply breathing in your scent so he could remember it tomorrow. He was determined to commit every second to memory, knowing that by morning he would be aching for you, aching for this. Against his better judgement, he pressed himself into your lips harder, unsure if he will ever get to feel like this again when you inevitably came to your senses. The idea of this feeling being taken away from him spurred him on, desperate and eager for every second you were willing to give him.

Your hand came up to the back of his neck, holding him against you as his lips massaged yours tenderly. You inched closer to him on the bench so you could tuck yourself into his broad chest. He was so warm and soft and strong that it was making you dizzy. Your fingertips stroked the curls at the base of his neck as you tentatively opened your mouth just enough to suck his lower lip between yours. The quiet noise he made when you did that made your insides clench with need, and against all odds, you felt yourself falling, completely losing yourself in him and the moment.

A startling voice over the loudspeaker announcing that the rink was closing in fifteen minutes finally snapped you out of it. You both pulled back but kept your foreheads pressed together as the world around you slowly melted back into focus. His hand still cupped your face and he lifted his thumb to gently trace your swollen lips.

"I should take you home," he murmured. At first, your stomach flipped, thinking he meant his home, but you realized he wasn't that type and he meant your parents' house.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, and you sat back reluctantly, breaking away. His hand dropped from your face to the hand in your lap, his thick fingers wrapping around yours for a moment as he collected himself with a deep breath.

Finally, he forced himself to stand, still clutching your hand and helping you up. You glanced down at the floor and smirked.

"We should probably take our skates off," you said, and he chuckled, breaking the tension and sitting back down, his hand reluctantly letting go of yours to undo his laces.

After you turned in your rentals, his hand quickly found yours again, unwilling or unable to let you go as he led you back to his truck, this time making sure to open the car door for you. Thanking him quietly, you jumped up into the cab and watched him round the front of the car, running a hand through his hair and sucking in deep breath.

You grinned and bit your lip as he started the truck, swinging his arm around to grip your headrest and twisting his body to back out of the spot. It took everything in you not to scoot across the seat and tuck yourself into his side.

He let his arm drop loosely on the seat in between you as he drove down the street, one hand on the steering wheel. Your fingers inched forward, sliding your palm underneath his hand, lacing your fingers together. The corners of his mouth tugged into a smile and you drove in a comfortable silence, your hands intertwined the whole time, until he pulled into your driveway and cut the engine.

You sighed as you stared at the darkened house, already missing him and he wasn't even gone yet. He peered over at you, trying to think of a way to prolong the date, but aside from the obvious, which he wasn't going to do just yet, he was coming up empty.

"Lemme walk you up," he said finally, and you nodded, reaching for the handle of the door but he stopped you. You furrowed your brow, confused, until you watched him rush over to open the door, and you grinned, taking his hand so you could slide out of the seat.

You stared at the ground as he led you up the path to the porch, your heart pounding in your ears. You weren't sure what you had been expecting tonight, but it definitely wasn't this feeling. This was so much more.

"Well, thank you for tonight," you said as you reached the door, turning around to look up at him through your lashes. "I had a really good time."

"Yeah, me too," he said, his soft, brown eyes trailing over your face, locking away every little detail. Unable to resist, he stepped forward, his rough hand skimming around to the back of your neck. He tilted your face up, ducking down slightly to meet you halfway and brushed his lips gently over yours.

Your hands flew up to grip the collar of his flannel, keeping him pressed against you as you leaned against the front door. God, for someone who claimed to be rusty, he was a really good kisser. He was gentle and slow and it took your breath away both times. You knew you were getting in over your head, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. All you could think about was him and how badly you wanted more.

Nervously, you opened your mouth and flicked your tongue against his plush lips. He responded by parting his lips and allowing your tongue to dance with his own, his mouth applying more pressure than before as the heat flared between you.

Before you could stop it, a soft moan rumbled from your throat, causing him to pull back, panting slightly as his gaze flickered between your eyes. You gazed up at him, eyes dark and desperate, your fingers still gripping the fabric of his shirt tightly.

You weren't sure what he was searching for, but after a moment he seemed to find it because his mouth came crashing down on yours once again, this time with more yearning and desire. His tongue probed inside your mouth, licking past your teeth and in the back of your mind you realized he tasted faintly of mint and you wondered when on earth he popped a mint into his mouth but it didn't matter. Nothing else mattered except the two of you in that moment, each seeking something within the other that you never expected to find.

His chest ached knowing he would have to stop kissing you soon, or else he would never leave. He always considered himself a strong man, after everything he had been through, how could he not? But something about you made him realize he wasn't nearly as strong as he thought. Your lips were so soft compared to his, so sweet and perfect that it made him want to cry because in that moment, he knew he could never let you go.

[proxima-writes]

title: my tears ricochet | part i

pairing: husband's best friend!joel miller x female reader

rating: chapter - t; full work - explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 7k

summary: after moving from new york to texas with your fiance, you expect to jump right into wedding planning with his help. when he claims to be too busy, he suggests asking his best friend, joel miller, to help you instead.

you weren't supposed to fall in love with him.

author's note: this story is a three part fic inspired by the song "my tears ricochet" by taylor swift. this first part is reader's POV, part two will be joel's POV, and the third part will be dual POV. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging or commenting!

chapter tags: modern au, infidelity, emotional abuse, the fiance is shitty, no use of y/n, single POV (reader), wedding dress shopping and other wedding planning activities, angst, arguing, alcohol consumption/mention, kissing, no smut. please let me know if i've missed any!

major work tags: modern au, infidelity, explicit sexual content, character death

You stare out at the manicured yard, watching as guests move about the grounds and waiters in black uniforms carry trays of food and drinks through the crowd. Your boyfriend -- wait, no, fiancé -- Alex laughs boisterously with your father, a hand on his back in easy familiarity. You know you should be down there with him given that this is your engagement party, but you were starting to feel overwhelmed by the constant smiling and greeting strangers and showing off your shiny new engagement ring that you needed a break.

The door opens and a man you don't recognize steps into the room, pale blue dress shirt stretched tight across his broad chest and a pair of wrinkled dress pants. He runs a hand through his messy dark curls.

"Sorry, I didn't think anyone would be in here," he says. As he looks you over, his brown eyes go wide with surprise. "Shit, you're the bride!"

You smile at him. "That's me," you reply. You hold a hand out towards him as you give him your name, his rough palm sliding against yours as he grips it firmly.

"I'm Joel Miller," he tells you. You know the name well, being that he's your fiancé's best friend. "Didn't mean to make our first time meetin' so awkward."

"No, no, it's not your fault. I've just been feeling a little overwhelmed with all the," you wave your hand towards the window, "festivities. It's great to finally meet you."

"I don't blame ya. They can get pretty stuffy down there. Congrats, by the way."

"Thank you." He lets go of your hand. "So, why are you hiding?"

He laughs, deep and full bellied. "Alex's mom doesn't like me much. I'm sure she was hopin' that we would stop bein' friends when he went to school on the other side of the country, but I’m like a stubborn tick."

"How could she not like you, Alex told me that the two of you have been best friends since kindergarten!"

"There may have been a few mishaps in high school," he says. "You ever tried eggin' your principal's house?"

"Can't say that I have," you reply.

"Well, it doesn't end well if you get caught." He looks out the window with a smile on his face. "We got arrested. Alex's dad had to bail us out. Probably had to throw some hush money around so that it wouldn't show up on his record when he applied to school."

"He's never told me that!" You say, laughing hard enough around the words that your stomach hurts.

The door opens and this time, Alex himself steps into the room. His serious expression morphs into a smile when he sees you and Joel.

"There you are," he says, crossing the room to kiss your cheek. He greets Joel with a hug, patting his back roughly. "What are you two doing in here?"

"I just needed a minute alone," you tell him.

"And I crashed her minute alone. Told her about the time we got arrested in high school," Joel adds. Alex's jaw tenses, his smile tight as his eyes flick to you, like he's worried about your reaction. "She laughed. It's all good."

"Right. Well, I came to find you because its time for the toast and dinner," Alex says. "Let's get back down to our guests."

A hand at the small of your back urges you towards the door before you can reply.

"Alex, are you listening to me?" You ask. Your fiancé looks up from his phone.

"I'm sorry, baby, I was finishing an e-mail," he says. He sets his phone down on the table, dark screen facing up, and gives you his full attention. "What were you saying?"

"I wanted to schedule the cake tasting. Do you have any free time this week?"

He grimaces. "I don't think I do, sweetheart. Your dad's got my schedule pretty packed."

"I can just ask him to--"

"No," he says sternly. "You know I have to make a good impression with the rest of the firm."

"But--"

"Babe, no. I can't do this week. Why don't you ask my mom? Or Joel?"

While your future mother-in-law is kind enough, you don't have much patience for the way she tries to take control of your wedding planning. Joel, however, might be a good idea. He knows Alex well enough to be a stand in for a decision like cake and icing flavors.

"Could you give me Joel's number?"

Alex smiles, seemingly pleased that he's off the hook as he takes his phone in hand and sends you his best friend's phone number.

You meet Joel at the bakery that week. To your surprise he's there before you, dressed in worn jeans and a t-shirt and he smiles brightly at you as you approach.

"Hey," he says. "Ready to eat some cake?"

"I think this will be my favorite part of planning this whole wedding," you reply. He laughs as he pulls the door open for you to step inside, following in behind you.

"Welcome to Buttercup Bakery! Can I help y'all with anything?" A young woman with a name tag reading BEVERLY asks from behind the counter, pink and white apron tied around her waist.

"I have a cake tasting appointment," you reply, giving her your name for the reservation.

"Excellent! If you want to go ahead and take a seat anywhere you'd like, I'll bring out the tasting options and we'll get you squared away in no time!"

She disappears through swinging doors as you and Joel take a seat at a pink acrylic table with matching chairs. He looks around the shop with interest.

"What made you pick this place?" He asks.

"Had the best reviews," you say with a shrug. His brow furrows.

"Alex didn't suggest it? He helpin' you at all with this weddin'?"

He says it with a laugh, but the question makes you dig your fingernails into your palm. "He's just really busy with work. I've been doing a lot of the planning."

“What about your uh, what are they called? Bridesmaids?”

“They’re all back in New York. It’s just me.”

“I thought your parents were here, too? Isn’t Alex workin’ with your dad now?”

“It’s just my dad, he’s back in New York. His partner opened a firm in Austin and Alex is working with that office. He’s hoping to make partner soon, too.”

Joel nods, eyes scanning your face but you keep your expression as neutral as possible. The swinging doors open and Beverly returns with a marble tray, bites of cake artfully arranged on the surface. She sets it on the table between you and Joel.

“Okay! These are our six most popular flavor combinations for you to start with and if there’s something more custom you have in mind, we can totally make that happen,” she says. “Starting at the top, we have classic vanilla with vanilla buttercream, chocolate cake with chocolate ganache and chocolate buttercream, our signature champagne cake with strawberry buttercream, lemon cake with lavender buttercream, caramel cake with caramel mocha buttercream, and white chocolate cake with raspberry jam and white chocolate raspberry buttercream.”

Joel grins at you. “This might be the best thing anyone has ever asked me to help with.”

“I’ll leave you guys to it,” Beverly says with a wink, walking back to the counter.

“I don’t know which to start with,” you say, eyes scanning the selections.

“That chocolate one is callin’ my name,” Joel replies, spearing one of the chocolate cake bites with a fork and taking a bite. He hums appreciatively. “Oh yeah, that one is a winner.”

You choose the vanilla to start, taking a bite of the moist cake with buttercream that tastes strongly of vanilla bean with a hint of cinnamon. The simplicity makes it good, but overall the flavor doesn't stand out to you. Joel continues to take bites seemingly at random while you opt to go around the tray in the order that Beverly introduced the flavors.

"Any of them stickin' out to you?" Joel asks when you've reached the half-way point.

"They're all delicious," you reply. "I think Alex would probably like the vanilla best, though."

"I didn't ask what Alex would like, I asked if there were any that you liked." He spears the remaining piece of white chocolate raspberry with his fork and holds it up to you. "Here, try this one next."

You eye the fork dubiously. "I don't think--"

Joel slips the bite of cake into your mouth despite your interrupted disagreement, smiling at you triumphantly. You chew the bite begrudgingly.

"I think that one and the chocolate one are my favorite," Joel says as you swallow.

Beverly returns at that moment, a notepad in hand as she pulls up a third chair to the tiny bistro table.

“So? What are your thoughts?”

“I think I’m going to get the vanilla,” you tell her. Joel’s jaw ticks, almost like he’s upset you’ve chosen the flavor that you said Alex would like. “But, could I get alternating tiers of the white chocolate raspberry, too?”

Joel’s lips quirk up in a small smile and you try to ignore the way it makes your stomach flip.

Joel: Have you picked flowers yet?

Not yet.

Joel: I know a place. You busy today?

You stare the at the message in surprise. You weren’t expecting to hear from Joel again, but his name on your screen has you fighting back a smile.

I’m not busy. When did you want to go?

Joel: They open at noon. Here’s the address.

“Baby, have you seen my blue tie?” Alex calls from upstairs. You drop your phone to the counter like you’ve been caught doing something wrong.

“Which one?” You reply, pressing a hand to your chest.

“The plaid one!”

“Should be in your tie drawer!”

“It’s not here!”

You pinch your nose, making your way to the stairs to join him in your shared bedroom. He’s standing in front of his tie drawer, hands on his hips as he stares at the contents. You peek over his shoulder and reach into the back, pulling out the neatly folded blue and green patterned tie.

He takes it from your hand. “That one should be towards the front. Can you remember that next time you put away dry cleaning?”

“Sure.” You bite your lip to hold back the sigh that threatens to spill. “You want me to tie it for you?”

“No, thanks, I need it to be perfect. Big meeting,” he says, his lips tilted in a smile that feels condescending. He leans into you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” you murmur, watching his back as he enters the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.

Joel is waiting outside of a dark green storefront when you arrive at the address he’d sent you. He smiles when he sees you, a true one that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, and it gives you this strange feeling of emptiness because you can’t remember the last time Alex smiled at you like that.

When you’re close enough, he pulls you into a hug that envelops you in strong arms and the scent of woods at nightfall with a hint of citrus. Your eyes flutter shut as you hug him back and breathe him in.

He releases you and immediately you feel a chill in losing his warmth despite the oppressive Texas heat. You look at the shop as he steps back, taking in the gorgeous floral arrangements in the window and cursive script painted on the glass that says PETAL TO THE METAL.

Joel opens the door to the shop, a brass bell ringing to announce your entrance. A man at the counter in the center of the store looks up and grins at you both.

“Joel! Nice to see you,” the man says. You watch as they shake hands with familiarity, the man behind the counter smiling kindly. “You must be the bride. I’m Frank.”

You give Joel a look of surprise before introducing yourself and shaking Frank’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Do you two know each other?”

“Joel’s an old friend of ours.”

“Ours?”

A back door bangs open, someone emerging with their arms so full of potted plants you can’t see their face. A deep voice let’s out a series of curses.

“This is my partner, Bill,” Frank says. “He’s not much of a people person. Great with plants, though.”

“A little help would be nice,” Bill grunts. Frank rolls his eyes but leaves the counter to take a couple pots from Bill’s hands, revealing a man with long brown hair and a grizzled expression hidden amongst a thick beard. Frank leans in and kisses his cheek.

“You need only ask,” Frank says. Bill’s cheeks turn pink beneath his thick facial hair. Despite the annoyed expression on his face, his eyes are soft as he watches Frank. “Let me grab you the event portfolio and we can talk about your wedding. Have a look around.”

As Frank leaves and Bill busies himself arranging the new plants, you and Joel wander the shop and take in aisles and shelves of different flowers with little gold name cards in their pots or on their buckets.

“So,” Joel says, “How are you liking Austin?”

“It’s…hot,” you reply. “Really, really hot.”

“That’s the south for ya, sweetheart.”

Your face grows hot at the endearment and how it seemed to just roll off his tongue. “Have you lived in Austin your whole life?”

“Texas born n’ bred,” he says proudly, puffing his chest out.

“You never wanted to live anywhere else?”

“I’ve always thought Wyoming sounded nice. A farm that I built, some sheep, no neighbors for miles,” he says wistfully. “Maybe someday.”

“Building a farm, huh? You good with your hands, Joel?”

He blinks at you. “Y-yeah. I mean, I’m a contractor. I gotta be.”

“That’s impressive,” you tell him, biting your lip to hold back your laughter at his flustered response.

Frank approaches, lifting a heavy book in his hands. “You ready to pick some flowers?”

Joel holds the door open for you as the two of you leave the flower shop an hour later. He waves goodbye to Bill and Frank with a promise to visit them for dinner soon before following you down the sidewalk.

“You wanna get lunch?” Joel offers. “My treat.”

You pull your phone from your pocket to check your messages and finding none from Alex, you think to yourself, why not?

“Sure,” you agree.

That's how you find yourself sitting on a bench in the park with Joel Miller, your husband's best friend, talking to him about everything and nothing as you eat street tacos from a food truck nearby. He makes you laugh so hard you choke on birria, the sauce dripping down your chin. He reaches out, wiping the mess with a brown napkin while he smiles so bright it puts the sun to shame.

Later that night, while you're in bed, you can't help but think today was the best day you've had in a long time.

And you're not sure what that means.

You begin texting Joel regularly. You ask him for his opinion on things that Alex can’t be bothered with — the suit colors for the groomsmen (navy blue), the invitation stationary (the linen finish), and favors (miniature bottles of hot sauce - Joel assures you this will be a hit with the Texas crowd). In between those conversations, he sends you pictures from his construction sites or asks you how your day has been and whether you had gotten the chance to check out that show he recommended.

When you tell Alex about the wedding decisions you've made, leaving out the extent of Joel's help, he hums and nods at the appropriate intervals, feigning attentiveness while his thumb moves rapidly across his phone screen. It should bother you, you think, that your future husband is so uninvolved with planning his own wedding, but then your own phone lights up with Joel’s name and a goofy photo he sent from a construction site, his hard hat askew on his head and his eyes crossed, and your annoyance with Alex fades into background noise.

There’s one last item on your checklist that you’re more nervous to ask Joel for help with than the others — dress shopping. You could probably fly back to New York and be with your friends for the momentous occasion but you’re certain that Alex wouldn’t appreciate your absence for something he considers so frivolous.

Not that you say anything when he’s gone for his golfing trips.

You’re staring at Joel’s contact screen, working up the nerve to call him and ask him if he’d be willing to come dress shopping with you, when it lights up with an incoming call, his name at the top of the screen like just your thoughts summoned him. You answer on the third ring.

“Hey, I was just about to call you,” you tell him.

“So that’s why my ears were itchin’,” he laughs. “You need somethin’?”

You take a steadying breath. “I just have one more thing I need help with and then you won’t have to deal with me.”

“I don’t mind helpin’ you, sweetheart.” You stomach flutters at the nickname and he clears his throat to fill the loaded silence that follows his words. “Now, tell me what you need.”

“Could you come dress shopping with me?”

“That all? Just tell me where and when,” he says. You breathe a sigh of relief, giving him the details of the appointment you made at a local boutique. He promises to meet you there this weekend before hanging up.

The word sweetheart in Joel’s deep voice echoes through your mind for the rest of the day.

Joel looks hilariously out of place on the pristine white couch located in the middle of the dress boutique, a dainty glass of champagne held in his large hand. You sit beside him, your legs touching as you watch the sales associate flit around the store, pulling hangers of dresses from the racks.

“That’s a lot of dresses,” Joel comments, taking a sip of champagne.

“You not up for the challenge?” You tease. He laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his wide smile.

“Trust me, I’m up for the challenge. We’re goin’ to find you the best damn weddin’ dress Texas has ever seen,” he promises.

“Alright, I’ve got some gorgeous choices here for you,” the associate announces, holding up a handful of ivory hangers draped in all types of fabric from satin to chiffon. “You wanna follow me and we’ll get started?”

You follow her to the fitting room and she sets the hangers on a rack, fanning out the dresses so that you can get a better look. There’s five of them in a variety of styles, including an impressive ball gown boasting layers of tulle that trails to the floor.

“I’ll try that one first,” you tell her, pointing to ball gown.

“What’s your fiancé’s name?” She asks as you undress, taking the gown from the hanger and arranging it on the floor for you to step into it.

“Alex,” you reply. She drags the bodice up and instructs you to hold it to your chest while she laces up the corset back.

“I think it’s sweet that you’ve brought him with you.”

“Oh, no. That’s Joel, he’s my husband’s best friend.”

“Really?” She asks, the strings tightening around your waist. “The way you two look at each other, I would have bet money he was the one marrying you." You're about to ask what she means when she finishes tying off the bodice and says, "Wow, this dress is stunning on you."

Her comment retreats to the back of your mind as you look at yourself in the mirror. The strapless white gown hugs your chest and waist, flaring out into a layered skirt with lace appliques. There's beading on the sweetheart neckline that trails down the bodice in intricate patterns that catch the light of the fitting room. The dress is stunning.

Marnie leads you back out to the showroom, helping you step up onto a raised platform in front of a trifold mirror that shows you your reflection from multiple angles. You twist and turn, taking in all the details of it before finally facing Joel.

"Damn," Joel says. "That sure is one hell of a dress."

"It's...a lot." You twist your hips from side to side, the heavy skirt swishing across the floor. "I feel like a cupcake and I don't know if I'll be able to dance in it."

"You wanna test it out?"

He's standing before you can respond, reaching a hand into yours to guide you down from the pedestal. When you're on the floor, he wraps an arm around your low back, pulling you close while swaying side to side.

The world around you goes a little blurry and the only thing in perfect clarity is Joel. The feel of his hand in yours, the weight of his arm at the small of your back, the clean smell of soap and citrus, everything is just....Joel.

"How's it feel?" He asks, voice low. You tilt your head back to look up at his face.

"Huh?"

"The dress...dancin'...how's it feel?"

The question drags you back to reality, where you're currently dancing around a bridal salon with a man who isn't your fiance. You pull away from him, returning to the pedestal as the bridal associate joins the two of you again.

"Uh...I don't think this is the dress for me. Can we try the next one?"

You try on two other dresses in quick succession, neither of them leaving a lasting impression. It's the fourth dress that really gives you pause as you look at yourself in the fitting room mirror.

"Honey," the associate says, adjusting the off-the-shoulder sleeves of the dress, "This dress was made for you."

The scooped neckline highlights the lines and curves of your neck and shoulders, the corset bodice hugging your curves in satin folds. The skirt fans out from the waist, similar to the silhouette of the ball gown without all the additional weight and fabric and a thigh high slit allows for some extra movement.

She leads you back out into the showroom and helps you once more onto the pedestal. You grin at your reflection as she fixes the skirt into place.

"Well?" You ask, catching Joel's eye in the mirror. His mouth is set in a serious line, brows pinched together and his arms crossed over his chest. You own smile falters. "You don't like it? What's with the look?"

He shakes his head, his serious expression morphing into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "You look..." His voice trails off and he clears his throat. "Alex is a lucky son of a bitch."

You laugh, lifting the skirt so that you can step off the pedestal. Joel's eyes drop, his gaze fixing on the skirt as you walk towards him.

"You think so?" You ask quietly, stepping in close.

"Yeah, sweetheart," he murmurs. A single finger runs down your arm, goosebumps erupting over your skin in its wake. "I know so."

With the wedding plans finalized, your attention returns to your work as a web design consultant. Your client portfolio starts to build once more, keeping you busy in the months leading up to your big day. Alex remains focused on his work at the firm, working long days and longer nights that have him arriving home well after you've gone to bed, the two of you just ships passing in the dark. You would feel lonely, you think, if not for Joel.

The two of you still message each other frequently, though you don't see him again until a month before the wedding, when Alex invites him over for dinner one Saturday night.

The doorbell rings just as you put the chicken in the oven and you wipe your hands before going to answer it, your heart racing. Joel's sweet smile greets you when you open the door and seeing him across the threshold has the tension in your shoulders easing the slightest bit.

He steps across the threshold, strong arms wrapping around your waist in a tight hug. Footsteps on the stairs have him releasing you far sooner than you would have liked.

"Joel, my man! Glad you could make it," Alex says as he reaches the first floor. "Honey, is the table set?"

"No, not yet," you reply.

"You need any help?" Joel asks. You open your mouth to respond, but Alex jumps in to say, "No, she's got this. Let me give you the tour."

You watch as Alex leads Joel upstairs, commanding his friend's attention. You swallow down the anger that rises in your throat at your fiancé's dismissal and return to the kitchen, gathering the place settings and arranging the table to his liking.

"It's a nice place," Joel says as the two men enter the living room, which opens to the kitchen and dining areas.

"All that work finally paying off," Alex comments. You roll your eyes, fighting the urge to mention that you were the one who fronted the down payment for Alex's choice of home in Texas. The oven beeps and you pull out the chicken parmesan that had been baking.

"Smells good," Joel comments. You look up, catching his eye. A wordless understanding passes between you, a quiet appreciation that makes your blood run hot.

You plate the food while your fiancé uncorks a bottle of wine and pours it into the wine glasses at each place setting. Alex settles in at head of the table and Joel takes the seat to the left, leaving you with the seat to Alex's right, across from Joel.

The three of you make small talk between bites of dinner and sips of wine. Alex asks Joel about the contracting work he's been doing, Joel asks him about his work at the new office and how he's settling in, being back in his home state. It's halfway through dinner that Joel looks to you and asks, "Are you excited for the wedding next month?"

"Of course," you reply, fingers tangling in the cloth napkin resting across your lap. "Planning it was a labor of love."

"Right, thanks for helping her with the cake, man," Alex chimes in.

Joel chuckles. "Helped with a lot more than just the cake."

"What do you mean?" Alex asks, glancing between the two of you.

"Well, I helped get the flowers, the cake, pickin' out the stationary. Dress shoppin'," Joel clarifies. Your stomach drops as Alex's jaw grows tense, his brow pinched as he nods and pastes on a forced smile.

"Wow, I didn't realize you'd been so involved," Alex says. He removes the napkin from his lap, setting it on the table. "Would you excuse us for a second?"

Alex stands, looking down at you expectantly. You smile at him and Joel in turn, but the expression feels hollow and you taste bile in the back of your throat. As soon as you're on your feet, Alex has a strong hand wrapped around your wrist, urging you along behind him as he makes his way towards the stairs.

Once he's reached your shared bedroom, he turns to you, eyes filled with rage. “What the fuck is that about?”

“What do you mean?” You ask. He laughs, the sound devoid of any humor.

“He helped you pick out your dress?” Alex paces the length of the bedroom like a caged animal and for the first time in your relationship with him, a frisson of fear courses through your veins. “You can’t possibly be that fucking stupid?”

“Excuse me?” You snap. “You told me to ask him for his help!”

“With the cake!” Alex shouts. “Not the entire goddamn wedding! Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

“You weren’t exactly offering much help, Alex!”

His eyes narrow. “I thought you would be perfectly capable of planning shit on your own, but I guess that was giving you too much credit.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask. “Why are you being such a fucking asshole right now?”

“Because you’re my fiancé, not Joel’s!” He steps in close, towering above you as he hisses, “Did you fuck him?”

“No!” You shout.

His eyes search yours and whatever he finds seems to extinguish his anger, his coiled muscles loosening. He grips your shoulders, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “Why don’t you head back downstairs and I’ll stay up here for a minute to cool off, okay?”

The sudden switch leaves your head spinning but you manage to nod. Alex kisses your forehead and you take that as your cue to leave, escaping the confines of your room. In the hall, you grip the banister of the loft that overlooks the living room and take the first real breath in what feels like ages, your eyes squeezed shut as you try to calm your racing heart.

You return to the kitchen and Joel’s head snaps up when you enter. He rises from his seat at the table, rushing to your side.

“Are you okay?” He asks, low voice filled with concern, his brows pinched with worry. “What the fuck was that?”

“Just a misunderstanding,” you murmur, pushing past him.

“That’s bullshit,” he hisses. “Is he always like that?”

“Like what?” You sigh.

“An asshole. Yellin’ and threatenin’ you.” His fists are clenched at his sides. “He ever hit you?”

“What? No, of course not.” You take a deep breath, beating back the wave of tears pressing at the corners of your eyes. “He’s just got a lot going on with the move and work and the wedding.”

Joel is quiet, watching you with keen brown eyes that you, for once, wish weren’t focused on you. He steps close, voice low as he says, “Be honest with me, sweetheart.”

“I’m fine, Joel,” you tell him. The lie claws at your throat and sends your stomach into a tailspin. “I promise.”

Footsteps echo on the stairs and you step away from Joel, busying yourself with loading the dishwasher, clearing the counters, anything to keep your hands occupied and stop their shaking. Alex enters the kitchen with a sharp smile.

“Hey, man, sorry about that,” he says, clapping Joel on the shoulder. “I think we’re ready to call it a night. Ain’t that right, honey?”

You force yourself to keep your eyes on Alex as you smile and say, “Yeah, baby.”

“Let me walk you out, Joel,” Alex says. “Honey, say bye.”

“Goodbye, Joel.”

Joel: Hey

Joel: You having a good week?

Joel: Been a while. You doing okay?

Joel: You’ve been quiet

Joel: I need to know you’re okay.

Joel: Just let me know

Joel: Please

“Just two more days until you’re my wife,” Alex says, pressing a kiss to your lips. He smiles at you and you mirror the expression as best you can.

“I can't wait,” you reply.

"I gotta get going," Alex says. He presses a kiss to your cheek as he passes where you're sitting at the bar. "Love you."

"Love you," you repeat, out of reflex more than affection.

The front door slams shut and quiet settles over the house. All you want to do is crawl back into bed and pull the covers over your head in the hopes that it protects you from the way time continues to creep forward despite your uncertainties. Maybe, if you lay there long enough, time will move on without your involvement.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a heavy knock at the door. You’re not sure who it could be — your dad is scheduled to fly into town in the late afternoon and your friends arrive early tomorrow morning and you’re fairly certain you don’t have any deliveries scheduled. Sliding from the bar stool, you leave the kitchen to answer the door.

Joel stands on the other side of the threshold, haloed by the morning sun. For a brief moment, you wonder if you’re dreaming.

“What are you doing here?” You finally ask.

“Can I come in?” He replies, running a hand through his already messy hair. “I need to talk to you.”

You step aside and allow him to enter the hallway, shutting the door behind him. You avoid his gaze as you return to the living room with him following behind you. The silence that settles between the two of you makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

"Why haven't you been talkin' to me?" Joel asks. He takes a step closer, brown eyes searching yours for an answer you try to keep hidden.

"I've been busy," you say.

"Cut the bullshit," he snaps, surprising you. "Is it because of what happened at dinner?"

"No," you reply. Joel must sense the brief hesitation, hear the weakness in your voice. His eyes go soft, full of pity, and you can't fucking stand it. "Don't look at me like that."

"Look, I've known Alex a long time, and all those years weren't exactly peachy," he says cryptically. "I love him like a brother but even family ain't without faults.” He steps in close, his hands cradling your face in a delicate grip. “Tell me this is what you want," he demands. "Tell me that you're happy with Alex. Tell me that there's nothin' here between us."

The words are there, right on the tip of your tongue, but nothing can bring them to life. Your heart beats a frantic rhythm against your ribcage, the rush of blood in your ears the only thing you can hear. He leans closer, eyes dropping to your lips and you know what's about to happen next but you can't bear the thought of stopping him as he closes the scant distance between your mouths.

For the briefest moment, you allow yourself the chance to just feel. No thoughts, no panic, no worry. Just Joel's warm lips moving against yours, the trace of his palm from you cheek to behind your head, pulling you closer even though you're already tightly pressed to him. It's slow and deep, like he's trying to convince you down to your marrow that this is where you're supposed to be.

But it's not.

You push him away and he doesn't fight you, but the look he gives you damn near shatters your resolve. His eyes are dark, jaw tense, hands flexing at his sides like he's fighting the urge to reach out and pull you back, damn the consequences. Your eyes and throat burn with the effort of holding back the tears that threaten to spill.

"You need to leave," you whisper. "You can't do this, we can't do this. I'm getting married in two days, Joel!"

He runs a hand through his hair, pulling on the strands in frustration. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't lay awake at night thinkin' what a fuckin' asshole I am for fallin' in love with my best friend's fiancé?!" He shouts.

"This isn't love, Joel--"

"Don't," he snaps. "Don't you lie to me. I know it, you know it, hell, the fuckin' lady at the dress shop knew it!" He takes a deep breath. "I'm showin' you my whole hand here and you won't even lay down a goddamn card!"

"There is no card!" You shout.

"You kissed me back!" He counters.

You stare at each other for a long moment, like two scared, wounded animals. Eventually, one of you has to back down, retreat, lick their wounds until they've healed in a messy pattern of scar tissue that will serve as a painful reminder of what could have been.

Joel sighs, another pass of his hand through his hair as he says, "You know what? Fine." He turns to leave, the line of his shoulder lower, his head low.

A glutton for punishment, you call out, "Joel?"

"Yeah?" He asks, weary. Bone tired. You feel it, too.

"Will you still be there tomorrow?" You ask, unsure of which answer would be worse.

Another sigh. "Yeah. I'll be there."

The door slams shut behind him.

Your rehearsal dinner is torture.

This should be one of the happiest events of your life but all your energy is being directed at avoiding Joel like the plague. He moves through the crowd comfortably, having known many people in attendance for most of his life, and you feel like an unmoored boat, hoping a wave doesn't crash over you.

Alex sits beside you, drinking from a glass of whiskey as he talks to one of his uncles that has been praising him for landing the opportunity to work with such a prestigious law firm right after college. A dizzying rotation of people approach you through the night - friends who chatter excitedly about the big day tomorrow, aunts who ask when you think you'll have children, uncles who tell you that they're proud of you for landing such a successful, promising young man. It's those last comments that have you hiding a frown in your champagne glass.

It drags on forever, this constant stream of polite conversation and forced smiles. When you finally return to the hotel that you're staying at for the night, you start to feel like you can breathe again. You have a suite separate from Alex's for getting ready early in the morning and he walks you to your room, hand on your low back, a smile on his face.

"I'll see you in the morning," he says, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. "My almost wife."

The sentiment has bile rising in your throat and as he turns to leave you're blurting the words, "I can't do this."

"Sweetheart, you're just nervous," he says, voice surprisingly calm. He squeezes your shoulders. "You just need to sleep it off and everything will be fine in the morning."

"No," you tell him, shaking your head. "No, it won't be fine."

His smile drops, like a mask has just been removed. "Where is this coming from? Everything was fine at the rehearsal."

"Everything was not fine at the rehearsal!"

Alex takes the room key from your hands, unlocked the door and ushering you inside. He flicks on the light to the sitting area and takes a seat on the couch.

"What's going on with you?" He asks, exasperation dripping from his words. "What do you mean the rehearsal wasn't fine? Did you not like the food or something?"

You stare at him incredulously. "The problem wasn't the food, Alex! The problem is us!"

"There's no problem with us," he says. "Unless there's something you want to tell me?"

"What do you mean?" You ask.

He stands, coming close. "Is this about Joel?"

"No!" You snap, perhaps too quickly. "This isn't about Joel."

"Then what is it? Because as far as I know, we're a perfectly happy couple."

"Perfectly happy? Alex, you didn't even help me plan this wedding. Not a single minute of it."

"Not this again," he groans. "Sweetheart, let it go. I'm sorry, okay? Is that what you need to hear?"

Your jaw aches with how hard your teeth grind together as he dismisses you so easily. A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth steadies you enough to say, "I'm not marrying you."

"Baby, please," Alex says. For the first time, he sounds panicked. "Don't make any rash decisions, alright? Whatever this is, we can work through it. If I lose you, I lose everything."

Maybe he's right. Maybe the stress of the last few months has just caught up to you.

"Okay," you whisper. He breathes a sigh of relief and presses another kiss to your temple.

"I love you," he says. "Everything will be okay after tomorrow. You'll see."

You don't say anything back, and he doesn't wait around for a response. He leaves your suite, the click of the door shutting loud in the late night silence. You stand there for who knows how long, wondering if he's right. Would everything be alright after tomorrow? Could you sweep those lingering feelings for Joel to the side in favor of the life you'd been building for the last few years?

You know what the safe choice is, but is it the right choice?

It's the morning of your wedding day and you've been poked and prodded with makeup brushes and your hair has been perfectly styled for the occasion. Flashbulbs have been going off on the cameras that are documenting your special day, capturing moments like your bridesmaids helping you into your dress and your dad's first look, a handkerchief clutched in his hand as he smiled at you.

For the first time in hours, you're alone in your suite. The makeup artist and hair stylists have packed up and taken their leave and your friends are downstairs, waiting for the limousine. You told them you would be just a minute longer.

A soft knock at your door has you realizing that you may have taken too long and you shout an apology as you rush to answer it. But it's not one of your friends on the other side like you had expected.

It's Joel.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. His hair is styled, curls smoothed and slicked back into submission. His white shirt is a stark contrast to his navy blue tuxedo, matching bow tie tight around his neck. His boutonnière is slightly crooked where it sits pinned to his jacket lapel. He looks you up and down with a small smile.

"You look beautiful," he says. He reaches for your hand, fingers tangling with yours. Never quite folding together, but never quite letting go, either.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"Are you ready?" He asks. You wonder if he knows, if Alex told him or if he can just see it on your face.

"Yes."

It's a lie, one you've been repeating since your alarm went off this morning after a night of tossing and turning. His smile falters, but doesn't drop.

"Good, that's....good," he says. His hand leaves yours, and you feel like you've had an entire unspoken conversation that's left you both defeated. "Lets go get you married."

Joel Miller masterlist

All masterlists

divider graphic by @saradika-graphics.

[pedgito]

MILLER'S GIRL ✎ SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter One: Teacher’s Pet

Chapter Summary: First day woes and a difficult semester ahead, you find solace in your caring, attentive creative writing professor who shows you just a little more attention than everyone else, or so you think. [5k]

[student/teacher relationship, age gap, no outbreak, power dynamic]

Chapter Warnings: fem!reader, professor!joel miller (his teacher persona is v different from outside of the classroom, so if he seems slightly ooc....close your eyes), dom!joel, sub!reader, reader is a little obsessed with joel (and delusional), mentions of infidelity (not by joel), sarah doesn't exist here, background tess x joel, inappropriate relationships/actions, talks of literature and lots of random writing topics, dream smut, gratuitous descriptions of mr. miller's body and personality.

note: thanks to @planet-marz1 for the last minute beta.

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There’s a deafening silence that surrounds you when you step into the lecture room, not nearly as big as your other main course classes, it’s intimate. Close. If you kicked a foot out from the chair you were sitting in you could touch the professor’s desk. 

Part of you wonders if you were the only person taking this class, sitting for a few minutes alone, not another person in sight—until one files in, then another, until there’s about ten of you seated sparsely in the small space. It’s mostly bare aside from the few books shoved away on a nearby shelf, antiquey books that, no doubt, had a thick layer of dust. 

The problem with the class was that you weren’t sure if it was ever going to be a real thing—applying you had the expectation of who your teacher would be, what you could expect from the coursework, and just how manageable it would be amongst the rest of your classes. But, there was little known now. 

All you did know was that they had to find a replacement quick, which they did, and you were sure that a sign of their lacking punctuality was a great start, tucking your chin over the bag placed on your desk as you waited in silence amongst simmered voices, feeling starchly out of place.

You didn’t know this place—it was new, Austin. You moved clear across the country on a whim, wanting a new start in a place you’ve never seen before. You’d plucked a community college out of the bunch, not worried with the semantics of applying to some big, ivy league school. You wanted something manageable, something attainable. This seemed like the easiest option, unsuspecting and unknown, you could slink by and go about your life peacefully. 

That is what you wanted, after all.

Until you meet Mr. Miller.

Joel could’ve pursued music, or carpentry, or about a billion other things he was skilled at—yet somehow, teaching seemed to be the easiest option. It gave him the familial feeling of caring and guiding that he did enjoy, molding young minds and helping them bloom. He worked at a local high school in Austin for years—fifteen good, long years. 

But, he too needed a change. His life was slowly crumbling in on himself.

He sees the job opening on the last weekend of summer, still teetering with the option of returning to his teaching job at the high school—it isn’t as manageable as it used to be, finding that in his older age that dealing with the behavior and arguments with ill-managed kids was more of a hassle than it needed to be for the pay he was receiving. 

So, fuck it. He applies.

He gets a call the following Monday and he’s officially added to the staff by the end of the week—and of course, he’s never stepped foot on the campus until his first day. So, he’s lost. Joel realizes how unprofessional it looks, scrambling with his bag as he throws it over his shoulder and haphazardly adjusts his tie, hoping that his hair wasn’t too askew and wild, despite the wind flying through his hair in the chilly bite of the autumn weather.

Things couldn’t have been off to a better start.

-

There’s the slightest trickling of a thought that you should leave, give up that this class might be an ultimate failure but then he’s walking through the door. You knew his name, but that was as far as your reach extended. Mr. Miller. J. Miller, to be specific.

James. Justin. Jonathan. It was all a mystery to you.

You find that his appearance is less than prepared, mostly disheveled and he seems breathless as he offers a subtle nod of awkward acknowledgement as he slings his bag onto the desk. Thankfully, he seems to understand that there was a tinge of urgency with him being late and he quickly reaches into his bag and pulls out a stack of papers.

Class syllabuses. He hands them off silently to the person on the farthest side of the room and hoping they would get the idea, pass them off until they reach the final person. It’s crisp, stark white paper covered in a boring black-inked text. Nothing seemed out of the norm—different methods of writing you would try over the course of the semester and specific assignments that would pop-up throughout. You enjoyed the predictability of it. Though, there is a significant surprise when your professor begins to speak, pulling your attention to the front of the room.

He’s gathered himself rather quickly, assuming he’s had his fair share of time in the field.

He writes his name out in clear, dignified letters on the board.

Mr. Miller, the screech of a solid drag as he underlines his name.

“I know I’m not who you all were suspecting.” He begins, placing the chalk down, hand wrapping around a balled fist as he cracked his knuckles, walking slowly until he can lean against the edge of his desk, soles of his shoes squeaking against the floor.

“And I’ll admit, I’m new to this,” He waves vaguely around the room, “I’m used to public school and the shittiness that comes with that—so I hope that if I can take this seriously, you all can extend that gesture too.”

You notice how comfortable he seems in group settings, relaxing his broad shoulders as he crosses his arm, glancing around the room casually, never lingering for too long.

“I won’t pester you too much today, given I already wasted some of your time,” Someone snickers softly toward the back of the room and Mr. Miller cracks a subtle smirk, seemingly embarrassed but not offering anything to pick at. “But, I’m willing to answer any questions you have while we have the time today.”

Questions flow in easily: what the semester would consist of, more elaboration outside of the syllabus, some of Mr. Miller’s favorite pieces of literature—part of you expects him to inject the usual ‘around the room introduction’ scheme, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans into the more engaging questions asked, answering as freely and as interested as he can.

He loves Robert Frost, which makes sense. You’re not sure why, but it is predictable. 

He is predictable. Sipping on a large mug of what you can only assume is coffee, the smell permeating toward you with where he’s resting against his desk, only a foot or so away. You haven’t managed to catch his gaze yet, which you’re partly thankful for. It allows you to study him, examine his expressions—admire…No.

And while he can continue his talk about favorite authors for days—the class draws to a close sooner than you expect, and you move lazily as most of the class disperses at the first opportunity with it being their final class of the day.

You’re throwing your bag over your shoulder when you hear his voice, addressing the only other person in the room.

You.

“Intimidating?” Your face screws up in confusion, head tilting his way as your eyes connect for the first time. “Oh, uh—sorry, I’ve just been doin’ this a while. I can tell when someone is anxious in class.”

And, while it wasn’t necessarily anxiety—it was more the idea of adjusting. This was new, this place wasn’t familiar and you were just trying to settle in. Mr. Miller seemed like the guy to have deep roots planted into these grounds, familiar with this town like he’s been here his entire life.

He has, but that wasn’t the point.

“No,” You answer indifferently, shrugging your shoulders, “I think your radar might be a little off.”

Joel chuckles softly, tapping his fingers against the leather cover of his bag as he leaned the tops of his thighs against the edge of his desk, “You know—you didn’t partake much in class discussion just now.”

You weren’t sure where he was driving his point, gradually stepping toward his desk, fingers wrapped around the straps of your bag, pulling against the tight material of your shirt as it stretched over your breasts, “And you were about—fifteen minutes late, too.”

Touche. He nods, lips pursed together.

“Just, fair warning—class discussion is a good chunk of your grade, participation and all that. I want you to feel comfortable enough to join in so…however I can help with that.”

Your eyebrows knit together, thoroughly thrown off by his forwardness—or well, so you assumed. He quickly realizes his misstep.

“No—not like…I mean, if there’s anything that you like or are interested in that you want covered over the semester, let me know. I don’t want it to be so focused on stuff that only appeases a few people. Alright?”

You think on his words, chewing at your bottom lip quietly. 

He doesn’t know why he feels like he’s standing on the edge, waiting impatiently for your response—but when you do, it feels like he can breathe. Joel didn’t want to fuck this job up and he already felt like he’s stepped off on the wrong foot.

“Alright.” You confirm simply, nodding politely. “Thank you, Mr. Miller.”

He nods in response, the smallest twitch of a smile pulling at his lips.

“Have a good day.” He bids kindly, waving at you haphazardly as you left.

And now the day felt even weirder than when it started.

-

The first few weeks of class are actually…a delight. You find yourself looking forward to them as the weeks grow on and drag out, slowly making your way through the day and finding that Mr. Miller’s was the only class you could successfully relax in, not so pressure to participate because it was as equally engaging on both ends.

Mr. Miller liked to talk and argue just as animatedly as most students who had a point to prove—and you see why he must’ve been hired on a whim, the ability to charm and wit himself in and out of any scenario he wanted. It was…mesmerizing in a way that intoxicated you and infected your body and mind. He had you locked in every time he opened his mouth, finding your eyes dragging along the planes of his face and his well-kept appearance now that he arrived on time, sharp. Never early, never late. 

He was as punctual as they come, slowly littering his classroom with more and more personalization. More literature books, smaller books of poems, packets of some of his favorite script writings and a few non-fiction pieces he thought to be intriguing. 

But, the most interesting thing you notice is the small tan line around his ring finger. The advantage of the small classroom allowed for such details to be revealed, alongside knowing when he had taken a certain morning to do a fresh shave of his facial hair or spill a small spattering of coffee against his shirt, dull brown staining the white, crisp button-up he usually dawned alongside the occasional navy blue or black.

So, he was married—you assumed. He just didn’t wear his ring.

The more you indulged in him, the more complex he seemed. The ever mysterious J-something Miller, finding that no matter how hard you looked you couldn’t seem to find any information on him or an inkling of what his first name might be.

He must be a private person—no socials, no good deeds leading to news articles about him, or anything of tangible evidence to allow such information to seep out to the public. He was good at hiding, integrating himself in places he might not belong. He was a natural chameleon, much like yourself.

And you’d like to think you were good at writing considering you were attempting to pursue a career in it, mostly focusing on the aspect of screenwriting and film, not entirely sure what you were after but knowing that was where you wanted to go. You were great at convoluting things and empowering your far too creative imagination—often dangerous. You were never lacking in ideas, but your first assignment is a struggle.

It was something pertaining to non-fiction, a boring topic that Mr. Miller wanted to be intrigued by—he wanted something so mundane to be eye-catching and page-turning. Hanging on the edge of his seat, as he’d said so menacingly.

So, here you were, writing about the monogamous lives of certain breeds of penguins and they’re mates—whatever the fuck that was all about. It’s like he picked obscure topics for this very reason, the difficulty and the need for assistance. He wanted to help and you learned that quickly.

You could’ve been stuck with global warming, so it wasn’t all that bad. 

Mr. Miller is leaning against an empty desk as he’s talking to a student a few desks away—yeah, the unlucky one who snagged the global warming topic. His expression is sour, tapping his pencil against the desk rapidly as Mr. Miller talks quietly, nothing that you can make out. He travels around the room gradually, eventually landing on you with a raised eyebrow, seeing that you had some, if not very little outlined.

He looks amused, knowing how you were pulling an absolute fat nothing over this topic. You could sit there and lay out the facts, but that’s not what he wanted. He wanted it to be explained in a way that held you close and dragged you along. It all came down to wording, at the end of the day, and as much as you wanted to prove you were a decent writer, you still had a lot to learn.

“This is so stupid,” You gripe, looking up at him briefly before you continue to stare daggers into the notebook you were scribbling in, “—pardon my language, but what the fuck is this topic?”

Mr. Miller chuckles deeply at that, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek.

“I’ll let that slide but try not to make it a habit,” He comments, acknowledging your foul language and understanding the frustration, “—it’s meant to challenge you. The obscurity of it. It’s not complicated, but you don’t want to just write a research paper.”

“Isn’t that…exactly how non-fiction works?” You ask curiously.

“You’ve read biographies, right? Auto-biograhpies and all that?” 

You nod quietly.

“And I’m sure some of that caught your intention, right?” He asks and you respond with another nod, though meeker than before. “Non-fiction work is just as important as story-telling. Do some more research, explain why monogamy is sacred to them, explain their mating patterns, the behaviors—are you following?”

“Yeah—because some penguins mate for life, right?” You ask, feeling ridiculous asking him such an obscure question. “At least, I thought they did.”

“Most do.” Mr. Miller nods, “If you find yourself learning enough about the topic and actually finding some interest it won’t come out so…bland. Just look into it and write something you’d find intriguing to read, don’t stress over it that much. It’s just one assignment.”

It eases your worries slightly, but still, the frustration stuck.

“Okay,” You mumble, “Thank you.”

Mr. Miller offers a soft pat to your forearm as he nods silently in acknowledgment.

You were determined to make that assignment your bitch. Plain and simple.

-

Class discussion days are much easier. You switch between a certain selection of poems to snippets of scripts that Mr. Miller has pulled apart for the class to dissect and mince the words, learning how to write screenplays in a way that was both descriptive but directive and still managed to somehow keep the flow. Poems always seemed a little silly, but it was nice to debate the meanings and nuances of it all, always finding that you preferred to sit back and hear the thoughts of others until Mr. Miller decides he’s had enough one day—two months into the semester when he finally calls on you directly.

It was something he didn’t do often, but you find yourself going wide-eyed. He was always so polite to you, even when he’d catch you staring or lingering on his form for a moment too long, like he knew what you were thinking.

He was tall and—as was glaringly obvious, broad. His shoulders were immense and large as he extended his hands out and talked animatedly, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, slacks stretching over taut, tight muscle as he planted a foot in a nearby chair or stretched his stance out slightly as he stood—often finding it hard to stay still the longer class drew on.

You pull your attention to him, an innocent gaze glazing over your features.

“Why don’t you read the next poem?” He asks curiously.

“Oh—um,” Your eyes flick toward the poem book held tight in your grip, flitting to find the the place where the class last left off, so distracted you find yourself scrambling, but Mr. Miller is quick to lean over without much show or way of embarrassing you, pointing out the spot where the class last left of, blunt nail scratching against the paper as you follow the trail of his finger, you clear your throat and start:

“How should we like it were stars to burn

With a passion for us we could not return?

If equal affection cannot be,

Let the more loving one be me.”

The point was to interpret the words and form an explanation for why they were used, what they were trying to explain, but you lose any sense of thought when your eyes drag up to meet Mr. Miller and he’s staring right back, allowing you all the attention in the world.

Like no one else in the room existed. It was all a delusion in your own head, something you weren’t privy to then, but you believed whole-heartedly in the moment. He was just allowing you the floor and sharing you the same attention he had with everyone else. 

At least, that’s what he tried to do.

Mr. Miller clears his throat to subtly bring you back down to earth when he notices your mind fleeing from your body, asking an easy, “So, what do we think about this one?”

No one answered, staunchly disinterested as they stared at you, waiting for a response as you were the only one who had avoided participating all day.

“Uh, it—it sounds like the love isn’t being returned,” You start slow, dissecting the words in your brain as Mr. Miller nods, “but that person is willing to show up and offer more to make up for it, maybe even to their own…undoing, I guess.”

“There’s really no right or wrong,” He addresses the class as a whole but pointedly acknowledges your observation, “and that’s the best thing—you’re allowed to think as individuals and come up with your own conclusions. Good job.”

The final part is directed at you. It makes you feel warm, gooey—like you were being given a star for good behavior or gentle praise under the guise of friendly language.

You despise how hard it is to stay focused some days with how often Mr. Miller likes to pick on you and point you out—but he sees potential there. Real potential. Not to say that it isn’t within the rest of the class, he just sees…more. And it intrigues him in a way that feels dangerous, but he wants to ensure that you are given the proper support needed, even if that means a little extra attention.

It was harmless, after all.

-

Your first big assignment comes three months into the semester.

It’s a simple writing assignment but tactful and heavy, given a week to complete it before you were due to turn it in for a final grade. A collection of self-written poems, the outline for a possible script idea for a scene, and a small creative writing assignment that must include some kind of supernatural element. You appreciate the Mr. Miller never allowed things to lay stagnant with his work, always giving you something to think about.

And everyone loved him, that much was blatantly obvious. He was, easily, one of the hottest professors at the college for someone his age—you could only assume he was somewhere in his late 40s. But, there remained the unknown of if he was married, something people debated often, but you examined in the privacy of your own mind.

There was no indication of another—no pictures lingering on his desk as his classroom continued to collect belongings, no screensaver on his phone or laptop (because yes, you were observant) that gave you any idea of what his partner looked like. And he never mentioned anything outside of his own interest in literature. The curiosity with no discovery was only slightly disappointing, because despite that, Mr. Miller showed his attention toward you like you were the only person in the room.

And maybe it was like that for everyone, but it felt special to you. There was always a little extra to give to you that he didn’t offer to everyone else.

You turn in your assignment a few minutes before it is due, well into the late hours of the night.

-

Mr. Miller, unbeknownst to you, smiles when he sees the notification on his computer as he sits in his office at home, scrolling down the deep troves of porn in the darkened space, quickly clicking away to another browser as he hears the door creak, his wife poking her head through the crack with a smile.

“Hey, it’s late—you comin’ to bed soon?” Tess asks, eyes ringed with a deep exhaustion.

Joel nods, scratching at the side of his face, blinking tiredly. 

“Yeah. In a bit,” He excuses, “Just tryin’ to catch up on these assignments and then I’ll be done.”

It’s a lie, but she doesn’t need to know that.

Things had been rough since the affair—finding that Tess had been sleeping with her boss at her law firm for a few months, something she swore meant nothing, despite how long it dragged on in secret. Joel forgave her, mostly. They were managing, attempting the idea of marriage counseling, but he still couldn’t bring himself to put his wedding band back on, despite how proudly she wore hers still.

He had his own reservations on the matter and while he was trying to work things out, he wasn’t sure they could ever resume the same rhythm they had before, thinking that this was something he had for life, slowly crumbling and falling between his fingertips.

This was why he needed a change of pace, something different.

And maybe he was stupid for entertaining the obvious affection you showed toward him—he definitely was, but he does it anyways. It was playful, so meaningless and harmless that he didn’t even think twice about it. He could see you craved the attention and while he couldn’t be bothered to save that energy for Tess anymore, he could try to offer it to you.

Because you—you had so much potential. It was refreshing, seeing so much of his younger self in you, drive and dedication. The willingness to question stuff without fear.

He clicks on the email notification with your assignment, opening in a separate browser as he rises to lock his office door quietly, before returning to his other browser as he sat and unbuckled the thick leather belt around his waistband, a dignified zip that echoes throughout the confines of the office, reverberates and reminds him of his own loneliness.

And he shouldn’t picture your face as he finds himself aching and fucking deseprate into his fist, soft gunts muffled behind clenched teeth. But, he does. And he loves it.

He’s so fucked.

-

The comments on your assignment come a few days later, curled up in your bed in the small apartment you rented out, scrolling desperately to find out any further information on Mr. Miller but coming up with absolutely nothing. What a fucking ghost he was.

You’re curious, though—so you quickly switch to your emails to check his response and what your grade ended up being after how hard you worked to make sure it turned out perfect. Better than perfect actually. You hoped that with his obvious relationship woes he would appreciate the angst and underlying meanings in your poems, a bunch of bullshit you couldn’t relate to but hoped, on a whim, that he might.

‘Way to press on the idea of heartbreak, well done. Very expressive and real. Thank you for pouring those feelings into your work, though I hope no one has ever broken your heart that bad. Wonderful job.’

And he scores you a 90/100.

Which—whatever. You could accept it. Still, you wondered if those lingering ten points lied with him and his own bitter dealings. You’re fingers are curled around the laptop, ready to close when you get another notification blaring through your speakers.

You lift the laptop to stare at the screen, seeing an email come in from an unknown sender—though, the name grabs your attention immediately. First name, last name, followed by a series of number you can only assume is a birth year—not the school email Mr. Miller had previously sent you a response from.

You perk up, legs crossing over each other as you take a peek at the contents of the glaring email, seeing that it had links to a few books, followed by:

‘I hope you don’t mind my emailing you like this. But, I have a few pieces I think you may enjoy and would help with some of what you’re trying to convey in your writing. You have a beautiful way of expressing feeling and you should harness that. Let me know what you think. :)’

In hindsight, Joel should’ve never sent it. But, there was an urge there he couldn’t fight.

Maybe it was out of spite for his life and his wife betraying him, his urge to try and do some real good for someone, seeing that potential in you no matter how inappropriate it may be to go around school ruling and message you from his private email.

But, now you had a sliver of information. A peek into who Mr. Miller—Joel Miller, was.

It sends you down a spiral, searching and scouring for any information available online.

You find out that he’s 48…or 49, not entirely sure of his actual birthday. Only going off the year designated in his email. And that he’s a published author, but nothing of significance. He used to be a high school teacher and he was…or is, married. It’s all vague and unassuming, but it has your mind stirring. Wondering what was so interesting about him, what part of him had crawled into your mind and refused to get out.

And him messaging you on a private email—complimenting you with unnecessary eagerness, even when it wasn’t needed. You can’t be this delusional. There’s something there, even if neither of you have spoken on it explicitly.  

The faint touches and smiles traded, the hard-gazed looks and glances over his shoulder as he does a sweep of the room, always spending just a smidgen of extra time over your desk when you ask for help. 

It makes you feel special. And that’s exactly what you need.

-

You fall asleep that night with a wild idea in your head, wondering just how brave you could be in this situation. It burrows into your mind and seeps into your dreams:

You’re pressed against the edge of a desk in a dark office, the solid wood pressed flat against your cunt as you lean forward and capture the lips of the person in front of you, a shaky breath coming from their mouth.

“Want that pretty mouth ‘round my cock.” He says—your heart skips, nearly stops. 

You don’t know why you’re surprised to hear Joel’s voice, but it clears your mind and his hazy face finally comes into view in all of it’s intricate detail, right down to the soft crinkle of skin around his eyes, eyebrows furrowed as he pulls away to look at you, lips puffed from the kissing and seeming so innocent as he spoke in such a depraved manner.

Delicate fingers drag along the shape of your lips, stopping at your cupid’s bow before he’s pressing two fingers inside, grabbing the hand relaxed at your side and pressing it over the front of his slacks, the hard line of his cock pressing against the zipper.

There’s no other word to offer than intimidating, his size morphing any idea that you might’ve had–which, you did. His slacks are well-tailored, form fitting, and if he stretched just the right way in class you could see the head or outline of his cock press against the fabric for a split second….and you observed. A lot.

“Wanna stuff your mouth, huh?” He asks, eyes rolling back as his fingers press down on your tongue, quickly pulling out as he grips your face, spit spreading across your cheek, gasping at the suddenness of his movement. “Think it’ll fit?”

He sounds so condescending, eyeline over you but downcast on your figure from where your perched against his desk, idle hand exploring the soft, plush skin of your thighs as he drags his fingers along the full expanse of your cunt and it sets your whole body on fire, like you’re feeling everything dialed to an impossible level, every nerve in your body coming to life.

You shake your head meekly, gasping when he yanks you forward suddenly.

“Guess we’ll have to train that filthy mouth then, won’t we?” His eyebrow quirks up salaciously, earning a less than subtle grin as he presses his fingers into the wet spot of your underwear, not breaking the barrier but allowing you to feel the pressure.

And just as you feel yourself grabbing onto something tangible, hands gripped in the lapel of his suit jacket, pulling him impossibly closer, you’re startling awake with a gasp.

You could feel your imagination mixing with reality, falling lazily back against your bed as your chest heaved hurried breaths, palms pressed over your chest in an effort to calm down, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. The room was hot, too hot to feel comfortable anymore.

Your lip pulls between your teeth, chewing thoughtfully at a bad idea.

You reach blindly for your laptop laid out near the end of your bed, opening the device with a swiftness, squinting at the blinding screen that burned at this time of night.

Nearly two in the morning—this was pointless.

But, you hit reply on his email anyways and slowly type out a response.

‘Thank you for noticing, Mr. Miller. It’s greatly appreciated and I will definitely look into those sources and give you a full, detailed review. :) I appreciate you thinking of me as someone so esteemed. I would love to talk more about literature, if that feels appropriate.’

The lines were already blurred. He’d blurred them. You were just smudging them a little more.

You never said that starting fresh meant you had to stay on your best behavior. Because really, there was nothing innocent about what game was developing between you both.

It was a game of chess and you felt a million moves ahead, nearing a checkmate—and you would do anything to have Joel Miller in the way you craved. Anything.

[janaispunk]

another week, another round of fic recs :)

as always, if you read any of these and enjoy them, please remember to show the writers some love with comments or reblogs!

for a list of all my recs ever, go here!

i'll sort the fics by character and add emojis to indicate the contents a little. still, please look at the tags/warnings and decide for yourself if something might not be your cup of tea.

💘= fluff • ❤️‍🔥= smut • 🤍= angst • 🖤= dark

dave york

unveiled by @punkshort ❤️‍🔥🤍

riddles by @yxtkiwiyxt 💘❤️‍🔥🤍

dave york & marcus pike

playdate by @daddy-dins-girl 💘❤️‍🔥🤍

dieter bravo

fruiton drabble (don’t ask lmao) by @ozarkthedog 💘

din djarin

take me to church by @frannyzooey 💘❤️‍🔥

frankie morales

date night by @artsy-girl-76 💘

do me yourself by @undercoverpena 💘❤️‍🔥

joel miller

what matters by @pedroshotwifey ❤️‍🔥

soil in the lines of their palms by @5oh5 💘❤️‍🔥

whatever you want by @ace-turned-confused ❤️‍🔥

not in rivers, but in drops by @sin-djarin 💘🤍

high infidelity by @dancingtotuyo 💘❤️‍🔥🤍

woman by @dancingtotuyo 💘❤️‍🔥🤍

like real people do by @mrsmando 💘❤️‍🔥🤍

you’re gonna go far by @mrsmando 💘

chokehold by @hellishjoel ❤️‍🔥

july by @psychedelic-ink (featuring tess) ❤️‍🔥

flesh and metal by @swiftispunk ❤️‍🔥

ruined! by @gutsby ❤️‍🔥

daddy’s girl by @fungal-rot 💘

helen by @kiwisbell 💘❤️‍🔥🤍🖤

marcus pike

raining in baltimore by @schnarfer 💘🤍

my own writing

delicate - modern!oberyn martell x f!reader 💘❤️‍🔥

[hsllfirescoopsreblogs]

╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all joel miller stories i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!) some will have summaries if provided <3

MASTERLIST ✿ PEDRO PASCAL CHARACTERS ✿ 4/25/24

✿ joel miller 1

✿ @tightjeansjavi

➥ who do you belong to mr. miller?

»You get jealous seeing the women in Jackson throw themselves at Joel. You decide to give him a gentle reminder of who he belongs to.

➥ the feel of coldness only water brings

»you convince Joel to join you for a swim in a lake while on patrol despite his insecurities

✿ @egcdeath

➥ how the cookie crumbles

»when you come back home to austin to help your sister with her bakery, you end up in an arrangement with your high school crush that ends up being far more than you bargained for. 

✿ @punkshort

➥ i’ll be home for christmas

»Having just caught your fiancé cheating on you, you decide to come back home from the big city to Austin for the month of December to try to figure out your next step. You had no idea you would be getting more than you bargained for with the handsome single dad who built your parents' house.

➥ i know who you are

»A fall on patrol causes you to lose your long term memory, forgetting the identities of your friends and loved ones. You have to learn all over again how to survive in a post-apocalyptic world, and you learn things about yourself along the way.

✿ @auteurdelabre

➥ something to fight for

»After a disastrous blind date you decide to stay away from the miserable Joel Miller forever. The only problem is your best friend Maria is dating his brother and their construction company has been hired to renovate where you work. In an effort to support your friend, you’re thrust into the unwanted job of babysitting Joel’s young daughter one night. As time goes on you’re not expecting to find a confidant in Joel Miller but when you do, you wonder how you ever survived without him.

✿ @joelscurls

➥ best kept secret

»In an attempt to keep your relationship secret, Joel agrees to a blind date set up by his best friend / your father. You don't take it well.

✿ @alrightieaphroditie

➥ sweet creature

»an anthology of those little moments within your relationship with joel miller.

✿ @undercoverpena

➥ be good, be quiet

»bill tells you both you're sleeping in separate rooms when a thunderstorm doesn't allow you to leave. but joel isn't planning on getting any sleep.

✿ @dancingtotuyo

➥ high infidelity

»Tommy gets himself into more trouble than he can get out of.

✿ @chaotic-iguana

➥ borrowed time

»Reader gets hurt, and Joel doesn’t know how to deal with it. (no-outbreak! au)

✿ @palioom

➥ toolbox

»when joel comes back home from work to pick up the toolbox he forgot, he finds a surprise in the form of you in bed with a vibrator and just cannot tear his eyes away from you.

✿ @fooled-around-and-fell

➥ pretty like this

»you found a dress in a cabin during patrol and brought it back home. joel doesn't know why you're suddenly acting odd around him, then he sees you wearing the dress.. and fuck you look beautiful.

✿ @strang3lov3

➥ brain scramblies pt2

»Bubbly and sweet Reader slips and falls at Tommy and Maria’s anniversary party, hitting her head hard on the floor. Tommy tasks Joel, her grumpy patrol partner, with getting her home safe. In her dazed state, she spills to Joel how she really feels about him! Basically two idiots dancing around their feelings for each other.

✿ @endlessthxxghts

➥ dr. miller

➥ best i ever had

»Someone tries to hit on you on your night out with Joel, insulting your man in the process, and oh you don't like that. You blow off some steam in more ways than one.

✿ @penvisions

➥ by the grit of sandpaper

»Joel Miller is a gruff as they come, the world having changed him for the worst. But settling in Jackson with his brother changed him for the better. He's known around town as someone to help, whether it be with home repairs, construction, and hand carved trinkets. An offhand comment from you inspires him to branch out and create helpful kitchen wares. And it seems everyone has been gifted one from him, except for you. It makes you rethink the casual friendship you had developed with the man that had just begun to expand beyond patrols.

✿ @yeollie-plz

➥ light the flame pt2

»Your mom moves the two of you back to Texas and attempts to reignite an old flame. What will happen when she learns his candle now burns for you?

✿ @jobean12-blog

➥ slow ride

»Joel picks you up (sorta rescues you) and your attraction to him is instant even with the state of the world, but does he feel the same?

✿ @alt-vera

➥ text me texas

»joel miller worries that the girl he’s been seeing is holding out on him on purpose. she definitely isn’t.

✿ @gutsby

➥ die hard

»Joel tries Viagra for the very first time.

✿ @freelancearsonist

➥ the only heaven i’ll be sent to

»Joel finds a familiar face while out on a smuggling run.

✿ @nexusnyx

➥ keep close

» It takes you six months to break. You thought you'd last longer. Tried convincing yourself that everything in your head was because he saved you, not because of real attraction. One night, Joel proves that to be wrong.

✿ @mothandpidgeon

➥ stiff

»As Joel's getting older, his body isn't working the way it used to. Luckily, you're happy to help him out.

✿ @storiesforallfandoms

➥ too sweet

»in which his friend's daughter comes on to him and he tries to convince her that they can't be together...tries

✿ @theidiotwhowritesthings

➥ request

✿ @wheresarizona

➥ but i would die for you in a secret

»The relationship you have with Joel Miller is… complicated, and you’re not entirely sure what to even call it. There’s the fact no one can know, so his kid doesn’t find out, and you’re pretty sure he’s ashamed of your age difference—he’s not your boyfriend, but you only fuck each other; this thing started months ago, and Joel does not like it when men give you attention, because he wants you all to himself. But again, he’s not your sexy, older boyfriend.

✿ @alwaysmicado

➥ you wanted this

✿ @hr43s

➥ government hooker

»Joel miller, your dad’s best friend is a security guard for celebrities. He takes you to one of his jobs as part of a university homework you need to do, but he let his guard down.

✿ @schnarfer

➥ the kindness of strangers

»Let's fall madly in love with neighbour!Joel

✿ @headkiss

➥ request

✿ @ozarkthedog

➥ a glimpse of heaven

»joel secretly watches you shower.

✿ @bits-and-babs

➥ play boy

»ellie steals one of bills magazines and you and joel decide to see what the fuss is about.

✿ @oliviajdjarin

➥ stay down

»Joel thought he had grown accustomed to fear until he finds you covered in blood

hopefully all links work, let me know if not <3

[milla-frenchy]

2k7 | Joel Miller x fem reader Summary: you have an affair with Joel, a taxi driver. He is obsessed with you Warnings: 18+ mdni. PW not much P, dom/sub dynamic, infidelity, stalking, a lot of "sir" use Dirty talk, degradation, praise kink, oral, spanking, spitting, pussy slapping, unprotected piv, rimming, anal, dildo, double penetration with dildo, creampie. No age specified, no outbreak, AU a/n: @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog Kate, as always, thank you so, so much for correcting me 💕💕💕😘

Masterlist | ao3

Joel was waiting in his taxi, at night.

You were coming back from a business trip. He saw you coming out of the train station, wearing a mid-season white coat, a black skirt, a black top, high heels. You got into the back of his taxi and he drove off. As usual, you didn't speak. You sometimes looked at each other through the interior rearview mirror.

He parked in the street and you went ahead going to  the entrance door of the building, and then up the stairs. You felt his gaze on you. You knew he liked it when you wore high heels. But he didn't touch you. 

Entering the apartment, you put your purse and coat on the couch, before heading towards the bedroom.

You looked at the wall next to the window. Covered in photos of you. Photos taken when you were walking in the street, coming in and out of work, your home, the train station. Some photos were new since the last time you were here. In Joel's apartment.

It’s been a long time since Joel stopped hiding it from you.

He liked to stalk you, he liked that you didn't know he was there, when he was taking these photos. He then developed them at home, under the red light of his darkroom.

You loved his obsession with you.

Sometimes he would stop by your work. He’d stay there for a few minutes, in the large hall of the company where you worked, looking up at your office upstairs, with glass walls. Watching you. Then he’d leave. He never intervened.

He sat in the armchair in his room, next to his bed, waiting. He was wearing jeans and a white tank top.

"Undress, sweetheart," he ordered.

You unbuttoned your blouse, and unzipped your skirt before sliding it down your thighs then removing it from your ankles. You kept your bra and panties on.

“Don’t move,” he told you. You waited near the photo wall, biting your lip.

He smirked, then stood up and moved closer to you, before placing his right hand against the wall, making you step back and lean on the cold surface. He wrapped his left hand around your wrist. You felt the edges of the photos against your back.

You looked at each other and you waited, because since the first time you went to his apartment, a balance had been established automatically. He wanted to lead, and you wanted to be used. 

Your and Joel's gaze shifted from eyes to lips. You let him initiate the next move, as usual, knowing it would happen when teasing would no longer be enough for him.

He kissed you, parting his mouth and sliding his tongue between your lips before coming to caress yours. Brushing his nose against yours, he tilted it from left to right, without removing his mouth from you.

His kisses were always passionate, without sentimentality. When your mouths finally parted, both of you were out of breath.

He took your left hand and looked at your wedding ring, before sliding your ring and middle fingers into his mouth and sucking on them. He played with your wedding ring, sliding his tongue against the thin golden band.

You were married, but Joel didn't care. And to a lesser extent, neither did you. You didn't particularly like the idea of ​​cuckolding your husband, but things had happened with Joel and you weren't planning on ending it. You were unattached to each other, except for the fucking part, and that suited both of you.

He pulled away from you and said “need your mouth on my cock now darlin’. ”

You knelt down before undoing his belt and sliding it out to the floor, then unzipping his jeans. You barely tugged them down, just to take his cock out. It was leaking, precum glistening on its tip.

You looked at him. “Suck it,” he said.

You dropped some saliva onto his tip, and licked it up with his precum, rounding your lips around his shaft. You took his cock in your hand and began to jerk him off, your lips adjusting to his size. You moaned, before asking “can I touch myself, sir?”

“Needy already? Of course you can darlin’. “

As you continued to suck and jerk him, you ran your hand down your panties, moaning as you felt the wetness beading against the fabric. You then slid your hand inside the underwear, to your folds.

“Are you soaked, baby?”

“Yes, I am, sir”

“Good girl. I'm sure you started getting wet as soon as you arrived at the train station, thinking about how I was going to fuck you."

Joel wasn't a talker, except for the times when he was fucking you. His dominance came through the degradation that he liked to formalize out loud, and you loved it. When he spoke to you while your mouth was filled with his cock, you pulled away to respond to him, obedient, before taking him back in your mouth.

He grabbed your hair into a ponytail, and said “your mouth was just waiting to be fucked. You know I always see the way you bite your lip when you look at me?”

You nodded. 

"Answer me correctly."

"I do, sir"

“You always think of my cock when you look at me. I know you do.”

“You are right, sir.”

“Good girl. I’m gonna fuck your throat now.”

You paused your movements, waiting for him to take control. His fist tightened in your hair, he pushed his cock deep into your mouth. You pulled back but he stopped you from taking it out.

“No. You can do better than that. I trained you to take my cock down your throat, didn’t I?” He maintained his grip, preventing you from responding.

“So, you're gonna act like a good little slut, and you're gonna let me fuck your throat, just like I taught you.”

You nodded.

He resumed his movement, more slowly, until he brushed his tip against the back of your throat. He held you for a few seconds, while you struggled not to choke. Then he pulled his cock out. "That's better darlin'. Again."

He went deeper, and kept you against the base of his cock for longer, your nose caught in his pubic hair.

“Good girl.” He set up a faster motion, and you gasped less and less every time he hit the back of your throat. Joel released his grip on your hair, grabbed your head in both hands, and quickly started to fuck your mouth.

“Oh yeah… like that baby. Just like that. You take me good.”

His words made you even wetter. He pulled out of your mouth.

“On the bed now. On your back.”

You went to lie down as he wanted, he put his head between your legs and pushed your panties to the side.

“You’re so fucking wet.”

He spat on your pussy and slid his fingers between your folds, mixing your wetness with his saliva. He smacked your pussy twice, making sure to slap your swollen clit in the process. You cried out in surprise.

“Shhh… it’s ok, baby, it’s ok.”

He slipped two fingers in your pussy.  “You’re so wet I could already fuck you with three fingers, filthy girl.”

You wiggled under his words before saying “Joel, please”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m… I'm sorry. Please, sir”

“What do you want?”

“Would you eat my pussy, please, sir?”

“I don’t know if you deserve it, you can’t even suck my cock properly.”

“I’m sorry sir, I had lost the habit of having your big cock in my mouth. The last time was over a week ago.”

“It’s a shame your husband doesn’t have a cock big enough to keep you training when I’m not here, darlin’.”

He slapped your clit again, before wrapping his lips around it and sucking on it.

“Oh… Thank you, sir.”

The sucking noises were obscene, coupled with his fingers fucking your soaking pussy.

“You better cum quickly, baby girl, because I want to fuck you now.”

He swirled his tongue over your clit, focusing on the sensitive nerves.

“I’m… I’m gonna cum, sir."

“Go ahead, baby,” he replied, his tongue still on your clit.

You were moaning, louder and louder, until you came, your pussy squeezing his fingers as you spasmed.

Joel stood up to take off his tank top, and came to lay on top of you, his jeans still resting on his hips. He took his cock in his hand, and buried himself halfway into your pussy, before pulling back and pushing all the way in this time. 

You moaned, "Use me, sir."

"Of course, I'm gonna use you, darlin'. That's why you're here. We both know that."

He started fucking you. You passed your hand between your two bodies, and circled his cock with your hand, while he continued his thrusts.

“Oh fuck… that’s good. Good girl. Yeah, hold my cock like that.”

He was leaning on his hands, on either side of your body, pounding you.

“Have you been training your ass since last time?”

“I have, sir.”

“Dildo or your husband's cock?”

“Both, sir.”

“Good girl. But not too much I hope? I want your hole to be tight for my cock.”

“My ass is gonna be really tight for your cock, sir, just as you like it.”

“Let’s see," he removed your panties. "On all fours, darling.”

You turned around, leaning on your knees and hands, while he took off his jeans and boxer briefs. He spanked you hard, and spread your ass cheeks while running his thumb over your tight ring, wet from the moisture that had leaked from your pussy.

“I don’t want to prepare you much. You know how I love it when your ass is tight. You like it too, don’t you?”

“I do like it, sir”

“You remember the safe word?”

“Yes, sir”

“Tell me what it is.”

“It is “blueberry”, sir.”

He positioned himself between your legs and entered your pussy slowly.

“Oh baby… it’s impossible not to put it in your pussy when I see you like that.” He stopped and grabbed his camera from the edge of the bed, before taking a photo of his cock buried in your pussy. “Need it for my wall,” he explained.

He spat on your ass and brought the saliva to your tight hole with his thumb. He swirled it around to loosen it, before spitting again. Then he withdrew, and bent down to point his tongue at your ass, holding your buttocks apart with his hands. He growled. He licked your ass, running his thumb in a steady motion.

“Okay, baby, let’s go.”

“No…no lube sir?

He didn't respond, but rested his cock against your ring and started pushing.

“Oh fuck….”

“Don’t be rude, honey. Come on, I know you can take it.”

Tears approached the corners of your eyes as you tried to release yourself.

“Good girl. Relax, I’m almost in.”

He leaned down to spit just above your ass, watching the saliva drip down. He tried to push his cock in but couldn't get through the entrance and knelt down again to lick your ass. He put two fingers in your pussy and started fingering you, making you moan.

“Yeah, just like that. You're doing so well for me. I’m gonna prepare you a little more, so you can take my cock.”

He licked you again, his tongue digging into your ass.

“Alright, baby. I think you can take it now.”

He positioned himself on your ass and said “relax, honey. You can do it. Same as before.” You nodded as he pushed. He passed the ring moaning, “mmm yeah baby… just like that.”

He pulled back before diving in again, further. “Fuck… that’s good. Are you ok, baby?”

“Y…yes sir. I can take it.”

“I know you can, sweetheart. You always can.”

He fucked you deeper, at a slow pace, until his cock was buried entirely in your ass.

“That's it.. God it’s SO good.”

He moved back and set a faster pace.

“You like that?”

“Yeah…fuck…sorry. Yes, sir.”

“Don’t wanna come yet. We're gonna play a little bit. Lie on your back."

He got out of bed and went to open the drawer of his nightstand. You watched him take out a dildo, which  size was almost as imposing as that of its cock.

“I’m sure you can take two dicks, darlin’. Will you do that for me?”

“I… I don’t know sir. I never… never did that before.”

“We’re gonna go slow, don't worry, baby. You know I wouldn't hurt you. But if it’s too much, you use the safe word. Otherwise I will consider that everything is fine and I won’t stop.”

He settled between your thighs and spread your cheeks. He held the dildo in his right hand, and came to push it into your pussy. It clenched against the dildo and he smiled.

“You take it well. Almost as good as my cock”

He started to fuck you with the dildo, before running his tongue over your clit.

"Oh! Oh my… that’s good, sir.”

He licked your clit with the flat of his tongue, sometimes lapping your folds all the way to the dildo. He swirled his tongue over your clit, then removed the dildo to fuck you with his tongue. Before fucking you again with the dildo, and licking your clit.

“Come for me, baby. You’re such a good girl.”

He rubbed circles on your clit, increasing the pace of the dildo in your pussy and you moaned.

“Come on baby. Soak that dildo.”

You came and bit your hand to stop yourself from screaming.

“Okay, baby. Now we're really gonna play. On all fours”

You got into position, and you felt him slide the dildo into your pussy again.

“You’re so pretty like that. But you’ll be even more beautiful in a few minutes.”

He pushed the toy into your pussy, leaving it buried deep. He took another photo, before pressing his cock against your ass. “mmm baby…I’m gonna fuck your two holes.”

He pushed, didn't stop before he hit the bottom, and his balls hit against the dildo.

“Fuck, darlin’, I feel it against my cock. How do you feel?”

“It’s… a lot sir. I feel so full. In both holes."

“You are doing so well, my sweet girl”

He grabbed the dildo and pulled it out at the same time as he pulled back from your ass, on the verge of pulling out completely. Then he thrust into you, with the same rhythm in both your holes, speeding up little by little. Your moans grew louder and louder, you held yourself back from turning them into a scream.

"Do not hold  back. Scream like the whore you are. I want my neighbors to hear you, and to know that I am fucking the beautiful woman who came home with me.”

“Fuck…”

“Say my name, baby.”

“Joel…shit….” you could no longer hold back your cries, encouraged by his words.

“Come for me. One last time.”

You rested your head on the pillow before quickly sliding your index finger against your pussy. You couldn't resist the urge to touch the dildo that was sliding in and out of you, before quickly turning your clit under your finger.

“Sir… I‘m gonna come. Fuck… Joel!”

“Come on, baby. Come on my cock, and then I’ll fill you up. Come on, I won’t last much longer.””

You ran your index finger faster on your clit, before cumming, and he filled your ass with his cum, painting your tight walls. He pulled out and made you turn around, before grabbing the dildo to slide it into your mouth.

“Suck it, baby… I want you to taste yourself”

You tried to suck it, as best as you could, despite the effects of your orgasm which were not quite over.

“Fuck, baby… you’re beautiful.”

He removed the dildo before kissing you.

“Next time I want you to stay longer. So I can shoot my load into your three holes. And when you get home, I know that whatever hole your husband fucks will have been filled with my cum a few hours before."

Joel dropped you off at home.

The next day at work, you were leaving your office, with your husband by your side. You looked down to the lower level. Joel was leaning against a wall, looking at you, smiling. Then he left.

**********

Thank you for reading 🙏 Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

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[lokischocolatefountain]

Secret || Mister Miller

Fandom: The Last of Us (HBO)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Rating: 18+ (Warnings: No outbreak, huge age gap, infidelity in later chapters, voyeurism, creepy Joel, masturbation (male and female), bfd!Joel)

Word count: 1.3k words

Summary: Your shameful secret you keep from your boyfriend is not such a secret after all. Your boyfriend’s dad Joel Miller knows what you do…very intimately.

A/N: I don’t know what’s with me writing all this hefty age gap Joel fics with dark themes… I need to be lobotomised. Or I should go back to writing more sweet husband!Javi fics… I’m planning on making this a three parter or maybe even five… Let me know where you’d like to see this go.

Checking once again if he was asleep, you slipped out of his bed. Laptop, phone and headphones in hand, you made your way out of his room, making sure to be very quiet when shutting the door. It had become something of a routine since you started dating. He was good, better than some boyfriends you had in the past who wouldn’t even last five minutes. He treated you well, asked you what you liked in bed and took your advice. Which was why you felt guilty each time you escaped his room in the night to take care of yourself in the living room.

Your parents were on a summer vacation of their own, a long road trip to visit distant cousin you knew fuck all about. You would’ve gone even though you didn’t want to. But Matt begged you to come with him to stay in Texas for the summer. It was an attractive idea— you’d never been to his part of Texas before and you knew you’d miss him a lot. But you didn’t want to inconvenience him or his dad. Thankfully, Mr. Miller was kind and opened his doors to you and his son for the summer.

In return, you helped around the house. He never asked. But he was a busy man. A single dad to Matt and his sister Sarah since their mother left, being busy was his normal state of being. He was the owner of a small construction company he ran with the help of his brother.

Before getting up to your secret nightly activity, you headed to the kitchen and began doing the dishes. Matt cooked well, but he was atrocious with cleaning up. So you did that. It was also to somewhat reduce the guilt that built up in you for hiding things from him. When finished with the dishes, you settled on the floor with your laptop on the coffee table.

Your hand played with your necklace out of habit. Tracing the M of the pendant attached to the necklace Matt gave you for your anniversary. You dropped it, guilt searing your thumb in the M shape of the pendant for doing this without his knowledge.

Shame hit you right as the website loaded, images appeared of naked women posed amidst naked men for video thumbnails. Each provided you a glimpse into the kind of degrading activity each actress engaged in for you to get off in shame. Your eyes caught a thumbnail of a man— older, broad, muscular with a girl your age. You hovered the cursor over the image and it provided you a short peek into what was inside- the man, his hand gripping her hair and pounding into her hard and fast as her face contorted in pleasure. You didn’t care that it was all fake, that the actress probably didn’t even feel good.

You clicked on the video and skipped the poorly acted introduction to get to the good part. Headphones in and volume on high, hand inside your shorts as you touched yourself, you didn’t know you weren’t the only voyeur in the room.

Having come downstairs to fetch himself some water, Joel had noticed you crouching in between his couch and coffee table with your laptop playing something downright filthy. He should’ve walked away, given you your privacy. But goddamn it, you let out a sweet little whine, barely audible and his feet glued themselves to the ground.

It was also because of how uncharacteristic it was of you to do something like this. He’d known you for a while now and you’d always been sweet. Too sweet for his son, if you asked him to be honest. You were slightly older than Matt, having begun your Masters with a little bit of a break after your Bachelors. You were a good influence on him, he’d say. But clearly his son hadn’t been good to you, if he had to go by how you were touching yourself to porn in his living room.

Now, he knew it was wrong. No decent man would be aroused at the sight of his son’s girl getting herself off. But you were on his living room floor, using his wifi and you sounded gorgeous making those little whines and whimpers. If he had to guess the sort of thing you liked—and he never thought of such a thing before—it would be one of those erotic novels with shirtless men on the cover. Not this. Not videos of a man who fucked a girl like she was nothin’, picked her up and threw her around and brought his hand down on her to make her stay put and take whatever he gave her.

He put his hand down his sweatpants, just as you had yours down those little shorts you wore around his house. He couldn’t see anything of you. Just the back of your head. For Joel, that was enough. Just knowing that this innocent little thing was getting off on watching a man use a girl like that was enough.

Eyes fixed on you, he stroked his cock, imagining he had a nice wet cunt around it instead of his hand. The man on your screen had the girl pushed against a wall as he pounded into her, her eyes rolled back into her skull and she had her lips parted, presumably moaning in false enthusiasm for the man.

He’d been starved for too long. There was no other explanation for why he felt good watching that fake shit, especially so far away from the screen and with no audio.

He screwed his eyes shut as he got close, imagining himself as the man in the screen, getting to fuck a pretty thing like that. A girl on his bed, against his wall, on her knees with his cock drilling into her holes. He imagined that his hand, large and callused from decades of hard labor, around a pretty throat. Holding it along with a necklace with a gold M pendant dangling off of it. Her eyes rolled back and her lips— your lips — parted as you struggled to breathe. He leaned against the wall as his knees weakened, the image of you in his head strong as he stroked himself. You on his bed, you against his wall, you on your knees for him— and with a whimper he hid by biting down on his lip, he came. White hot cum coated his hand and fuck, what a waste when it’d look so pretty on you.

Fuck!

Fuck, fuck, fuck—

He took one last look at you before rushing back upstairs to his room. On the way, he checked if Matt’s door was still closed. It was.

He’d been starved too long. That was all. Nothing else. He’d done too long without a girl and you were the nearest one, cleaning up after his son and wishing him a “Good Morning, Mister Miller” every morning and asking “How was your day, Mister Miller?” when they sat together to eat whatever Matt cooked. It was just proximity.

There was no other explanation.

He’d been…active in his youth. That’s how he had two kids at an age where he was supposed to be a kid himself. But things died down later. Perils of parenting and a contracting business. There were women. Fleeting relationships and even more fleeting fuck buddies who’d all gone off to be with someone else. Now, there was just work. Hell, the last time he picked up a pretty thing at a bar was Tess.

Tess. That was it.

He decided he would give her a call, see if she still had the habit of cheatin’ on that useless husband of hers. Get rid of the images of you in his head with images of Tess.

[auteurdelabre]

Please Mr. Miller Sequel part 2 bfd!Joel x f!Reader

summary: You're moving on from Joel Miller and looking to a bright future with your bf, Conrad. When Mr. Miller comes to visit Sarah for spring break however, old feelings start to resurface.

A sequel (1 of 5 parts now) to my "Please Mr. Miller?" Series because you voted and you want to see these two horny idiots as endgame! Photo is for aesthetic purposes.

rating: 18+ (GET OUTTA HERE KIDS!!!!)

warnings/tags: Infidelity, age gap, angst, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, public sex, public fingering, not sanitary but sexy, mutual pining, jealousy.

a/n: Y'all between here and A03 i've got such an outpouring of comments and support for this story. I thank you so kindly for following along with the adventures of my two favorite horny sluts. Comments are what keep me goin'.

masterlist here

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

Fuck Joel Miller. 

You're over him. You've got a loyal boyfriend, you've been accepted into the master's program you wanted and you've never been happier.

Okay, not happier but content. 

And some people never get content. Content you can live with. Happiness is reserved for girls that don’t pursue and foolishly fall for married men. Happiness is reserved for girls that don’t lie to their best friend’s face about who they talk to.

Sarah had been wide-eyed when you opened the bathroom door at the pub last month.

“Who were you talking to?”

Your stomach had sunk and the room seemed to get dimmer, more muted. You went to speak but all that came out was a baleful croak.

“It was him wasn’t it?” she pressed, eyes bright. “The guy you’re pining over? The married guy?”

Relief, acute and refreshing like a cup of cool water soothed your frazzled expression. She didn’t know everything.

“Yeah.”

“Sounded intense.”

“A moment of weakness,” you shrugged.

“His name’s Joe?”

“Huh?” Your stomach swooped violently. “What did you just say?”

“I heard,” Sarah said with a knowing smile. “I was about to open the door when I heard you say I can’t stop wanting you, Joe.”

You wanted to give a high pitched laugh at her mistake, but instead you nodded violently. She didn’t hear your plaintive moans of Joel’s full name. So yes, its Joe. Not Joel. Never Joel. Couldn’t be Joel Miller, your father, the man you want more than air and water. No, just a married guy named Joe.

“Yeah. Joe.”

“Just dump Conrad,” Sarah urged, hands on yours, compassion in her eyes. If she only knew. You knew Sarah had a high moral compass. You knew that she hated that you were pining over some married guy.

“I don’t need to dump Conrad. Nothing is happening between me and this guy,” you said motioning to your phone in your pocket. “I want him he doesn’t want me. I’m moving on.”

And so you did.

Conrad worships you and tomorrow is the first day of spring break. Conrad has suggested a week away at a spa in Ibiza (he'll pay for everything of course with Daddy and Mummy’s credit card) and you're eager to go. It’s a mere forty eight hours before you're pampered and spoiled with your handsome boyfriend.

And yet your thoughts continue to linger on a home on Rancher Street, in the arms of a man who wears a wedding band snugly around his finger. A man who’s voice sends you into a frenzy and the memories of your forbidden time together have you slick between the legs.

But he’s not for you.

He never was.

///

“Okay Dad, see you soon.”

Sarah hangs up just as you come back from the shower, hair still damp and dressed in your plush pink terrycloth robe.

“Do you think that new restaurant on campus is any good?” she says as she taps away on her phone. “My dad’s taking me for dinner when he gets here. Hopefully they have an opening for tonight.”

She continues swiping on her phone, unaware of the stricken expression on your face.

"I thought your Dad was coming Saturday," you say sharply. "After Conrad and I leave. That way I wouldn't be in your hair and you’d have the dorm to yourself."

"He said the airline cancelled tomorrow’s flight and rescheduled him on this one," Sarah shrugs. "Its fine, he got a hotel room so you don't have to worry about being in the way. Besides he loved you last time! Last week he even asked how you were doing. He's never been that nice to any of my other friends."

You drop the toiletry bag you were carrying; mumbling out an apology before dropping to your knees to retrieve it, hoping Sarah can’t see your red face.  

Joel is asking about you? Why? After his drunken phone call he'd been radio silent. You had been as well, feeling used. You try not to think about him.

You need to get out of here. 

You blow-dry your hair in a rush before applying your makeup in a hurry as Sarah studies in the tufted chair by the window. She doesn’t notice your frenzy of getting ready or if she does she doesn’t comment on it.

“Excited for Ibiza?”

“Mhmm,” you say as you pull on your skirt and top. “Very. I think I’m gonna go over to Con's dorm and go over last minute plans for tomorrow.”

“Things seem better between you two,” Sarah offers hopefully.

“Yeah,” you lie through your teeth as you pull on your purse. “Have a nice visit with your Dad.”

You give her a quick hug, fumbling for your keys as you stuff them in your bag. You open the door as you slip on your shoes, letting out a small oh as the door reveals a large figure standing behind it.

Him.

Joel.

Everything in your body comes alive at once. His eyes widen at the sight of you, a look that travels the length of your body before landing limpid and warm on your face. You watch the lust overtake his eyes, blowing the pupils wide. His hand clenches at his right, so tight you see the veins bulge.

Time has only added to the masculine curve of his nose, the sharp of his jaw. You don’t have photos of him and social media had given up nothing. You only had some old blurry Polaroids on Sarah’s vanity mirror to go off of. He lived in your memory so long that actually seeing him here in front of you takes the breath from your body.

You’re so thankful for the tall young man behind him wearing a football jersey that slowly comes into view behind Joel. He’s handsome with an easy smile and large hands that seem too big for his lanky frame.

“Sarah,” you call over your shoulder, your eyes never leaving Joel’s. “Your Dad is here and I think he brought you a surprise.”

Sarah rounds the corner of the room, her eyes landing on Charlie and she squeals.

“Charlie!”

You move back so that Charlie can drop his bag and move into the dorm room, sweeping Sarah up into his arms and twirling her giggling self. You force yourself to look away from the motion, bitterly jealous that it isn’t you and Joel. Instead your reunion is awkward and stilted. You feel his eyes on your profile but you can’t force your eyes back to him.

He ignores you. He uses you.

Move on from him.

Charlie and Sarah are deep in loud conversation interspersed with chaste kisses. Joel takes advantage of this, stepping towards you and lowering his voice to a husky murmur only heard by you.

“Hey, I know I haven’t-“

“Don’t,” you warn in a whispered rasp. “Just…don’t.”

Now your eyes meet his and you see the searching quality of them, how they gaze into your face as if entranced. You wonder if he’s memorizing your face the way you are his. A secret sketch in your brain so that you have it when he’s gone and nothing more than a memory.

Sarah breaks the moment to embrace her father, pressing thankful hugs around his neck and whispered thank you's. You want to leave the room but Joel is blocking the doorway. Sarah moves back, going to chatter more with Charlie.

Joel’s eyes slide over to where his daughter and Charlie face away from him as she turns the corner and shows her boyfriend her modest dorm room and the photo of the couple that she keeps beside her bed.

“Snowflake,” Joel whispers, drawing your gaze to his once more. It’s a soft, broken thing that makes your heart lurch. Your eyes fall to his mouth, desperate to feel his lips on your again before you tear them away, your thumb digging into the flesh of your ring finger. You wonder if Joel wants to apologize for the phone call last month. Or if he wants to ask if you can do it again.

You don’t know what you’d say. The irritation at being cast aside currently outweighs the churning lust you feel. At least you thought it did, until you saw him here, smelled his cologne and watched the pink of his tongue trail over his lower lip to wet it.

"I was-"

“Hey babydoll,” comes a cheerful voice from down the hall. You turn your head to see Conrad strolling towards you, a broad smile plastered over his features. And for once you’re genuinely delighted to see him and his smug, handsome face.

“Hey,” you say with saccharine sweetness. You shoulder past Joel into the hall, throwing yourself into Conrad’s arms. He eagerly sweeps you up, planting a sloppy kiss on your mouth. You feel eyes on you and your face heats as you slowly pull back. “What’re you doing here?”

“Thought we could go over the itinerary for the trip,” Conrad says pulling out his phone. “See what treatments you’d like.”

“Treatments?”

A low voice sounds from behind you and with satisfaction you see Joel eyeing the two of you icily. His broad arms are crossed in front of his chest and like a grim reminder you see his wedding ring glitter under the lights of the hallway

“Spa treatments,” you say with a smug smile. “Conrad is taking me to Ibiza for spring break.”

See Joel? I’ve moved on just like you.

Charlie and Sarah have come back out with Sarah giving Conrad a weak smile. Despite everything you know she doesn’t like him but she also doesn't like the deception of knowing you have affection for 'Joe'.

“Where are you guys goin’?” Charlie asks sweetly.

“Ibiza,” you say proudly, as if Conrad is a self made man and not some entitled trust fund baby. You don’t miss the narrowing of Joel’s eyes as your hand tightens in Conrad’s.

“Woah,” Charlie says in amazement as Joel just sucks at his teeth, giving a brief nod. He doesn’t look away from your face until Sarah steps further into the hallway, her eyes on you and her hand in Charlie’s.

“I’m so jealous,” Sarah says before stopping herself and smiling at her dad and Charlie. “Well, I was before you guys showed up. Now I don't wanna be anywhere else."

"Makes two of us babygirl," Joel grins at his daughter, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"Three of us actually," Charlie adds and the group laughs.

“Conrad this is Charlie, Sarah’s boyfriend,” you say making introductions and smiling as the two young man shake hands. You pause and swallow before motioning to Joel standing there awkwardly to the side, watching the proceedings. “And this is Sarah’s dad, Joel.”

“Nice to meet ya, sir,” Conrad says shaking Joel’s hand firmly.  Joel simply nods in return before shoving his hand back into his jean pockets. His dark eyes find yours over Conrad’s head and you force yourself to look away.

Conrad seems to spot the jersey that Charlie is wearing for the first time. “You a Garopollo fan, Charlie?”

“Yup,” Charlie nods proudly. “I was born in San Fran and I’ll die a 49ers fan no matter where I live.”

“Traitor,” Joel jokes, causing the men in the vicinity to laugh.

“We can’t all be die hard Dallas Cowboy fans,” Charlie teases back with a gentle nudge to Joel’s shoulder that the older man grins at.

“I like the Patriots myself,” Conrad says while you and Sarah exchange looks of gentle exasperation.

“Great,” Sarah rolls her eyes dramatically. “Football. I’ll be here all night.”

“We should go and let you guys get to your dinner,” you say tugging at Conrad’s shoulder playfully. “Let’s go, babe.”

"You two should come with," Joel says casually out of nowhere.

Everyone makes a murmur of surprised delight at the suggestion while you try to hold down the panic that’s festering within your innards. How can you sit at dinner with Joel? You want to be as far away from him as possible. Just being this close has your skin feeling itchy, like you want to peel it off.

“No, no it’s a family thing,” you insist, trying to guide Conrad away.

“No way,” Sarah says stepping forth and taking your elbow. “Don’t make me sit through a dinner of football talk by myself.”

“My treat,” Joel adds with a voice that sounds detached.

"That's not necessary," Conrad says looking at Joel's flannel and jeans. "I'm happy to pay for myself and my girl."

You don't miss the tic in Joel's jaw at this, the chill in his gaze blinked away when he turns his face into an easy smile.

"Alright then. Let’s go." 

///

Sarah didn’t manage to make reservations at Bon Bon but Conrad promises that he can get you all in with no problem.  When you all arrive and Conrad drops his last name the restaurant is only too happy to accommodate a larger party. You glance over at Joel when that happens, gratified to find him glaring at the back of Conrad’s head.

The pretty hostess takes you to a large hand-carved booth tucked away in the corner. It’s got beautiful red roses in the center and long draping white tablecloth that probably costs more than all your college textbooks combined.  

"S'fancy in here," Joel mutters to Sarah and you think he sounds embarassed. You feel a stab of guilt at showing Conrad off like some prize. Even now Joel in his flannel and jeans is so much more enticing than Conrad in his lawn shirt and trousers.

Joel slides in and sits at the end of the table like a king holding court. You and Conrad curl around one side, Sarah and Charlie on the other. Conrad and Charlie haven’t stopped talking since they started on your walk over to the restaurant.

“And I don’t even think that they have a shot for the Superbowl this year.”

“Fucking Superbowl,” Conrad rolls his eyes. “That’s just a chance to sell ad space; it’s not a real game.”

You and Sarah exchange a look of boredom before diving into your menus. You wish you weren’t sat next to Joel in the booth, but Conrad always likes to sit on the outer rim of them because he claims it’s a power position. Fucking ridiculous.

You all chat amiably about what you’re going to drink before Sarah suggests you and her share a Sangria pitcher. You nod eagerly, knowing that alcohol may help to soothe your high strung nerves. Joel and the Charlie order a beer when the server comes by and you don’t miss how Conrad has to order the most obnoxious sounding wine on the menu, all the way to rolling his r’s to hit the Spanish pronunciation.

As she leaves Conrad’s arm goes behind your shoulder in the booth casually and you lean back into it, watching from under your lids as everyone talks. After a moment you go back to your menu, trying to pick what you want when your stomach feels like it’s coming out your bellybutton. Joel doesn’t look your way as you do this, but it’s like you feel him.

“Are you guys doing any excursions when you’re over there.”

“Dunno,” Conrad shrugs playfully. “I’m up to do whatever she wants, I’m just there to carry the luggage.”

He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth and you grin up at him. He’s being so devoted, so charming. You know that from the outside it fools most people and even you get sucked into it sometimes. It makes you temporarily forget the pouting when things don’t go his way or the way he pays off everything to avoid conflict.

The group continues to talk about differing travel locales they want to visit. Sarah wants to got o Greece, Charlie to Spain and you mention Italy.

“I want to people watch there,” you say with a crooked smile. “It seems the perfect place for it.”

“We’ll have to go there next then,” Conrad winks at you. You let him kiss your mouth, despite how he knows that you despise of public affection. He pulls back, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before he tells the group that the steak here is amazing.

At the first graze you think a spider has crawled over your knee. Your hand sweeps over your bared kneecap, hoping to brush it off when a large hand falls over yours, pinning yours to your thigh. You try to keep your features schooled, but your eyes dart to Joel’s profile beside you. He’s looking over the menu, lower lip stuck out in thought. You feel his thumb rub tiny circles into the top of your hand, almost lovingly. It makes you clench up everywhere.

His long fingers circle your wrist and under the tablecloth he tugs your hand into his lap where you find him hard through the denim of his jeans. Your mouth goes dry as he encourages your fingers to squeeze him through the fabric, palming his thickness.

Joel makes a soft sighing noise that could be a casual contemplation of what to order, his gaze on the menu.  But then his dark eyes dart to your face briefly before he’s dragging your hand harder against his cock.

Everything in you wants to keep going. To feel his cock throb in your hands. To make him come right there at the table. But you don’t. You remember how he last left things on the phone and you feel your irritation churn in your guts.

Fuck him. You’re not here to be his personal fuck toy whenever he throws crumbs of affection your way.

You tug your hand back slowly, not wanting to arouse suspicion before you drag your hand back up, using both to look at the menu as Charlie, Sarah and Conrad complain about the lack of good movies in the theaters these days.

It’s not until the food is delivered and you’re two glasses of sangria in that you feel the gentle graze again. Its feather light on your inner kneecap, tracing the bone there and you feel goosebumps rise all along your body at the sensation. Yet you force yourself to swallow and agree out loud that the Cillian Murphy will probably win best actor.

You keep your hands on the table, not looking at Joel. You furrow your brows only a little when Joel’s hand slowly slides up your bare knee to your thigh, rubbing gently. He’s leaned forward slightly, one hand around his beer. He looks casual, even relaxed as he does this, nodding and offering the odd comment as everyone eats and talks about school, politics, pop culture, sports. You can barely keep track because all you can concentrate on is the large, warm hand that is now sliding up under your skirt.

You take a bite of your salad, almost choking when a finger traces the damp slit of your cunt through your panties. Your eyes dart to Joel to see him resting his cheek boredly on one hand as if the entire ordeal is tiring to him before he takes a bite of potato. The rest of the table talks animatedly as only the young and carefree can.

You used to be like that.

You squirm, trying to dislodge Joel’s hand from your lap, but he has no intention of leaving. Instead you feel his finger curl around the edge of your panties, testing your warmth, feeling your arousal seeping into your gusset. You feel Joel’s dark eyes slide over your face before he joins in on the conversation with Charlie and Conrad about the latest sports team. You can’t be bothered to ask which on because Joel’s thick finger has breached your cunt now, leaving you with wide eyes and trembling as you try to bring another forkful of your steak salad to your lips.

He pumps his middle finger into your welcoming cunt, a small surprised smile on his lips as he listens to the conversations around the table. When the second finger joins the first and you feel your pussy milking them, you begin to breathe unsteadily, trying to swallow the moan that’s building there. But when his thumb taps at your clit and then rubs in slow circles you let out  a small whimper.

Conrad hears it, turning to see your cheeks flushed and sweat dotting your forehead. He gives a look of concern before leaning over and dropping his voice to a soothing murmur.

“You okay, babydoll?” Conrad asks his hand flying to your knee, dangerously close to Joel’s fingers.

“I’m fine,” you say shaking him off before his hand can touch your thigh. Joel’s own hand creeps back to his lap, glistening with your arousal. The sight of it is what sends you pushing against Conrad, desperate to find release.

“I need to use the bathroom,” you urge, nudging him out of the booth. Conrad nods, allowing you to slide out and lurch to the bathroom. You feel your heart pounding as your feet rush to the tiled bathroom, slamming the door behind you.

You’re so achy between your legs you can’t believe it. You lean over the counter, watching as a woman exits the stall, her eyes lingering on your curved spine. She washes her hands, looking at your red face.

“You okay honey?”

“Mhmm,” you nod through clenched teeth. She nods, drying her hands before exiting. You try to catch your breath before you move into the far stall, your body slumping against the wall. You are about to close the door for privacy when a hand reaches out to tug it open. Joel is there, his broad shoulders twisting around

“Joel?”

When you see the fire in his expression you feel your coherent thought leave you. His pupils are blown so wide his eyes look black and the way he looks at you is nothing other than ravenous.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Making you come," is all he says before his he hits his knees.

You fall against the wall of the bathroom stall, hands flat against the cool metal. Joel's pulling down your panties, urging your thighs to part before his tongue is slipping between the lips of your cunt. You offer a small gasp before he begins to suck on your clit, tongue flicking as your knees buckle. It's sloppy and needy and feels so fucking sinful that you immediately go boneless.  

“My good girl,” comes the muffled endearment from between your legs. His broad grasp is around your thigh, urging it over his shoulder so you open yourself more to him. He inhales, groaning before his tongue is back to probing you deeply, coaxing your climax.

You let out little whimpers, eyelids fluttering as Joel’s fingers press into your sopping slot, murmuring to himself about how good you taste. You can’t control the way you start to unravel, letting him lick at you, taste you and praise you. You look down the length of your body to see his curly hair, his eyes half-opened, drunk with arousal. You think of how he’s ignored you for months and you want to push away from him but you can’t. It feels too good, too right.  

"Joel," you whisper, eyes wide as he wraps his teeth around your pulsing pearl."W-why?"

"I need to," Joel says, his breathing quick and sharp as his gaze meets yours. “Need to-“

The door opens and you hear two older women gabbing, chuckling to one another as Joel abruptly stands. You may be in the far stall, but a man on his knees is going to cause a scene if they glance the way of your stall, you’re sure of it.

You wait for him to grow anxious and wait them out, but instead he pulls his hard and throbbing cock from his jeans. Your eyes blow wide when he grips you by the middle, lifting you by the ass and urging your legs to wrap around his waist. You do it, feeling the cold metal of the stall wall against your spine as he pins you there with his body.

His hand goes over your mouth when he slides into you, groaning gently as he does, as if this is what he’s been living for all these months.

“Need to remind you who this pussy belongs to,” he murmurs against the curve of your ear when he begins to thrust into you. “Remind you who you come for.”

His hand remains stuck over your mouth, sealing in any disagreement from your side. He’ll have found none even if his hand was taken away. The sound of the women chatting is distant, in another world, like insects in the grass of a summer day.

“All that money and that pretty boy can’t make you feel half as good as me,” Joel grunts against your temple. “Cuz fucking him doesn’t feel as good as fucking a married man, does it?”

Your lower belly tightens, your brows saddle. You worry Joel doesn’t understand that being married is the least enticing part in all of this. That you just want him because he’s Joel Miller. But Joel is feral, fucking into you harshly as he maintains your silence.

“He doesn’t make you wet like this, does he?”

You shake your head, watching with fascination as Joel’s mouth curves into a triumphant grin. He thrusts faster, his breathing punched out with each pump before his mouth is on your ear again.

“He make you come just talkin’ to you on the phone?”

Another head shake.

“But you come so easily for me, don’t ya?” Joel grunts quietly. “Cuz your cunt was made for this cock. No one’ll ever make it feel as good as I do. And no cunt makes me feel as good as yours. Can’t get it outta my fucking head.”

You can’t help but whimper behind his palm at the sound of that because it almost sounds as if there’s longing in his voice.

“Shhh shhh shhh,” Joel hushes you, eyes widening slightly. The sound of the women washing their hands is heard distantly. “You don’t want us caught before you come do you?”

But he needn’t have worried. You’re there, fucking yourself against his thrusts as he sends you into a dizzying climax, one that has your eyes clenched tightly and your eyes ringing.

“I feel that,” he murmurs against your lobe. “I feel you squeezin’ me, baby. Fuck keep going. Ride it out.”

You come with his palm sealed tightly over your mouth, arching back as Joel watches you with appreciative awe, soaking his cock. The women exit the bathroom with casual laughter as they talk about the entrees and you shudder violently against the man who has you pinned to the wall. When he’s sure you’ve finished he slowly lowers you, waiting until your rubbery legs can stand independently.

Joel pulls himself from you slowly, his hardened cock waiting. You don’t even hesitate, you just sink to the floor and take him into your mouth, sucking as he winds his hands in your hair and fucks your mouth. You taste your mingled release when he comes down your throat seconds later, breathing in sharp little huffs of good girl my good girl as he does. You swallow it down, your eyes on him the entire time before he brings you to your feet.

His mouth is on yours, tongue tangling with yours as his hips pin you to the stall wall. Your hands clutch at his neck, lacing there before he pulls back, the heat from his eyes dimming as he realizes how far he’s gone. The air thick with tension as you both realize what a monumental mistake this was.

“You go back first,” he tells you huskily. “I’ll wait a few.”

You nod, smoothing down your clothes and hair, checking the mirror to make sure that your makeup is still presentable. You wash your hands and come back to the table to find the group finishing up.

“You sure you’re feeling okay?” Conrad asks as you slip in beside him. “You’re all flushed. I hope you’re not too sick for our trip.”

Of course that’s all he cares about. You’re convinced if you actually were sick Conrad would somehow blame you for it, as if it were within your control. Instead you just assure him with a tepid smile and a light head shake.

“No no, I’m fine. But I think we should head out. I wanna finish packing.”

You can’t be here when Joel gets back. Just the idea of catching sight of him after everything that’s happened has your knees buckling. Conrad throws back the remainder of his drink as you and he cast goodbyes to Sarah and Charlie.

“Let’s go,” Conrad says slipping an arm around your waist as he stands. “Just lemme pay.”

Your skin prickles as a husky voices sounds out behind you.

“No need,” Joel says with a smug smile as he approaches the table. “Already taken care of.”

[dancingtotuyo]

Part III

High Infidelity | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Summary: You and Joel hull the kids to the beach for a much needed vacation. Things begin to change.

Tags: Tommy x Reader, Joel x Reader, Tommy's Wife Reader, infidelity, emotional affair, slow burn (as much as you can get for 5 chapters), Tommy goes to jail, Reader has had a child

Warnings: Tommy being a shitty husband & father, Father's day celebration, cursing, consumption of alcohol, emotional affair/cheating, some physical boundaries crossed. Pining

Notes: Y'all know the drill by now, thanks to my loves @janaispunk for beta reading and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for beta reading and providing me with some authentic prison information and inspiration, and @saradika-graphics for the dividers!

Words: 5273

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Daily Clicks for Palestine & Other resources

It’s June before you’re able to escape to the shore. You make it in just over 4 hours. It’s good timing considering the multiple bathroom stops you had to make. It’s a small house that probably hasn’t been renovated since Joel was there as a kid. It sits two blocks off the shore on stilts that make you feel secluded from the people that pass on the quiet street below, and when you stand on the porch, the salty sea breeze caresses your body as you let your eyes close. You can just make out the crash of ocean waves. You can feel the breeze carrying all your cares away.  

Nate and Sarah excitedly explore the inside of the house. Their muted enthusiasm floating through the walls makes you smile. You’re thankful for this, thankful for Joel.  

The sliding door opens and then shuts. You don’t move. It’s Joel. You know the sound of his footsteps, the way he moves through the world by heart. He settles against the railing, arm pressed against yours. 

A smile spreads across your lips as your eyes open, landing on his. He smiles back. “Hard to enjoy the view with your eyes closed, Darlin.” His deep baritone rumbles smoothly. You see it in him too, the way the breeze carries away the wear and worry of the world. 

“It’s peaceful out here.” 

He nods. “Yeah, it is.”

“We should probably get back in there before the kids break something.”

Joel nudges you with his shoulder. “Don’t jinx us like that.”

“Our two? Unsupervised? That’s asking for it.”

“Our two?” A playful glint glimmers in Joel’s deep brown eyes. “My daughter is perfectly well behaved. It’s your little menace that’s the bad influence.”

“Oh my four year old is the bad influence?” You cross your arms, doing your best to keep the smile at bay. 

“For sure- got his dad’s streak for mischief. My Sarah is a perfect angel.” He sticks his tongue out at you. 

You roll your eyes, slapping his shoulder, but you don’t have a good response. He’s not wrong. Nathaniel knows how to get into places he shouldn’t. “I seem to recall an incident involving a ten pound bag of flour that says differently.”

Joel chuckles at the memory. Nathaniel was barely a week old when Sarah shrieked in the kitchen only for you to find her and the kitchen dusted in white powder. You had cried upon seeing it, postpartum hormones raging. Joel had cleaned your entire kitchen top to bottom. 

“She felt so bad for making you cry,” Joel laughs. 

“I think I scared her.”

The door opens again. Sarah and Nathaniel break out, rushing for your legs and begging to go to the beach. 

You spend the next several days lazing on the sand, reading more than you have in years as you soak in the sun. The kids run around chasing seagulls and other creatures. Joel helps them catch waves on boogie boards. You both take them further out to ride the waves. Sarah’s arms clutch around Joel’s neck, and Nathaniel does the same to you. They build sandcastles and Joel digs holes big enough to bury them both. 

At night, the kids are out by 8 o’clock if not earlier allowing you and Joel to sit out on the deck and drink. Your skin is warm from the constant sun. Joel’s cheeks are tinged pink on your third evening, his chest rosier. The salty air works at his hair, bringing out curls. You like this version of him a lot. You like this version of yourself too. 

Your feet sit in his lap as he massages your legs and feet, calves worn out from lugging your belongings across the sand and back. He stares up at the sky, twilight bringing the first few stars with it. You sip your homemade margarita, Joel’s specialty, from a red solo cup. 

“I shoulda brought my guitar. Only thing that could make this moment better,” he says. 

You hum softly, shifting in your chair. “Wouldn’t be able to massage my feet if you had your guitar.”

He laughs, so easy, so relaxed. You can’t remember the last time things felt this good. “Don’t worry, you’d still get your massage.”

“Why didn’t you bring it?” You cock your head to the side. 

“Wouldn’t fit in the car, miss over packer.”

You roll your eyes softly kicking at him. “We’ve used everything I packed. Speaking of which, what do you want for breakfast tomorrow?” You take another sip of your drink. Joel finds a knot in your calf, working it out as you let out a slight hiss. 

Joel shrugs, carefully watching your reactions careful to inflict as little pain as possible. “Ask the kids.”

“It’s Father’s Day.”

“Kids like pancakes.” Joel sips from his own drink before returning to the knot.

“But you don’t.”

“Doesn’t matter what I like, Darlin.”

“Well, it does tomorrow.” You cross your arms. 

Joel sighs rolling his eyes. 

You narrow yours. “Don’t make me force it out of you. You know I will.”

He considers it a minute before deciding it’s a losing battle. “Those omelets you made for my birthday. I really liked those.”

You smile. “I can manage that.”

You sit in bed with Nathaniel the next morning to call Tommy. As early as possible is preferred, not that Tommy will care. He’s been blowing you off more, hardly talking when you call or visit, seemingly uninterested when you talk about Nate. It’s exhausting. You dread it, but you continue anyway. 

It takes a while before Tommy’s voice comes through the speaker. You force an exaggerated smile to your face for Nathaniel’s sake. Daddy is an abstract being to him. “Hey babe. Happy Father’s Day!”

“Oh… that’s today?”

You push back the annoyance rising inside you. “Nate wants to say hello.” You hold the phone up to your four-year-old’s ear.

“Hello?” he says. 

You can barely make Tommy’s pathetic response. He won’t even pretend for Nathaniel and that’s the unbearable part of all this. 

“Happy Day!” Nathaniel says, taking hold of the receiver before he dives into updating his stranger of a father all about their beach vacation. Tommy stays quiet the whole time. 

Rage begins to boil just under the surface. Before it can bubble over, Nathaniel says goodbye, shoving the phone into your chest and dashing out of the room the moment he hears Sarah moving around in the living room. 

“Tommy?”

“Look, I need to go.”

You're not sure what’s worse. The hurt or the anger inside you. “I love you.”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to you on Friday.”

“Tommy.” It sounds like a scold. That’s exactly what it is.

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Time for your wife and son?”

“You’re the one who called me.”

“Are you actually going to call on Friday? Or am I gonna end up sitting next to the phone all evening?”

You get silence. 

“Tommy?”

“I’ll call.” And then the line goes dead.

You want to scream or yell or cry or all three. You settle for throwing a pillow across the room and giving yourself 5 minutes to cry. There may only be three months of this left, but you’re not sure you’ll actually be talking to your husband at the end of it, not that the two of you do any talking now. 

Wiping your eyes, you make your way to the kitchen to start on Joel’s promised breakfast. Nathaniel and Sarah sit at the table comparing sea shells. “Aunt Bonnie?”

“Yes baby doll?” You smile, kissing her head. 

“Which one would Daddy like on his card?” She points to a collection of about 5 shells. 

“Hmmm,” you crouch down to her level, looking them over. “I think he would like any of them, but this one looks like him.” You point to a blue-grey shell. 

She picks it up, inspecting it carefully. “It does look kinda grumpy like him.”

You laugh. That isn’t what you meant, but she wasn’t wrong. “I’m making omelets. What do y’all want in yours?”

The kids are digging into their breakfast when Joel walks out of his room, arms stretching above his head to reveal a little sliver of his tummy. Sarah quickly shoves her Father’s Day project under some magazines. 

“Look who decided to wake up.” You smile over your shoulder. “Morning sleepy head.”

“One day of the year I get to sleep in.” He mumbles, shooting a teasing glare your way. He clocks your red eyes before you can turn away. 

“Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!” Sarah yells, standing on her chair to give Joel a hug. He chuckles, pulling her into his arms, spinning around, and setting her back on the chair with ease. She laughs.

“Thank you, baby girl.”

“Happy Day!” Nathaniel grins at his uncle.

“Father’s Day.” Sarah corrects. Nathaniel simply shrugs like he’d said the correct thing to begin with.

Joel chuckles, kissing his nephew’s cheek. ���Thanks, Bud.”

You track his footsteps over to your side of the kitchen as you invest your full attention on the omelet in front of you. You know he caught your tear-stained eyes. “Fresh coffee in the pot,” You say, keeping your voice even. 

You feel his full body heat behind you, a hand falls to your waist as he reaches into the cabinet next to the stove for a coffee mug. Something settles in your stomach. 

“What did my idiot brother do now?” He keeps his voice low so the kids don’t overhear. 

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Darlin.”

“I don't want to talk about it.” Your head snaps toward him. He’s right there, face so close to yours. Always nearby. 

“You sure?”

You bristle a little bit. He drops his hand but stays in your space. “Not right now. We’re celebrating you this morning.” He smiles softly at you. “And I don’t want to burn your omelet, so scram.” You cock your head to the side. 

He waits a second, searching for any signs he’s missing something. When he’s sure he isn’t, he gives you a soft smile and a tender kiss on the forehead, and steps over to the coffee pot, leaving you feeling warm and hazy. 

The kids help clean up after breakfast. Sarah stands on a bench at the sink to wash dishes and Nathaniel waits patiently with a dish towel to dry the lighter dishes. You and Joel sit at the table, second and third cups of coffee in hand as you oversee their efforts. 

“I think I’m going to enjoy this next phase of parenting,” Joel says with a long, content sigh. 

You feel the easiness thrumming in your veins. Why couldn’t life always be this way? “Yeah if my anxiety about broken dishes or wet feet doesn’t get the better of me first.”

He chuckles softly, sipping from his mug as an easy silence falls between you. You watch the kids and Joel watches you. Sun pours through the many windows of the beach house. You’re not ready to leave tomorrow. 

“You wanna talk about it now?”

You sigh. “Not really. We’re supposed to be celebrating you today.”

“I’ll be able to enjoy myself more if I know what’s going on in your head.”

You keep your gaze focused on the kids, rolling the words around in your head. You feel emotionally exhausted by it all and you’re not even through the morning hours yet. 

“Darlin,” Joel kicks at your foot, smile on his face. “C’mon. We can talk about it.”

You set your mug down, turning toward him. “He’s just blowing us off again. I spent more time waiting for him to come to the phone than I did talking to him. He hardly interacted with Nate this morning.” You roll your eyes in an attempt to push away the tears pressing to escape. 

Joel reaches across the table, taking your hand. He runs his thumb over your knuckles. It grazes past your wedding band, almost taunting you now. 

“I’m sorry. This isn’t fair to either of you,” Joel says.

“You’d think I’d stop letting it affect me at some point.”

Joel bites his lip, eyes pinned to your ring finger. “He’s your husband. Needs to start acting like it,” Joel says gruffly. You catch the spark of something in his deep brown eyes, but you don’t have time to place it.

“We’re done!” Sarah exclaims with a proud smile, her shirt soaked through. 

You pull your hand from Joel’s, wrapping it around your warm mug as you laugh. “Thank you for your help. Both of you.” Nathaniel puts the dish towel carefully over the oven handle, shooting you the biggest grin.  

“Can we do presents now?” Sarah asks, curls bouncing with her. 

“Presents?” Joel says. “Y’all didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Don’t be silly, Daddy.” Sarah says, looking to you for permission. 

“I think now is a great time for gifts.”

Both kids run toward their shared room. They had been very excited at the promise of bunk beds. You ease out of your chair. “Not you too.” Joel shakes his head.

You shoot him a wink. “Suck it, Miller.” 

Flashes of your delayed Mother’s Day celebration jump between you. Joel had switched up the weekends and hadn’t been prepared, but had made up for it the following weekend. You hadn’t heard from Tommy. He never even mentioned it. 

You grab the small box from your suitcase, a small white bow tied around it. The four of you settle in the living room. You sit tucked into one end of the sofa while Joel sits at the other end, a bouncing kid on either side of him. 

“Me first!” Sarah says, handing her card and hand-wrapped gift to her father. 

Joel takes care, slowly reading the card out loud. His gift consists of a souvenir snow globe and a puca shell necklace. She picked them out with great care at the beach shop the two of you stopped in yesterday. He oos and awes over both. 

“You should put on the necklace!” Sarah says, standing up on the cushions of the couch.

“Maybe I want to admire it more,” Joel says. 

You bite back a smile. He’s already lost this battle and you both know it. 

“Don’t be silly, Daddy.” She grabs it from his hand, determination, and concentration painted on her face as she wraps it around his neck.

“Yeah, don’t be silly, Daddy.” You tease, shooting him a wink. He pokes his tongue out at you as Sarah almost chokes him in the process of securing the necklace. 

“Not so tight, baby girl.” 

“Oops,” she giggles. “All done.” 

She steps back to admire her handiwork, looking quite pleased. “What do you think, Aunt Bonnie?”

“Beautiful,” You smile, laughter evident in your tone of voice. “You look ready to hit the beach.”

“My turn!” Nathaniel announces, handing Joel a hand-drawn picture depicting their day at the beach yesterday. He goes into great detail describing everything he drew. Joel’s hand rests on Nate’s shoulder blades, head tucked toward him as he takes in everything the boy says with practiced patience and intentionality. 

It strikes something in your heart, a deep longing. That should be Tommy. But it also sends a deep sense of gratitude toward your brother-in-law for picking up where his brother has failed. You swallow back the tears, losing track of how much you’ve had to do that today.

“Thank you, Bud. I love it.” Joel kisses Nathaniel's head. 

“You’re welcome, Daddy.” 

Joel freezes. Ice rushes through your bloodstream. Your eyes meet Joel’s. What do you say to that? Neither of you knows the answer. 

“He’s not your daddy, Nate,” Sarah says, pulling out her older sister voice. “He’s your uncle.” 

“Oh yeah,” Nathaniel shrugs, unbothered by his mishap as he swings his legs back and forth, hitting the couch with his heels as he does.

“Aunt Bonnie, do you have the other gift?” Sarah asks, determined to keep the morning on schedule. 

“Yeah, right here.” You fumble around, finding the box tucked between yourself and the couch. Joel keeps his eyes on you trying to figure out what’s running through your mind, but he can’t. 

Sarah plucks the box from your hands before presenting it to her father. “This is from all three of us.”

She looks very proud of herself. Joel takes it with a smile, eyes flickering back to you briefly. You give him an encouraging nod. 

He loosens the bow, pulling off the top. The kids lean over either side of his body, excited for the reveal even though they’ve both seen it. He pulls it out, inspecting it carefully. A black watch face with silver accents and an olive green watch band. His eyes dart to yours. You smile at him. 

“You’ve been talking about it for years.” You smirk, sipping your coffee. “You were never gonna do it yourself.”

“It’s exactly what I wanted.” He shakes his head, a stunned chuckle shaking his chest. “How’d you know?”

“Found an old picture Tommy had stored away last fall.”

“Look at the back.” Sarah bounces with excitement. 

Joel flips it over. His brows knit together as he catches the inscription. Happy Father’s Day. We love you. Sarah and Nathaniel. 1997.

“Do you like it?” Sarah looks up at him with sparkling excitement. 

“I love it.” He kisses her cheek, thanking both the children. He wraps it around his wrist, buckling it into place. 

“Now you won’t be late anymore,” Sarah says, making you and Joel laugh. 

“We can only hope,” you say. 

Joel looks up at you with one of the most heartfelt smiles you’ve ever seen. His lips move silently. Thank you.

You nod in response. 

You spend the final day of your vacation on the beach until the sun has disappeared. Joel ends up running back to the house to grab the car so your two very tired children don’t melt down. You hurry through bath time, trying to get all the sand from hair and bodies. You’re sure you’ll be finding sand all over your and Joel’s homes for months. 

You provide goodnight hugs and kisses, but Joel takes bedtime duties. You’re cleaning up the kitchen, and packing up pantry items when the first lines of You Are My Sunshine drift out of the kid’s bedroom in Joel’s soft melodies. The kids' sleepy voices talk him into another lullaby and then another before their eyelids slip closed and their breathing evens out. 

The door clicks softly and you’ve already pulled the margarita pitcher and new solo cups. “See they talked you into the whole set list tonight.” You smile, filling the cups with the last of the margaritas. 

“It’s the last night of vacation.” Joel chuckles. He grabs the blanket off the back of the couch and the half-eaten bag of pretzels. “They asked so nicely.”

“And you’re a big softy.” 

You grab both cups, following Joel out to your spot on the deck. It’s cooler tonight, the breeze a bit stronger. You sit across from each other, feet propped in the seat of the other’s chair with the blanket spread across your legs. Joel sets the pretzels right at your knees. 

“Did you enjoy your day?” You ask, sipping on the day-old margarita. It goes down easier tonight, and your cup is filled to the brim.

“It was a good day.” Joel smiles at you, easy and relaxed. The world and your issues feel so far away here despite the day’s earlier events. “Probably the best Father’s Day yet.”

“Oh you mean it beats the raw banana bread from last year?” You’re laughing before the sentence fully leaves your mouth. Joel’s head falls back, chest vibrating with laughter. 

His hair curls more from the salty air and fits him, tanned skin, curly hair, Puca shell necklace and all. You wonder if you look like a similar version of yourself, the relaxed beach version. 

“Sarah trying to choke me with the necklace beats whatever it was you tried to bake last year.”

You stick out your tongue. The pretzel bag rustles as he grabs a handful. You take another drink from your cup. Joel Miller makes a mean margarita. 

“What about you? Did you have a good day then?”

You take an extra second to think about it before nodding. “Yeah. I can’t complain when it comes to well-behaved kids and the beach.”

“Nathaniel calling me dad didn’t throw you off, I hope.”

Your shoulders tense a little bit. “I think I’m the one who should be asking that.” 

“Kinda surprised it hasn’t happened sooner if I’m being honest.” Joel’s pointer finger slides along the lip of his cup before he brings it to his lips. 

You bite your lips, staring at the house across the street. “Same.” 

“Sorry, that was kinda a mood killer.” Joel’s hand rests on your calf. 

“It’s fine. You’re more of a father to him than his real dad.” You try to wave it off, but the facts are reeling in your mind like a movie. “Fuck, you were in the delivery room, and coached his T-ball team, and you’ve tucked him into bed more times than Tommy ever has.” You swipe away the moisture that’s gathered in your eyes, chasing them with another gulp of your drink. 

“Hey… maybe you should slow down there.” Joel leans forward, his feet dropping from your chair as he grabs the solo cup from you and the pretzels tumble to the deck. 

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” You reach for the cup, but Joel keeps it out of reach, setting it on the ground next to his. 

“I do.” He’s firm with you, grabbing your hands and tucking them between his. You can’t meet his eyes, embarrassment flooding your body. “What's going on in your mind right now?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Darlin,” He tugs gently on your arms. Your feet greet the warm deck as you're forced to sit up straighter. The side of your knee bumps against his. “You can talk to me.”

“I just want to enjoy our last night, Joel.”

“Can’t do that if I’m worried about you.” He tips your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. 

The street lights flicker off his warm eyes. You feel his touch linger under your chin. Extra warmth gathers in each place he touches. The words bubbling up in you, helpless to stop the thoughts circling in your head for months. 

“I’m not sure my marriage is salvageable. I don’t know if I’ll recognize my husband when he gets out. I don’t think he’s the same person-“ You can’t finish through the choked-out sobs. 

Joel lets out a soft sigh and before you know it, he’s tugging your pliant body into his lap, rubbing your back. He kisses your head. Your head finds the crook of his neck, fingers digging into the back of it. He’s the steady rock he’s always been. It does little to soothe your racing mind. 

You have so many questions and no answers. Tommy’s release from prison always felt like a distant finish line. Now, three months away, it feels like just the start. 

“No matter what, I’ve got you,” Joel says, hand cupping your cheek. “I’m here for you.”

How much longer can you continue to find solace in your brother-in-law's arms? How much longer will Joel play the part Tommy is supposed to? Supporter, parent, partner…

You pull back, fingers still wrapped around his neck. The metal of your wedding ring presses against his skin, but he’s used to feeling it. He doesn’t even think about it anymore. Your forehead nearly touches his. The pools of his deep eyes are endless. They’re different than Tommy’s. You don’t mean to compare, but you like it, soft and inviting after sleeping on rocks for years. You think you catch the hints of desire in them. You’ve forgotten what it feels like to be desired. 

There’s a fight, a push and pull between you. Who’s going to do it. His hot breath fans across your lips. Who’s going to be the one to finally cross the line you’ve been toeing for so long and drag the other one into exile with them? It’s a lush oasis in the middle of the desert you’ve been traveling. One move and you can dip your toe in. 

Joel gives in first, leaning in. Your eyes flutter shut with anticipation, another touch of his breath. His nose nudges against yours. You catch a whiff of the salt on his skin, and then, nothing, a mirage all in your head leaving you stranded in the desert. 

Confusion knits your brow before your eyes are open. Joel is still close, closer than a man that’s not your husband should be, but he feels further away than ever. 

His thumb nudges your bottom lip. He gives a weak smile in an attempt to cover his true emotions. “We can’t…”

He’s right. You hate yourself for getting so carried away. “I know.” 

Your hand drops from his neck. You might be sitting on his lap but he’s never felt farther from you. 

“You should go to bed.”

You think to fight him on it, but you decide not to. You stand up. Joel doesn’t move, thumb playing with the lip of his solo cup. He can’t meet your eyes and it feels like you might be losing him too. 

Before you can think better of it, you lean down, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. Your fingers rake through his hair twice over. His eyes close and he lilts into you just the slightest. 

“Thank you, Joel. For everything.”

His Adam’s Apple bobs as you pull away. He keeps his eyes pinned ahead, fingers curling around the red plastic. He’s barely holding on to control. 

“Good night,” he says, voice gruff, never looking away from his fixed point. 

“Goodnight.”

Joel finishes off yours and his margarita before he falls into bed. It’s just enough to keep him buzzed as he runs toward rest. He can’t get the feel of you out of his mind, how close he was to ripping apart his whole family. 

He’s in and out of sleep when the door pops open. He assumes it’s Sarah. She probably had a bad dream, and tosses the corner of the comforter back. Except, the full size mattress dips lower than it should. He reaches out but instead of Sarah’s small frame, he gets a handful of your waist as the smell of you fills his nostrils. In the haze of sleep, Joel opens his eyes just enough to find you facing away from him. 

The bed isn’t big enough for his legs not to tangle with yours, not if he wants restful sleep. Your body doesn’t tense under his touch. You don’t say anything. Neither does he, but your body melts into him until he finds his arm fully around your middle, back flush against his front.

Joel Miller considers himself a good man, but a good man doesn’t yearn for his brother’s wife. A good man doesn’t give into the temptation to have her so close, to be with her so intimately. Tonight, Joel Miller doesn’t worry about being a good man. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but tonight, Joel Miller falls asleep with you in his arms and bed. Tonight, Joel Miller’s deepest desires come true. Just for tonight, he gets to pretend you’re his. 

You wake up to an empty bed like you have since Tommy went to prison, but something feels off about it. A familiar smell lingers under your nose, and unfamiliar warmth fills you even though the sheets are cold.

You let out a soft groan, eyes fluttering open. You stare up at the ceiling, convinced once again that something feels off. You turn to look at the clock on the bed stand but there’s not one there. The walls are a different color and you shoot up as it all comes flooding back. 

You almost kissed Joel last night. The way you tossed and turned before giving into temptation and crawling in beside him. He hadn’t fought you, hadn’t said a word but pulled you flush against him in the bed that was just a bit too small. You’d slept like a baby for the first time in years. 

Joel sits at the table with the kids as they shovel the last of the extra sugary cereal into their mouths. A special vacation treat. You expect Joel to ignore you or at least be standoffish, but he hands you a cup of steaming coffee with the same smile he always does, crow’s feet crinkling at the corners of his eyes as if nothing happened. 

You offer a smile in response. A silent agreement to never speak on it again.

You’ve been home for a week when it comes, a plain white envelope stuffed with something soft labeled with a return address you’re all too familiar with written in Tommy’s chicken scratch handwriting. 

You wait until Nathaniel is down for the night, but it throws you the whole evening. Letters from Tommy are more rare than phone calls. You’ve received one, maybe two since he was incarcerated. Considering he’d promised to call on after Father’s day and hadn’t, the mysterious letter makes you feel unsettled. What shoes are left to drop?

You run the envelope through your hands, thumb picking at the corner of the seal, uncommitted to actually tearing it open. You’re worried whatever lies within will only hurt you more. You can’t sustain more hurt. 

Finally, you dig into the corner, tearing it open. Your eyebrows knit together. White fabric is neatly folded and tucked within. You pull it out, revealing a square of white fabric, like a bandana unfurls and a note falls to the floor. As you take in the black and white drawing on the fabric, you gasp. It’s a drawing of the picture you keep on your nightstand. The moment Tommy met Nathaniel for the first time. Tommy’s arm is wrapped around you, Nathaniel in his arms with the biggest grin on his face. It’s a moment that’s seared into your memory. Seeing it portrayed like this brings tears to your eyes, the emotions from that day and the last 696 flooding your body. 

Before the tear completely blur your vision, you pick up the note. You can barely make out Tommy’s handwriting when your eyes are clear, but you manage. 

Baby,

You and I both know I didn’t draw this. My cellmate did based on the photo. You probably know that. They call them paños. I’ve seen a lot of the ones guys in here have sent to their girls. They’re pretty cool. 

I’m sorry. I wish I could be better for you and Nathaniel. I love you, Bonnie. 

Tommy. 

Tears stream down your face. Just like that your heart seems to forget the heartache of the last couple years. This proves that your Tommy is still inside him somewhere, fighting to come back to you. You’ll do anything to have your Tommy back. 

It doesn’t matter if you're grasping at threads. Your heart overpowers your mind. You’re determined that you can pull him back by those threads, maybe not now, but once he’s out. Once he’s out, you can bring him back. You’re his Bonnie. He’s your Clyde. You’re tied together. Your heart beats for him, but you don’t catch a piece of your heart breaking off from the rest. That part can't beat for Tommy. It’s attached to someone else. 

Taglist: @pamasaur @alltheotps @rizzraa @moel-jiller @misstokyo7love @justagalwhowrites @pedritosgfreal @mellymbee @sarahhxx03 @lizzie-cakes @sixhours @duckybird101 @anoverwhelmingdin @nervoushottee @caitlynsixxx @kaykay0315 @stevie75 @millercontracting @cals-laundry @jessthebaker @noisynightmarepoetry @vickie5446 @mewantpeepaw

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

Two Hands To Hold ║ ⓛⓘⓜⓘⓣⓔⓓ ⓢⓔⓡⓘⓔⓢ

║TWO HANDS TO HOLD: a Liquid Gold prequel || main masterlist ║

| PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!reader x Tommy Miller

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 9.2k | CONTENT: backstory for LIQUID GOLD aka how reader ended up with both Miller brothers, lots of plot sandwiched between smut, inexperienced virgin learns stuff, established relationship vibes, Joel is a slut, Tommy is a softboi slut menace, infidelity, degradation, praise kink like whoa, exhibitionism, lots of cum, cum is everywhere, for the love of god why is there so much cum in this fic

| SYNOPSIS: When wanting something means risking everything, how much are you willing to take the hands of two brothers and let them lead the way?

The mixture of what was supposed to be dinner had probably scalded to the bottom of the pot by this point. You might’ve cared more if you were further into your recipe, but you hadn’t added any of the scarcer ingredients yet so it wasn’t too wasteful.

You should’ve known that running upstairs for a quick second to grab a sweater wasn’t going to be quick at all since Joel was home. He’s fresh out of the shower with a towel slung low around his waist. You warn him you have to get back downstairs before dinner burns, but you both know there’s no conviction in your tone. You don’t really care too much about dinner when Joel’s mouth is on your neck and his hands are groping at your backside.

“I can do quick,” he murmurs. “Problem is you never like it when Daddy doesn’t take his time with that needy little pussy of yours.”

You groan and arch into him, incapable of producing any argument to his charge. You could never get enough of him, and he liked it that way. Your appetite for pleasure was equally matched by his, and you found yourself more often than not stuffed to the brim with his fingers or his cock. He makes quick work of your clothes, ignoring your weak grumbling that this was only going to make you even colder than when you first came upstairs to get a sweater.

You forget all about the chill when he’s got you on all fours and is burying himself into you. You shiver when a rush of cool air gusts through the window you hadn’t realized was open.

“Joel!” you hiss. “The fucking window is open!”

“Mmmm, suddenly afraid somebody’s gonna hear you screamin’ for this cock?” he taunts. “Like they ain’t heard it a million times before with how loud you get?”

Your walls flutter around him at the idea of being heard or seen by someone when he’s fucking you so hard it punches the air from your lungs when he bottoms out. Joel of course notices.

“Oh, you like that, huh? Like the thought of somebody seein’ you be such a good hole for me?” he grunts, pulling your back flush against his chest. He drives himself even harder into you as you cry out.

“Ohmygod,” you rasp as his tip slams into the deepest parts of you.

“Bet you’d let me pull anybody from the street just to have ‘em watch you take this cock,” he grunts.

Your body gives your feelings away yet again when a crackled, needy moan slithers up your throat.

“Yeah, bet you’d want ‘em to do more than watch, huh?” he pants. “Bet you’d want to take their cock too after I’m done usin’ you up.” 

“Fuck!” you whine, getting closer to coming just thinking about somebody else taking from your body after Joel has finished splitting you on his cock.

Joel laughs, dark and low. “Learnin’ somethin’ about you, honey. Didn’t know you were that type’a girl. Wantin’ all of Daddy’s friends to use your holes, huh?”

Your climax grips at the base of your spine and explodes into your lower belly. You let out a wail of pleasure as Joel thrusts harder, fucking you through your high while he chases his own. He empties into you with three forceful drives and slumps on top of you where you’d crumpled into the bed below.

You barely manage a sigh as he pulls out. You stay like that while you hear him head downstairs, probably to turn off the burned dinner before it starts a house fire. Your head gets fuzzier and your lids get heavier as you listen to him walk back upstairs and get dressed.

A gentle press of lips against your temple rouses you. It’s much darker outside than it had been just a moment ago. The open window has been closed, and the inky sky outside looks like a framed postcard.

“I know it’s always a good one when you pass out right after,” he chuckles, peppering soft kisses to your temple and scalp.

“Dammit, didn’t mean to fall asleep,” you grumble in a slur. You push yourself up from the bed and roll over. Your brow pulls when your hand grazes past the fabric of panties. “When did—”

“Slid ‘em on you so you keep me inside,” he grins. “Now get dressed so we can get goin’. Gonna see to somethin’ tonight.”

“We’re going somewhere?” you mumble, still trying to orient yourself from the haze of sleep.

Joel nods and gestures to the pile of clothes he divested you of earlier. “Go on now, and don’t let any of my cum outta ya.”

You grin back at him and scoot to the edge of the bed. “I take it dinner burned?”

He laughs and confirms it was “probably easier to just toss the whole pot at this point” than try to scrub the burnt bits off.

You lean in for a kiss before dressing yourself. He watches you as he has the tendency to do. You straighten your shirt and hair before announcing that you were ready to head out. You bite back a smile at the feeling of your weeping cunt spilling out what Joel had filled you with earlier with each step you take towards Main Street. When he gives you a knowing nudge and smirk, you knock your hip against him playfully.

“You know I like how it feels,” you huff with empty indignation.

Joel breaks into a real smile at your raw honesty. “And you know I like you walkin’ around with me drippin’ outta you.”

It hadn’t always been this way. You hadn’t always felt more comfortable with exploring or even acknowledging your wants and needs. Your entire life had mostly been listening to and following others so you wouldn’t die. You remember bits and pieces from Outbreak Day in complete clarity, but you mostly remember how you felt: scared, abandoned, and burdensome. And that was before everything concerning the infection had even happened.

It was your birthday. You sat on the front porch for hours even though deep down you knew she wasn’t going to show. When your grandmother finally made you come inside so the neighbors wouldn’t see and start getting nosy, you couldn’t even find it in yourself to cry.

It was another year that your mom had missed your birthday – or any day that remotely mattered to you or celebrated you in any way. You’d known it wasn’t going to happen. It’s probably why your stomach had felt funny and clenched hard with nerves to the point that you’d thrown up a few times first thing that morning.

Your grandmother wasn’t too happy about it. She’d had to call out of work and was clearly frustrated and stressed about missing her shift. It always seemed like anything to do with you was always upsetting to your grandparents. Years later you understood a bit better why becoming the sole guardians to their teenage daughter’s baby at the age of 39 wasn’t exactly the future they’d hoped or planned for. 

Your mom’s “troubled years” as they’d put it had turned out to be more extensive and consequential than they realized at the time. At a certain point, there’s no going back and fixing it. Giving birth to a baby girl at 17 and then disappearing altogether before she’d turned 18, your mom didn’t want to take on the responsibility of you. No one really seemed to want the responsibility of you.

So, you tried your best to listen. You tried your best to follow the rules. You had your mother’s reputation and history hanging over your head like a black cloud, and your grandparents were constantly reminding you of all the things you shouldn’t be - all the things your mom was. Irresponsible, promiscuous, attention-seeking, shameful, demanding, difficult….. 

Your grandmother in particular seemed to believe that if they had attended church more regularly as a family, maybe your mom would’ve turned out “a better girl.” Your grandfather only went on holidays to make your grandmother happy, but he never disagreed that your mom could’ve used something to make her more obedient with better morals and fewer sinful indulgences.

You went to church a lot with your grandmother - any Sunday morning she wasn’t working - and you wondered if you would ever satisfy the debt of being the corporeal amalgamation of all your mother’s faults. A daily reminder of failed virtues and someone who had lost their way. You could do all the good in the world, but you would still be the product of failure and immorality.

And yet, every child wishes for their parents to notice them, to care about them. No one knew your father’s identity - including your mother - but he had to exist out there, somewhere. Sometimes you let yourself imagine that he never even knew there was a potential child of his out there in the world  and maybe that’s why he’d never reached out or tried to be a part of your life. 

Your mother was sick a lot, at least that’s what your grandparents told you. “She’s not well right now enough to see you” was something you’d heard many times. Whenever you asked what kind of sick she was, they didn’t ever have a clear answer. You’d thought that maybe if you knew what kind of sick she was, you could all figure out a medicine for her or do something to help her get better. When you’d suggested as much to your grandfather, he gave you a hard frown and sad eyes.

“Listen, why don’t you go watch something on the TV, huh?” your grandmother suggested when you obeyed her instruction to leave the porch and come inside.

“Can’t I sit at the window?” you politely asked. “I’ll keep behind the curtains so the neighbors don’t see.”

She gave you one of those sad, resigned looks you recognized more often the older you got. Now on your 7th birthday, you’d gotten pretty good at spotting them even if you didn’t always know why they looked at you that way.

“She’s not coming, doll baby,” your grandmother sighed. “I’m sorry. I know she said on the phone last week she was gonna come stay for a few days, but I don’t think that’s gonna happen.”

You pressed your lips together tight and nodded. No use in making a big deal out of it and stressing your grandmother out more than she was for having to miss work on account of you having tummy troubles. You watched the TV for a while – more like stared unfocused at it as it flashed scenes in front of you – and couldn’t help but hope every time the phone rang that it was your mom calling to apologize for running late and explain that she was still coming.

The phone was ringing more and more as the day went on, and your grandmother seemed more unsettled after each conversation. Lunchtime came and went, but you settled for an apple from the counter so you didn’t bother your grandmother for a proper lunch. At some point she shooed you away to your room to play so she could watch something “not for kids” on the TV. The deep voice from the TV seemed to become more frenzied as the day went on, too. 

Your grandfather came home early, but it hadn’t anything to do with celebrating your birthday. You were instructed by them to eat dinner from whatever you wanted in the pantry, and it wasn’t too bad of a birthday present. You hadn’t received one yet today, so you felt safe to assume a free pass at whatever you wanted from the junk food was your present. You’d wished your stomach wasn’t so tight with worry so you could actually eat something.  They sent you to bed early, too distracted with whatever was happening to realize you hadn’t eaten.

You woke up hungry and quietly got up from bed to check the clock in the kitchen to see if it was still your birthday and maybe try to sneak an apple. Your grandparents were in the living room in front of the static screened TV, sharing hushed whispers as you tried to make out their conversation from the hallway. You couldn’t take it anymore and made your presence known. You might get in trouble for interrupting them, but you had to know if something bad had happened to your mom and if that’s why they seemed so upset.

They exchanged a heavy look. You can still see it in your mind’s eye to this day. Even as a child you knew it was something devastating even though you couldn’t yet understand it was the moment they both stopped to realize they didn’t know where their daughter was, if she was safe, and, at the rate horrible things were transpiring with the mystery infection, they probably weren’t ever going to see her again.

All three of you slept in the basement for a few days, starting the night of your birthday. You kept quiet and didn’t even complain about the only food down there being nut packs and expired dinner crackers. You were too afraid to ask why you couldn’t leave the basement. You were too afraid to ask if your mom was okay. You were too afraid to ask if your grandparents were upset with you and why.

When the uniformed men came and swept the house for inhabitants, you didn’t ask questions. You didn’t say you needed to use the bathroom. You didn’t argue when they instructed you to sit on the floor of the large black vehicle.

Over the years in the QZ, you never dropped your habit of keeping out of the way and doing what you were supposed to do. Over the years in the QZ, your grandparents never dropped their habit of drilling it into your head that you were to follow the rules and not “attract any unwanted attention” to yourself.

When the son of a high-up QZ FEDRA officer took a liking to you, it sent you into a panic. It scared you to like him back. He was sort of nice and smiled at you sometimes. You felt shame gnawing at you when you dreamed about him being your first kiss. You woke up horrified that even if your conscious mind knew better than to entertain indecent thoughts about boys, your unconscious mind was determined to make you a morally bankrupt person, just like your mother. You didn’t know what to do other than to avoid him at all costs.

He caught on that you were giving him the cold shoulder, and suddenly the smiles and friendliness turned into scowls and rude comments under his breath about you being a “stuck up bitch.” You wanted to tell your grandparents, but that would mean admitting to having bad thoughts about a boy. They didn’t need that stress.

When your grandfather got reassigned to a heavy labor, lower paying job by direct order from FEDRA higher ups, he was at a complete loss as to what he’d done or who he’d pissed off. You kept your shameful secret to yourself - that you and your uncontrollable want had been the reason for his punishment. You watched your grandfather get weaker and age more rapidly, thanks to his demanding work.

He’d finally had enough, and that’s when you all fled in the QZ under the cover of darkness. Yet again something bad that was a direct result of your innate impurity. You kept your shameful secret and kept quiet. You were warned endlessly by them both to not wear anything fitted, to keep your hat on, and to not speak.

“If anyone knew we had a teenage girl with us, we’d be the target for some bad things,” they’d explained plainly. Your femininity, your body, the pleasure others could derive from your body. All a liability.

You bounced around from place to place. Your grandfather’s health got worse. He passed that first winter. Your grandmother was never the same once he died. You still think it was a broken heart that ultimately killed her.

A single thread of your want had stitched this tapestry of misery and death. When you were accosted by Jackson’s patrol as you were trying to form a makeshift camp in the powerplant building next to the dam, you sort of wished the dogs would just tear you to pieces right then and there.

Instead, your work ethic and cooperative attitude landed you with a permanent residency in the Jackson settlement. You never turned down requests for hard labor or jobs other people didn’t want. You always said yes. You never made requests or developed preferences. Everyone praised your agreeable, undemanding personality. You were too afraid to want, so you didn’t. That is, until Joel Miller showed up. 

He commanded your attention from the moment you laid eyes on him. It scared you how much you yearned to know him. How much hearing his voice settled something knotted in the depths of your chest. How much you worried about him when he left for patrol after you memorized his schedule. How much seeing him easy around his also incredibly handsome brother Tommy made your heart drip like acid into your stomach.

You watched him endlessly from the kitchen in the cafeteria where you’d ended up working most regularly. You had a knack for cooking, it turns out, and the early and odd hours never bothered you. You knew what foods he liked best after noticing what he ate most of. You began to pick up on all his little physical quirks.

It was a one-sided obsession, something that could never be indulged. It was bad enough wanting something. You knew that wanting something meant risking everything. It wasn’t safe to want. And yet, you couldn’t stop yourself; however, going after that want was a line you weren’t going to cross.

Fortunately for you, Joel didn’t have the same sort of hang-ups you did. Your hand shook as you scooped all his preferred foods onto his plate without direction. 

“You gonna ask me if that’s what I want?” 

It was the first thing he’d ever said directly to you. Your eyes went wide when you realized you’d been in such a rush to give him all his favorites so he could sit down to a nice meal that you hadn’t even stopped to ask him what he wanted. You already knew what he wanted, but now you’d outed yourself to him.

“I-I can get you something–something different. I’m sorry,” you offered, completely flustered.

He shook his head and gave a lopsided grin. You felt like you could throw up at any moment. “Never said it wasn’t what I wanted. I was just wonderin’ if you were gonna ask me or if I was just s’posed to take what ya gave me,” he drawled in a lazy, amused voice.

Your face was on fire as you stood frozen to the spot. When you didn’t answer, he chuckled low to himself and shook his head.

“M’just teasin’ you, honey,” he exhaled in a laugh.

You felt ready to combust at his easy talk and effortless magnetism. You couldn’t make your tongue move to speak.

“Unless of course you don’t want me to be teasin’. Maybe you wanna trade places and instead of askin’ you what ya want you can just see what I’ve got to give ya,” he murmured, leaning closer to speak lower.

You dropped the serving spoon straight into the food, turned on your heel, and scurried like a frightened animal back into the kitchens. You tried to catch your breath as you leaned against the wall, but the throbbing between your legs was overwhelming.

One of the other workers came back to check on you, and you managed to explain you needed to go. You’d completely embarrassed yourself in front of Joel, and you needed to get back to the privacy of your boarding house room to wallow in your humiliation.

You’d made it not even a third of the way home when he called after you. Once again, you froze in place. His voice, his commands, whipped you into some sort of dazed stillness. He approached with his hands up in a gesture of good faith.

“Hey now, m’sorry if I misread the signals back there,” he offered up quickly. “I couldn’t take much more of you starin’ at me every meal and thought you were waitin’ for me to make the first move, is all.”

Your jaw felt slack, a contrast to your rigid frame. He took a few steps closer to you when you didn’t appear to consider bolting away from him again.

“If I came on too strong or misread somethin’, I apologize, okay? M’not tryna make you uncomfortable, so m’sorry if I did.”

You shook your head again, trying to rattle some combination of words together instead of standing there like an idiot. When he started up with more apologies even though he’d done nothing wrong, you said the first thing that came to mind.

“You didn’t eat,” you blurted out.

His head inched back in surprise at the unexpected reply. He laughed a bit in confusion and ran a hand through his hair like he wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to respond to that. The throbbing in between your legs was making a strong return.

“Yeah, I’ll be alright. I’ve put up with worse than a missed meal,” he finally responded. “Look, lemme walk ya home and smooth this whole thing over, yeah?”

You nodded and took the first few clumsy steps of what would end up being the most life-altering walk you’d ever taken. When you made it to your doorstep, you’d promised him you would ask next time. Your heart stuttered when he countered that he was “just fine takin’ what you’re willin’ to give him.” A silly, loose grin crept across the line of your mouth.

The next few weeks you started requesting menu changes so that Joel’s favorites were always served on days he had patrol. It felt like something you could give him, something he would want. When he asked you to take your break and dine with him, you said yes. It was something you could give him, something he wanted. When he started walking you home from work on a regular basis, he asked all sorts of questions about your life, and the truth of it all came too easy from your lips. It was something you could give him, something he wanted.

He never made a negative comment, shared a judgemental observation, or seemed to care about any bad parts of you. He eventually started sharing parts of his life, too, and for once you felt like maybe everyone made mistakes and it wasn’t just you who was a singular point of disappointment and wrongdoing. When he started to hold your hand on the walks home, you held his back all the more tightly. It wasn’t even something you had to consider.

It didn’t take you long to realize that if Joel wanted something from you, he could have it.

But when he asked one night if you wanted him to kiss you, you froze up again. There it was. The trap of wanting. You wanted him. You wanted him to have all of you. You wanted to be everything and anything for him. You never allowed yourself to linger on what you wanted from him. He assumed you were nervous because you’d never been kissed. When he said he wanted you to be honest with him, you told him everything.

“Tell ya what,” he said softly. “I’m gonna kiss you, and you’re gonna tell me if it feels wrong to want it after I’m done.”

You agreed. And then his lips were on you, so gentle and warm, and you never wanted it to stop. It ignited something in you that scorched through your veins. Joel was your first everything. He taught you to say no. He made you use your words. He met each new desire of yours with feverish enthusiasm. He never dulled your light, only ever made it swell and burn hotter and brighter.

You came to understand that there was nothing wrong with wanting. There was nothing wrong with desiring. It didn’t matter what lewd or obscene fantasy you expressed to him, he always welcomed it and made it come alive. Being an object of his desire wasn’t a shameful thing. Wanting him to have his way with you didn’t make you any less virtuous. Expressing your needs and chasing them with abandon wasn’t harmful or wrong. Liking it when he got rough and grunted the dirtiest things into your ear didn’t make you undeserving of tenderness and care.

You hated to think of all the years you wasted on being ashamed for simply existing, for having the sort of cravings and urges that humankind has always had. To be loved. To be accepted for who you are. To get lost in someone else. To make your body feel good. To make your mind feel good.

It never felt wrong, not with Joel.

So when you make it to the Tipsy Bison with his cum dripping out of you and starting to dry between your thighs as it soaks through your panties, it feels right. Instead of a rush of shame coursing through you, you feel a flood of arousal and anticipation when he says he’s gonna see to it that you get to show him how much of a slut you want to be. Your breath hitches when he instructs you to go to the bathroom, lock the door, and wait for three knocks. 

“I’m gonna send somebody in there with you, and you’re gonna let him inside that locked bathroom with you so that you can suck him off, you understand?” he growls low in your ear.

You pull back, wide-eyed with nerves and excitement. Joel smirks and drags the side of your face next to his mouth so you can hear him. “Only ever had my cock, and you wanna get greedy for more. So you’re gonna shove somebody else’s cock into your mouth since you wanna get used so bad.”

“Fuck,” you whimper to yourself. You’d still be drenched from this exchange alone even without Joel’s spend leaking out of you.

“Go on. I wanna see if my girl is as greedy a slut as I think she is,” he hums into your ear before giving your earlobe a quick nibble.

You practically hobble to the bathroom, trying to focus on walking in a straight line. Hopefully the other patrons think you’re drunk instead of just keyed up from the thought of being used. You don’t know who will be knocking, but you don’t feel unsafe in the slightest. Joel would never put you in a bad position. He wouldn’t push you for something if you weren’t ready.

Your heart is pounding in your ears as you wait inside one of the three single use bathrooms. You try to think of who it’ll be that Joel sends. You go through all of the possibilities in your head and can’t seem to decide who Joel would trust alone with you.

Your nerves start to get the better of you when you realize you’re really doing this. The self-doubt creeps in. What if you only thought this was what you wanted but in reality can’t perform? What if he doesn’t enjoy it? You’ve only ever been with Joel, and you know different partners must have their own preferences.

A fleeting thought to leave the bathroom and tell Joel this was all just a big mistake crosses your mind. You don’t want to embarrass yourself, and, worse, you don’t want to embarrass Joel. Maybe it was best if you just put this off until some other time. Joel might be disappointed, but you’d prefer that over making him look foolish.

Just as you're wrestling with your nerves, three knocks sound on through the other side of the door. You hesitate for a moment but realize there’s no other way out but through the door. You have no choice either way to see who’s waiting on the other side.

You turn the lock and open the door, stepping back so that whoever your mystery man is can make his way in. You don’t register at first the owner of curly black hair and broad shoulders. Your heart plummets when you realize it’s Tommy.

“Oh. Oh my god. Um. I’m done in here, so you can… oh my god… okay…”

Your mind is firing off in a million different directions. What is Tommy going to think of his brother’s girl just letting anybody into the same locked bathroom as her? You scramble to make some excuse so he’s not suspicious, but you come up short. You’ve spent enough dinners at his house to know he can probably see straight through whatever lie you were about to shill.

“You gettin’ cold feet on me, sweetheart?” Tommy teases, flicking the lock closed before crossing his arms against his chest and leaning against the door.

“I–wait. What?” Your mouth drops open. Surely Joel didn’t… “You mean… but… what about…. He told you……” You were too bewildered with the situation to pick which question you wanted to ask first.

“You think my brother is gonna send just any loser in here with you?” he snorts. “C’mon now. He’s a dumb bastard every now and then, but he ain’t gonna send anybody he doesn’t trust 100% to be alone with ya.”

That aspect of it made complete sense to you, but you wouldn’t have ever considered Tommy because of–

“Maria? She’s-She’s here! I saw her earlier. You… Aren’t you…..?” you balk in a strained whisper.

“Yeah, she’s here. Her and a bunch of other people, too. So I guess that means you can’t be as loud as you like to be,” he needles with a cocky grin. “S’alright, I got somethin’ to keep your mouth occupied.” He flashes a devilish wink, and for a split second you forget all about your nerves.

“But-But what about… I’ve never…..”

You can hardly form a coherent thought. Joel sending Tommy made sense. You’d always found him attractive, and Joel knew that. He’d even teased you a few times about if you wanted to switch up which Miller brother you wanted to be with when he was being a pain in the ass. You didn’t think he’d ever act on it. Just like you never thought Tommy would step out of his marriage.

“But you love Maria,” you counter in a weak appeal.

“I do. So that means you must be somethin’ real special for me to have a wanderin’ eye. You ain’t comin’ home with me at the end of the night, but that don’t mean we can’t have somethin’ together in the meantime.”

You aren’t sure how you feel about doing something with a married man. It wasn’t you who made the vows, but it still felt wrong anyway. You try to weigh the heavy conundrum of whether or not this is something you’d be able to stomach after all is said and done.

“Hey now,” Tommy says softer, uncrossing his arms and reaching out for your hand. “Joel told me this was a surprise, but if it’s too much there ain’t no shame in walkin’ away. Nobody’ll be upset with ya, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

His hand was smaller than Joel’s but felt warmer, softer somehow. A gentle cradle for your own. It felt nice. Different, but nice. Your eyes fix on the point where his thumb runs small circuits along yours, and it gives you somewhere to train your focus enough to get a thought out straight.

“It’s not that,” you deny in a shy voice.

“So what is it? ‘Cause this was somethin’ meant to be fun for everybody, okay? I’m not here to make you uncomfortable, sweetheart.”

Your eyes flicker up to meet his. He sounds so much like Joel.

“You don’t make me uncomfortable,” you assert. “I just-it’s me. It’s nothing to do with you. I’m just– I wasn’t thinking when I said that stuff about having somebody else. I-I don’t even know what I’m doing except for with Joel. I don’t even have any-any other experience.”

Your face is on fire again, and you wish you could just shut up instead of hitting Tommy with all of these embarrassing, trivial confessions.

“So, what? You got performance anxiety or somethin’?” he laughs under his breath. “Ain’t rocket science, sweetheart. A warm mouth on a pretty girl is as good a place as any for a guy to wet his dick.”

You shake your head and look away. “I’m just gonna mess it up.”

Tommy’s other hand cups the back of your neck to tilt your head until you’re looking at him again. His face is tender but serious.

“You take good care of my brother, sweet girl. He’s the happiest I’ve seen him in god knows how long. It means a lot to me knowin’ he’s got somebody like you lookin’ after him. If you can get somebody like my brother in as good a place as he’s in, you ain’t the sorta fuck up you think you are. Nothin’ short of a miracle worker as far as I’m concerned,” he presses. 

There’s not a hint of insincerity or exaggeration in his voice or face. The sentimentality catches you off guard. When your throat starts to feel hot and tight, an all new way to embarrass yourself emerges. You hastily sniff away your nerves and emotions and hope that Tommy doesn’t think less of you for it.

“Quit your cryin’ and c’mere,” he gently chides.

He hugs you against his body, wrapping both arms around you and cupping the back of your head with one of his hands as he captures your mouth in a soft kiss. He’s so gentle compared to Joel, so much more measured and rhythmic. Even early on in your physical relationship, there was always the electric undercurrent of something raw and hungry radiating from him. Tommy has a kinetic intimacy with every slip of his tongue and grip of his hand on your body.

You’re grabbing onto his collar desperately by the time he props you up on the sink and runs his mouth along the column of your neck, nipping and suckling in equal fervor and restraint. You swallow down the whines and whimpers he pulls all too easily from you.

“Make such pretty sounds,” Tommy rasps into your hair. “Gonna do this another time so I can hear ‘em loud as you wanna make ‘em.”

Your legs instinctively move together to soothe the building ache in your panties, but Tommy’s body keeps them parted.

“My sweet girl gettin’ hot ‘n bothered from a little neckin’?” he teases.

It’s pointless to lie since he clearly already knows how responsive you are to such little physical toying. You nod silently and chew your bottom lip.

“I like it, sweetheart. Like you a lot,” he professes in a calm consideration of you.

“I like you, too, Tommy,” you breathe. Your gaze travels down to the growing bulge in his crotch. You absentmindedly lick your lips.

“Got a nice mouth, too,” he muses. “Open up and lemme see it.”

Without hesitation, you slack your jaw and let your tongue drop. Your breath catches when Tommy runs his pointer and middle fingers together along it towards your throat. His eyes sear into the visual of feeding his fingers deeper into your mouth.

“See what we’re workin’ with here,” he says under his breath to himself. He inches along until his fingertips make your throat spasm. His eyes darken at the sound of it. He slowly draws them back out and breathes out a deep exhale.

“Sorry,” you apologize in a tiny voice. Heat pools in your lower belly. 

“Nothin’ we can’t work on,” he husks, the corner of his lip twitching up. 

His hands squeeze and rub downwards until he reaches your waistband, and you lift your hips when he starts tugging everything from your bottom half down. He yanks one side completely free from your leg, leaving your pants and panties hanging off the other thigh. He groans when he sees the thick, milky fluid dribbling from your hole.

“Been busy, I see,” he chuckles. He finally sets his focus to your face again after a gluttonous feast of your half naked form.

“I’m supposed to keep it inside,” you quietly explain.

Tommy nods and grins in approval. Something about him seeing the results of you and Joel’s earlier activities makes your pulse run thready.

“Looks like I got some catchin’ up to do,” he figures.

“But I’m supposed to—”

He lifts your shirt up, exposing your bare breasts and peaked nipples, and pays no mind to your call to get to what you’re meant to do inside the locked bathroom. Your body jerks when he rubs his thumbs across your nipples. You choke back and moan and focus on keeping quiet.

“You always so sensitive?” He chews his lip like he’s trying to keep from grinning too wide.

“N-No,” you lie. “I can be–sometimes I’m–” You shake your head, trying and failing to portray yourself as something other than an eager, all too easy to dismantle neophyte.

“Don’t hafta lie to me, sweetheart,” he’s quick to remind you. “I don’t want you to be what you think I want you to be. I want you to just be you. Understand?”

“Okay. Yes,” you concede. You know he’s not trying to call you out to embarrass you, but you still get an urge to hide away.

“M’serious. Joel doesn’t love you because you pretend to be somethin’ else for him. He loves you because you let him in and show him all of you.”

You draw in a shaky breath, nerves and want burning through you. Every time your thoughts start racing off in any given direction, Tommy pulls you back to the buzzing thrum of just being close to one another in the moment.

Joel tended to grab hold of you and wrap you up in a frenzy so fast that you didn’t have time to think too long on things that worried you. Tommy brought that clarity, too, except with a firm but tender guiding hand. Both left your mind quiet with nothing but the awareness of the space you shared with them.

“You gonna let me see it all, too?” he prods. He works your nipples between his thumb and pointer fingers, pinching and pulling when you don’t answer straight away.

“Yes,” you gasp.

“Good girl,” he praises. Your eyes flutter shut at his encouragement, awash in the warm feeling it blankets you in. He crowds you against the vanity mirror and continues working over you. 

“Touch yourself,” he grunts. You comply immediately and moan at the almost instant pull of your orgasm that’s been building the longer Tommy has hedged his way into your inner workings.

“Bet you can come just like this,” he wagers in a strained focus. “Keep playin’ with yourself ‘til you come, sweetheart. Wanna see your pretty face when you give it to me.”

Your brow pinches, your jaw limp as you choke back all the sounds clawing up from your chest. He grabs at your nipples so hard you jolt forward, nose to nose as he stares you down, and the coil in your belly snaps. He clamps one hand over your mouth to stifle the cries of bliss erupting from you.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he goads. His eyes are dark with something deprived and ravenous. You grab at his wrist where his hand muffles your sounds, desperate to latch onto him, to be closer somehow.

“Fuck you’re pretty,” he breathes. 

Without warning he hooks a hand under your bare knee and pulls you sideways until your back lays awkwardly against the sink and counter, your bare leg dangling off the edge. He directs you to wedge your legs open while he unbuckles his belt and frees his weeping cock from his jeans. He strokes himself hungrily and tells you to sit still.

Your breath heaves your chest up and down as you watch him run the tip of his length up your folds and notch himself at your entrance. It eases inside the tiniest bit, and a hungry moan rips from your chest.

“Shit!” Tommy hisses when he feels your walls clench around the tip of him, greedy and trying to pull him in further. “Gonna hafta to talk to Joel ‘bout lettin’ me get into this cunt.”

“Please please please,” you chant.

God, you hope Joel would let him. You hope he would be there and watch you get used by somebody else, pliant and yielding to whatever was being done to you.

Tommy slips the ridge of his tip slowly out of you. “Squeeze it out,” he pants.

He holds himself at the base of his cock, waiting for you to contract your muscles hard enough for Joel’s leftover cum to leak out onto his tip. You push a few times and feel the warm slip of it ease out of your hole. 

“Give your mouth somethin’ it’s used to, to start,” he grunts. He holds his cock steady and brings it to your mouth. You gape your mouth open without any prompting. Tommy slides his cum covered cock past your lips and instructs you to clean it off. You work your tongue around his head and drink in Joel’s residual spend.

“Get it all, sweet girl. There you go. Give you somethin’ familiar before I get you acquainted with the next cock that’s gonna ruin you.” He laughs to himself when you moan at the promise of being used by him.

You open your mouth as wide as you can to show him you’ve satisfied his command. He smiles down at you with a soft reverence you’ve seen so many times from Joel. Your eyes go wide, waiting anxiously to do anything you can to make Tommy feel good.

“Gonna see if we can get you some practice on that throat, sweetheart,” he forewarns you. He gives himself a few languid strokes and searches your face for any of the hesitation from earlier.

“Can you come in my mouth?” you urge in a sweet, meek voice that contradicts the crude request you’re making.

Tommy groans and shoves his length into your mouth again. He holds onto the back of your head and tilts it in a bobbing motion onto his cock. He wasn’t as thick to take as Joel, but he had a curve to his that presented its own challenge to swallow down fluidly. He drives far enough that you start to choke and gag, which only sends renewed arousal between your thighs.

“C’mere,” he growls. He scoops you up from the counter and plants your feet onto the ground. You scramble to your knees, ignoring the cold sting of the tile against your bare knee. You grab at Tommy’s thighs and move your mouth against his crotch. You lick and suck at his balls and the underside of his length. You’re overwhelmed with the urge to please please please. There’s a compulsion to give yourself over to Tommy and let yourself get lost in the gratification of gifting him a flurry of euphoria.

He claws at the crown of your head for you to take him into your mouth again. You oblige and try to swallow him down as far as you can. He groans above you, sounding closer to his own release the more you work him. You’re glad to have him filling your mouth enough that you don’t have to put as much effort into being quiet. The slippery dregs of your squelching saliva gather on your lips and chin.

Tommy pulls you off of him, panting and grinning wildly at you with a sort of worshiping awe. You can only imagine how much of a slobbery, disheveled state you’re in.

“Makin’ a mess,” he pants in a laugh. He cups his fingers against your face and scoops your spit back into your mouth. “I think you like makin’ a mess.”

He laughs when you eagerly nod up at him. “Can’t send you out too sloppy this time around, sweetheart, but next time I’m gonna make sure you’re a fuckin’ wreck.”

Your face lights up at the promise that this won’t be the last time you get to have him like this.

“S’alright. We can get a little messy before I fuck my cum into your mouth.” He crouches down and inserts two fingers into you. Your entire body clenches at the abrupt intrusion. You can feel him curve his fingers inside you and drag them down and out.

“Empty your mouth,” he instructs as he stands straight again. You swallow all of your spit down until your mouth isn’t so coated in fluids. Tommy takes the fingers he’d just plunged into your pussy and scrapes them against your tongue and teeth. You taste Joel’s cum as it accumulates.

“Don’t swallow it. Wanna see you give me a little show, sweetheart. Blow some bubbles with it,” he taunts.

You smear as much of it as you can against your lips, coating the inner ring of them, and prop them open in an oval shape before gently pushing air out. A milky, translucent orb swells with your breath. It pops and splatters a bit on your face. You form another one and don’t move your eyes away from Tommy, who is watching you with rapt lechery as you blow cum bubbles with his brother’s hours-old spend.

“Damn, you’ll really do anythin’, huh?” he mocks. You catch the excited, voracious approval laced in the derisive comment.

“Not for everybody,” you reply pointedly in as clear of a voice as you can with your mouth still holding onto Joel’s cum until Tommy tells you to swallow it. Tommy must know you weren’t this malleable and willing with anyone other than Joel, and now him. Right?

His face softens a bit. He runs a finger across the curve of your cheek. “No, I suppose not,” he agrees. “Suppose I’d better take advantage of bein’ one of the only two who get to have ya like this, huh?”

Your lips curve upward. “Can I swallow him so I can have you now?” you ask with big, fluttery doe eyes.

Tommy starts jerking himself hard and fast and tells you to swallow. You empty the contents of your mouth down your throat and snap it back open for him to fill.

“You’re gonna wrap those pretty lips ‘round my cock, and when I fill that mouth you better not let a single fuckin’ drop slip out,” he instructs, suddenly stern and focused.

You vacuum your lips around him and look up with pleading eyes. He strokes himself hard, breathing heavier and faster, until he lets out a pained groan and starts shooting hot ropes of cum into your mouth. You push away the involuntary reflex to swallow as your mouth starts to fill up. You gag a few times when a sharp burst pummels the back of your throat, but you don’t dare swallow.

Tommy hisses a string of curses as he empties himself. He shakes his cock against the seal of your lips to signal he’s taking it out. You pucker and clamp down your lips, ensuring your mouth closes behind his red, swollen tip. He tucks himself back into his jeans and fastens them.

“Goddamn,” he huffs. He shakes his head with a lopsided grin as if he’s disoriented. As if it was you that had whipped him into a sensual frenzy instead of the other way around.

He helps you to stand and chuckles at your shaky legs. He props you against the counter and stoops down to get your panties and bottoms back to their original place. Your cheeks bulge slightly with the fill of him in your mouth. You wish you could speak, but there’s also something calming and comforting about the shared quiet between the two of you.

He grabs the bottom of his shirt and wipes your face with the inside of it, making you a bit more presentable before you exit the bathroom. He pats down your hair, something so tender and domestic against the backdrop of debauchery you’d just engaged in.

“Beautiful,” he grins. His eyes crinkle when his smile grows wide enough, and he looks so much like Joel in that moment you want to grab him up and not let him go.

“Now what you’re gonna do, sweetheart, is you’re gonna keep your mouth full until you can show Joel what a good job you did, alright?” he explains.

Your cheeks burn at the praise and at the thought of Joel inspecting all of Tommy’s cum coating your mouth. For reasons you can’t quite explain, it gives you a rush of excitement knowing you’ve been the receptacle for their unhinged desires, all within the span of a few hours.

“And you best hurry to where he’s sittin’ unless you catch somebody tryna start a conversation with ya. Can’t talk when your mouth is full of cum, huh? ‘Course knowin’ what kinda slut you are, I bet you’d like for ‘em to see it runnin’ down your chin and onto those nice tits of yours.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to push down the new wave of arousal hitting you. If you lose focus, you might accidentally swallow.

“But you’re gonna keep it in there ‘til Joel can see it, aren’t ya?” he probes.

When you keep your eyes shut in concentration, he nudges your leg aside with his knee and lands a swat over your clothed clit. Your eyes tear open, and you practically gurgle scream a moan. You nod hastily in agreement, although part of you wants him to do that again.

“Damn, is there anythin’ you don’t like done to ya?” he sneers. He rubs a gentle palm over the crotch of your pants and drinks in the shaky sigh of pleasure that leaves your lungs. He brushes his nose against yours and closes his eyes.

“Pretty thing,” he murmurs. You can feel the whisps of his eyelashes flit against your skin. You’re anchored to the spot, captive to the serene hold of him against your body.

He peppers a few kisses along your cheek as he makes his way to your ear. “When y’all come over for dinner on Friday, I want you to leave your panties at home, you hear me?”

You whimper at the thought. He breathes a chuckle against the shell of your ear. “Joel might like ya to keep ‘em on, but I want you to take ‘em off for me. Can you do that? Can you leave those panties at home for me on Friday night?” he rasps.

Your hands snake up his arm and shoulder until your fingers tangle in the curls of hair along the nape of  his neck. You gently nod. “Good girl,” he says and gives you one last press of his lips against your forehead. “Now get goin’.” He jerks his head towards the door, and you shuffle obediently out of the bathroom. 

The Tipsy Bison is business as usual, and it seems strange that all of this was carrying on and didn’t somehow come to a complete standstill while you and Tommy wrenched each other apart and devoured the raw insides you found there. You’re in a bit of a haze as you wander towards where you last saw Joel. You take a moment to register the figure of someone who’s stepped in front of you, blocking your path forward. Your stomach lurches. It’s Maria, because of course it is.

Your mind wars with the guilt of her sudden appearance and the thrill of having Tommy pooled in your mouth.

“Have you seen Tommy? He said he was going to the bar, but I haven’t seen him,” she says loudly over the chatter.

You almost open your mouth to answer, in such a fluster you nearly forgot the fact that you can’t speak to her when your mouth is filled with her husband’s cum. Instead you clumsily shrug and motion like someone is hailing you over to them. You don’t stop for her to react to your odd behavior and instead make a beeline for Joel.

He sees you and relaxes into a smug grin. You practically fall into his lap as you sit beside him. He raises an eyebrow at your rushed, graceless movements but stills when he notices the tight clench of your jaw. You bore your eyes into his as you gently open your mouth enough for him to see inside, tilting your head back slightly so he can appreciate your commitment to your task.

His eyes flick down and darken as he scans your filled mouth. He rests a hand over his crotch and swallows hard. Your eyes flit back and forth in a silent request to swallow. He wraps a hand around the front of your neck and leans in. 

“You swallow when I give a little squeeze,” he instructs before pulling back to watch you.

He presses down gently on your throat, and you can feel the muscles contract against his hand as you swallow. A deep groan reverberates from his chest at the feeling. You lean forward and divulge every sordid detail in a hushed whisper. His hand leaves your neck and grips the top of your thigh. He lets you finish recalling and recounting it all for him. 

He’s suddenly scooting you over and up to stand. You’re out the door of the Tipsy Bison faster than you can discern what’s happening.

“What’re–”

“Been a bad girl,” he tuts. His arm around your back sets the fast gait home.

“But you—” you start to sputter.

“Lettin’ him empty me outta that cunt? After I told you to keep it in there?” he elaborates. He looks down at you with a wicked grin. “Gonna have to get you home and fix that right away, honey.”

You breathe a relieved laugh that he wasn’t somehow upset with the turn of events now that it had actually happened. No, this was your Joel, teasing you and keeping you on your toes.

“What do you mean, Daddy?” you ask in a flirty, coy voice.

“Know goddamn well what I mean. Gonna fuck you ‘n fill you up again, like you should be.” He gives you a playful wink that makes your chest tight with emotion.

You feel certain that this revolving door of affection and attention from the Miller brothers was something you could definitely get used to.

Brain Goblin went wild with this one. I had thought a lot about what happened after Liquid Gold, but it wasn't until recently that I got a really clear vision of what took place before, how it all came to be.

I hope the insight to her past gives context to what makes this slutty throuple so sweet and special.

As always, thank you for reading!

Art in graphic is a transformed work by artist Thomas Francis Dicksee.

catch ya later, ♥Puddles♥

[sweetenerobert]

HEY THERE, CITY BOY

ghostface!joel miller x dad!male reader

genre: neighbor joel, no outbreak au, explicit, minors dni

summary: joel’s possessive/dark side comes out after finding out your going out on a date

warnings:strong language, threatening, dark!joel, possessive!joel, stalking, forced cuckhold, dacryphilia, face fucking, infidelity, knife play (knife gets put to your throat), joel is 40, reader is 38, unprotected P in A, dirty talk, oral (m giving), pet names,, creampies

word count: 4.1k

a/n: how this idea came to life was i was watching like ten minutes of scream and i texted @morallyinept about it and here I am. Hope you guys like it!, dividers by @saradika also HAPPY HALLOWEEN

October 23rd Austin, Texas Miller Residence

Marigold and Sarah were in Sarah’s room, conversing with one another in her bedroom, snacking away on various sweets and chips—typical high school girl conversations: classes, tests, drama, boys — and eventually family members.

Joel had passed Sarah’s room, hearing the hushed whispers from the two teenage girls in his daughter's bedroom. Joel had no interest in learning about what Kelsie said to Anthony or why Johnny and Matthew fought in the cafeteria. But he was interested in what Marigold knew about her father — his city boy.

He tried to keep the floor from whining under his foot as he pressed his ear against Sarah’s bedroom door. Joel knew this broke the privacy/boundaries rule, but he was eager to learn what was happening with you.

“So… anything new with your dad? Is he still seeing that guy?” Sarah asked, chewing on a gummy worm.

“I notice my dad’s happier. It’s adorable, ever since he broke up with that one guy, my dad deserves the distraction from work and the real world,” Marigold explains.

“Supposedly, they’re supposed to go out on the thirty-first.”

“Ironic, it's a spooky season, and they’re going out that day specifically?” Sarah asks.

Marigold shrugs and chuckles. “That’s my dad for ya’ always gotta have fun with dates.”

Sarah laughs. But Joel was seething behind Sarah’s door, that his anger could make Sarah’s door burst. He hated seeing you with anyone else — especially finding out that you were happy and Joel wasn't the reason why it made him want to explode.

But Joel had a better idea.

October 25th Austin, Texas Your Living Room

You had finished work at the bakery today — finished a lot of orders, and you just wanted to lounge around the living room. You realized you were home when you noticed how scary-quiet the house was when you first walked in. You guessed that Marigold must be hanging out with Sarah — hence the quiet atmosphere in your house. You shrug your shoulders and grab the TV remote on the coffee table. Turning the TV on and just browsing until you found a show you liked.

Your mind wandered off to Joel, and you hated yourself for thinking about him. You broke up with him because all the hiding and lying became too much for you to handle. It constantly stressed you out, so you did the mature thing and broke it off. You shook your head from any thoughts of Joel and focused on the luminescent screen before you.

Hearing your phone ring in your pocket made you roll your eyes. Muting the TV, digging your phone out of your pocket, and seeing the caller ID read 'UNKNOWN' made you uneasy. "If anything from the city taught you anything, never answer the unknown numbers. Could be robo calls." You mutter.

Hitting the decline button and throwing on the cushion next to you. You kept your concentration on the TV and tried to ignore the outside world.

Ring, Ring

Hearing your phone ring made you groan. "Mare, this better be you." Seeing the same ID reading 'UNKNOWN' this time, you swallowed that uneasy feeling and hit the accept button, bringing the phone next to your ear. "Hello," You spoke.

"Hello." You heard a voice you'd never heard before. It sounded gravelly and hoarse at the same time. Made your body feel cold the second you heard it. "Hello?" It came out more like a question than a statement.

"Who is this?"

"Oh, you might just have the wrong number then." You completely disregarded their question.

"Maybe. Sorry to waste your time."

"I get it. Maybe you were in a rush? It happens to me all the time as well," You dismiss.

"S' my fault. I was trying to dial a number from memory. Musta’ typed the wrong numbers in different places."

You start chuckling at his confession. "Sorry, that was rude to laugh at that."

"S'fine, your laugh is cute." You blush at his statement.

"Um, anyway, I'll let you go now —" You start.

"Wait. I wanna keep talkin' to you." The voice admits.

"Really? I think the other person's waiting for you to call them back.”

“I wanna keep hearin’ your voice.”

“How come? It’s not the most attractive thing I ever heard.”

“Cause I want to know what your voice sounds like when your throat’s been slit.”

Hearing that confession made your skin get cold — goosebumps traveling you, your hands clammy, your body felt heavy. It felt like time shut down. You quickly hung up the phone and breathed as if your life depended on it as you looked at your idle phone lying on the cushion.

“Who —breath— the hell —breath— was that?”

October 27th Austin, Texas Your Kitchen/Bedroom

Your ex-wife had come to visit you and Marigold, and Marigold was ecstatic. You’d decided to make dinner for both girls in your life. You hadn't heard from the creepy voice in a day, and you relived thinking it was all some stupid prank played by some teenager who somehow got a hold of your number.

As you’d finished making the dish and making plates for your two girls, you heard your phone ring on the table. “Hey, Dad. Someone’s calling you. Want me to answer it?”

“Uh. I got it. Let me put this pan back on the stove,” You shouted. Placing the pan back on the now-off-stovetop, wipe your hands on your clothes as you jog to grab your phone. Holding your phone, you feel your heart sink as the caller ID reads ‘UNKNOWN’ again.

You wanted to throw your phone, Bury it — hell, burn it. But you didn't want to draw attention to yourself. “It’s no one important.” You smirk and shove your phone in your pocket — declining the call.

Settling with your plate on the table, you are ready to dig in, but that's when you hear your ringtone muffled in your pocket. Your ex and Marigold hear it, too.

“Dad, it seems important if they had called you again — answer it,” Marigold nods.

You didn't want your daughter to witness fear in her father’s eyes. You didn't wish Marigold to be in fear for seeing the worry running all over your face. You didn't want to answer the phone but already knew they were persistent.

“Okay,” You breathed, shakily — trying to hide it.

You stood up from your seat, pecked your lips on Marigold’s forehead, and walked towards your bedroom — answering the phone and pressing it to your ear.

“Hey there, city boy. I was gettin’ impatient.”

“What do you want from me? Threaten me some more?” You questioned.

“I didn't know you swung that way. Do you get turned on by someone threatenin’ you?”

“Shut the fuck up,” You spat. “What do you want from me?”

“You should watch your tone if you're a father; how would your daughter react, knowing er’ father has a sailor's mouth?”

“You know nothing about me,” You seethed. You were making a fist with your free hand — so hard you could draw blood with your nails. “I’m done talking to you, goodbye.”

“If you hang up, I swear I will bust down that door and slash your daughters and wife’s throats and gut them like the fish they are.”

His threat made all the color drain from your body; your knees were wobbly — your throat felt clogged — and the ability to breathe became impossible. You felt powerless when you heard your daughter and ex-wife were in danger.

“Oh, what happened?” The voice mockingly cooed. “All bark but no bite?” He knew his threat made you feel powerless — weak.

“Fuck you, you want me motherfucker? Come and get me,” You snapped, ending the phone call and throwing your phone on the bed, shaking your head to get rid of the anger seething through your body.

Once you finally calmed down, you walked towards the kitchen, seeing the two best people to make your anger finally sizzle away.

“You guys talked about me while I’m gone?”

“Yeah, Mare was just telling me that you met someone new. Tell us about him.”

October 31st Austin, Texas Your Bedroom/Living Room

You were currently pacing back and forth in a white tank top, your boxers and your socks being calf height. Your phone is propped up against your dresser as your best friend, Jett, watches you pace.

“You’re annoying me with all that pacing,” Jett comments. You rub a hand down your face in an attempt to calm yourself down. “Better, now?” Jett asks.

“Nope,” You state, pacing again.

“You're stressing yourself out for nothing; he’ll like you. What’s the big deal?” Jett shrugs.

“It's because I’ve never gone out on a date since I came out. So I’m just nervous as all hell. Should I tell him I’m sick? I’m going to tell him I’m sick.” You nod, grabbing your phone, but Jett’s voice bellows through the phone, shouting protests.

“If you as so much as cancel on him, I will waste my tank of gas and smack the shit out of you and then leave.”

“You live an hour away,” You commented.

“And? What’s the issue?”

You shake your head. “Look,” You start, placing your phone back in its original place. “We’ve hung out before — and that’s all it’s been, hanging out, but I feel like I could blow this whole thing up.

“If I could smack some sense into you through this phone, I would,” Jett spoke.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” You smirk, crossing your arms.

“If a guy goes through all this trouble to finally stop just using you for sex and actually wants to be in a committed relationship with you, what does that insinuate?”

“He’s desperate because no other man was willing to give it up that easy? You shrug.

Jett slides a hand down her face in annoyance, hearing her best friend. "It means he's genuinely interested in you, dummy. Allow him to show his vulnerability.”

“Who are you, and what have you done to my best friend?” You ask.

Jett rolls her eyes and flips her middle finger at you.” “Fuck off,” She chuckles. "When is he coming?"

You shrug. "He said that he would be here —" You started. You heard the doorbell go off downstairs. "Who's that?" Jett questioned.

"Lemme go see. Talk to you later, Jett."

"Bye," Jett states, hanging the phone up. Walking out to your living room, you felt anxious. This pit in your stomach rose to your throat as you walked downstairs. Then your thoughts rose back when you thought about the unknown caller.

You were freaking out if he was on the other side of the door, waiting for you — like predators do to their prey and waiting for the opportunity to pounce.

As you stood in front of the wooden door before you, your breath started to shudder. Gripping the doorknob made the feeling of breathing — unbearable.

Somehow getting enough oxygen in your lungs and pushing out carbon dioxide, you twist the knob and pull the door towards you. You push a breath of air as you notice your date, Hugo. You could feel your muscles lose their tension as your hand was the door.

Hugo had auburn hair matching his full auburn beard. He wore the same brown bomber jacket when you first met him, wearing blue jeans and black boots. You smiled when you noticed the smile riding his face. "Hey, I thought you weren't going to be here until 7," You shrugged.

"I wanted to surprise you. Did I come too early?" Hugo asks.

"Well, you never do that," You start, and Hugo chortles. "But, I was stressing about this whole night. Never been on a date before."

"Never?" Hugo asks.

"Well, in the sense of with another man. I guess I was questioning if you actually liked me," You confessed.

Hugo stepped closer to you — towering over you with his height. In one swoop, he manages to lift you up — wrapping your legs around his waist, you chuckle. Walking into your living room, Hugo closes the door with his foot. Hearing the door slam made you feel like a teenager in love.

Your lips made contact with his as your hands traveled through his hair. His hands were on your waist like a puzzle piece — perfectly placed into shape. Hugo lays you down on the couch; his body melts through your tank top.

His kisses trail down your neck like a spider crawling down your skin. His mustache tickles your neck — making goosebumps travel down your body. You grab his face and bring your lips back onto yours — tangled together, lips trying to connect but can't find the exact shape. With each kiss, it gets more passionate — intense, fireworks exploding inside your brain.

As you wrapped your hand in the strands of his hair, his hands slid from your waist onto the inner bend of your knee, holding your leg, driving his hard-covered cock into yours.

Your mind drifted away from Hugo, and you thought of Joel. How he would have one hand on your throat and the other on your leg would be lifted just like this. You hated that you thought of him, in this moment, with someone you moved on from.

“Wait, Hugo,” You breathed.

Hugo backs away from you, sitting up. Watching you breathe heavily on your back. “Are you okay?”

You nod as you feel the cotton under your head. “Yeah. Just lemme find something to wear.” You fix your position so that you're sitting next to Hugo.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? I understand. You want to save the best for last,” Hugo winks, and you chuckle. You stand up, and you walk up the stairs towards your bedroom. Opening the door and closing it behind you, you lean on the door and manage to catch your breath. Hugo was your future. Why were you thinking about your past with Joel? You hated that Joel infiltrated your mind like a bad memory.

Closing your eyes and trying to collect your thoughts as you thought about Joel. Your phone rang, and you opened your eyes, exhaled a long breath, grabbed your phone, and hit the green answer button reflectively.

“Hello there, city boy.”

You noticed that their tone sounded angry, frustrated, and pissed. It made you feel have the memory of being a kid scolded by a parent.

“Hello?” You shrugged.

“Your such a fuckin’ whore, you know that?”

“Thanks, I guess. Where is this coming from?” You questioned.

“You’ll find out soon enough, baby boy. Trust me.”

The phone line went dead. You looked at your phone in confusion and disbelief. Ultimately, you ignored those feelings as you shoved your headphones and blasted music into your ears as you glanced around your closet, trying to find an outfit.

October 31st Austin, Texas Living Room

As you walked down the stairs, you felt chipper and happy. As the music drowned your ears earlier, you forgot about the voice and Joel altogether. “Okay, Hugo. Are you ready to have the best date ever or—”

“Oh my god!” You exclaimed—the sight before you shook you to your core. Seeing Hugo beat up, bruises littering his face and neck, and cuts all around his body as If he looks like a cutting board. His arms and legs are tied to a chair in your kitchen and placed in the middle of the living room like a trophy, and a piece of duct tape covers his lips.

You cup your hands over your mouth and immediately rush to Hugo’s aid. You kneel in front of him, trying to untie his restraints. “I’m sorry I didn't hear you, Hugo. I was playing music — fuckin’ Mare introducing me to alternative music.”

Hugo was saying something under the tape, but you couldn't understand what he was saying. You glanced up at him. You can see his eyes almost pop out of your head — he was trying to warn you, but you couldn't tell what was happening.

“Shh, I promise you’ll be okay. You have nothing to worry —”

Your head immediately jerked back as a firm grip was on your hair as you were being dragged away from Hugo. You can hear muffled protest through the tape. You tried to fight back — smack the grip in your locks but ended up feeling a cut on your knuckle.

Feeling the pulling stop, you tried to crawl away, but the grip was still tight as the hand made you stay upright on your knees. You see a shiny object in the corner of your eye. From looking at Hugo, you can see the fear in his eyes.

In your field of view, you see a large hunting knife near your eye as the figure taunts you. Placing the knife near your throat — terrifying Hugo. “You know, I really shouldn't enjoy how much this turns me on, city boy; seein’ this asshole tied up as you're forced on your knees does it for me — more than I should admit.”

“You're a fucking sicko,” You spat.

You hiss as you feel the blade press up against your neck deeper, cutting slight skin tissue. “Careful what you say. One wrong move, and I could cut that pretty throat.”

You could see Hugo seeth with anger. He kept bouncing in the chair like a bull when it saw red. “Oh, asshole doesn't like it when I threaten his boy — oh, sorry. My boy.”

“Maybe we should give im’ a show, city boy. Turn around, or I'll cut your throat.” You take a breath as you slowly turn around on your knees and see the face of the voice that’s been tormenting you for the past couple of days — the mask of the voice.

White plastic with elongated eyes and a long elongated mouth, the sight made your stomach churn as he held up a knife to your throat. With his other free hand, he slips the bottom half of the long cloak he was wearing down, and you see his hardened cock flop out. You felt bile rise to your throat as you looked at the eyes of the mask.

“Suck.” That was all you heard before you wrapped your mouth around the tip. Your mouth slowly kept going back and forth as you heard grunts from the voice above you. You wanted to get this over with. You didn't know what this person’s intentions were after you were done, but you hoped you and Hugo would be alive at the end.

“C’mon. That’s how you suck? I’m gettin’ bored.”

His free hand grabs your hair as he thrusts his hips towards you. With each thrust, you could feel the cock in your mouth twitch, causing your throat to gag and tears start to fall from your eyes. “Oh baby, that’s a sight; you look so perfect with your tears slidin’ down your face.” His thrusts became more animal-like and more of your tears kept slipping down your face as more gags escaped your throat.

“Baby, I could shoot my cum in that throat right now,” He starts. He pulls your face away from his cock as you take a deep breath and start coughing — catching your breath. “But I’d rather cum in that pretty ass of yours,” He states, grabbing your chin. In one motion, he causes you to turn away from him and make you land on your hands. You glance up at Hugo, and you notice his eyes read, ‘I'm sorry, there’s nothing I can do,’ it makes your heart tear a bit.

No warning, you feel your pants slide from your ass, and his cock slip inside you, and you scream in pleasure, but it sounds like a pain to you. His thrusts were quick, rough, and something you missed when you were Hugo. You couldn't tell if you loved or hated this feeling as much as you denied it was happening. “Damn, baby. You're so fuckin’ tight. He might not fuck as good as I do.”

“Fuck off,” You pant. A hard yank to your hair as you’re near the mask sends shivers down your spine. “Nah, I’m too busy, fuckin’ you.” Your head being in the position it was, you got a clear view of Hugo’s face. You can see the sadness littering his eyes. “Aww, how sad. He must know that he can't satisfy you the way I can,” The voice panted.

Your nails could’ve made scratches into the wooden floor under you. Your neck could crack if he kept pulling you like this. He could kill you if he wanted to. You could feel the cold blade press up against your neck. You were scared, but your cock kept betraying you. Deep down in your gut, you had a feeling that you knew who this was under the mask, but you couldn't pinpoint who exactly yet.

“Baby, you gonna cum?”

“N-” You tried to state, but they cut you off, feeling the knife press deeper. “Before you start bullshitin’ me. Remember, I can kill you right here and your pretty boy toy, too. Now, baby, are you going to cum?”

You wanted to lie, even if you knew if you were going to die. But you couldn't handle the idea of Marigold growing up with a dad — the idea of Marigold being the one to find you crept through your head through his threat.

You nod your head and close your eyes. “Good, me too.” He grunts. His thrust made loud claps with your ass. Each thrust jerked you forward and pushed the knife press a little deeper into your neck. It was like he was on a mission, and he was each thrust closer to completing his mission.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” You spat.

“Cum for me, baby. Cum for Ghostface, baby.”

You exclaim as you feel your cum release itself from the chamber you had hidden from. “Fuck, baby. I’m gonna get you pregnant. Here it comes.” You hear the voice exclaim and thrust himself deeper inside you. As he lets go of your hair, you collapse on the floor, your arms lying on either side of you. You could feel his cum swim out of you as you lay on the floor — exhausted.

He gets up, fixes his cloak, stands up, walks towards Hugo, and bends his face to lean closer. “You upset that I made him cum with my cock and not yours?”

Hugo roars, hearing that question. He curses the man in front of him out as much as he can with tape plastered over his mouth. “Ugh, I’m getting sick of this.” He brings his fist up, connecting with Hugo’s jaw, and that makes Hugo’s head go limp. Taking a breath, Ghostface stands above you, watching as you take deep breaths on the floor.

“Please tell me y’know who this is.”

“Joel,” You answer flat.

“How?”

“The way the voice called me city boy, you did it as if I was going to be punished — like the old days,” You admitted.

You heard Joel chuckle as he helped you up off the floor. You stared into the eyes of the man who threatened you, held a knife against your throat, and overall gave you an orgasm you’ve been craving for so long. You push the mask off his face, and you see the same grin you're used to seeing. “Why didn't you try to fight back, hell, even bite my dick off?”

You crossed your arms and looked at Joel. “Would it be wrong to admit I just wanted an orgasm?”

Joel chuckles and shakes his head. “You're a sicko.”

“Says the jealous man, who threatened me for a couple of days — made me paranoid and just fucked me in front of my date. Yeah, I’m the sicko.”

Joel shakes his head as you laugh at him. You look at the clock near your wall and notice it read 7 o’clock.

“Damn, it's seven already. How long do you think you knocked out Hugo?”

“Probably got a glass jaw, an hour at most.”

“Wanna join me in the shower for old time's sake?”

“I’ll follow the leader this one time.”

You start walking the best you can with Joel on your tail. And you turn around on the stairs, and you stop. “What do you think you're doing?”

“Followin’ you.”

“Without the mask? You used to be smarter than you look.” You start walking up the stairs as Joel walks down the stairs, grabbing the mask and glancing at the knife on the floor and grabbing it, too.

“You actin’ smart, city boy. I’ll show you what I do to smart boys.”

[xdaddysprincessxx]

Pieces of Him

Cult leader Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: Dead Dove! Horror! 18+ only! Ritualistic cannibalism, angst, death, blood, cameo from Ezra, made up religion, betrayal, infidelity, p in v, non/dub con (heavier on the non but added dub just to cover my bases), oral (f receiving), squirting, pregnancy/breeding (they literally just had sex so no actual fetus, Joel is just delulu) reader can be picked up, and oh yea Joel is out of his damn mind, pretty sure that’s it. Not beta’d, lightly edited, all mistakes are my own! Moodboard made by me(:

Joel was a young man when he married the love of his life. High school sweethearts. They were only twenty one when Laura got pregnant. Joel immediately got down on one knee and asked her to be his wife. The two had a cozy little house on a few acres, about an hour outside of town. When Laura went into labor, Joel about fainted. He was terrified of becoming a dad, he wanted his girl to have better than he ever did. Unfortunately right after Laura pushed little Sarah out into the world, things took a turn for the worst. She lost a lot of blood and kept losing blood. The doctors took Sarah and pushed Joel out of the room trying to save her. He’ll never forget how cold that hospital waiting room was when the drs finally came out and told him Laura had passed. The loss of his wife took a toll on Joel. Not only did he lose his best friend and wife, he had to raise a newborn on his own. Thankfully he had his brother, Tommy, who helped out a ton with Sarah. But life was not kind to Joel Miller. Twelve years. He got twelve years with his Sarah before the day his sweet girl got struck by a drunk driver and killed. He became a shell of a man, void of all emotion and life. That was until he met a very charming man one day.

Ezra was a gypsy of sorts. Never staying in one place, always on the move. And spreading this gospel about this amazing creator and all the good things he does and can do for you if you please him. Joel met him when Ezra was walking past his house. He happened to be outside when Ezra spotted him. Joel didn’t even notice him until he was already standing next to him as Joel looked out over his big yard, depressed because there should be kids out there playing. Sarah should be out there, running around, while him and Laura cook dinner on the grill. When Joel did notice the stranger standing next to him, he tried telling him he didn’t want whatever he was trying to sell. Joels efforts to shake the man went unnoticed as Ezra rambled on and on. Not too long into the conversation, Ezra told Joel about The Children of Ares. Not like any religion Joel’s ever heard of, he was intrigued. Ezra promised eternal life, salvation. A guarantee Joel will be reunited with Sarah and Laura. There was a small group in town who also followed the same practice. Not long after meeting Ezra, Joel went to a meeting in town and soon found himself deeply immersed in this religion.

Fast forward ten years, Joel is now a high priest in The Children of Ares. It’s grown a lot since he’s joined. And even more so since he’s taken this position of power.

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Strolling down the main street on a Friday night, you, your boyfriend and your three friends are all laughing and joking enjoying the brisk fall night. Halloween decorations line the store shop windows, there’s orange and black fairy lights strung up along the sidewalk, going from post to post. On the corner in front of you is the towns crack head spewing his usual nonsense about “the masked freaks who eat people out in the woods”. You’ve never paid him any mind but for some reason his words have you on edge.

“Hey Steve why don’t you go hit the crack pipe again and shut the fuck up!” Your boyfriend, Liam, yells to the man.

Steve narrows his beady eyes at your group, “You’ll regret that boy. The big man is coming. He’s gonna get you and there wont be a lick of you remaining.”

The unease of his words pours over your body and you don’t notice the man standing there, waiting to cross the street when you bump into him.

“Oh oh I’m sorry! I didn’t see you there! Are you okay?” You quickly say as you bounce off of the man you bumped into. Not only is he tall, he’s practically a human wall. The man turns and looks at you, at first with a scowl on his face. But once he gets an eye full of who bumped into him, he quickly replaces the scowl with a smile.

“Oh it’s no problem honey, shit happens,” he says with a chuckle, “I bump into things all the time. Joel. Joel Miller” He says to you with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye as he reaches out his hand for you to shake.

Smiling, you shake his hand and tell him your name. You can’t help but notice how handsome he is. The salt and pepper hair, scruffy facial hair, that smile and those eyes! Not to mention his body! For an older man, he is jacked. You can just tell through his jacket he’s got thick biceps and these meaty thighs. You envision a soft tummy under those clothes. You can’t help but get lost in thought as you stare at the older man.

Joel notices you just staring and let’s out a little chuckle, “Well hey I’m apart of this little group. We’re having a bonfire tonight if you and your friends wanna swing by. There’ll be drinks, food, the works. Here have my card, I can text you the address if you want.”

“Oh yea for sure! That sounds fun!” You say over enthusiastically as you take the card from him and pull your phone out of your jacket pocket to type his number in and send a text. Right after you hit send, his phone dings

“That’s me! Just text the address and we’ll be there!” You give him a big smile as he smiles back at you before nodding his head and giving you a little wave.

Your friends were a little ahead of you, waiting for you to catch up.

“Ooohh someone’s gotta crush!” Your friend Aaliyah said in a singsong voice. The twins, Salem and Violet, standing next to her giggling, covering their laughs behind their hands.

“Oh shut up I bumped into him and he invited us to a bonfire. Besides I already have my handsome, wonderful boyfriend right here.” You say as you look at Liam, sliding your arm around him, looking up at him with hearts in your eyes. Liam snuggles up to your side but keeps his eyes trained on Aaliyah with a shit eating grin on his face.

Scrunching your face up in confusion you look where he’s looking and the unease gets worse. You stand there watching the two have this little flirty stare off.

“Come on guys let’s go check this thing out. It’ll be fun.” You say to break up the tension you now feel between your boyfriend and friend.

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You, Liam, Aaliyah, and the twins all piled into Liam’s truck as you made your way to the bonfire. Joel lives out in the middle of nowhere. After driving for awhile with nothing but corn fields and woods as far as the eye can see, you notice a bright orange flame off in the distance. That must be the bonfire.

Soon you pulled up and turned onto crunchy gravel driveway after traveling on a dirt road for a good portion of the trip. Joel has a nice one story house with a huge yard. The bonfire is behind the house, off a good distance, closer to the tree line but not close enough to accidentally set the woods on fire. There are several cars in the driveway, Liam parked his truck in the grass beside the driveway. As you and your friends got out of the truck, you stood there looking up at the night sky. You could see all the stars and the moon. It was very peaceful, a nice reprieve from the horrible gut feeling you’ve had.

“Hey! You guys just get here?” Some guy yells at you as he walks towards you from the bonfire.

“Yea! We were invited by Joel!” You yelled back

“Well come on back new friends of Joel’s.” He says back with a smile.

You smile back as you walk around the truck to join your boyfriend and go to grab his hand. Except he pulls his hand away without looking at you and follows the guy to the bonfire. Your group walks in silence, music fills the air. You end up in the back of the group, following in silence, feeling left out like everyone is in on this inside joke and they’re all laughing at you but you don’t know why.

Just as your passing the deck attached to the back of the house, you feel a hand grab your arm making you jump, forcing you from your thoughts.

“Hey darlin. It’s good to see ya came.” Joel says in a low baritone voice. Seeing the older man’s face and hearing his voice is already lifting your spirits. And awakening something else within you, between your thighs.

“I’m glad I came too. It’s good to see you again.” You get out breathlessly with a giggle. You literally sound like a love stricken school girl. You have got to get a grip on yourself.

“If ya want something to drink or anything, my door is open darlin. Help yourself to whatever alright?”

Nodding your head yes, a comfortable silence between you two as you share a smile before heading towards the fire.

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Sitting around the bonfire, you laughed and joked with all the others that are there. Joel almost hardly ever left your side, even going as far as putting his arm around you. In a friendly way of course, but your pussy didn’t see it that way. Whenever his big, meaty hands touched you, your body would heat up almost as if he lit a fire on whatever part of your body he touched. Your friends keeping more to themselves, acting stuck up almost. It makes you feel bad you dragged them out there. You didn’t want them to ruin your newly made friends’ night. At one point you looked over and saw Liam and Aaliyah sneak off toward the trees. That bad gut feeling rearing it’s ugly head, as strong as ever. Joel had gone somewhere, so you got up from your seat and followed them as unsuspiciously as you could. Just before you reached the tree line you could see your boyfriend and friend standing there, kissing. Nausea hit you like a truck, the world around you spinning. Your heart dropped out of your ass. You couldn’t believe what your seeing. How could they? But also this is making everything make sense. No wonder Aaliyah always seemed jealous of your relationship. No wonder Liam’s been acting more distant lately. Tears slipped out of your eyes as you turn around and walk all the way back to Joel’s house.

Walking in through his back door, your head hanging down you don’t notice the scowling old man standing on the other side of the sliding door until your shoulder bumps into him.

“Oh! Oh Joel I-I’m so sorry, I-I didn’t m-me. . “

“Darlin don’t you say sorry again. You ain’t do nothing wrong,” he says as his hand reaches out to cup your face, “I saw what happened honey. If anyone’s sorry it’s those two. You don’t deserve that. Not one bit.” His thumb slowly caressing your check as he swipes away a stray tear. You reach up and grab onto his wrist of the hand holding your face. Joel moves closer to you as you look deep into his eyes. Slowly you inch closer to his face, looking at him with heavy lidded eyes before bridging the gap and bringing your lips to his. His lips press back against yours, feeling plush and warm. Lighting up every nerve in your body. You feel him breathe in deep through his nose as he begins to kiss you back harder. You break the kiss just to press your lips back against his, repeating the action several times. The two of you just kissing each other before you pull back and stare up at him with wide eyes,

“J-Joel I- I don’t know what came over me. I’m so sorry, you don’t want me I-“

“What did I tell you, darlin? Stop saying sorry. And don’t you dare say I don’t want you. I’ve been dying to have a taste of those pretty lips since we first ran into each other.” Joel’s hand that’s still cupping your face slides down to your chin as he grips your face between his thumb and fore finger and brings your face back to his. His lips bruise yours as he kisses you deeply, parting your lips with his tongue as he begins to slowly lick into your mouth. You gladly open up and let him in, softly moaning into the kiss, and you enter your tongue into his mouth. Your tongues twirling around each other before you suck his tongue, causing him to growl. His other hand grabs the back of your head, smashing your face even more into his. His aquiline nose smashed into the side of your nose as you continued to passionately kiss Joel. Your hands wrapped around his thick torso, holding him tightly to you, your hands gripping his flannel. Joel bends at the knee as his hands grip the backs of your thighs and hoists you up. You quickly wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you further into his home. You bury your face in his neck and start to lightly suck on his neck causing him to let out this deep growl as his grip tightens. Soon he’s tossing you like a rag doll and your back hits a soft bed. Wasting no time Joel leans over you and begins to take your pants off. You lift your hips to help him and begin to pull your shirt off, tossing it to the side. Now only clad in your bra and panties, Joel just stares at you with dark eyes as he looks you up and down. Devouring every curve of you with his eyes alone.

“Tell me you want this darlin. I gotta hear those words. I gotta hear you say you want this before we go any further.” Joel says as he goes to grab your chin and pull you towards him.

“I want this. I want you Joel. Please.” You beg. Eyes blown wide open as you drink in the sight of this beautiful man in front of you.

Joel wastes no more time and begins to pull his shirt up over his head before unbuckling his pants and quickly getting rid of them. He crawls up the bed, hovering over you before lowering himself. His plush lips meet yours as he kisses you deeply. Your hands raise up to cup his face as he wraps an arm around your shoulders as his other arm reaches down and pulls your leg up on his hip. The two of slowly grinding your bodies into each other, tongues conversing with one another. The heat from his body lighting your body up like the Fourth of July. The hand on your leg moves in between your bodies as Joel finds your sweet wet haven and rubs your slit up and down causing your slick to leave an even bigger damp spot on your panties. Every touch, kiss, grind has you so wound tight. He pushes your panties aside and dips a finger in, gathering your wetness before trailing up to your clit, going in soft circles.

His light touch has you gasping into his mouth. Joel just smiles as he kisses you one more time before moving down to your neck. Wet, open mouthed kisses leaving a trail down your neck, to your collarbone, in between your breasts. He makes his way slowly kissing down your stomach, Joel looks up and sees you staring back at him. Those gorgeous brown eyes staring back at you, you swear he can see your soul. His hands tug on your panties and begin to peel them off of you. Once removed, Joel’s big hands land on your inner thighs as he spreads you even wider as he admires your body.

“So fucking pretty baby. This for me?” He asked as he dips a thick finger in your entrance. Moaning and shaking your head yes, just barely hanging on.

Chuckling, “This sweet little slice of heaven belongs to me now honey,” he says before dipping his head down and giving your clit a couple kitten licks. His hand travels up your body and cups your breast, squeezing, before he pinch’s your nipple, rolling it between his fingers.

“It’s yours Joel. I’m yours oh god I’m yours” your head thrown back as you babble incoherently. Joel smiles into your pussy before his tongue is back, licking wide stripes up your cunt before finding your clit and giving her a few sweet kisses before he closes his lips around the button and sucks. His hand still on your breast rotating between squeezing and rolling your nipple while his other hand has snaked its way to your cunt. Two thick fingers curled up in you have you gasping for air. His mouth and hands alone have already brought you close to the brink of tears. Never feeling ecstasy as good as this before. His fingers find rhythm curling up, hitting that sweet spongy spot inside of you. His sweet mouth never letting up on its assault on your clit.

“R-rrright there!! Oh god right there don’t stop oh fuck please don’t stop j-Joel oh Joel!!!” You start to scream his name as he brings you to the ultimate euphoria. Your cunt spasming as you squirt all over his beautiful face. You grab onto his curls and try to move his head as he continues to lick and suck on you. Barely able to even catch your breath, your cunt starting to hurt from the overstimulation from his mouth. Unable to move his head, you just grip his curls and hang on for dear life already on the brink of a second orgasm. His tongue and fingers are relentless never once letting up. Before you can even register what’s happening, your coming again. Squirt just dribbling out this time rather than shooting out at Joel. Your whole body shaking, boneless as he looks up at you. His face wet as he gives you this shit eating smile,

“That’s it baby give me every drop of your sweet essence.” He says as he admires your sore cunt before running his tongue through your folds one more time.

Joel sits back on his haunches as he grabs your hips and flips you over on your stomach, pulling your butt up slightly as he notched himself at your entrance.

“I think your sweet little pussy is ready for me now darlin. Whatcha think baby? Think she can handle me?” He says with a dark chuckle as he starts to feed you his cock inch by inch. You feel yourself stretch to accommodate his girthy length. Every little bit of his cock sliding along your walls has you quivering. The pace he’s going feels like forever before he hits home and buried his entire length inside you. His cock punches all the air from your lungs, all you can do is fist the sheets beneath you as your mouth drops opens in a quiet scream.

“Fuck she’s squeezing me so tight already honey. Poor baby hasn’t been fucked right, has she? Awe I don’t think she has. Needs daddy’s big cock to stretch her out how she likes huh? Yea she does.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. Your face smashed into the bed, all you can do is nod your head. His filthy mouth has you ready to beg for more. Ready to beg him to fuck you hard. Too see you so pliant and ready to take whatever he gives you has Joel’s eyes rolling back as he pulls out until the tip is left before pushing back in with a quick thrust. He finds his pace with ease, giving you hard, unrelenting thrusts that push you up on the bed as you try your hardest to push back, wanting to fuck yourself back on his cock. But all you can do is lay there and take him. Joel leans down, his chest covering your back as he bites down on your shoulder. You moan loudly as your head lifts off the bed, tilting back. His hands find yours, his fingers interlocking with yours as you continue to grip the sheets. His pace slowed ever so slightly so you feel every thrust, every vein, every inch go in and back out. You swear you might black out from how delicious his cock feels deep inside you. Feeling fuller than you ever have,

“Jj- joooeeeeelllll nngh I-I’m gonna - oh. I-I’m gonna cum daddy fuuuckk oh please don’t stop!” You manage to get out as you move your head to the side, managing a whisper in his ear. Joel moves his face from your shoulder to your face and does his best to kiss you. It’s rather sloppy as you both go to lick into each others mouth, only to barely make it in, getting the sides of each others mouths more.

“Oh good baby good. Give daddy what he wants. Let me feel this sweet fuckin cunt cum all over me. That’s it, that’s fucking it sweet girl oh fuck I can feel her baby I can feel her coming nngh oh.” He moans into your ear as you hit your third orgasm of the night. Your whole body seizes up and you begin to come, your cunt milking his cock for all its worth. Judging by the grunts coming from Joel he’s close too. His thrusts become sloppy before you feel him thrust all the way in and begin pulsing. His thick load coating your walls, you swear you feel him in your womb. He stays inside you for awhile after, resting his head on your back as you both catch your breath and come down from your highs.

He pulls out and moves to lay next to you, helping you to roll on your side. He wraps you up in his blanket before holding you tight to his chest. You bury your face in his chest, taking a deep breath in. His woodsy, musk scent filling your nostrils. Your so spent, sleep finds it’s way to you with ease. The both of you holding onto each other, you eyes finally shut as you drift off to sleep.

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You roll over, trying to find warmth as you start to open your eyes. All too soon it hits you, you slept with the older man you had just met. Joel. You’re still in his bed but he’s gone. Your friends!! The bonfire! You sit up quickly before the memories of what you saw flood back into your consciousness. Fuck Liam and Aaliyah. How dare they betray you like that? You climb out of Joel’s bed and grab a red flannel off the ground and pull it on. The shirt covering what you need it to cover as you button it up a little bit, leaving the top four buttons undone. You decide to go out and find Joel, bring him back to bed. As you walk into the kitchen, you look out the window above the sink and make out the bonfire is still going strong. The clock on the wall reads 3am on the dot. Curious you open the sliding patio door and step outside, wrapping your arms around yourself for warmth. You keep on walking towards the bonfire. As you get closer, it seems like everyone’s gone. Suddenly you notice a robe swishing behind a tree, you decide to follow. Walking into the woods, it doesn’t take long before you find everyone. The sight makes you stop in your tracks. Everyone’s backs are to you, all dressed in white robes with these masks covering the top half of their faces. The bonfire still close enough to give you enough light to notice red. The sleeves and bottoms of the white robes are covered in red and they’re all eating? What looks like red, raw meat in their hands, feasting as if they were animals. You move to go back to the house when your foot hits something and you look down and notice a severed arm. You gasp loudly, putting your hand over your mouth. Jumping back in fright, you hit a solid wall. Turning around, you find Joel.

“What are you doing out here darlin? You aren’t meant to see this. Not right now. Not good for the baby.”

Terrified and absolutely confused by what he meant by that you start to back up.

“I-I Joel please. I-I’m sorry I didn’t know I-“ swinging your head around, everyone has now stopped and are looking your way. An endless sea of blank white masks staring at you. You can see the pile of bodies they were circled around. You make out Liam’s head laying next to a pile of intestines. Human flesh hanging in their hands as they’ve all come to a stop. Your eyes wide in horror as you realize those were your friends. Their bodies laying on the cold hard ground, filleted wide open. Severed body parts scattered about. They were eating them. Actually eating their lifeless bodies.

You turn back to Joel before you trip and fall on your ass. You start to slowly crawl backwards, away from him.

Slowly getting down on his knees before getting into a crawl position, “Now don’t do something stupid honey. It’s okay. I built this community for us. For you. I’ve been waiting for the day my queen came home to me. This is our kingdom to rule.” He says in a low, gravelly voice as he begins to crawl towards you. A terrifying predator coming for his prey. You do your best to crawl backwards while still facing him but he reaches out and grabs your ankle, pulling you toward him.

Thrashing your leg, trying to get out of his hold, your heart beating wildly in your chest.

“Joel please! Let me go! I won’t tell anyone just let me go!” You try to beg, hoping he’ll take mercy on you as you grab onto the leg he has a hold off and try your hardest to yank back out of his grasp.

Joel just smirks at you as he climbs on top of you. His hands grab both of yours and holds them together, pinned to the ground.

“Don’t you see? I did all of this for you baby. I gave you a beautiful home, a community of people who love you. Why can’t you see that? Those others only hurt you, betrayed you. I love you darlin. Always have. I need ya to calm down now honey this is for your own good.” He tells you as you continue to struggle to get out of his grip. He manages to grip both of your hands in one of his as he brings his hand to his mouth. He bites into the fatty part of his hand, drawling blood. He shoves the bleeding hand into your open mouth. The metallic taste hitting your tongue, making you gag.

“Stop it! Stop moving dammit! This is for your own good! You need me! You need my life essence baby! The baby needs it! Take it!” He shouts at you as he continues to shove his hand into your mouth. Unable to get out of his grip or close your mouth, you finally give in and stop moving, letting his blood flood your mouth. Tears stream down your face as you realize you aren’t getting away from this. From him. He’s convinced you’re with child even though it’s only been hours since you’ve had sex. It’s literally impossible for that. Yet he sure thinks so. And on top of that, he’s convinced you belong to him and you need his blood and then there’s the fucking human eating monsters behind you. You aren’t getting out of this alive. Playing along is the only option you have.

“That’s it baby there’s my good girl. I love you darlin. Don’t you love me?” He asks as he removes his hand.

“I love you Joel. I’m so sorry.” You whimper out, only audible enough for him to hear. Joel leans down and captures your bloody lips with his. Kissing you deeply, shoving his tongue inside your mouth. You kiss back, not really having any other choice but to kiss him back.

Joel’s free hand moves down to your cunt, dipping a bloody finger in between your folds, giving you a couple quick rubs on your clit before removing his hand to pull himself out of his pants. His leg nudges your leg to open more as he swipes his cock through your used pussy. After a few swipes, Joel starts to push into you. You’re just wet enough for it to not hurt too bad but it feels so much more intense than last time. The stretch really burns as he continues to push into you. Pinned down on the ground, all you can do is take him. Having been completely occupied by Joel, you had temporarily forgotten about your audience. That’s when you notice a low hum of voices surrounding you. You break the kiss and look to the side and see masked people surrounding you two chanting something in a language you’ve never heard before. Next thing you know, they all get down on their knees, arms extended in front of them, bowing towards you and Joel.

“Eyes on me darlin. It’s okay, you’ll know soon enough what’s happening. It’s a good thing baby. Ffuck oh honey I love you so much. My sweet girl. M-my beautiful Queen, that’s it, take daddy’s cock nngh” Joel tells you as he grunts, bottoming out inside of you again and again.

You can’t help but to grunt as he continues to thrust deep in you. You’re barely able to comprehend anything that’s happened nor the fact you have an audience who also happen to be bowing down and chanting. You are well and throughly screwed.

~Fin~

A/n: I’ve had this idea for awhile, wrote some of it, had a creative slump and had a visit from the horny monster today and wa- la! I hope y’all enjoy this! I love you all and appreciate all the feedback!♥️♥️

Tagging some moots(: - @bonezone44 @multiversed-daydreamer @toxicanonymity @lumoverheaven @wannab-urs @neverwheremoonchild @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @beefrobeefcal @josephquinnswhore @juletheghoul let me know if you want me to untag you!

[janaispunk]

hello hello and welcome to another edition of my weekly fic recap aaaand it’s a big one! (seriously, does this bitch ever stop reading lol)

for every fic that i’ve ever recced, find my rec masterlist here :)

i'll sort the fics by character and add emojis to indicate the contents a little. still, please look at the tags/warnings and decide for yourself if something might not be your cup of tea.

💘= fluff • ❤️‍🔥= smut • 🤍= angst • 🖤= dark

joel miller

make a move on me & won’t you suffer for the angels to fly? by @freelancearsonist ❤️‍🔥

smother (chapter 10) by @beardedjoel 💘❤️‍🔥🤍🖤

oasis by @beardedjoel ❤️‍🔥🖤

diehard & cry, baby by @gutsby ❤️‍🔥

woman by @dancingtotuyo 💘❤️‍🔥🤍

high infidelity (chapter 2) by @dancingtotuyo 💘🤍

helen (chapter 4) 💘❤️‍🔥🤍 by @kiwisbell

out of date by @penvisions ❤️‍🔥

passing notes: nsfw by @burntheedges 💘

tarnished but so grand by @morning-star-joy 💘

watch by @luxurychristmaspudding 💘❤️‍🔥

say you can’t sleep, baby, i know by @beskarandblasters 💘❤️‍🔥

the kindness of strangers by @schnarfer 💘

could be by @corazondebeskar-reads 💘❤️‍🔥

mine, all mine by @thetriumphantpanda ❤️‍🔥

dave york

sedated by @luxurychristmaspudding ❤️‍🔥🤍

the stranger by @punkshort 💘❤️‍🔥🤍

know better by @pedroshotwifey ❤️‍🔥

in sight by @goodwithcheese ❤️‍🔥

marcus pike

sage by @dancingtotuyo 💘

oberyn martell

reaching for the sweetest, sweetest peaches by @psychedelic-ink ❤️‍🔥

dark paradise by @vermillionwinter ❤️‍🔥🤍

sit on the throne by @prolix-yuy ❤️‍🔥🖤

the thief

what strange claws are these by @missredherring ❤️‍🔥🖤

frankie morales

frankie sneaking away to call you by @sweetercalypso 💘

one of your girls by @joelscruff 💘❤️‍🔥

watch by @luxurychristmaspudding 💘❤️‍🔥

dieter bravo

low hanging fruit by @covetyou ❤️‍🔥

if wishes came true by @schnarfer 💘🤍

javier peña

retired night school teacher by @wildemaven 💘

within you/without you by @ozarkthedog 🤍

closer to light by @sp00kymulderr ❤️‍🔥

din djarin

when the sun came up, you were looking at me by @freelancearsonist 💘🤍

my own writing

safe and sound (chapter 2) - joel miller x f!reader 💘🤍

glitch - javier peña x f!reader ❤️‍🔥

if you read and enjoy any of these fics, please remember to give some love to the writers! 🫶🏻

[magpiepills]

Made Me Love You

Chapter 2

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ ONLY! MDNI

Pairing: Tommy Miller x AFAB reader, Joel Milled x AFAB reader

work count: 3.7

Summary: you and Joel are left to your own devices after a night of debauchery with Tommy and emotions run high.

Warnings: smut, PIV, Unprotected sex, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, infidelity, size kink, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, cum eating, feelings, angst. No use of Y/N no established age gap, no physical description of reader, angst, etc.

A word from the author: this is a repost! I don’t normally like to get too plot heavy because I prefer to jam-pack my writing with wall to wall smut, but I didn’t think I could continue this story without some plot. Don’t worry, though, it’s still plenty explicit. I think I may have one more chapter in me to finish out this story, maybe two. I can’t make promises, though. If you see spelling and/or grammar mistakes, just ignore those. I write all this on a phone with a broken screen. Hope you enjoy! Big kiss to the ✨magic sluts✨ for the inspiration.

Tommy didn’t wake you before he slipped out for a long day checking over a new job site. He had left you sleeping peacefully, alone in the bed you’d shared, where he and his brother had both fucked you thoroughly last night. Your sleep was deep and dreamless. Just like you had wanted, and you awoke slowly, tangled in the sheet, naked and warm. You looked around and let the memory of the night before play back in your mind. It made your heart ache. The room was quiet and still, with sunlight slanting in through the curtains. When you rolled over, Joel was there, in his own bed, face squished into his pillow, looking at you as if waiting for you to tell him what to do, but you just met his gaze and looked into his eyes for a while across the narrow space between your beds, each of you at the end of an invisible tether.

Joel had woken up early, he never slept well but it was pointless to even try after what had happened.

“Hungry?”

“Mm. Coffee maybe.” You kept the conversation simple, not wanting to get into the messy tangle you’d tied with him last night at 8am. You stretched, arching your back into the mattress. You realized that you were still naked under the sheets, and debated asking Joel to hand you your robe but the little part of you that liked teasing him won out, and you slipped out of bed naked to saunter to the bathroom. You didn't check to see if he was looking.

You took a long shower, repeating your routine while replaying everything that had happened in your mind, remembering everything they had said. Everything Joel had said. You didn’t regret it exactly, but you hadn’t given any thought to how things would be between the three of you now. Part of you hoped you’d never speak of it again, never acknowledge it, wipe the whole thing from your memories, only revisiting it when you were all alone and certain that no one could hear you thinking. Another part wanted every night to be an encore, the three of you falling into an easy rhythm of generous sex in dim hotel rooms. That couldn’t happen, though. Another part, a quiet part, wanted Joel to be all yours- wanted him to be the one you would go back home with.

By the time you clicked off the bathroom light, everything was made up in your mind. Last night didn’t happen, there would be no repeat, no need to talk it over, and everything would be just as it had been before. It was easier that way. No proof anything had ever happened existed. If anyone found out it would be because Tommy or Joel had told. You would deny the whole thing, play it off as an inside joke and let them sort the betrayal out for themselves. It was the only option that could make sense, even if it made your chest ache a little, knowing that Joel was everything you wanted and would never have. Not the way you really wanted him, anyway.

You finished primping, put on some sunscreen and your favorite purple swimsuit, and went in search of your book to read by the pool.

Your resolve nearly shattered before you could make it out of the room. Sitting on your bed, next to your book, looking warm and inviting in a dark blue t-shirt and cargo shorts, holding an iced coffee as if he had dropped straight from boyfriend heaven, was Joel. Damn him. He smiled and held out the coffee, and you wanted to melt into his chest. Damn him. “Got donuts too.” His voice was soft and gentle, like he worried he would frighten you away. His eyes are so big and dark and soft and full of things he wanted to tell you. Things he would tell you later.

Your plan hadn’t included a section on explaining to the brothers that none of you were to speak of the event, and were to act as if it were a strange dream. You flipped your book out of the way and sat beside him, hoping that your nerves would settle with some caffeine. Your plan didn’t include him looking this good, either.

“Thanks. You didn’t have to do this.” You tried so hard to sound casual, like you hadn’t cried his name into his shoulder while he fucked you better than anyone ever had before, and that you weren’t still dabbing his cum, commingled with his brother’s from your pussy. He clearly didn’t get the message from your tone, because after he handed you a donut, his hand was on your thigh in an impossibly casual gesture of intimacy.

“I should be taking you out to breakfast after last night.” His voice was an octave lower, and slower. Oh no. “We don’t have to… we can…we could act like that didn’t happen.”

“Is he good to you?” So much for that.

“Yeah, Joel. He’s good. It’s good.”

“He’s away a lot.”

“It’s his job. He’s got to be at the sites. You understand that. You’re away working a lot too.” You can hear the waver in your own voice. You can hear how it sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself.

“I’m here now.” He said, moving a little closer and gently dragging two thick fingers back and forth across your shoulder.

“We should go to the beach. Make a day of it. Tommy said he wouldn’t be home until late and I don’t want to waste a nice day like this.” He made it easy to read between the lines. “How late did he say?” How much time did you have alone with Joel before Tommy came back? “Six. Maybe later. He’s going to a meeting with the building inspector. We have the whole day.” His eyes searched your face, desperate for you to understand him. Last night wasn’t enough for him.

He watched as you dug through your drawer for the swimsuit you wanted, admiring the soft curves and slopes of your body, greedily staring at all the things he'd only imagined before. Once you were tied into your suit, you turned to Joel and saw he’d changed into the ugliest trunks you’d ever seen in your life. “Joel ..” you gawked at him, they looked too big and the pattern was a garish yellow, blue, and black pattern that your brain couldn’t even make sense of. “What? What’s wrong with them?” He ran his hand over the front, adjusting his half hard cock in the mesh lining, watching you watch him touch himself. “Nothing. Ready to go?” He pulled on a stretched out white t-shirt, zipped a key card into his back pocket, and you slipped out of the hotel into the morning sun. You walked up the beach, avoiding the most obvious topic, and falling into comfortable silence. Your mind swam with conflict. Thoughts of Tommy, your relationship, and how what you really wanted was to stay in the room and fuck Joel again.

When you made it down to the beach, Joel held the little cooler he’d packed in one hand, and took your hand in the other while you carried the bag with your towels and sunscreen. You walked further, looking for a more secluded spot away from your hotel and his arm was around your shoulder, pulling you close to his side. It felt so natural to be with him like this that you could easily ignore everything that was wrong. Finally picking a place to set up for the day, Joel rented an umbrella and you laid out the towels side by side, making a solitary little island in the sand for the two of you to live on disconnected from reality for as long as possible.

You took turns rubbing sunscreen into each other. He started with your back, then slid down your arms. He took his time on your chest, his fingertips dimpling the plush swell of your breasts, dipping under the fabric of your top, watching intently how your body responded to his touch. Marveled at how your nipples were hard and pressed against the triangle of your top. Satisfied with his work, he guided you to lean back into your elbows. He squeezed more Hawaiian Tropic into his palm and spread it across your belly. You could have done this yourself, but he didn’t stop and you wanted every bit of contact you could get today.

His touch was tender and slow, working his way over your hips, thighs, calves. He felt like he was getting away with something when he touched you like this. When he was done he handed the bottle to you and laid on his stomach. You straddled him and as you slicked him up, making him smell like an island god, you teased him. “I should leave a bare spot in the shape of my initials. Give you a sunburn tramp stamp.” He scoffed, “Do it. Brand me. Then I’ll put my name on you. Once my name’s on it, it’s mine.” He squinted up at you with one eye and gave your knee a squeeze and rolled under you to lay on his back, his new position letting you feel his hard length against your pussy. You rubbed your core against him as you covered his chest in SPF 50, admiring the freckles that made constellations over his shoulders.

When you were done you moved off his lap, pulling away from his grasp. You took a nectarine from your bag and took a few bites before Joel held your wrist and pulled the fruit to his mouth, holding your gaze he took a bite right over where yours had been in what felt like a small, but profoundly intimate act.

“Come swim with me.” Joel was a strong swimmer, and it was one more thing about him you liked. You always knew you were safe with him. He always knew what to do, he stayed calm, he was strong and big and decisive. Tommy was a good swimmer too, but you knew he couldn’t save you if you were in danger.

Out as far as you could go in the water, you swam, paddling over the waves, floating on your backs, diving under or getting knocked under by early breakers. Joel was always there to turn you right side up, helping readjust your swimsuit while you got your bearings. When it felt like it must be lunch time, you motioned toward the shore. He hesitated, then wrapped his arms around you and took you a little deeper and kissed you. He tasted like saltwater and the nectarine you’d shared.

He held your hips,and pulled you close until his thigh was between your legs, letting you feel how hard he was. No one could see you and no one could stop you from grinding against him, aided by his big, strong hands now palming your ass under your swimsuit. Joel kissed your neck, and slid his right hand over until his fingers covered your pussy, making you whine at the sensation and tighten your grip on his shoulders. He kissed your ear and spoke into it, sounding equal parts surprised and proud. “Wasn’t sure I’d get to touch you like this again, but I think you want it.” He was getting bolder in the privacy of the water. “I think you wanted this before.” He emphasized his point with another firm press against your increasingly sensitive folds. If this was an interrogation, you were folding. “Yeah. Yes. Wanted you before. Wanted this.” You reached between your bodies into his stupid, ugly trunks and found him hard. You stroked him as he continued his ministrations and breathed into your ear as you told him how you’d thought of him when you were alone, making yourself come on your fingers. How you’d pictured him instead of Tommy when there was a cock spurting down your throat, and how you wanted him to overwrite all of your memories and color himself in their place.

He had enough. He pushed you away from his body, and pulled you slowly to shore, taking time to think of baseball, gravel, traffic, bugs, anything to draw the blood away from his cock long enough to get back to the hotel. Back on land, he threw his towel around his neck and wrapped you in yours, rushing you back toward the room the two of you shared with your boyfriend. The walk was silent and heavy with anticipation. Joel kept you tucked tight against his side. In the elevator he took your hand and squeezed it tight, looking down at you and not bothering to hide his desire, but still silent. It was a long ride up. Every time the doors opened and closed, letting other guests on and off at their floors you wanted to scream. Finally, finally back at the room, you barely made it in the door before he was crowding you against the door, holding you, trailing wet, open mouthed kisses over your neck and jaw, before gently pushing you onto your knees. “Just for a minute. Please. I’ve gotta see your lips around me again.”

You liked how he looked when he begged. You made a show of looking up at him as you tugged down those hideous trunks, letting his cock spring free before your face. You grasped the base and gave him a few light licks up the length of his shaft, kissed the blushing head, then wrapped your hand around his shaft to gently pump him while you lavished attention there. His foreskin was smooth and soft on your tongue and slipped back and forth just a bit with your movements. You dropped both hands to your knees and took him further, slowly down, slowly back up, letting him hear you breathe, holding his gaze. He was babbling half coherent praise as you sucked “yeah, just like that. Fuck. So good. So fuckin’ good. Look at you.” You thought he would come in your mouth, but instead he pulled you up and walked you backward toward his bed, guiding you onto your back.

He leaned over you, boxing you in with a muscular arm on either side of your head and a knee between your thighs, tantalizingly close to where you needed to feel him most, but frozen by the charge in the air between you. Joel was looking down at you with a look of menace and tenderness, want and victory. It made your pussy ache. He watched your chest rise and fall, the flush that crept up your chest and neck giving away how needy you were for him.

“Take this off.” He pulled at the strings of your top while you untied the bottom and dispatched it across the room.

He wanted everything all at once. “Hands and knees for me, angel. Come on.” He urged you and helped you position how he wanted you, legs spread wide and back arched in lewd presentation. “Perfect. You’re perfect.” He held you steady with both hands firm on the globes of your ass as he leaned down and licked a broad stripe from your clit to your entrance, taking his time to taste you before retracing his path, firmer this time, pushing his tongue inside you, bringing his thumb to your clit to stroke it softly. Pulling his mouth away, Joel watched himself use his thumb to spread your wetness all around, loving how you wriggled and sighed. “You’re a mess. So wet. Look at that.” He sealed his lips around you once more and sucked firmly on your clit, making you cry his name while your thighs quaked in an all consuming orgasm.

You sank into the soft bedding and caught your breath as he rubbed up and down your thighs. “Fuck me, Joel. Please.”

“Yeah? You want that?” He asked, almost surprised. “Yeah. Ok, baby. Anything you want.”

He stroked himself and notched at your entrance, pushing inside slowly so you could adjust to his size. You whined at the stretch and groaned when he was fully seated, Joel stilled there, letting you feel his weight, his heavy cock, and kissed your jaw. “I don’t think I can let him have you back.” He didn’t give you time to absorb what he was saying, he pulled back slowly, then thrust forward a little faster, angling his hips to grind his pubic bone against your clit while letting him watch himself fuck you. His filthy narration had you on the edge.

“I love how you take me. Squeeze my cock so fucking tight.” He moaned into your shoulder, a deep, rough sound, he had to stop himself from sucking dark purple marks into your neck. “Look so pretty on this big cock. Gonna come for me one more time?” Joel kept his pace and babbled to you, letting one hand wander to your tits to brush over your sensitive nipples, or down to grab your ass and pull you tight against him. “Won’t last much longer, baby I’m sorry. Where do you want me?”

You really wanted him to come inside you. Wanted to feel it again, wanted a filthy souvenir dripping from you later while you were laying in bed with Tommy. But you weren’t ready for that conversation, so you said simply “not inside.”

Joel nodded, understanding that he couldn’t make the decision for you, so he just hitched his left leg under your hip for better leverage and drilled into you hard and fast. The angle let him hit just perfectly over that spot inside that made you see god. Your orgasm hit hard and it was all Joel could do to pull out and rut against your mound, smearing cum between your naked bodies.

Rolling off of you, Joel went to fetch a towel. He let you use it first, but you swiped a finger through his spend and brought it to your mouth, tasting him at last. There may as well have been stars in Joel’s eyes as he watched.

It was still early, 2:30 when you got into the shower and Joel went out to bring back lunch. Alone again under the hot spray, you thought. You thought about Tommy, about the perfectly adequate life you had together for the last eight months. He was good, he took you out, he was a generous lover, he has friendly and optimistic and he was so, so into you. And you liked that. But he was also immature, drinking a lot, getting into fights, losing jobs until Joel let him come to work at his small company. You wanted to bend time, make it so you met Joel first.

When you got out of the shower it was a bit of deja vu. Younfreshly showered, Joel waiting to feed you. This time it was a sack from Five Guys, and a big cup of sweet tea. Exactly what you needed. You and Joel talked while you ate, avoiding the obvious topic, and instead talked about movies you liked, books you had read, music you listened to, Joel told you about things he was doing to his house, a fixer-upper he had bought recently. “Maybe when we can get back you can come over and see. Give me some paint colors that would look good. ‘M not good at that part. Needs a woman’s touch I guess.” You dug a few fries from

The bottom of the bag and drifted away for a second to a reality where you and Joel could live together and be together and everything worked out for the best. Then you just nodded. “I’d love that.”

After Joel showered you only had about an hour until Tommy was expected back. You made the most of it, naked under the covers in Joel’s bed, legs entwined, mouths melded together while he made you come again on his long, thick fingers. “We don’t have to tell him anything, sweetheart. This can be whatever you want. I don’t want to make all this hard for ya. I won’t say anything to him if y’dont want me to. And if y’do I’ll handle him. Been handling him his whole life.” Joel looked pretty like this, naked and warm in the white hotel sheets with his tan skin and freckled shoulders, his big dark eyes, his pretty sloping nose and his untamable curly hair. “I want you, Joel.” Your voice was soft and light, he almost wasn’t sure he heard you. “Tell me again. Slowly.” You said it louder, you said it again, you said it as you kissed him. Joel beamed as he hugged you right to his chest and kissed you once more, pouring all of his unspoken feelings into you the best he could.

You’d just barely gotten buttoned back into a pair of shorts and tank top when Tommy came into the room. You went to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He smelled like sun and sweat and dust. He pulled you up to him in a deep kiss that trailed down your neck, and cupped your ass with one hand. “Missed you today, baby.” “Missed you too, Tommy.” You nuzzled into his neck as you spoke, since again letting your imagination shape shift him into his brother. His brother who was out on the balcony, with your scent still on him. “Where’s Joel? What did you do with him today?” It was an innocent question, but you felt guilty as you quickly glanced around the room, afraid that there would be some glaring sign that would tell him you spend the day fucking his brother. Of course there wasn’t, but Tommy noticed the way you tensed and shifted his weight to one foot, cocking his head to the side. “Something wrong?”

“No, just uh, just hungry.” You lied.

Tommy studied your face in silence before kissing the top of your head. “Go get changed and we’ll go get some dinner. You nodded, relieved to have any suspicion out of Tommy’s mind for now. You weren’t even sure if he would be mad. He had enjoyed seeing you with Joel last night, so maybe you should just be honest about fucking him today. You rolled the idea around in your head as you put on your dress, and Tommy picked up the damp piece of purple fabric from the floor at the end of Joel’s bed.