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joelmillers-whore · 8 months

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Hard Light | Chapter 1

summary: when a new english professor begins teaching your class for the duration of your semester, you can’t help but develop an innocent crush on him. he’s as off-limits as he can be, but that doesn’t deter you in the slightest. after a drunk night, you accidentally email him something that wasn’t intended to ever be seen by anyone. but that doesn’t matter. it triggers a misunderstanding that manifests into an affair with your professor who is twenty years your senior. nothing good could come of this, right?

pairings: professor!joel x college student!reader

word count: 2.2K

series or one-shot

warnings: 18+ explicit, minors DNI, no mention of Y/N, alternate universe, professor/student relationship, eventual smut, self-esteem issues, workaholic, joel x female!reader, infatuation bordering on obsession (stay delulu friends), some sexual thoughts, masturbation (f), joel being a huge tease lol, (will add more tags as i write)

AN: i am so excited by the response that my joel one-shot got a few days ago and i’ve been itching to get something else out to you all. big, giant forehead kisses for those who want one, i love you all. so, anyway, a mini-series about professor joel is coming at you fast. i’ve written the first few chapters, so expect those in the near future. i’m thinking once a week? this fic is going to be something else and i’m so excited to share it with ya’ll. enjoy, and let me know what you think. find my ao3 here for more content and other fandoms.

You were running late for your shift at the coffee shop on campus, rummaging around your dresser, trying to find the low-cut black top you always wore when you had a shift. You weren’t usually one to feed into the peer pressure of those around you, but push came to shove when you found it nearly impossible to keep yourself afloat as a twenty-something student without the added extra tips from your part-time job.

So what if you had to show a little bit of cleavage? Right? There was no harm. Student loans were a bitch and on top of rent and food costs, you had to get a job at the coffee shop and balance a full course load just to make ends meet.

A thought popped into your head and you rushed to your laptop, throwing it open as you checked the time; 5:45 AM. If you busted out your lightning-fast typing skills, you would have enough time to catch the next bus and make it to campus with five minutes to spare. If only your crappy second-hand computer would work.

The thing honestly sounded like a chopper engine, getting ready for lift-off. You were surprised you’d gotten this far with it. Not that you weren’t appreciative, your older brother had passed it down and it had relieved a huge weight— and expense off of your shoulders.

You tabbed into your school portal, typing in your credentials and selecting your English course. You sighed heavily, as you skimmed over the assignment for this week, something to do with a sonnet that you couldn’t care less about. You loved school but ever since becoming an English major, the spark that you once had for literature sort of just evaporated.

You couldn’t tell if it was because of how busy you were with everything else that you just couldn’t find the time to enjoy it, or the thought that really scared you, you had fallen out of love with it.

It had been two years of go, go, go and you were, for lack of a better word, burnt out. You’d tried dropping courses last semester, thinking that you just needed a little bit of ease when it came to your course load, but when that didn’t solve the problem and only made things worse for you, you spent the last two semesters trying to catch up and get yourself to a place where you could finally breathe.

But it wasn’t easy. You were only now caught up to where you had been, the illusion that you were someone who could afford to take time off and slow down was a distant memory.

In bold letters, the words Paid Internship jumped off of the screen. You smiled as you leaned in closer to the screen, making sure you read through everything correctly. This was the break above the surface that you needed, the reprieve that you had been chasing. A paid internship was exactly how you’d be able to make more money and maybe have a little breathing room before you worked yourself into an early grave.

You clicked the mail icon at the top and clicked into a new email, deciding that the worst-case scenario was that you wouldn’t get the internship. All you were doing was inquiring about the application process. Best-case scenario; you’d get it and make some extra pocket money.

You saw the time, cursing under your breath as you slammed the laptop closed, grabbed your phone out of the charger and ran out of the door. You couldn’t be late, not again. You texted your co-worker Jeremy to open the shop without you and explained to him that you were running a few minutes late, as you barely made it to the bus. You climbed on board, scanned your student pass and found a seat near the back. Your chest was burning from the rush of trying to make it on time, but you could breathe easy now.

You checked your messages mindlessly, scrolling through a bunch of unread ones that you didn’t have the heart to answer.

Before you knew it, the familiar monuments and buildings of UT Austin came into view, and the subtle change of scenery from downtown to a more densely packed area made your heart skip a beat. It was the same each time you were back on campus. Which, these days, was often. Sliding out of the seat, you made your way to the front, thanking the driver as the bus came to a complete stop.

The coffee shop was only a short walk from the bus stop but even still you quickened your pace. You didn't want to leave Jeremy alone for long, you already felt bad enough about letting him open by himself. You stifled a yawn as you pushed open the door to the small cafe, leaning your body into the door, slightly cringing at the shrill sound of the bell.

"There you are", a male voice called, making your head snap up. You wiggled your nose, the familiar timbre of your ex-boyfriend's voice ringing in your ears. "It's about time you got your ass down here".

You snickered, shrugging your heavy bag off of your shoulder, and dropping it behind the counter, turning around and greeting him with an unamused smirk.

Jeremy and you had gone out for a few months last year, it was your first and, as of right now, the only short-term relationship that you'd had in college.

Dating your co-worker, even in a relatively small place like the coffee shop on campus, almost always spelled trouble, but Jeremy was not the type to hold something like a failed relationship over your head. He understood that school was a priority for you and making a living for yourself came first, even above something like a relationship. It might not be the healthiest way to live, but it was how it always was.

Jeremy and you had developed a fast friendship, one that went beyond the romantic relationship that you'd had last year. You parted amicably and now, you had someone you could confide in, someone you could trust.

"Why don't you say that to my face?", you teased, raising a brow at him over the milk frother you were setting up.

Jeremy threw his rag down and stalked over to you. "You're snippy this morning", he chided.

You banged into his shoulder playfully, "Doesn't help that I have to see your ugly mug first thing in the morning".

You snorted out a laugh and Jeremy looked at you, feigning defensiveness, "Ouch", he paused, returning back to his post near the coffee machine, "Remind me how we ever went out?".

You scrunched your nose and threw your rag at Jeremy, hitting him square in the face with it, "That was rude".

He shrugged his shoulder, "You started it".

You both devolved into a fit of giggles and fell into a comfortable silence, setting up and getting the coffee shop ready for the day. You had a half-day shift to look forward to and then you had class until the late afternoon. The days were long and the nights were longer.

You usually found yourself nose-deep in your textbooks, more often than not, or some classic novel that was required for class, not moving from the couch until your eyes were red and you were seeing double.

Only then did you retire to sleep, crashing hard until you had to wake up and do it all again the next day.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The coffee shop had been bustling with people since six in the morning, and at one in the afternoon, it hadn't let up, only now you had to go to class. Waving Jeremy goodbye, you sidestepped Tara, the fourth-year who was covering the rest of the afternoon and closing shift.

You'd crossed the far side of campus, passing by the science building and one of the massive libraries that had acted like a second home to you back when you’d been studying for exams when you were a freshman. You could thank your obnoxious roommates for that one.

Entering the lecture hall, bodies pressed into you as you weaved through the growing crowd, trying to find a spot in the middle where you could see and hear your English professor. But also blend in with the masses. As if the universe had other plans in mind, and everyone suddenly showed up to the Tuesday lecture all at the same time, you found yourself picking a seat near the front, an exasperated groan leaving you.

You hated sitting at the front, not because you didn't want to get called on to answer something or because you didn't know the answers, but because you did. You wanted to get through your four years as quickly and unscathed as possible and if people knew, mainly professors, that you knew more about the subject matter than you needed to, you'd surely get called on more often, making you stick out in ways you didn't want.

It was a terrible curse, going through life with the self-esteem that you did. But it was how you were raised. Blend in. Don't be too loud. Be quiet and only observe. Nerves rapped at your insides when you thought about getting called on when class started. Your heart rate ticked up and you found that your hands were beginning to get clammy, your throat constricting with each breath.

You rubbed your hands up and down your thighs, grounding yourself with the sensation of the material.

With a jump, you sat up straighter in your seat, being jostled from your thoughts by a loud slam. You snapped your head toward the entrance, eying the person who had startled everyone. It was a man carrying a briefcase.

Your lips tilted up at the edges, amusement tickling you when you thought of anyone using a briefcase nowadays. But here this man was, head down as he made his way to the front of the room, toward the desk.

You couldn't help keeping your eyes trained on him. On how his slacks tightened around his butt, moulding to the shape and curve of it. You bit your bottom lip out of reflex, your eyes dragging down the length of the mystery man who had crashed your lecture. Maybe he was a TA? Your brows furrowed when you thought about how your professor was nowhere in sight.

The man with the briefcase placed his case on the desk, turning to face the audience of students who blinked back at him, who now settled down enough to hear him speak. Air caught in your throat when his eyes flicked momentarily to you, and lingered on you for half a second longer than you'd expected. He had massive, warm brown eyes, and soft wrinkles that danced at the edges of his eyes when he smiled, making him seem more boyish than he appeared.

He looked older than a TA would but then again, who were you to judge someone's position in life? You thought that his age did nothing to undermine just how attractive he was, if anything it added to it.

The man, who may or may not have been moonlighting as your English TA cleared his throat, nodding his head, "My name is Joel, well, Professor Miller to most, but 've always been a little bit more informal than my peers".

He began to circle the wooden desk nervously, his large hand finding the edge of it and stroking it far more sensually than necessary. You flexed your fingers, gripping the arm of your seat to stabilize yourself. "So, you can call me Joel from here on out... since we'll be seeing more of each other from now on".

Murmurs began to break out around the lecture hall, and confused and hushed whispers followed.

Professor Miller— Joel, mumbled something incoherent, and you were unable to hear it from where you sat. He cleared his throat again, "Professor McCarthy has taken a leave of absence, so I'll be filling in for him for the remainder of the semester".

You crossed your legs, feeling heat rise and a furious blush break out across your face, and shuffled in your seat, a loud creak emitted from it and you stilled, praying that the loud sound had only been heard by you and no one else. But when you lifted your gaze, Joel's eyes were already locked on you, blown and brimming with cautious inquiry. A touch of a smirk graced his lips.

"And I look forward to getting to know each and every one of you, personally". His eyes were still on you, not ready to release you from their hold.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips and you couldn't help but stare. You had every reason to look away from him, he was your professor and given the clear age difference, he was someone who was off limits. But when he didn't look away from you either, trapping you with his gaze, your face heated up, suddenly aware that he was purposely staring at you.

You swallowed thickly, heart hammering as Joel's eyes finally drifted away from you and back to the faces of your classmates. He continued on with addressing the class, and you noticed that he avoided your eyes for the rest of the lecture.

Only one thought rang through your mind as you tried and failed to focus back on the lecture. This was going to be one long semester.

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 1 year

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hihi! congrats on such a cool milestone 💗 i am so excited to see what you’re going achieve in the future!

i would love to read this prompt with neighbor joel x reader, pre outbreak or post outbreak, that’s your choice :)

“Person A keeps ending up in Person B’s bed. It’s just a matter of time until “drunken mistake” is no longer a believable excuse.”

p.s. i ADORE seams it’s soooo good and i can’t wait to read more of it !! 💕 tysm

Hi lovely! Thank you so much for your sweet message and this prompt! So I don't know why, but the moment I read the prompt, I just knew I had to make this a college AU. This reads very differently from Seams, which I hope is something you'll enjoy!

Joel Miller x college neighbour AU

Fuck Yeah 2222 Sleepover micro drabble request | 1285 words (sorry) | warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption, jealousy, possessiveness, one bed

The first time it happens, it is a drunken mistake.

All these dorm rooms look the same, especially at four in the morning after clearing out all the tequila at the college bar.

It does smell nicer, cleaner. And the bed is on the other side of the room. But Joel can't really tell left from right nor up from down, so he just drops face first onto the duvet - so soft - and falls fast asleep.

You, on the other hand, are absolutely mystified by the appearance of a man in your bed after your toilet run in the early hours.

You recognise him. He lives a few doors down, and you've seen him around in the college football team jersey, almost always with a cheerleader hanging off his arm.

You may or may not have seen him in the corridor with just a towel around his waist, hair slicked back, on his way back from the communal showers.

You may or may not have stared at those ridiculously broad shoulders from behind your books as you went down the other side of the hallway.

Unsure of what to do - you have an early class in a few hours - you reach out and poke him firmly on the arm. You keep poking, not entirely convinced by what you're trying to achieve, until a hand appears, thick fingers closing around your wrist, and pulls.

He rolls you under him with a smooth turn of his hips. You barely have the presence of mind to let out a timid squeak when stern brown eyes bore into yours in the darkness.

'What are you doin'?' he demands, his voice so gravelly that you almost feel the lumps and bumps on the back of your neck.

You don't exactly have a short fuse. Quite the opposite, in fact. But the accusation in his tone has you snapping back, 'What am I doing? What are you doing?'

Your outburst seems to catch his attention, and he watches you closely as he replies, 'Tryin' to catch a wink.'

Reaching over to the nightstand, you flick on the little bedside lamp. You arch an eyebrow as he glances around as realisation dawns on him. 'Does this look like your room?'

'Oops,' he deadpans, but he doesn't move off of you. Instead, his eyes drop lower, pausing over your oversized college tshirt, and lower still, where your sleep shorts have ridden high up your bare thighs -

His eyes snap up to yours when you clear your throat, and he stiffens above you, Adam's apple bobbing with a swallow. 'Sorry, darlin'.'

Then he's gone.

The second time it happens, it's another drunken mistake.

He knocks this time, loud enough to wake you, and you trip over your feet to get the door.

'What now?' you gripe sleepily when his face appears, eyes glassy and reeking of cheap beer.

'Lost my keys,' he explains, words slightly slurred, leaning heavily on the doorframe.

'So?'

'Can I sleep in your room tonight?'

You stare at him, dumfounded. 'Don't you have friends?'

'They're all the way across campus. It's freezin' outside.'

With a sigh, you move to the side and he squeezes in past you. Too tired to care, you burrow head first into the covers, shuffling so that you're right up against the wall to make room behind you on the single bed.

But he doesn't climb in.

'What are you doing?' you grumble, not bothering to turn around to see for yourself.

'Uh, I'm sleepin' on the floor.'

You roll your eyes and pat the mattress. 'Just get in. I don't want you freezing to death on my rug.'

So he does, and when you wake up the next morning, his arms are tight around you, legs tangled in yours.

The third time it happens, you're both drunk for a change.

His team won the college derby, and there's a huge celebration at the local club with the bill being footed by the sponsors. Even with the promise of a free night out, your friends still have to physically drag your ass to the party.

You spot him easily from across the dance floor, in the same jersey he wears often. He's surrounded by hoards of girls, all keen to nab the bragging rights of being the one to fuck the team hero tonight.

Something twists in your stomach, which you quiet with a tequila shot.

And another.

You end up on the dance floor, and you never dance. You're just drunk enough to feel good about yourself even in a room full of jocks and sorority sisters, and when one of the quarterbacks on the team twirls you into a dance, you laugh and let him.

One minute, he's spinning you around, and the next - you're pulled nose first into a much broader chest that smells faintly familiar.

It's slightly jarring seeing him out of the context of your bed. Does he always look this grumpy?

'Congrats on winning the game,' you shout over the music, attempting to make conversation.

He doesn't budge, standing like a stone wall in the middle of the dance floor under the strobe lights. Too drunk to catch the nuance in his glare, you shrug and turn on your heel, intending to find that quarterback that you lost mid-spin -

Only to be hauled back to Joel's side by one big hand.

'What are you doing?' you demand with a frown. 'I'm trying to find the guy I was dancing with.'

'You're not dancin' with him.'

You blink. 'Why not?'

'He's a fuckin' asshole.'

'So what?'

He narrows his eyes at you. 'What do you mean so what?'

You roll your eyes. 'Why do I care if he's an asshole? I'm looking for a dance, maybe a fuck, it's not like I'm marrying him.'

His nostrils flare, and you see his fists clenching at his sides. 'You're not fuckin' him.'

You scoff. 'Watch me, Miller.'

Spotting the blond on the edge of the dance floor, you march right up to him, grab him by the collar and kiss him square on the lips.

Pulling back, you turn to give Joel a smug look, only to find that he's no longer where he was. Miffed, you scan the crowds, and it doesn't take you long to find him.

It's one thing to see the cheerleaders flirting and hanging off his every word when you pass each other in the hallways. It's another thing entirely to see him make out with one, not five paces away.

Blindly, you stumble out of the club, not bothering to get your coat even though it's bitterly cold outside. Your heels clatter loudly on the concrete, you probably shouldn't be walking alone back to the dorms, but you need to get out of there.

You hear him call your name, but you keep walking, eyes trained stubbornly in front of you.

He catches up easily, and with a growl, he wheels you around with one palm on your elbow. You fight him, pounding on his chest with tightly clenched fists, and he lets you, wrapping you in his jacket while you do, until you tire yourself out.

When all the jealousy bleeds out of you, you sag in his arms, and he has to hold you up by the waist. His breath brushes your temple. 'Wanna go home?'

He's warm, solid, when he slips into your bed behind you, one knee nudging between your thighs, fingers tangling in yours when he slings one arm over your waist.

You might both be drunk - but this is not a mistake.

#fuckyeah2222sleepover #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller oneshot #joel miller college AU #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader

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princesssmars · 1 year

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thinking of meeting abby at your college's club awareness day. she's tall and big so you think she plays something like hockey or football but when you ask her she says golf. she also mentions how she nearly got kicked from the team because she got into a little accident with the popular campus dealer and her foster dad?? but who cares because god does she look amazing when she swings.

#im super late to the abby train #but i havent heard of a fleshed out golf!au #so #golfer!abby #college!abby #abby #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #ellie williams x reader #joel miller #hole in one

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puer-aurea · 4 months

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On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...

Sick/Injury for Mounders "You've had worse. You'll live." College Life AU CW: Mentions of alcohol/hangover

Bdubs had the worst hangover of his life. And, to make it worse, he got the flu from his roommate, Joel. In an attempt to help, Joel texted their mounders group chat to bring some stuff for him. It took a lot of snot filled begging, but Bdubs convinced him to not mention the hangover so Pearl wouldn't scold him. "If you hadn't let Scar convince you to go to that party, you wouldn't be hungover right now." Joel said from his spot by Bdubs' bedroom door. "I KNOW!!" Bdubs groaned and rolled over so he didn't have to face him. "He didn't even have to convince you, did he?" "NO! He asked one time and said Impulse was going too so I agreed! I didn't even try to say no. Gah, that Scar. He's too charismatic." "You don't seem to think very highly of your brother." "No, I do! It's just- every time I go to a party with him, I get the worst hang over. He's bad luck!" "You just can't handle your alcohol." A feminine voice came from outside the door. "Pearl! You weren't supposed to knoooow." Bdubs groaned agained. "Hey Pearl." Joel greeted her after opening Bdubs' bedroom door for her to come in. "Hi Joel, Hi Bdubs. Mumbo's coming with some stuff that should help. If we had known you were hungover too, he could've brought Tylenol." Pearl walked over to the bed to check Bdubs' forehead. "He'll probably bring some anyway. You know how he is about health." Joel said right as there was a knock at the door. "I got it." He went to the dorm door and opened it to reveal their mustached friend, though a mask was covering his lower face. "Hey Mumbo, how many times do we have to tell you you don't have to knock?" He opened the door fully to let him in. "I'm being polite! I brought a lot of stuff that I thought could be useful." Mumbo showed the grocery bags of stuff in his hand. They walked down to Bdubs' room and waited as Pearl finished lecturing him about drinking too much. "How do you feel, BdoubleO?" Mumbo stayed just outside the door. "AWFUL! I feel dead!" "You've had worse. You'll live." Pearl told him as she looked through the bags of stuff Mumbo brought. She grabbed the Tylenol (Joel was right, of course Mumbo would bring some) and poured two in her hand before giving them to Bdubs. He took them with the cup of water on his nightstand and laid back down with a groan. "This sucks." "I think you two should put a mask on, I brought extra." Mumbo held out a pack of facemasks for Joel and Pearl. "Yeah, why not." Joel took one while Pearl declined. "What foods did you bring?" She asked. "Oh, yes, I'm so hungry." Bdubs made a motion of rubbing his stomach. "Some different soups, ramen, rice. Easy things, basically." Mumbo answered. "Well, Bdubs, what sounds good?" Pearl turned her attention back to him. "Chicken ramen?" "I brought that, yeah. I'll go make it." Mumbo left Pearl and Joel to keep Bdubs company. Joel had to help Bdubs eat a bit but he was mostly fine on his own. With his friends taking good care of him, it only took a couple days before he was feeling better. But, they wouldn't get a rest because a couple days after that, Pearl would tell the groupchat that she was sick now (to which Mumbo said she should've used a mask).

#traffic life series #traffic smp #trafficblr #life series smp #secret life #mumbo jumbo #smallishbeans #bdoubleo100 #pearlescentmoon #secret life joel #secret life mumbo #secret life bdubs #secret life pearl #the mounders #college au #mumbo doesnt live on campus thats why it took him longer #mumbo also has hypochondria #will post day 9 after i dye my hair woop woop #sorry again btw!

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jomiddlemarch · 8 months

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let’s call this a win-win

33 hours, 2009 miles, 27 Chicken McNuggets, 2 mint Oreo Blizzards, one ill-fated round of 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall.

It was a fucking miracle the truck hadn’t broken down on the way.

“It was a fucking miracle the truck didn’t break down—” Joel said, pulling out Sarah’s floral quilted duffle bag first from the pile of luggage. The last few miles through the woods, he’d muttered his mother’s favorite prayer to St. Christopher and to Tommy’s mechanic friend Al. They were close enough to walk but that was not how he wanted to arrive, especially when he imagined what it would take to keep his daughter from a sugar-crash induced meltdown trudging through the forest.

“Dad! Language,” Sarah scolded, stretching out the a in Dad for maximum guilt-tripping. She had to uncross her arms to take the bag from him but she kept her cherry Chapsticked lips pursed. Despite his fatigue and the ache in his lower back from the crappy motel mattress, he couldn’t help grinning at her expression, her ribbon-tied pigtails, her carefully curated tank top and jean shorts.

“Put it on my tab,” he said. “The curse jar’s going to pay for your college and study abroad at this rate, not just those boots you want so badly.”

“I need those boots,” Sarah said.

“Save that for Uncle Tommy. He’s a soft touch,” Joel said. He took a look around the parking lot. Packed dirt overlaid with gravel, it was ringed by towering pine trees, the cabins of the camp hidden from view. There were a couple of non-descript sedans, a shiny black minivan with far too many bells and whistles, and two other pick-ups, both in better condition than his. No vanity plates though, which he took as a good sign. He got the rest of their bags out and slung his guitar case over his back. He’d been told to head to the main lodge to meet the camp’s director but a woman was already walking towards them, so he nodded to Sarah to stay put.

“Welcome to Camp Firefly. I’m Meghan Williams, the camp nurse, it’s nice to meet you.” She extended her hand to shake and Joel was relieved that her grasp was warm and properly firm but not intended to suggest she’d break anything. She wore drab cargo pants and hiking boots, her dark hair tied back and covered with a red bandana, and had a sturdy, reliable calmness about her that offset her relative slightness. She was not much bigger than Sarah, who was tall for her age, but who had, after all, just turned eleven two weeks ago.

“Likewise,” Joel said. “My name’s Joel Miller, I’m working maintenance, and this is my daughter, Sarah, she’s in bunk 3.”

“That’s great—my niece Ellie’s also in bunk 3. It’s her first summer here, maybe you can show her the ropes, Sarah,” Meghan said.

“It’s my first summer here too, but I’ve been at sleepaway before,” Sarah said, honesty warring with the self-importance that she used to offset her anxiety, a state she had been in approximately 80% of the time since she turned 11. “I went to Girl Scout sleepaway last year for two weeks. They had a lake there too.”

“You’re a veteran then. You can make sure she doesn’t set anything on fire when you make s’mores. Ellie’s a menace in the kitchen, God help us all when she’s got access to a campfire,” Meghan replied, smiling warmly. Her expression shifted to rueful when she turned back to face Joel. “Maintenance, huh? Marlene didn’t let you know?”

“Camp director Marlene? Let me know what?” Joel said. He and Marlene weren’t close, it was Tommy who had suggested to her Joel might work over the summer with Sarah going for free as part of the payment, but Joel didn’t see how she could’ve hired someone else and not told him before he’d driven halfway across the country with his little girl. Still, shittier things had happened and he started planning what he’d say to Sarah because he and her mom sure as hell couldn’t pay for her to go to the camp on their own and he couldn’t expect to land a job in the Middle of Nowhere, New Hampshire overnight. The higher rate for her mom’s gig as a travel nurse was going toward keeping her Grandma Denise in her apartment, money Joel didn’t begrudge his ex. They’d had an amicable enough split and they kept it that way by not bitching at each other about their finances or new relationships, not that Joel had much happening in either category.

“You’re not working maintenance. Or, not just maintenance. Gary, the guy who was supposed to be the woodshop counselor, backed out at the last minute, so Marlene’s kind of drafted you to take over. She said you worked construction, so you can help the kids make whatever they make in woodshop,” Meghan explained. Joel must have looked somewhere between blank and dubious. He felt that way. “On the plus side, you were going to share a cabin with Gary, so now you have the place to yourself. I heard he was a slob, but that might have been something someone said to make you feel like you’re coming out further ahead, since Marlene didn’t mention she’d be paying you more and she’s basically a card on the table kind of person, so I wouldn’t bet on a bigger paycheck, just the extra space.”

“That’s it?” Joel said.

He wasn’t even sure himself what he was questioning—the extra work, the extra space, Marlene basically deputizing a stranger to tell him and avoiding his justifiable anger.

“For now. I think. Though you’ll probably get asked to play your guitar if you’re good enough to bring your own with you for the summer,” Meghan said. “No lessons, just campfire songs, folk songs, a little bit country, a little rock n’ roll—”

“No show tunes,” Joel interrupted. He liked this Meghan, her humor and her easiness with Sarah, her lack of vanity evident in the cargo pants, her sense of whimsy in the red bandana. Still, it was possible what he’d intended as banter had come out as gruff, shutting her down instead of picking up where she left off. “It’s just—”

“I get it. A man has to draw the line somewhere,” Meghan said. “Bunk 3 isn’t too far, I could show you the way there if you’ve got all your stuff. Sarah can meet Ellie and wait for the other girls to get in,” Meghan said.

Joel nodded and Sarah nearly bounced in agreement. They walked quietly through the woods, Sarah rendered speechless either by the intense greenness of the forest or the imminent meeting with Ellie and any other campers who’d arrived. Meghan didn’t appear to feel a need to fill up the time with small talk, though she did point out the path that led down to the dock and the sharply peaked roof of the main lodge. There was a clearing that showed the lake, laid out like a mirror, the pines and the cloudless sky redoubled, a pair of red kayaks making a cheerful splash of color on the distant shore. Sarah glanced at him, her eyes wide, and Joel smiled at her. This was why he’d driven cross-country in the truck that had seen far, far better days, why he was going to spend the summer dealing with rotting floorboards and teaching kids to make what, maybe some birdhouses, and whatever else Marlene decided he was going to do, probably dish up in the kitchen and if Meghan was right, lead the singalongs. They’d been at Camp Firefly for under an hour and it was already worth it.

“That’s the main campfire site,” Meghan said, pointing to a sizable ring of smoke-stained stones surrounded by grass matted down by hundreds of campers. There were a few white Adirondack chairs clustered together and a low, broad slab of rock Joel would pick to sit on if he had the guitar on his lap. “I’ll be sure to spread the word—no show tunes!”

“You’re not going to play ‘Hernando’s Hideaway?’ That’s your favorite,” Sarah said, blowing his cover. He shrugged and Meghan chuckled.

“My favorite’s ‘Make Believe,’ but ‘Hernando’s’ a close second,” Joel said.

“Gaylord Ravenal in the flesh,” Meghan said, winning some real points. Secret points because otherwise he’d have to admit how much he liked Broadway musicals. The next step would be disclosing that he’d always wanted to try out for the lead in the high school show but had been too busy at his after-school job that helped pay the family’s electric bill to be able to swing it.

“I can hold my own with his part. But I make a mean Magnolia Hawks,” Joel said.

“We’ve only got a lake, not a river. But it’s a big one,” Meghan said.

“Dad, are you going to talk here all day?” Sarah said, this time stretching out all day long enough to make him shake his head and Meghan roll her eyes in amused commiseration.

“That’s Bunk 3,” Meghan said, gesturing over to an unremarkable log cabin that somehow managed to suggest a certain cheery impishness. That might have been the little face in the window, brown braids topped with a blue bandana fashioned into sort of a headband. “And that, as you may have guessed, is Ellie, holding down the fort. Sarah, why don’t you head in? Your counselor should be along in a bit. I’ll make sure your dad doesn’t get lost on the way to his cabin.”

“Okay, yeah, Love you, Dad, bye!” Sarah said, making a beeline to the cabin’s front door and opening it after the briefest pause.

“I don’t need you to walk me to the cabin,” Joel said once they were standing there alone, the moment of watching the Bunk 3 door closing having past, leaving them as two adults just awkwardly near each other. At least, he felt awkward, laden down with bags, his lower back twinging again, suddenly unable to keep the frustration with Marlene from his expression, all out of small talk, not that he ever had much. He probably sounded rude to Meghan, he’d been rude to her, dismissive, especially when he didn’t exactly know the way to the cabin he and Gary had been assigned, but he couldn’t bring himself to apologize.

“It’s on my way,” Meghan said. “And quite frankly, you don’t know where the hell you’re going so you do need me to walk you there. I’ll let Marlene know you’re settling in and you’d like a word with her before dinner. It’s at 6.”

She started walking, her boots’ tread audible on the leafmeal in the absence of any conversation, and Joel followed her. She was right after all.

“I owe you an apology,” Joel finally managed to say. He looked her straight in the eye, there was that. Hers were a greyish green, darker than he’d thought when he’d first looked at her.

“No, you don’t. And I’ve never had one owed that was any good,” she said. “Relax. You didn’t offend me, not really, and I work in healthcare, I’m used to people mouthing off when they’re stressed. That’s before you add in dealing with my niece 24/7.”

“Don’t you get to be the fun auntie? She still gives you a hard time?” Joel asked. Sarah and Tommy got along like a house afire, as the saying went, largely because Tommy had never once said no to her and also never came to the Joel’s place without a bag of gummi bears that Sarah didn’t have to share with anyone. And a Barbie. He’d thought she’d tell him to stop when she turned 11, but she’d opened up Olympic Gymnast Barbie with the same degree of excited greed she’d brought to every other doll, secured more tightly in the pink box than whatever the hell they kept in Fort Knox these days.

“I’m not the fun auntie, I’m all she’s got,” Meghan said. “I was 17 when my sister died when Ellie was a baby, her dad was never in the picture, it got really complicated for a while with the state, and you didn’t ask to hear any of this. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Joel said. “I get complicated. Plus, now we’re even—we both tried to apologize and neither one of us would accept it.”

“I guess that’s good,” Meghan said. “That’s your cabin, right there,” she added, pointing to a small building nestled right up against a pair of pines.

“Good enough,” Joel said.

#tlou au #the last of us #summer camp au #joel miller/ofc #sarah miller #ellie williams #nearly everyone lives #fluffy as heck #just dropped our oldest off at college #so any every love coming my way would be appreciated #pedro pascal fanfiction #I've started the second chapter from Meghan's POV

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mariatesstruther · 8 months

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spn x tlou au!

in which joel and tommy miller are notorious born and raised hunters. on their way to visit sarah at college, they come across a nasty pack of vampires in jackson. their first night there, they go out to a local bar for drinks and meet tess and maria, co-owners and longtime locals. they flirt shamelessly with them ask them questions about the weird shit going around town to get more information about the coven and end up staying until closing, making better conversation than either of them have had in years

the next night, right smack-dab in the middle of a vampire fight, the same two ladies show up and, frankly, save their entire asses. turns out maria and tess have been hunters for just about ten years, and they had this case handled before these two boneheads had to butt-in and fuck things up. now they all have to work together to take down a big-ass vampire coven who, previously, had no idea that tess and maria were even onto them, so. thanks for that, goddamn fuckin’ millers

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theflyingfeeling · 4 months

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fictalkfictalkfictalk

#like the clown i am i spent half the night awake trying to come up with a way to make the olli/allu modern-day royalty AU work out #my first idea was to try and make it similar to my college AU with POV chapters and shit #but i quickly realised it wouldn't work out for the same reason i'm still struggling with the gran hotel AU:#unlike with the college AU i don't have a clear character arch for everyone #e.g. i can't for the life of me think of a way to link the joel/niko side plot to the main plot to make it make sense #and idk what joonas' role would be other than to occasionally hook up with olli and fangirl about aleksi and pine for joel #soooooo it thought i could instead make it a series of shorter stories? if anyone out there is seriosly interested in reading this AU? 👉👈#like. the first one would obviously have to be a little longer since it's the establishment for the whole AU #so far i have an outline for a 6-chapter story from olli's and allu's povs. basically just them getting together #and the rest of what i have planned for the AU would be standalones or shorter establishments?#because if i were to include EVERYTHING in one fic it would most likely end up being +20 chapters lol #and no way in hell would i have the patience for that 💀#that way i could just time-jump to the scenes i want to write the most lol #instead of having to try and weave them together to form a longer coherent plot #i mean i looooooooove slow burn and all that but i don't want to overwhelm myself by starting to write something #only to realise 32k words later that i have no idea where i'm going with it D:#(my ski jumping rpf fic says hi 🙃)#but by writing individual shorter stories it would be much easier for me to handle the plot while also advancing it #because the storyline in my head is so extensive that i feel like i can't fit it all in just one fic #at least in a way that i would be satisfied with 😭#i can make them get together in 6 chapters with no trouble #but for them to actually form a secure relationship and get messed up in all that tabloid drama and face the prejudice of the royal family #until eventually getting their happy ending? yeah nope. gonna need at least 20 chapters for that lmao #and if i wanted to advance all the sideplots on top of all that? yeah nope 😵#with individual stories i could just write all the joonas/tommi and niko/joel (and unrequited j/j) as spin-offs! yay problem solved! 😇#pls don't get your hopes up though lol i may love planning fics but writing is another story entirely 😂#but yeah. watch this space?#or maybe i'll just continue writing random pointless olli/allu standalones whenever i get a burst of inspiration. we'll see 👀

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thefruitiestofbois · 27 days

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The Cascade Five- 2

“Get it on a plane and drop it in the middle of the Pacific.” One voice, I think it’s Abby’s, fades in as my eyes flutter open. How many hours was I out? The moon resting high in the sky tells me it’s most likely been at least three. Shockwaves of fire ripple through my back at the slightest movement but I remain silent. They think I’m dead and I’m gonna make sure it stays that way before I rip their hearts from their chest, starting with that bitch Abby first. I squirm again as I twist my arm to reach the splint of wood in my gaping back. Searing pain leaves me lightheaded but I persist, my bloody fingertips are so close to the stake and it’s only after I turn on my right side on the backseat of the car I’m in, that my fingers grip onto the biggest and closest piece and pull it agonisingly slow from my flesh. The rest of the tiny splinters can wait till later and in less than a second, I escape through the car door and snatch the closest person to the car, ripping through their neck with my fangs and sucking them dry till their body falls limp to the dirt below. As the girl writhes around on the floor, hand clutching her throat as the gasps sputter out of her.

“Oh my god, Whitney!” A cry echoes out into the woods around us from one of my killers.

My black vein-ridden eyes rise to meet the rest of my killers, each and every one of them with a hand glued to the holsters on their thighs that are undoubtedly loaded with wooden bullets. Abby stands on the far right, a short wooden dock behind her leading to a lake, a man with a round face and short beard stands alert in the middle and another girl, shorter and skinnier than the man and Abby, takes up a defence position in the left. Not that it’s hard to be skinnier than Abby, she’s built like a boxer, probably even bigger than Wilson. Abby’s a no go and so is the middle man, I’d have a hard time grappling them, especially if they are what I think they are.

Skinny girl it is then. I launch myself to her , grab her and swoop back to my original spot just behind the trunk of the car to face them. Shaky staggered breaths leave her small frame as I squeeze tighter around her neck, her arms frantically reaching to peel my own away.

Abby and the guy make a move to draw out their guns and I yell at them to stop.

“I can snap her neck in a second without even breaking a sweat. One more step and she’s dead.” The threat seems to fly over her head as her grip tightens on the gun, finger itching for the trigger but the guy shuffles in front of Abby, urging her to calm down.

“Manny get the fuck out of my way.” She spits but Manny remains firm in his spot. Each of them are all wearing black tank tops, leaving the matching marks on all of their shoulders visible- a faint imprint of a moon and a single star next to it. A distinct marking of the Eclipse werewolf pack which used to run through Utah before The Council wiped them out. Well clearly not all of them it seems.

“Abby drove a stake through your heart, you were dead.” Disbelief evident in Manny’s tone.

“I’ve been dead for centuries, nothing new there.” Like a snake coiling around its prey, I keep squeezing Nora’s neck in my arms. “For every question you answer wrong or every pathetic attempt to help Nora here, I break a bone in her neck. I doubt she’ll make it past the first snap so you’d do well to answer me honestly. You can also toss your weapons away. Am I clear?” Manny seems to be the only out of the pair who has any common sense and complies instantly. Abby, on the other hand, looks like she needs some extra encouragement. So I snap the lowest bone of the seven in Nora’s neck. A scream follows the splintering sound, the bottom half of her body beginning to fall limp.

“She’ll stop breathing in a few minutes. Do you understand me now?”

“Fuck-okay, okay.”

It’s almost a knee-jerk reaction when she tosses her gun aside, hands surrendering in the air, panic obvious in her eyes which are glued to Nora’s nearly paralysed body. Manny then presses me once more,

“How are you still alive?”

“I think I’ll keep that secret to myself for now.” I have a feeling he won’t be any use to me so I look right behind him.

“Speaking of secrets, a certain professor seems to have gone missing from this very campus. Do either of you know anything that might be useful or should I kill you both and the rest of your wolf pack?”

“What do you mean a wolf pack?” A bewildered expression hijacks Abby’s face as she steps out from behind Manny.

“Did they not teach you anything in werewolf kindergarten? Your pack, the Eclipse clan-”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Werewolf? We’re not werewolves. They don’t exist.” All brawn no brain really is the case for Abby. If she doesn’t know anything about her heritage then she hasn’t triggered her curse. But if she knows about vampires, how can she not know about werewolves? If she’s a wolf then her dad must be as well. Great. More names to add to the supernatural roster.

“You want answers Abby? Go ask your dad. Or better ask your friend next to you why he’s decided not to tell you he’s triggered his curse.” Manny’s mark was more of a branding on his arm instead of the faint outlines like the one on Abby’s or young wolves who hadn’t activated the curse yet. “I’m looking for Joel Miller. I know you know something Abby, seeing as your jock boyfriend was on the police report.”

At the mention of Joel’s name her glare softens only for a moment as her gaze snaps back to a barely conscious Nora. I know Abby knows more than she’s letting on, just like Manny is to her.

“As a sign of good faith, I’ll heal your friends but only if you give me your word, you’ll tell me everything you know.”

“We just killed you, how do we know you’re not lying for revenge?” Instead of answering her I rip the flesh from one wrist and bring it to Nora’s mouth, urging her to drink. An audible crack sounds from her neck as her body heals and the colour returns to the rest of her body, her legs now wiggling as the feeling in them returns. I do the same to Whitney, whose heartbeat grows fainter and fainter with each passing second.

“You killed me!” Whitney gasps out, glaring daggers at me the moment she spurs upwards from the floor.

“You weren’t even dead.” I retort, rolling my eyes before diverting my attention back to Abby. “I healed them, now you need to hold up your end.” Relief floods through her once Whitney and Nora are up but there’s still hesitancy clouding her. You know what, I was nice and now I’ve run out of patience. Leaving Nora and Whitney behind me, I hurtle full speed, barging Manny to the side and into the ground with a thud and delivering a blow to Abby’s head, hard enough for her to take a little nap before throwing her over my shoulder and rushing away. Nora’s and Whitney’s shocked cries for Abby echo through the forest, their voices fading away into the distance.

The sun is only beginning to creep up into the sky when Abby stirs awake, her outstretched body retreating inwards as she jolts up and out of my bed, my sheets now a tossed mess.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” She seethes out, eyes in narrow slits as she rubs the back of her neck and I just flip another page of my book resting on my lap as my legs are propped up on my desk.

“You were taking too long to decide, thought I’d save us both some time. By the way, you drool.” I gesture to my own chin and when she scoffs, I let out a small chuckle.

“Real mature.” I forgot that some actual living people were so serious and standoffish.

“You know just because you’ve got the rabid dog gene it doesn’t mean you need to act like a bitch all the time. You should learn to relax every now and then. I know Owen would agree.” Another scoff. I forgot how easy wolves are to rile up.

“Stop with the wolf bullshit. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Tell me Abigail, has your dad or Manny ever gone on a mini vacation or gone MIA for a night or two about once a month?” I can practically hear the cogs turning in that nearly vacant head of hers, eyes drifting off to the side as the first piece of the puzzle begins to fit.

“Anyone in your family have anger issues? Your dad maybe?” I turn my attention back to my book, flipping another page even though I’m not reading any of the words. There’s no need for me anyway having read this book at least a hundred times over the centuries. Her body freezes at the mention of her dad, her heart halting only for a moment until I resume my questions.

“Have you had any anger issues in life?” She opens her mouth to answer but I cut her off, “Oh wait I already know the answer to that. You did after all stake me for interrupting your extracurricular activities with Owen. Although it didn’t seems like you were enjoying it much by the sounds of it.” Face flushing red, she rushes to change the subject.

“How are you not dead? I drove a stake through your heart.” This time I slam my book shut, spinning my chair to face Abby dead on.

“Firstly, you only lightly grazed my heart and secondly, contrary to popular belief, wood doesn’t actually kill vampires. Well it does for a bit but not completely.”

“What does kill you then?”

“I’m not telling you that Van Helsing.” Her stupidity has my eyeballs reeling to the back of my head. “Now tell me about Joel and I’ll help you in return.”

“What could you possibly help me with?”

“Tell me about Joel and then I’ll tell you. Plus you’re not leaving until I say so.”

“And if I refuse?” Defiance. How stupid.

“Then I’ll kill you.” Huffing in defeat she kicks her shoes off so she can sit cross-legged with my pillow propping up her back against the wall. I guess she’s going to be here for a while.

Abby

Detective Whitmore is the first to speak, breaking the cold silence of the dark interrogation room of the station. The walls are peeling and I can practically smell the cement, and if it weren’t for the thumping of my own blood in my ears, I’m sure I’d be able to hear the termites in the walls burrowing away.

“A janitor saw Owen Moores leaving Joel’s office after hearing them in a ‘heated discussion’- the janitor’s words- but I think we both know that it wasn’t just an argument was it Abigail?”

“Just Abby is fine. And I don’t know anything about it. Owen came back home and we just watched a movie then fell asleep.” I repeat the same sentence I had rehearsed a million times in my head since the moment I was dragged from my dorm room to the station at the ass crack of dawn. The station itself was right on the edges of the city of Seattle, a bridge between the isolated CCU campus, which was caged in by woods, waterfalls and low mountain peaks, and the outside world. If it weren’t for the school breaks, I’d forget the world existed outside of the campus. I knew Manny was in the backseat of the car behind the one that brought me here and no doubt, Detective Whitmore would be grilling us both, searching for even the faintest of cracks in our stories.

“Okay then Abby, what time did Owen get home?” I shrug and tell him I don’t recall the time but just that it wasn’t that late. Manny would be saying the same thing, we both had a set of answers for any possible question these pricks could ask.

“I just wanted to clarify if Owen is actually your boyfriend or if you’re just friends?” Okay every possible question except that one. I stammer, what relevance does that have to Joel’s whereabouts?

“I- I don’t know. It’s complicated but we are friends.” My cheeks flush red, embarrassed that I sound like I’m trying to desperately convince myself instead of him. Detective Whitmore flicks a strand of his thick brown hair out of his face, so he can pierce me with those interrogating and somewhat unnaturally jade eyes, which looked much older than he actually was. The way he looked at me stirred something inside me. It’s like he knew something I didn’t and was just itching for it to reveal itself to me by blowing it up in my face. Even the smile on his face was forced, like he was just waiting for the red dot of the camera to blip away so he could show me his real face and ask the questions he already seemed to know the answers to.

He continued pressing but every answer of mine was some variation of me not remembering or that nothing seemed out of the ordinary when Owen came back.

“What do you think they argued about?” He asks and that knowing glint in his eyes intensifies and all I can do is stand my ground instead of crumbling like he intended with all his questions and accusations. He even accused me of kidnapping Joel and I internally scoffed, not even bothering to entertain such a wild suggestion.

“What do you think Owen did to Professor Miller?” Another question, spoken harsher than the ones before.

“Owen didn’t do anything to him!” I scream at the top of my lungs, not even caring that it’s almost eight in the morning but he’s kept me here for four hours, slipping in and out of the room after every round of grilling. Throwing my hands over my face in frustration I shoot up out of my seat, the plastic chair scraping against the pale grey floor and then slam my hands down onto the table. “You said it yourself, it was a ‘heated discussion’ not an argument,” My fingers pull quotation marks into the air, “Owen came back and he seemed fine. Maybe Owen was unhappy about his grades but he sure as hell didn’t have anything to do with Joel disappearing and neither did I. I have been here for hours. I have told you everything I know and you still won’t let me go. You can’t keep me here any longer.” I glare at this prick in his fancy fitted suit and tie and all he does is smile at me, this time a genuine one, almost as if he’s entertained at me losing my shit. My chest heaves up and down turbulently and my jaw locked with gritted teeth, when he simply says,

“Nobody said you couldn’t leave, Abigail.” He shuffles in his chair across me, moving to rest his foot on his other leg, he leans back, like he’s about to watch a movie or read a book, and gestures to the door to my right. “Thank you for your time, Manny’s waiting at the front desk. We’ll be in touch if we have any follow ups.”

I huff, grabbing my jacket that was hooked on my chair and stormed out the door. When an officer drops me to the main desk, Manny stands up from one of the sofas, dark bags drooping at his eyes and stifles a yawn. My head tucks under his chin as he pulls me into a warm hug, rubbing my back as he sees the goosebumps on my arm.

“Here, put this on Abs.” He says while taking my jacket from me before holding it up for me to wear.

“Thanks. What did they ask you about Owen?” I ask as we leave through the double doors and down the stony steps, the morning sun almost blinding me as I almost forget that we’d been here most of the night.

“They didn’t ask me anything. The detective in the posh suit told me he didn’t need me but I could wait if I wanted to for you.” What? Why didn’t he need Manny? And why did he spend hours grilling me to death? He asked me what I told Whitmore and I said I gave him the truth. And the truth was that Owen did come back late at night and we watched a movie till we fell asleep, but what I failed to mention was that Owen had come home at two in the morning, three hours after he went to go see Joel. I told the truth, Owen did seem fine after he returned but his blood smudged jacket and hands told a different story. A story neither him or I could tell because Owen had been compelled to forget whatever had happened. Why else would he come back home, with no memory of his whereabouts or actions. Nor did I mention anything about Joel and the trials or the Cascade Five.

Maya

“So you don’t actually know what happened?” Abby shakes her head. What a waste of a time. I hum in response. I know she’s telling the truth because I may have slipped into her head while she slept. Now all I had to do was get into Owen’s head because even if he was compelled, his subconscious would still remember.

“You said you could help me. I want you to help me fix Owen. He can’t remember anything from that night. And I need him to remember.” I think we all need Owen to remember.

“Did you know werewolves have to trigger their curse in order to turn under each full moon?” She scoffs, frustration radiating from her as I dismiss her plea for Owen’s memories. I know why she wants Owen to remember because I looked in her head but it has nothing to do with Joel so I don’t care. “The day a werewolf gets his or her first ever kill, is the day their curse is activated. Most of them don’t even realise they were supernatural beings until one day they get a little too angry in a fight or cause a fatal accident.”

“Even if what you’re saying is true, I’ve never killed anyone, neither has Manny and my dad sure as hell hasn’t either.” I fight back a laugh, she really is so naive.

“Let’s say they didn’t but what about you Abby?”

“What about me?” She crosses her arms defensively.

“Well you said it yourself, you did leave me for dead in the backseat of a car after driving a stake through my heart.”

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smileymoth · 1 month

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aahhh i need to . i need to write sth for the college au asap

#moth post #its less college au and more -theyre roommates- au but i call it that bc i shoved them all into college #bc im 22 and i cant give a 40 year olds eds and sh problems and make it seem normal bc i only know it thourgh the lens of being 20 #who said that #i also need to proofread and post that eeto+joel thing i wrote. a while ago. im sure someone would get something out of it

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 10 months

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I don't know why but I'm deep in my college Joel feels these few days. I think I need to name this universe at some point, I definitely have more planned for them ❤️

#queue #college joel AU #fuckyeah2222sleepover

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astrowarr · 6 months

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starting a 5 pg film studies essay that is due in 3 hours because im #responsible

#college /neg #really its not that bad im just dramatic #now the chemistry...#dont tell anyone but i pretend im joel smallishbeans from my superhero au when i study #because his power requires him to know a lot about entropy and other chemistry topics #im not delusional. youre delusional #ian yammers

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jellybeanium124 · 1 year

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One of these days I’ll write a blackbonnet fic based on “you may be right” because I am the world’s #1 Billy Joel fan and none of you can stop me

#it would be a college au tho… unfortunately #ofmd #our flag mans death #Nina is a weird Billy Joel fan

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tangsvem · 4 months

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Despite dating his teacher Tango doesn’t use it to his advantage to get good grades in Jimmy’s class. Jimmy tried once to make Tango’s grade up due to their relationship and Tango flipped out.

He rather do everything himself and it show how he truly does academically(which is very good he gets high grades in most his classes) and it not be effected by Jimmy messing with his grades.

Anyways Info on College au Jimmy anyone?

He’s a divorced man and actually has a kid named Tom. Scott is his ex husband the two were highschool sweethearts who married in college and divorced a few years later. They’re still friends and have a healthy coparenting relationship.

Lizzie is his older sister who works in the college aswell along with her husband Joel. Lizzie is the marine biology teacher and Joel is a art teacher.

Grian and Pearl are also his siblings with them being older. Grian is Tango’s architecture teacher and Pearl maintains the colleges garden and she is strict on making sure there is no litter.

#vemchatter #college au #teacher au #tango #jimmy #gr.ian #Pearl #Lizzie #Joel #Scott #Tom #my school has mass today and I’m just gonna daydream about the college au #I’m not Catholic or Christian at all and would rather not be there #sleep isss a option but it’s boring sometimes #most of this au is me in religion class being bored

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joelsgreys · 5 months

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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 🤎

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