thinkin bout like perv!bf frank matching your freak...
obviously not perv to the extreme he is still as gentlemanly as ever.. but after being with him for a while your freak-activities start to wear off on him
"yeah baby? that feel good, huh? been thinkin' bout ya all day.. had to blow m'load on my break cuz those photos ya sent.. fuckin' gorgeous f'me, couldn't help m'self.."
"gonna make a mess all over me doll? thas it, wanna feel ya drippin around me, show yer frankie jus how much ya missed him, yeah?
"sorry sweetheart, y'know I don' like interrupting ya at work.. but I saw ya put those black panties on this mornin.. y'know theyre my faves.. and 've been rock hard since.. keep it down yeah? dont want ya boss knowin' yer bent over the desk f'me"
"rub that pretty pussy f'me, show me how good y'make yourself feel. fuck that's it honey, gonna cover ya with me.."
"ya dunno how hard y'make me mama, dream about this pussy everyday, waiting to come home n' taste her, show her how much I missed her"
flashing boyfriend!frank castle on facetime :3 18+ MDNI
a/n: a liv post in the lord's year 2026??? its more likely than you think!!! anyway hey I missed yall and im sorry for the hiatus.. lowk dk if im still IN said hiatus but I just wanna say ily all and thank u for still liking and reblogging my stuff :3 mwah enjoy this lil one shot i wrote while listening to slayyter trying not to die in this heatwave
☆ (gif ethically sourced from my soulmate @nogoodbee as perrr)
freaky phone sex with our man below the cut
with your boyfriends line of work, its understandable the seemingly endless nights alone start to get to you.
you sigh as you emerge from your bed and head to the bathroom, ready to wash up ready for another lonely night. as you squeeze the toothpaste onto your brush your eyes catch a glimpse of the calendar on the cabinet, the one you use primarily to track your cycle and ovulation.
"that makes a lot of sense." you sigh as your suspicions are correct, and today is your peak ovulation day, if it wasn't already obvious by the almost hard to ignore wet patch in the gusset of your cotton panties, the way your breath would hitch and your stomach doing the thing everytime he sent a message checking up on you.
if only frank was here, he knows what to do with you when you're this needy, keeping you up for hours as he feasts on your cunt as if he were starving, or keeping you trapped beneath him as the tip of his cock kisses your cervix with his tongue circling your nipple whispering the most sinful things into your body...
mid daydream you realise you've texted him,
"hey frankie.. you awake?"
"Course I am baby, everything okay?"
"yeah they are my love. just miss you is all x"
"Miss you more mama. How's your day been?"
the pet name makes you throb, 'pathetic' you think to yourself as you toss your phone back onto the bed as you sit on the edge, exasperating a desperate sigh as you glance across the room, eyes landing on your man's shirt resting on the back of your vanity chair. you rise to your feet as they seemingly move on their own towards the garment as you take it in your hands and bring it to your nose, inhaling deeply. you shudder as the smell of his musk fills your nose, franks scent making you whine into the fabric as your desperate heat throbs at the thought of him. god you need him, so fucking bad..
you dont think before you move swiftly, stripping down from your pyjamas and wrapping the tshirt around your pillow as you straddle it, your slick instantly soaking through the shirt as you whine, rubbing your needy cunt across the fabric. it's almost as if youre possessed, the way you scramble for your phone so desperately, opening your facetime app and ringing him.
"shit sweetheart, you okay? never responded to my text-"
in any other situation youd feel bad for making frank worry so much, but your desire blinds you as you mewl at the sound of his voice, cutting off his anxieties as the sight for sore eyes that he is looking at you through the screen on your phone.
"frankieee..."
"what is it baby? you hurt? whats goin on?" frank springs into action, not fully understanding the situation just yet.
you giggle as you pan the camera lower, revealing yourself in full to him. the way your free hand desperately tugs at your exposed nipple, the rolls of your stomach moving in tandem with your hips as your visibly soaked cunt defiles his clothing, the sheen of sweat coating your thick thighs as you straddle and squeeze at the pillow below you. you watch the way Frank's pupils dilate and jaw goes slack, hypnotised by you and your body.
"need you so bad frankie.." your voice captivating like a siren as you moan and whine down the microphone, "so fucking wet for you baby, can't- can't stop."
"my poor girl, so fuckin' needy" the punisher coos at you, adjusting himself and his now aching cock on the camera, squeezing at his obvious bulge for you through his grey sweats "can't wait 2 days for me to come home, huh?"
you whine at the sight before you, embarrassing noises erupting from your mouth and sticky pussy filling his microphone like a symphony. "I miss you so- fuck so much baby. c-couldnt help m'self" you hiccup as your engorged clit catches deliciously on the fabric.
"shh shh sweetheart, its okay" he whispers as he reaches beneath his boxers and releases his dripping cock, showing the camera as he squeezes at the shaft before taking a bead of precum from his tip with his finger and spreading it around his girth. "make y'self feel good f'me, yeah? be a good girl doll, does it feel good?"
"mhmm.." you moan as you move the camera to your tits, your nipples peaked and flushed as you grab at your breasts as you flash him "wish y-you were here frank.. wish y-you were fillin' me up.. making me yours.. I miss you so b-bad.."
"all mine baby. just you wait doll face," he groans, fucking his fist at the sight of you, eyes rolling to the back of his head
"second im home sweetheart, y'ain't leaving that bed yeah? gonna make ya feel so good, show just how much.. how much I missed ya too.. so fuckin' sweet f'me, givin' me such a pretty show.. luckiest bastard alive." his words make you moan, orgasm imminent as your slick completely drenches his shirt and your pillow, panning your camera even lower to your heat.
"s-so close frank, fuck"
"thas it doll, cum for me sweet thing. dont you fuckin' stop. my pretty girl, always so good f'm, so needy for your frankie... shit 'm almost there too, gonna fill ya up so good when 'm home doll, gonna feel me f'days...."
Warnings: blood, established relationship, f!reader, periods, shower sex, cumplay, oral (f!receiving)(yes reader gets eaten out while on her period), embarrassed!reader, blood kink
w.c: 2.7k
Again if mentions of blood make you uncomfortable please DO NOT READ - this one is naaaasty - read at your own discretion
—
You’re day 2, still quite heavy. But everything he is doing is sending you into a spiral. And ALL you can think about is Frank, and how badly you are craving him. It doesn’t help that being on your period makes everything more intense.
You’re sitting there on the couch, willing your eyes to stay focused on the words of the book you’re currently reading. But they keep driving to him as he adjusts the uneven leg of the coffee table. Your mind going to places that are REALLY unhelpful in your current predicament.
You watch his big hands twist the screw tighter, and the way his veins jump in his forearm as he grips the screwdriver tighter. The way his thick fingers curl around the handle. You feel yourself squeezing around nothing, already wet from your blood you feel it mix with your arousal. Your hands go clammy, the want and need is so bad that you genuinely feel like it’s making your heart hurt. You bite down on the knuckle of your hand that unconsciously made its way into your mouth. God you feel so pathetic and desperate right now.
But you haven’t had sex on your period.. you’ve taken care of yourself before sure. So you excuse yourself to do just that, you tell Frank that you’re going to go have a shower because you “haven’t had one today”. His eyebrow quirks up as you scurry off.
Closing the door behind you, you turn the shower on and peel off your clothes you step into the hot spray. You stand there eyes closed as he consumes your mind. Your finger trails slowly down your neck over your nipple as you circle over it, tweaking one in your finger trying to pretend it was franks hands instead. God this is stupid you think to yourself, he’s just outside .. but your brain quickly shuts the thought of asking for what you need down. So you continue, just a quick release you think to yourself.
So you continue massaging your breast with one hand as the other trails down your stomach and your finger begins circling your clit. You let your head fall back into the spray of water, eyes screwed shut imagining all the ways Frank touches you.
How his touch feels, how his lips and tongue feel when they trail over your body, how it feels when he slips his tongue in your mouth.. or in your hole and of course how his girth feels inside of you.
You lean your back on the tiles and sink down to the floor. Water still spraying you as you spread your legs a little to give yourself better access. Two fingers slide from your clit down to your hole as you push them in “oh frankieee” you whimper to yourself imagine they were his.
You alternate between pushing your fingers in and out of your hole and then circling around your clit. You look down, seemingly unbothered by the red that’s washing away from between your legs. And how it looks like each pump of your fingers pushes fresh blood out. Your other hand still massaging away at your sensitive breast and nipple.
You hear a creak as you feel a cool rush of air infiltrate your hot steamy sanctuary. You look up through the water and see the mass that is frank staring down at you through the shower door, fully clothed. Your brain catching up to speed as you scramble your way up.
You look down at your feet “hi” you offer sheepishly. Too embarrassed to look at him. You’re so sure he was watching you through the foggy glass shower door. You want to cry, you probably looked so pathetic. Moaning your boyfriend’s name in the shower when he was right outside the door.. too consumed by want for him but too embarrassed to ask him.
As you stand to your feet Franks eyes can’t help but catch the trickle of blood that races down your inner thigh. His cock already hard from the little show you unknowingly gave him starts dripping at the streaks of blood on your fingers that you’re trying to hide behind your back. The way you’re so shy and embarrased when you were just sighing his name while pleasuring yourself 30 seconds ago sends a rush of want straight to his cock.
“What're you doing baby?” He asks, somewhat mocking - but you catch the way his breath hitches.
“N-nothing, just showering” you say hesitantly still unable to meet his eyes
“On the floor?” He presses with his eyebrow quirked up
“I-I just.. yeah” you reply, almost mumbling. Hoping he doesn’t hear. Hoping the ground swallows you whole.
He reaches his arm forward hand cupping your face to make you look up at him “baby.. you lyin’ to me?” he chides.
“Well.. technically no, I am in the shower.” You look up at him now. Unfortunately him semi reprimanding you while being fully clothed and you stark naked isn’t the mood killer you’d hoped it’d be. Quite the opposite in fact.
“I’m gonna ask you one more time” he says firmer
“I-I just.. want you.. but” you sigh, looking up into his eyes
“But what? I’m yours honey, I’m always yours… why didn’t you ask ?” he questions, more sincerity in his tone
“Because” you look down “because of that” gesturing at the blood that’s washing down the drain.
“Why would that stop you?” He asks, genuinely confused not following your apprehension.
“Baby… you don’t want me like this” you whisper softly
He steps in the shower still fully clothed. Backing you up against the shower wall. Pressing his hip into your front and you feel the unmistakable hardness in his sweats. A small gasp leaves your mouth when his hand reaches down between your legs as he starts running his thick digits through your soaking folds.
“Who says I don’t want you like this huh? I want you all the fuckin time sweetheart” he says lowly, pushing two of his fat fingers inside you now - proving his point.
You moan looking up at him, your fist twisting in his t-shirt and sweats that are now fully soaked. You feel your eyes well up and you’re hoping he doesn’t notice with the shower still on. “Are you sure Frankie?” You ask him, so softly praying the wobble on your voice doesn’t give you away. He brings his hand to cup your face, other hand still working away at your folds. “M’sure baby, you’ll tell me if it’s hurting yeah?” He replies matching the softness in your voice “just wanna make my baby feel good yeah? Don’t want it to hurt baby” eyes locked on yours littering soft kisses all over your face, ending at your lips. “Mhmm I’ll tell you, please Frankie” you whisper into his mouth.
Your hands push his sweat pants and briefs down and he kicks it out of the shower while he removes his fingers from your hole to peel off his soaked shirt. He’s back on you in an instant. He takes your arm and guides them so you hold on to his shoulders. His hands go just under your ass as he picks up up, gently pushing you against the wall. He pins your there with his body and he locks his lips with yours - your mouth opens straight away giving his tongue access. The cool tiles on your back with the heat of the water on your body and the feel of franks tongue exploring your mouth make your pussy throb.
“Frankie pleaseee i need you” you cry into his mouth. He looks down between your bodies, between the valley of your heaving sensitive tits and sees the blood smeared on his lower torso from where your cunt was pressed into him. The sight making the hunger deep in his gut burn.
“Okay babygirl, I got you, hold tight yeah” he coos. With his firm grip on your hips and your arms around his shoulders locking your bodies together he finally gives you what you’ve been craving. He inches himself in slowly, his eyes fixated on you watching for any signs of discomfort. And there definitely is none when he sees the way your eyes roll back and your jaw goes slack. He smiles as he kisses the side of your neck “feel good baby?” He whispers and all you can let out in response is a high pitched “mhm” as the dull ache in your lower abdomen is completely drowned out by the intense stretch of him. “goddd you feel so good honey, so fuckin soaked” he groans as he bottoms out.
You're sandwiched between his hot chest pressing your tits up and the cool tiles on your back as he slowly continues to pump into you. Your hole is so sensitive you feel every single ridge of his veiny hard cock as he drags it in and out of you slowly, testing to see your reactions. He slides one of his hands up to cup your breasts, massaging gently with a firmer press of your nipple between his finger. He grinds his cock in and out of you as if he cant bear being out of you for a second too long.
He continues pumping in and out of you, impaling you against the wall. Both of your lips are locked onto each others as he swallows all your mewls and breathy whimpers "mmfuck baby feel so full" you sigh into him as he breaks apart to look between your bodies to where his cock pulls out and thrusts back into you. He see's the dark red of your blood streak his shaft and dribble down the base of his hard cock. "look at that baby, paintin' ma fuckin cock-christ-so fuckin hot" he grunts as his cock twitches, he feels his heavy balls tighten at the sight, your pussy tightens around him in response
Frank slips the hand down that was massaging your tits between your body. His thumb making itself home on your sensitive swollen clit. "oh fuckkkk frankie" your hips jump in response at the sensation. He smiles into your neck "yeah i know honey, you let it all go, i got you-frankies got you baby" his grip tightening on your ass as his thumb continues its ministrations around your clit. Your legs lock tighter around his waist as his thrusts get deeper and deeper, not harder, no. He knows what you need as the tip of his leaking cock massages through your walls, kissing your cervix. He knows your body so well, knows that in a few more deep thrusts and a few more circles around your bundle of nerves he'll have you convulsing around him.
And that you do, it hits you like a freight train, all your nerve endings feel like theyve been set ablaze. "ahhmygod yes frankie, im coming baby" you mewl as your hips rock, your legs seizing up as your arms strangle around his neck. But frank doesn't let up, he continues his steady pace, rocking his cock in and out of you as your pulsing walls milk him. Pumping his hot heavy cum into you "oh fuuuuckk shes fuckin milking me honey jesuss christ" he groans into you as his hips still. Spearing you into the wall with his cock.
Your breaths hot as the whole bathroom is fogged up with the steam from the shower and your sex. Frank gently pulls out and sees his come mixed with streaks of your blood drip out of your spent hole. The sight unlocks something primal in his brain.
He sets you down and spins you gently so your chest is pressed up against the glass of the shower wall. The sudden cold of the glass pressed against your tits making your body jump. You feel like a baby girrafe learning how to walk as your legs stumble. But you feel Franks mass behind you in an instant, holding you up, his lips on your neck. "C-can I taste please baby i just-fuck- just gotta clean you up yeah? yeah yeah thats it just cleaning you up baby" he desperately pants, sounding like he was trying you convince himself more than you that this was okay.
"mmhm yeah Frankie" is all your fucked out brain can manage in your blissed out haze. He drops to his knees, his meaty paws spreading your cheeks furthers apart. His eyes wild watching your hole pulse as you push out his come with fresh spurts of blood. Before his brain can chastise himself further, he lurches forward. Tongue straight into your hole, slurping at the sweet, metallic and salty concoction. Frank is reduced to grunts as he wildly licks up all your combined juices and fucks it back into your hole with his tongue."Oh goddd baby fuckkk" you cry out, one of your hand reaches back and hooks into franks hair as your ass unconsciously pushes back into his face. "yeah fuck my face cmon baby" he grunts into you as you grind your hips on his tongue.
It's obscene really, you know it is but as shameful as you should feel it’s really the opposite. It's dirty, it's urgent, it's primal and Frank on his knees for you when youre like this makes the second wave of your orgasm hit so much harder. Your other hand grips the top of the shower wall as your knees start to buckle as his tongue laps harder. Frank feels you go as you start to mewl. Your vision goes white, your moans so high pitched it sounds like you're crying "yes yes yes fuck babyyy" you wail into the steam. "yeah c'mon baby cmon" he growls, his grip tightening on your hips to hold you up as your feet start to lift off the ground, your toes curling while he works you through peak.
You feel like jelly as your body starts to melt down into him. Frank kisses his way up from the curve of your ass up your back and behind your neck as he takes the full weight of your body on his. He grabs the shower head off its holder and brings you down to the shower floor with him, situating you between his legs so your back is resting on his chest.
Your chest heaving as your panting getting your breath back while frank peppers you with soft kisses. Using the shower head he holds it up so the spray is gently washing over you. "you did so good baby, you feeling okay?" he coos while brushing your wet hair out of your face. You hum contently as you crane your head to look up at him, your blood smeared across his face. You can help but smile, he looks just as content as you. You press a soft kiss into his chest as you make a cup with your hands to collect some water and help clean his face. He smiles down at you pressing a kiss to your forehead.
Frank takes a few pumps of your body wash and lathers up the inside if your thighs, cleaning you up as he washes it away with the shower head. "Open up baby" he softly asks, you spread your legs a little and he angles the shower head, the soft stream of warm water spraying down your sensitive pussy. He brings his hands down between your legs to help wash away all the juices ever so softly cleaning you up, washing the water through your folds. You feel your heart swell at the way he cares for you like this. Its not sexual, its so soft and intimate as he lathers up the soap over your breasts to clean you up nice and thorough before scooping you up "lets get you to bed huh" he whispers before placing a soft kiss on your cheek "thank you Frankie" you sigh, eyes closed, body limp in his arms.
After getting into bed you’re cocooned into him, wearing one of his tshirts. Franks heavy warm hand on your lower belly acting as your heating pad as you drift off sleep in your little warm sanctuary ❤️
_
a/n: I AM UNWELL, need this man so bad. Anyways sorry if this was too much (BUT YOU WERE WARNED) HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED IT.
Summary: the one in which Joels cock finally stirs to life, stiring him in the process.
Hihihi im not dead chat, carbon has risen (much like this old mans dick) now i know i promised to work on the Frank/Joaquin wips that you guys voted in the poll for and i swear i am (its just taking longer than i expected for my little attention deficit noggin) BUT!! this had to be done.
Masterlist
Warnings: oldman Joel, hyperspermia themes briefly, mentions of erectile dysfunction, fist fuckin, spit and pre as lube, joel fantasizing about you!! Reader isn't particularly described other than having breasts and a cooch (with bush🙂↕️) however theres the lightest of reference to having some chub too!
Listen, im just a girl who merely enjoys the mental picture of an old man having a needy wank.
Thinking about Joel with those strands of grey marring his grown out hair and that scratchy peppering of facial hair.
Those glasses that slip down from the bridge of his nose; making him grumble every damn time they drop and he has to reach a finger up to put them back into place in the day.
His flannel is stripped away, worn tshirt just barley stretching over the plush curve of his belly. He's bigger now than he was when he and Ellie got to Jackson- stockier even- a routine in place meaning a type of comfort and with that comfort comes meals more than a can of scavenged beans or ravioli.
His thighs are bigger now too, thick and strong, muscles hidden under chubbed, hair smattered skin that has denim pulling sinfully tight over them.
Even his balls are round and fat, full and often just a tad achey as they rest in his pants.
That ache has followed him around for a while, his cock refusing to play the same game now he's way past 40. And Joel's tried- Jesus fuck has he tried- to get blood rushing south for a minute of bliss in this new found sanctuary.
But much like most in this world now; thing's happen when you least expect it, never when you want it.
Early morning light shimmers through the curtains of Joel's bedroom window, casting shadows on the walls. He rests on his side, bad ear down against a cushioning pillow. He grunts half conscious, trying to shift onto his front, belly pressing down on the mattress as his hips meet uncomfortable resistance.
It takes a second to click, for Joel to catch up from the haze of sleep, to realise that its his cock finally having stirred. Bulge thick and hot as it leaks stuck between boxers and thigh.
Bringing a wide palm down beneath the sheets doesn't help; a heavy, heady grumble vibrating from the depths of his chest at the slightest pressure. Joel's eyes blink open blearily, adjusting to the dim light as he lets out a sigh rolling onto his back.
The sheets ruck as his hips lift then, worn plaid pajama pants along with damp boxers and the duvet pushed down just past Joel's old knees. The cool air of his bedroom drawing a hiss from between his teeth as it brushes the swollen, sensitive head of his solid cock.
That hand comes up, spit slowly building inside his mouth, before he lets a glob drop from his lips. Palm now slick Joel's groan at the first contact is loud, breathy even. Sighing sound louder than he perhaps intends, echoing around the walls.
He takes it slow, despite the ache. Relishing in every tightly gripped jerk of his slicken fist. The sound is obscene, sight even more so. Mushroom tip flushed, drooling pearly drops of pre, veins pulsing in his palm.
It feels good.
Fuck. It feels so good.
It'd been so long since Joel got to experience this, the pleasure sparking off like fireworks up his spine, haze of sleep making everything just that little bit more intense. Calloused thumb swiping the tip as it dribbles, hips pumping up to chase the feeling that tingles beneath his skin.
In the bliss his mind wanders, hazy and growing fuzzy, a growl sliding past his lips at the thought of you. Of soft lines and that pretty pout on your lips, tongue wide and waiting. Neck and chest littered with kiss tinted bruises, the soft fatness of your tits in his palms, nipples pebbled and oh so sensitive from the lewd suckles and flicks of his tongue.
He thinks of your hips, his own bucking up wildly from the mattress with each slick stroke of his tightened fist. Where his hands would grip, where flesh would be squeezed and manipulate beneath him. How he'd ensure adoration would go toward every single perfect fucking inch of your body no matter how heated the moment.
And he of course thinks of that sweet little mound between those soft, perfect thighs. How could he not? Decorated with that little thatch of hair that keeps your shy delicate clit just tucked from view.
Groans after pleasure fueled moans fill Joel's bedroom, headboard thumping against the wall slightly from the vigor his dazed state fucks himself with. He's getting close, that coil that blooms in his stomach extending down to draw his balls in pulsing lifts.
"Awh fucking c-christ" he mewls, letting the it grow as that feeling tingles up his spine. The same spine that protests the way it bows up as Joel's head tilts back against the pillows to gasp in a lungful of air, fist so tight around his cock his knuckles are almost white.
The mental images grow too much then, the sloppy, squelchy sounds with each pass of his leaking cock gliding in his hand too, barreling his orgasm into his body like the impact of a car crashing into a wall. Pearly seed spurts thick and in several fast twitchy ropes onto his belly, seemingly endless as Joel's eyes roll back before shutting entirely as his hand stills.
His grunts taper off as his chest heaves, cum pooling hot on peppered hair atop a rounded belly as the ropes finally begin to dribble off the tip and onto his fingers instead.
When his eyes do open again, lashes brushing his cheeks, a breathless chuckle drops free. There's so much, so fucking much, its truly a miracle his shirt remains clean despite the absolute mess hes made of himself.
Letting go of his now softening dick his mind decides to offer one final cruel thought. A hazy question that makes him twitch- could that sweet little pussy of yours handle this much cum? Hes almost positive you'd be leaking around him within the first few spurts-
Joel's stomach churns at the idea, mouth long dry. He considers it for a second still, exhausted, absolutely fucking spent. So a decision is made. Mercy to toward the sensitivity of his cock, bating any further thought about the answer away as quick as it flickered in.
Perhaps next time though; this morning was glory enough.
Summary: joel was the moth to your flame. if your flame was a bonfire and he was the one pouring gasoline.
Warnings: toxic! obsessive! psycho gf x crazy joel, one scene with violent!joel (never towards reader), toxic behavior, jealous!joel, jealous!reader, drinking, piv, f!receiving oral, m!receiving oral, missionary, doggy, slight voyeurism, possessive!joel, possessive!reader, stalker!joel, they're really just a match made in hell ya know.pet names (baby, sweetheart, angel), dirty talk, daddy kink, size kink, joel is a big boy
Word Count: 9.3k
Joel
God, you looked so pretty when you were mad.
That furious little glint in your eyes, the slight flare of your nostrils, the way your jaw clenched like you were deciding whether to kill him or kiss him. From across the room, you were a thunderstorm trapped in quite possibly the most incredibly addictive body Joel Miller had ever known. He couldn’t get enough of you, even when you were like this. Charged and seething, ready to level anything in your path. If you stood still long enough, he swore the air around you would spark and crack like lightning looking for a place to strike.
Your face was flushed, flushed enough that steam could’ve poured out of your ears. And in your hand was the source of it all—a harmless little card made of blue and white cardstock. It had a cheerful cartoon on the front and big, blocky letters that read Happy Father’s Day! The kind of thing you’d grab at the last minute while picking up toothpaste and a Gatorade. Joel had opened it, smiled a little at the sentiment, and tossed it on the dresser without a second thought.
That had been his mistake.
“Who is she?” you asked, your voice sharp and almost eerily calm, holding the card between two fingers like it had been dipped in something rotten.
“It’s from my neighbor,” he said quickly. “That’s all. She put it in my mailbox. I don’t even—”
“Does she give you cards for every holiday, Joel?” Your voice rose, the tone saccharine, but he only knew it as a warning.
He blinked. “What? No.”
“Christmas?”
“No!”
“Valentine’s Day?”
“Would you quit it?”
“Sure, yeah. I’ll quit it,” you replied sweetly, and before he could stop you, you were reaching into your back pocket for your Zippo. You flipped it open, rolled your thumb over the wheel, and lit the flame with simple finality.
He watched you hold the card to the fire, watched it curl and blacken, the edges glowing orange as it turned to ash in your hand. You dropped the smoldering remains into the little blue trash bin by his dresser and brushed your fingers off like you’d just done something as ordinary as take out the trash.
“Happy now?” he muttered.
“Not quite,” you snapped back, arms folded, mouth drawn tight in a pout that made him want to bend you over his knee.
He stepped toward you slowly, the fight still buzzing in the room like a second heartbeat. “I got somethin’ that could make you feel better.”
“Oh yeah?” you countered, no playfulness to your voice yet, and not moving an inch.
He nodded, a grin starting to pull at his lips even though he knew better. Even though there were claw marks on his back from the last time you got jealous. Even though last week you keyed a heart into the hood of his truck. You were fucking insane. Certifiable. But so was he. Because he was no better when his temper got to him. And yet you both seemed bound to each other, always coming back like moths to a bonfire.
“C’mere,” he said, voice rough as he approached you.
You sighed as his arms came around you, wrapping them tight, hands smoothing down your spine. Maybe if he held you hard enough, you’d melt into him, forgetting about the stupid card.
“Only want you, you know,” he murmured against your temple.
You tilted your head, lips ghosting the side of his neck before you bit down hard—right into the tender skin at his jaw, teeth sinking into the beard where it hurt the most. He hissed, breath catching, jeans already going tight.
“Good,” you whispered, releasing your hold to kiss his earlobe.
Yeah. You were both fucked.
You
The next morning, you were all tangled limbs and mellow sunlight spilling through the slats of the blinds when Joel’s alarm started buzzing. He groaned, the sound deep in his chest, dragging a heavy arm from around your shoulders to reach for the clock. You rolled on top of him before he could, laying across his stomach and stretching to shut it off yourself.
“Just a few more minutes,” you whispered, your bare body melting across his, cheek against his beard as you pressed lazy kisses to the coarse scruff. The dark hair tufting his chest tickled your skin as you slid higher, lips brushing his mouth.
“Gotta get up,” he rumbled, kissing you back even as his voice betrayed how badly he didn’t want to.
“Tell the guys you’ll be late,” you purred, mouthing down the column of his throat, your tongue dragging over the warm salt of his skin. You felt him stir beneath you, his morning hardness nudging your thigh. “Tell them I kept you in bed, that I made you come so hard you forgot what day it was. They’ll understand.”
“Oh yeah?” His hand tightened on your hip, gravel-thick voice edged with amusement.
You nodded against his skin as he added: “Now, if I tell ‘em that, you makin’ it worth my while? Or are these lies n’ empty promises?”
You smiled as you slipped down his body, sheets falling over your head as you disappeared beneath them. He was already half-hard when you kissed the trail of dark hair leading south, licking lightly at the ridges of his lower abdomen until his cock was heavy in your hand. You dragged your tongue up the underside, tracing the thick vein that wrapped around him, before swallowing his cock into the heat of your mouth.
“Christ,” Joel hissed, his head falling back against the pillows. The sound of your spit mixed with the wet drag of your lips filled the room, obscene and slick. His hips jerked when you moaned around him, throat working to take him deeper.
Before long, his hand was in your hair, tugging you up with a roughness that made your stomach flip. “Enough,” he muttered, pulling you to straddle him again. “I ain’t blowin’ my load down your throat when I should be fuckin’ you.”
He flipped you easily, pressing you forward until your knees dug into the mattress and your cheek brushed the sheets. The moment he pushed inside you, the sharp stretch knocked a gasp from your lungs. His hips slammed against your ass, heavy, rhythmic, the slap of skin echoing in the quiet morning.
That was when you heard a faint vibration against the nightstand and looked for the source—Joel’s phone. The noise rattled steady and insistent as his thrusts picked up, and you twisted just enough to grab it, shoving the buzzing rectangle into the pillows beneath you.
Joel groaned behind you, too lost in the velvet keep of your body to notice. You angled the phone so you could peek at the glowing screen.
Tommy.
A wicked smile tugged at your lips as you swiped to answer. You didn’t say hello, or any sort of greeting. Instead, you moaned into the speaker, biting your lip as Joel’s cock hit deep, the bed creaking with every thrust.
“What the fuck—” Tommy’s voice muffled faintly before you let another wanton cry spill into the phone, pushing your face into the pillows. Joel’s pace never faltered, his groans mixing with the filthy slap of bodies colliding.
You clutched the phone tighter, muffling laughter against the sheets, savoring the delicious chaos as Joel fucked you hard enough to drown out everything else.
“Oh, fuck, Joel,” you cried out, “Yes!”
You’d really put on the show for his little brother.
“Yeah, baby?” Joel growled, his thrusts sharp and deep, “That’s it, take it. Nothin’ better than my cock stuffin’ you first thing in the mornin’, huh? Greedy little thing.”
Tommy’s muffled “Jesus—” was nearly swallowed by the wet slap of Joel’s thighs on yours.
He bent over you, mouth hot against your neck. “Listen to you. Cryin’ for it already. Can’t even start the damn day without this cock stretchin’ you open, can you? You gonna come for me, baby? Gonna come on daddy’s cock?”
Your grin curved wicked against the pillow, biting back a laugh as you let another loud moan slip free, feeding it to both men at once.
The thought of Tommy listening, hearing every filthy word, every cry that tore from your throat sent heat rushing straight through your belly.
“Fuck, Joel,” you sobbed, clenching tight around him. “I’m—god, I’m gonna—”
“Yeah, you are,” he snarled, thrusts growing rougher, desperate. “Come on my cock, darlin’. Make a mess for me.”
Your body gave way all at once, ecstasy ripping through you as you gasped into the pillow, your whole frame trembling as he fucked you through it. Joel’s rhythm faltered shortly after, his groan breaking into a ragged curse as he pulled out quickly, fisting his cock until you felt the warm spurts of him over your back.
The line went dead in your hand at the same moment Joel pulled out of you, pressing a kiss to the damp curve of your neck, never knowing his brother had been there to hear it all.
Later that night, the Tipsy Bison was loud and hazy with neon lights bleeding against the wood-paneled walls, laughter and clinking bottles ringing out above the low hum of music. You slid onto a high stool, legs crossed, ordering a gin and tonic while Joel lingered behind you, already scanning the room like he didn’t trust a soul in it.
When he finally joined you, the weight of his presence filled the space before he even spoke.
“You wanna tell me why my brother couldn’t look me in the eye today, baby?” Joel asked, his voice pitched low, almost swallowed by the noise around you. He tilted his head, eyes sharp, catching yours like a trap. “Got anything you wanna say?”
You lifted your glass, took a slow sip, and shrugged, the ice clinking as if to punctuate your indifference.
“Got no idea, hm?” Joel asked, shifting closer. He stood close beside you where you sat at the barstool, crowding into your space like he owned it, lifting his beer and throwing back the last of it in one swallow. His throat worked, the cool neck of the bottle glinting as he drained it, then he set it down with a final clink on the counter.
The chatter of other bar goers washed over him, but it didn’t soften the heat rolling off his body as he leaned in, towering above you. One hand found the back of your chair, his palm broad and firm, caging you in. The other skimmed casually over your bare knee, thumb brushing slow circles that made your pulse jump.
“You gonna keep playin’ dumb,” he murmured, his mouth so close you could taste the beer on his breath, “or you gonna confess about your little stunt?”
You shifted, turning so your legs were on the opposite side of the seat, “Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
You slid off the stool, ignoring the heat of Joel’s stare as you weaved through the crowd toward the jukebox tucked in the corner. The din of conversation and clatter of bottles filled the air, but you could feel him trailing you, heavy footsteps never far behind.
You leaned over the jukebox, flipping through the glowing list of songs, when his hand landed on the edge beside yours, caging you in.
“You’re lucky it was just my brother,” Joel murmured, his voice pitched low, private. “If any other man knew how sweet you sounded takin’ my cock, I might’ve had to kill ‘em.”
Your jaw tightened, finger still hovering over the screen. “You’re infuriating.”
He stepped in closer, chest brushing your back, his mouth brushing your cheek. “That noise you make when I’m inside you—that’s all mine, baby. That’s the holiest thing I got. And you went and handed it off to my baby brother like it was nothin’.”
You rolled your eyes, but were unable to help the way your stomach flipped at his breath on your neck.
“Don’t tell me,” he mocked, kissing the edge of your jaw before you flinched away, “You liked my baby brother hearin’ you?”
“Ew, no.” You rolled your eyes deeper, your head starting to throb with it.
“Don’t gotta be shy,” he said, and though it sounded playful, the low lilt of his voice was anything but sweet. He pushed into you, hips flush with your ass, your hand having to flatten on the screen to hold yourself from leaning too hard into it. His mouth dragged along your cheek, almost a nuzzle if not for the teeth grazing your skin.
“If you ever do that again with another man,” Joel growled, “if you ever try to show what’s mine, I will kill him. You hear me? If you ever even looked at another man, even thought about givin’ what belongs to me to anyone else…” His teeth scraped harder, beard rasping against your skin, making your stomach knot, your thighs press together. “I’d ruin it for you, baby. Burn it right outta that pretty little head.”
You scoffed when he pressed a sudden, gentle kiss to your ear, the tenderness a mockery after all that venom. Your song came on, the jukebox humming to life behind you, and you twisted on him, shoving him hard.
Joel’s back hit the wall with a muted thud as your palm shoved hard up under his jaw, fingers flexing against the thick muscle of his neck. He was solid and hot beneath your grip, that maddening pulse thumping steady against your thumb. And the fucker was smiling.
That lazy, half lidded, cheshire cat grin that made your blood rise and your fists clench.
You could still hear the chords of the Nirvana song bleeding through the speakers, some drunk bastard singing along, but all you could focus on was the wicked gleam in Joel’s eyes.
“I don’t belong to you or anyone else, asshole.” you seethed through your teeth.
Mmmmm, he hummed low, the rumblings of it tickling the heart of your palm, “That’s it, baby,” he murmured, voice rich and gravelled, full of heat and poison as he adjusted his jaw in your grip. “Right there. God, I love when you get like this.”
Your fingers clenched harder around the trunk of his throat without thinking. But you began to pull away, knowing you wouldn’t win this way, “Oh, fuck y—”
His hand shot out, snatching your wrist and keeping it in place, tightening it against his throat as he leaned down further, his beer tinged breath fanning over you as he towered into your space.
“What?” he smirked. “Gonna give up so easy? Thought we were havin’ fun.”
“Let go, you bastard,” you seethed, eyes blazing as you struggled in his grip.
And then, a voice came from behind you.
“Um… excuse me, miss?”
The words sliced through the heat of it all, unwanted and clumsy. You turned, slowly. A guy stood there, tall-ish, clean cut in that polo wearing kind of way, with a nervous demeanor and khaki shorts. His hair was gelled, his eyes a little too earnest. He looked like someone’s nephew on spring break. He could've been your age. But the Hey Dudes were the final insult.
You stiffened, though Joel didn’t move, just cocked his head in your periphery like a predator clocking fresh prey.
The boy glanced between the two of you with that same naive concern you’d seen in well meaning men your whole life. You thought he must’ve seen your hand at Joel’s throat and the heat in your cheeks and thought this was his cue.
And then he brought his hand up, letting the clammy skin touch the heated crest of your shoulder.
Joel’s demeanor changed immediately. He went stiff, the playful smile dropping from his mouth in an instant, the fury in his eyes burning molten as he stared down at the man beside you. The grip on your wrist didn’t change, you only felt his fingers twitch as if he was thinking of using them to wrap around the man’s throat instead.
When he finally spoke, his voice came low and even, no louder than it needed to be, but somehow clearer than everything else in the room.
“Best get your hands off ’er if you wanna keep ‘em, son.”
The kid faltered, hand tightening on your shoulder as if he wasn’t sure whether to drop it or double down. His brows knit, lips parting like he was about to stammer something out, and for a second you thought that would be the end of it—that maybe he’d mutter an apology and walk off into the haze of beer and neon and learn never to touch someone else’s girl again.
But he just kept looking at you.
Eyes narrowed, caught on your face, and whatever brief flash of uncertainty had gripped him evaporated. Maybe he thought your silence meant hesitation. Maybe he saw the flush on your chest, the bright heat still crawling up your neck, and mistook it for distress. Maybe it was that earnestness again, that dumb, open-faced naivety that in someone else’s life, they might’ve thought was sweet.
“Miss?” he asked again, a little firmer, steeling himself, like he’d puff out his chest and be your knight in shining armor, “I’ll take care of you, I can call the police if—”
Joel’s grip shifted at the same moment your mouth opened. He didn’t yank you, didn’t jerk your arm, but he took your wrist from his neck and pulled you aside so you were out of the way.
Once you were safely out of his war path, he was moving. His hand came up, not in a punch or a slap, not a shove or a poke to the chest.
His big, calloused hand came up, swallowing the stranger’s whole face like he was catching a flyball in a baseball glove. Joel’s fingers splayed across his entire face, palm crushing into his nose, and with a force that looked almost casual, he shoved the stranger back.
But the sound that followed was anything but casual. The man’s body hit the edge of a nearby table with a sickening crack, sending pint glasses toppling, chairs screeching across the sticky floor, a half-eaten plate of wings flipping onto the ground as someone cursed nearby. A sharp burst of fry oil and spilled beer hit your nose, along with that sudden, unmistakable shift in bar noise—that pause that happens when everyone senses a fight is about to break loose.
“Jesus fucking Christ, man!” the boy started, breathless, one hand half lifted in placation, “What’s your problem!?”
Joel moved fast, stalking across the space between them like all that heat had been simmering under the surface, boiling over the edge and finally allowed to break.
He wound back his clenched hand, and the crack of his fist hitting the man’s nose rang out sharp and sickening, knuckle against bone, loud enough to turn heads even in a place like this, where fights were cheap and tempers cheaper. The guy’s head snapped back on impact, his knees buckling as blood burst from his nose, splattering across the grimy tabletop and the front of his pastel shirt like some cruel brand. His body crumpled into a graceless heap of limbs and shock and pain.
Joel didn’t seem done yet.
He stood over him, looming, chest still heaving from the exertion, his hand still partially curled into fist, blood streaked across the creases of his knuckles. His lip twitched like he was gearing up for another.
And after a brief pause of surprise, of the entire bar watching, their little brains catching up with what was happening, the room erupted in noise.
Chairs scraped hard against the floor. A couple of voices shouted, some cheering, some cursing or jeering, and then multiple pairs of hands descended, grabbing Joel’s shoulders from behind, one of their voices snapping, “Hey—HEY! That’s enough buddy!”
Two men now, maybe three, trying to haul him back. Joel resisted at first— out of rage, out of something wild in him, like his body hadn’t gotten the message yet. His legs planted, weight low, still staring down at the stranger like he hadn’t finished making his point. It took a few seconds and a hard shove to get him to move, stumbling half a step back, shoulders flexed, chest rising and falling like a piston as they pulled at him.
You looked between the bleeding man and Joel being hauled out of the scene into the night air. And you couldn’t help the small smile that was playing on your lips as you skipped outside.
The door slammed behind you, cutting off the last of the shouting. The night air brought a relief with the cool breeze, less stuffy than inside, but still thick with cigarette smoke and fried meat drifting from the open kitchen vent, the pavement still warm under your shoes.
Joel was pacing like an animal just outside the halo of the entrance light, chest heaving, blood drying on his knuckles.
“You’ve officially lost your fucking mind, Miller.”
He turned when he heard your voice. And God, he looked like he’d eat you just for speaking.
You ignored it, “I can’t believe you. And you think that’s somehow gonna make me want you? Bashing some guy’s face in like that?”
You started walking, scoffing and shaking your head, out into the parking lot. Anywhere but here, to get away from him and his simmering rage, his toxicity. It was too much.
But you heard his boots before you could do anything about it, his heavy, broad hand catching your arm and pulling you back. And the thing was, he was never violent with you. Never too rough unless you asked him, but all the same, the air felt knocked out of you as he pushed you against the brick siding, the lights of the bar illuminating his face in red.
You opened your mouth again to spit a retort at him, but his body was crowding yours, hips pinning you, chest crushing into yours, his knee shoved hard up between your thighs so fast you gasped, your balance gone.
"Where the hell d’you think you're goin’?" he purred, face just inches from yours.
You could smell the whiskey and the beer on his breath, the copper tang of blood, the sweat from the fight still drying in the crease of his neck. His hands found your waist, fingers bruising, digging in to hold you against him and the wall.
"Think I don’t know your game by now, baby?" he rasped, voice low and knowing, hot against your cheek. “I know you love when I make a scene. That’s what all that was, huh? Wanted to see how far I’d go?”
His thigh flexed between your legs and your body betrayed you with a stuttered breath, your hand flying to his chest to shove him, grab him—something.
“Joel—”
"You watched like you didn’t fuckin’ love it,” he hissed, cutting you off. “You think I’d let you leave after that? After he touched you? Told you he’d take care of what’s mine?”
His head dropped, nose brushing your cheek, lips dragging along the edge of your jaw like a threat disguised as affection. You felt his breath in your hair, heavy and ragged, every inch of him pressed to you like a cage.
“He didn’t even—” you started, breath catching as he nibbled on your ear, “you were the one—”
“I told you I’d kill any man that thought he could take what’s mine,” he said, voice so soft it didn’t sound real. “You hear me, baby? You’re my girl, only mine. Say it now, be a good girl.”
“Fuck you, I can’t believe you!” you tried pushing him away, but his knee edged higher between your thighs, his chest pushing you into the wall even more, “Get off, Joel!”
“So you’re tellin’ me, if I reached down your panties right now, they wouldn’t be sopping wet for daddy, hm?”
You rolled your eyes, ignoring his question, “You’re a freak, Miller.”
He hummed against your neck, lips tracing your pulse, tongue darting out to taste the salt of you, lips pressing and suckling at your skin. You couldn't help the bend in your back as your body betrayed you. His hand moved from pushing your hip into the wall to unbuttoning the tops of your jeans, and before you could protest, he was reaching down, past the waist band of your thong and into the gusset of the lace, pushing it aside to run his finger between your folds.
The moan he let out was guttural and feral, a man half animal as he shoved your legs apart, dipping his fingertips into your entrance.
“Oh fuck–” you gripped his shirt, no longer pushing him away but pulling him in.
“Yeahhh…” he breathed, “there she is.”
And that smugness, something in that dark, satisfied grin, snapped the last of your restraint. With a furious growl, you wrenched his hand out of your jeans, planting both hands on his chest, and shoved him again, this time with finality.
Joel fell back before righting himself, his grin nowhere to be seen as you spit the words at him: “Stay away from me.”
He froze, chest heaving, the feral edge in his eyes dimming with confusion.
“I hate you.” Your voice cracked, but you forced the words out. “I don’t want you. Not anymore. You don’t own me.”
For once, he didn’t come after you. He only stood there, jaw tight, swallowing back something ugly as you pushed past him, leaving him under the bar light with his hands curled into fists at his sides.
Joel
He told himself he wasn’t stalking you. He just… missed you. Needed to know you were safe. Needed to see you, even if from a distance.
So he’d started to park his truck down the block from your gym in the days that passed since the bar fight. Engine off, of course, and hat pulled low, watching through the windshield as you slipped inside the building in your leggings and hoodie, earbuds dangling, a bounce in your step that gutted him. Sometimes he’d wait the whole hour just to watch you come back out, the front of your little tank damp with sweat, forehead glistening, tugging at your bag strap as you crossed the lot. He memorized every detail from afar, from the way you tied your jacket around your waist and the way you bent your head to check your phone.
Between jobs, he’d find excuses to pull over, thumb flicking to the Find My app he shouldn’t have still had. You hadn’t realized it was still on his phone. The tiny dot pulsed on the map and he felt calmer knowing where you were. At home. At work or the gym. The store. He told himself it wasn’t wrong…he wasn’t trying to control you. He just couldn’t breathe not knowing if you were safe.
One night, you were in a new spot he didn’t recognize. And suddenly, a kindling fire burst into flames inside him, molten with that green monster clawing at his chest as he jumped in his truck, phone still open, following the dot to the other side of town. His knuckles ached on the wheel, jaw tight, imagination running wild with pictures of you in another man’s house, some stranger’s hands where only his should be. The longer he drove, the darker it got inside his head.
If he found you there, if he drove up and saw another man touching what was his, Joel wasn’t sure what he’d do, except that it wouldn’t be pretty. He thought about fire. How quick a house could go up if you knew where to start it. How easy it would be to walk away with nothing but smoke curling into the sky behind him.
Or maybe it wouldn’t need fire. Maybe it’d just be one body to move. He knew where the ground stayed soft outside of town, how deep he’d need to dig to make sure no dog or man ever found it. What was having to bury one man in a grave, if it meant keeping you?
But when he pulled up, it wasn’t a house. It wasn’t even a bar to pick up strangers. It was a tattoo shop, neon light buzzing above the door. His pulse thundered as he killed the engine, eyes locked on the entrance. He couldn’t see you through the windows, but he stayed, headlights off, waiting.
When you finally came out, his stomach flipped at the sight of you again, though you looked the same—no fresh ink peeking out, no sign of what you’d done inside. That fire in him stoked down to embers, quiet but still burning, banked hot beneath his ribs.
It drove him insane that he couldn’t storm across the street, grab your face in his hands, kiss you until you remembered you were his. It drove him insane that he had to sit there in the dark, invisible, while you walked past him like he didn’t exist. All he wanted to do was show you how much you were meant to be with him and no one else. To touch, to hold, to bend you over and…well, he kept those thoughts between him and God nowadays.
Every night, he’d lie awake, phone in hand, staring at that little pulsing dot like it was the only tether keeping him sane. Joel Miller was half feral without you, starved, aching, sick in love and in need. The longer you stayed away, the more convinced he became: you weren’t just someone he wanted. You were his.
And if he had to watch, if he had to wait, if he had to burn with it, he’d do it. Because sooner or later, you’d understand. Nobody could love you the way he did. Nobody would ever try.
You
It wasn’t until a few weeks later that you saw Joel Miller again. Well, the first time you’d seen him when he wasn’t trying—and failing—to hide in the dark cab of his truck. You’d known he was following you, but it thrilled you. Maybe it should’ve scared you. But knowing a man was lovesick and obsessed only stoked the fire in your belly as you caught sight of his black pickup. You’d even left on your location for him to come find you whenever he wanted.
So now, in the blaring haze of the nightclub, you knew he’d show his face. You’d even thought about risking another nobody to grab his attention, to force his hand again, but for once you caught a stroke of pathetic empathy for the sweet brown haired, blue eyed stranger who tried to buy you a drink. It wasn’t his fault you looked single. So you’d turned him down before he could talk to you for more than a minute.
The place smelled of sweet fog smoke, bass pounding hard enough to rattle your bones. Bright lights strobed across sweat sticky bodies, the DJ hunched in the corner, spinning the same four beats into oblivion as you danced with one of the girls you’d come with that night. That’s when you saw Joel, arms folded over his chest, leaning against the wall like sin incarnate, his gaze locked on you.
But there was a girl.
Tattooed, tipsy, sticky lip gloss smeared at the corner of her mouth. She was pawing at his arm, nails digging into the muscle of his bicep where it peeked from his black tee like she was claiming him. All flirty smiles and fake giggles, pressing herself close.
Joel wasn’t even looking at her. Not even a glance her way because his eyes were pinned to you. And that made your stomach twist tighter. Because she was still touching him even though he clearly wasn’t interested.
You pushed through the crowd, closing the space until you were face to face, your drink sloshing onto the sticky floor. You tilted your head, eyes raking over her cheap dress, her smeared mascara, her trembling little smile.
“You must be drunk,” you said sweetly, venom dripping off every word. “Because if you were sober, you’d know better than to touch something that isn’t yours. Unless you’ve got a death wish.”
Her eyes narrowed, mouth opening like she wanted to speak, but you leaned closer, lips brushing her ear. “You don’t want me as your enemy, sweetheart. So take your last chance and fuck off.”
The girl’s breath hitched. Joel chuckled low in his throat, his grin splitting wider, and you didn’t even need to look to know he was hard as stone watching you lose your mind.
The girl finally yanked her hand away, muttering something weak as she shoved into the crowd, vanishing into the fog.
You turned back to Joel, victory singing in your veins as the lights flashed across his face. He was still grinning, eyes dark and shining.
“What’re you doing here, Joel?” you asked, feigning your annoyance despite your win.
“You just told that girl I was yours.”
“No,” you corrected, tilting your chin up, “I said she shouldn’t touch what isn’t hers.”
“Because I’m yours.”
You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. “I’m so over this. I’m going home.”
You shoved your empty glass onto the nearest table and shouldered past the crowd. He followed instantly, slipping through the crowd like a shadow tethered to you, until the thump of bass gave way to the sharp night air outside.
“Baby, baby, c’mon,” he jogged up behind you, voice soft, coaxing. “Let’s just talk.”
You didn’t stop walking, heels clicking against the sidewalk, the neon buzz of the club sign painting the pavement in red and blue. “Talk about what? How you’re still following me around like some obsessed puppy?”
“Maybe,” Joel admitted, catching your wrist before you could slip further into the dark. His grip was warm, firm, but not rough, just insistent. “Because I can’t stand it. Because you’re mine, baby. You’ve always been mine.”
You stared down at his hand on your wrist, then back up at him, your lips curling into a cruel little smile. “If you’re so desperate, then maybe you can drive me home.”
His jaw tightened, eyes searching yours. “Okay.”
“Don’t get any ideas.” you said, snatching your hand back. But your heartbeat ricketed up a beat, betraying you.
And on the way home, Joel kept his hands to himself, which both surprised you and made you fidgety. He asked about your day, about the past couple weeks at work with that coworker you hated, like things were normal again. His voice was even, steady, and for a moment it almost felt like it used to. Maybe he was just grateful to be close again. You weren’t sure. You hated that you liked it, though — hated how easy it was to slip back into his gravity.
As you pulled up to your apartment complex, the glow outside your door sputtered and crackled, flickering like a mosquito zapper about to short out. The pale light buzzed, flashing on and off, making the walkway look eerie and stuttered.
“When did that start?” Joel asked, his voice soft, too soft, as he frowned at your door.
“Dunno. Thanks for the ride,” you said quickly, sharper than you meant, pushing the door open before he could say more. But Joel cut the engine and got out after you, boots crunching on the gravel.
“I told you not to get any—”
“I know, darlin’,” he said gently, that maddening lilt curling around the word. He was infuriating when he was sweet, like he wasn’t the same tornado that ripped through everything you touched. “Just let me fix it. Might be the bulb, might be somethin’ with the wiring. I just wanna make sure you’re safe.”
You narrowed your eyes, arms folding over your chest as you stood planted in front of your door. “Fine.”
Joel nodded once, hazel eyes locked on you for a beat too long before he turned to the light. He reached up, big hand twisting the bulb, hissing when it burned his fingertips, but working at it anyway. He jiggled it loose, studied the socket, then shook his head.
“Gonna need to check your breaker.”
“Seriously?” you sighed, dragging the word.
He shrugged, looking annoyingly unbothered. “Sorry, baby.”
“Quit callin’ me that, Miller.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He smirked at you, eyes glinting, and you rolled your own so hard it almost hurt.
You unlocked the door, muttering under your breath, letting him follow you inside. He didn’t even need pointing, he went straight for the coat closet like he’d lived there. The faint scent of him filled the space around you, leather and cedar, impossible to ignore.
Joel studied the breaker, flipping the switches with practiced ease. He went outside to replace the bulb, then came back in, wiping his hands together like a job well done.
“Should be good now.” He hit the switch, and sure enough, the porch lit up in a steady blaze, no flicker at all. Like it had never even been broken.
“Great,” you muttered, pushing your hair out of your face. “See you later, then.”
Joel chuckled, low and sure, shaking his head. “Not so fast.”
You groaned, leaning your shoulder into the doorframe. Here we go.
He stepped in, the porch light humming steady behind him as he came closer in the doorway, casting him in a gold halo. The irony wasn’t lost on you. His voice dropped, softer than you’d expected, almost shy. “Missed you.”
Your eyes narrowed as his arms came up to cross over his thick, wide chest, mirroring your stance. He looked down at his boots, sucking in a tight breath as if to steady himself before looking at you again. “Haven’t been sleepin’. Haven’t been eatin’ right. Nothin’...nothin’ feels right without you,” His gaze flicked down, then back up, unguarded in a way that made your chest ache. “I don’t know how to do it without you, darlin’.”
You shifted, uncomfortable, heat crawling up your neck. “God, you’re so—” You huffed, throwing your hands up, unable to look at him straight on.
“Tell me you ain’t been feelin’ the same,” Joel pressed, his voice rough but steady. “Tell me to leave, I’ll leave. But look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t missed me too, baby.”
You glared up at him, your eyes raking over his face, searching for a crack you could wedge your anger into. “I haven’t—I—” The words snagged in your throat, the lie choking itself before it could reach the night air.
His mouth twitched, flattening for a beat before curling slow around the edges, that cocky grin sliding back into place like it had never left.
“Shut up,” you muttered, sharp and breathless, before fisting his shirt and lunging for him.
You kissed him with messy furiosity, all teeth and tongue, like you were trying to silence him with the only weapon you had left. Joel groaned into it, arms locking around you instantly, his body swallowing yours whole as if he’d been waiting all this time for you to finally break.
He shoved forward, making you stumble back a step before scooping you up in his arms, slamming the door shut with his boot and clicking the lock without ever breaking the kiss.
“Christ,” he panted against your mouth as you dragged kisses down the thick column of his neck, tasting soap and sweat and the pounding pulse beneath. “Missed you so fuckin’ much.” His groan cracked when your teeth sank into his throat.
“Fuck, please,” you gasped, grinding against his stomach where he held you aloft. Joel swallowed your moan into his mouth, tongue rough and hot against yours as he carried you up the stairs, each step jarring but never breaking the fever between you.
“Please what?” he rasped, his voice shredded thin. “Tell me, baby. I’ll give you anythin’ you want. Give you the damn moon if I could.”
“Fuck me, Joel, please, I can’t—” your words tumbled out, frantic, the heat of his body a furnace that would never be close enough. You clawed at him like you’d crawl inside if you could, just to be closer. “I hated seeing that girl all over you tonight,” you choked out, voice venomous. “Hated it. I could’ve—I wanted to—”
“Shh.” He tightened his grip in your hair, pulling your face back just enough to meet his eyes, steady and molten. “I know. I know, baby. Ain’t no one takin’ me from you. Ever.”
He set you down on the bed with a care that clashed with the storm in his fists and mouth. He quickly undressed himself, wholly bare before you as you stayed clothed before he descended onto you. His weight hovered over you as he kissed down your throat, over your collarbone, dragging his teeth along bare skin. His hands slid under your shirt, pushing it higher, calloused palms cupping your breasts through the thin fabric before tugging it over your head in one smooth pull.
“Pretty girl,” he muttered against your sternum, his mouth closing over a peaked nipple, teeth grazing before his tongue soothed. He palmed the other breast roughly, greedy, groaning into you like he was starving. You arched beneath him, your hands in his hair, pulling him closer, closer.
His mouth traced lower, down your stomach, his thumbs catching in the waistband of your pants.
“What’s this, hm?” Joel murmured, voice dropping low as he tugged them down, lace catching on his knuckles. The scrolled letters became visible slowly, unveiled by lace and Joel’s calloused fingers.
He stilled.
The script stood out stark and clean against your skin, perched right between the gentle curve of your hip and the bone just above your cunt.
𝓙𝓸𝓮𝓵
In black ink, just a couple weeks old and still healing.
Joel reeled back a little—not in shock or horror but in reverence, in something like awe, and when his eyes met yours, there was only heat. Dark and thick and heavy, the kind that filled the space between your lungs and made it hard to breathe.
"You’ve been hidin’ this from me, baby?” he asked, his voice light and lilting, like he was speaking to something fragile. But the edge of it curled mean. Sweet like syrup over a knife. “Tattooed my name on you like a good little girl, huh?”
You whimpered—surprised by your own nerves. You’d been proud of it when you got it. Smug, even. But now? Under his eyes? Under his hands?
Joel lowered his head.
His mouth found your skin and pressed his lips softly against each letter, tongue dipping out, licking over the lines like he wanted to taste every stroke. He kissed it, again and again, lips dragging across your skin, open-mouthed and worshipful. His tongue was hot against the sensitive skin, kissing it like he was kissing into your mouth and not the skin of your pelvis.
“Fuck, baby,” he whispered, breath warm and thick as it sank into your skin. Your hips jolted up against him, thighs twitching, need bleeding out of you like your body couldn’t hide it anymore.
“Can’t believe you got my fuckin’ name branded on you.”
You mewled, the sound raw, half formed in your throat as heat crawled up your spine now, your whole body alive with tension, every part of you sparking as his mouth trailed lower. Joel pulled your pants down the rest of the way, slow and greedy, and your legs opened for him without thought, a helpless thing begging to be touched.
He kissed down to your pubic bone, taking his time, all slow and reverent. He inhaled your scent, his nose brushing right up against your clit.
“Ohhh, baby,” he mocked, dragging the words out. “You’re soaked, huh? Pretty pussy just aching for daddy.”
“Shut up, old man,” you groaned, pushing the heels of your hands into your eyes, desperate and annoyed, thighs clenching with frustration.
He laughed low in his throat. “But you love this old man, don’t you, honey? Tell me how much you love me.”
You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek. “I love your cock, old man. Not you.”
“Mhm. Sure, sure,” he chuckled, kissing your hip again. “That why you got my name written in ink across your sweet body?”
“Drunken mistake.”
Joel shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so.”
Then he kissed your clit—so softly you almost missed it. Just a brush, feather light, enough to drive you insane. You looked down and saw the bastard smiling.
“Tell me you love me,” he murmured, gravel in his voice, dragging his mouth just to the side again, pressing another kiss to your inner thigh. You twitched, whined, your body betraying you completely.
“No,” you gasped, your head rolling back. “No, I’m not saying it.”
“But I love you, baby,” he said, eyeing your glistening folds, “Fuckin’ obsessed with you.”
You whimpered, mouth twisting, a broken frown pulling at your face and Joel mirrored it, mockingly.
“Aww, poor thing can’t even talk now? Too many needy thoughts?” he crooned, pressing his lips right beside where you wanted him, tongue flicking out to trace the crease of your thigh. “Come on, sweetheart. Tell me why you got that tattoo. Tell me why you keep crawling back to me.”
“‘Cause—‘cause—” You were stammering, hips searching for friction, clenching around nothing.
“You’re so fuckin’ cute like this,” he said, dragging it out, “Could make you squirm for hours.”
His tongue still hadn’t touched you where you needed it most. He leaned down, breathing against your clit, tracing the sensitive skin just outside of your folds with his nose—
“I love you, Joel,” you gasped, eyes squeezing shut. “I love you, I love you—”
His lips hit your soaked skin with just a wet peck and you jolted in surprise.
“Aww, baby. You mean it?”
“Yes, yes—I mean it!”
“Say it again.”
“I love you! I got it tattooed because I’m in love with you, you fucking bastard!”
Joel laughed, low and mean. “That’s my girl. But c’mon, I know you can be sweeter than that.”
You cried out, half with need, half with fury as your hips rolled in search of any kind of relief. Joel’s forearm slid hard across your hips, locking you in place, keeping you from grinding up against his mouth. You thrashed once and he held tighter.
“Please,” you begged now. Your voice cracked, tears burning the edges of your vision. You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking down at him. “I love you, Daddy, I love you. Love you and everything about you. I’m obsessed with you too.”
Joel moved fast.
He surged his body upward, leaning in to crush his mouth to yours, his tongue deep and hungry, bypassing any kind of gentle pretense to devour you fully, kissing like he could never get close enough. You moaned into it, wild, grabbing his hair in tight fists, dragging him closer, pulling like you were starved.
“You make me insane,” he panted between kisses. “Make me fuckin’ crazy, you know that?”
“Yes—yes—I know,” you gasped. “You make me crazy too, Daddy, please, please—”
“Okay, baby,” he rasped, his voice dark and reverent as he moved back down, stopping to kiss your navel before saying: “Okay. Gonna give you what you need. What only Daddy can give you.”
And then his mouth was finally on you.
Tongue thick and wet, sliding out of him like something obscene, starved, pressing heavy against your folds as he licked an open, shameless stripe up the whole slick length of your cunt. No teasing now. No trace of mercy. Just filthy, hungry mouth, slathering spit all over you like he was trying to wear you.
He buried his face in it, lips sealing around your clit, dragging it between them with a deep, needy suck that made your vision blur, made your hands fly to his hair like you needed to anchor yourself to him. And the sounds he made between your legs, those wet, slurping groans, breath snarling through his nose as he devoured you, tongue moving in greedy circles, then sharp flicks, then back to that flat, full pressure that had your thighs snapping tight around his head.
He groaned into you like he couldn’t breathe without it. The vibrations rattled through your clit, right up into your spine, your hips jerking helplessly against the strength of his hold. He fucking growled, the sound thick and low and furious as he sucked hard enough to bruise, and when he pulled back just enough to spit on your cunt in a thick, warm, filthy glob before dragging his tongue through it again, you sobbed. He was sloppy, nasty, mean and loving all the same when he ate at you.
"Messy little pussy," he muttered against you, his chin already soaked, beard shining with your slick. “Look at this, baby.”
You couldn’t think or breathe. You couldn’t stop shaking. He was licking like he meant to ruin you, to split you open with his mouth alone. Your clit throbbed under the attention, swollen and pulsing with every pull of his lips, every lewd moan, every inch of his tongue gliding through the slick, messy heat of you.
Your thighs were trembling, belly fluttering and your voice was lost somewhere between a scream and a gasp and a high, cracked wail of his name. White stars burst in your vision as you crested over the edge, the coil wrapping around your spine tightening and slackening and twitching until you started to come down. Your thighs shook as he kept licking at you, softer now, more careful, drinking you down like every drop was sacred, his tongue pushing inside you for one last taste.
He kissed your thighs and up your body until he was hovering over you, pressing his mouth to yours. The taste of you was dizzying—honey, salt, sweat—and his tongue swept through your mouth gently, moaning like he was the one coming down from the high.
His cock twitched heavy between your stomach and his as you bit his lip, your hand sliding down to wrap around him. He drew in a sharp breath, leaning his forehead to yours, eyes wild as you both watched your fist stroke up and down.
“Where you gonna get my name tattooed, Daddy?” you whispered, voice sweet and melodic.
He chuckled low, then groaned as your thumb swept across the leaking tip, spreading it around his length.
“Anywhere you want,” he said roughly, kissing you harder, before sitting back on his haunches to watch your hand work him. Your fingertips didn’t even meet around the thickest part of him.
“I think right here would be cute,” you cooed, releasing him so his cock slapped heavy against your pelvis, then dragging your fingertip just above the thatch of hair where he disappeared.
“Yeah? Your property, huh?” he teased, but his grin was sharp, hungry.
You nodded, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth.
“All yours,” he agreed hoarsely, and began to drag himself through your glistening folds, the wet schlick obscene. He tapped the fat head against your clit, playful, before notching at your entrance.
Ohhh, you sighed as he pushed in an inch.
“Now,” he groaned, gripping your thigh to push you open wider, watching himself sink deeper, “wanna hear you say it again.”
“Ah–ah—say what?” you hiccuped, clutching at his forearm as he continued to disappear into you slowly.
“Why you got that little tattoo, baby.”
“I love you, Joel,” you whispered, eyes squeezing shut as he bottomed out.
“I love you too, sweetheart,” he breathed, voice breaking, hiking one of your legs over his shoulder, the other hooking at his waist as he leaned forward above you. He pulled out slow, then slid back in deep, kissing your nose. “So much it hurts. Hurts in my chest, hurts in my fuckin’ bones.”
You moaned, eyes rolling back, arms circling his neck. His mouth crushed to yours as he moved, and he groaned into your mouth like a man who’d die without you.
His pace quickened, thrusts sharper, deeper, until the slap of skin was drowned by your ragged cries. Joel tore his mouth from yours, panting against your cheek, his voice rough, low, wrecked. “So damn tight around me. S’like this pussy was made for me, huh angel?”
“Yes, Joel,” you gasped, nails scoring down his back, desperate to keep him inside you.
“God, baby…” His teeth grazed your jaw as his hips sawed back and forth harder, his voice breaking with a new hunger. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” you sobbed, head tipping back against the pillow. “Yours, forever.”
His hand caught your throat, not quite squeezing, just steadying you, his thumb brushing your pulse as if to remind himself you were alive, here, his. His cock pushed impossibly deep, kissing your womb, and he groaned against your ear. “I’d kill any man who even dreamed of you. I’d burn the whole world down if it meant keepin’ you here safe with me.”
Your thighs quivered as he drove into you, stars bursting white-hot behind your eyes. “I know,” you whined, broken on his rhythm. “You’ve already ruined me, I’m all yours.”
“That’s my good girl,” he growled, pressing his forehead hard to yours, sweat beading where your skin met. His thrusts grew frantic, almost pained, his voice unraveling. “And what if I knock you up, hm? Gonna hate me if I fuck a baby into you too?”
You clutched him tighter, delirious, babbling your devotion against his mouth, you should’ve never said those awful words, the ones you never meant outside the bar. “No, no, I could never hate you. I need you, I love you—keep me, keep me, Joel—make me yours.”
He kissed you like a vow, broken moans spilling hot against your lips. “Yeah, yeah, that’s it, gonna fill you, gonna put a baby in you, sweet girl, then you won’t be able to go anywhere,”
Joel’s hips snapped in merciless rhythm as if carving himself into you was the only prayer he knew, every word he spoke a fevered gospel, every thrust a confession of love so twisted it bordered on holy.
The words seemed to stoke the fire in both of you at once, toppling your second orgasm over the peak, your back bowing into an arch you never thought possible as the world went white behind your eyelids.
Joel groaned above you, his body shuddering as he stilled, pressing as deep as he could, spilling into you with a sound that was half gasp and half curse. His arms locked tight around you, crushing you to him as if he could fuse you together.
For a long moment, the world was just the heat of him inside you and the rough sound of his breath against your skin. His mouth brushed your cheek, his voice ragged as he said: “Don’t ever leave me again,” he muttered, words splitting like they’d been torn straight from his chest.
Your nails scraped lightly through his hair. “Never,” you whispered back, your lips ghosting his ear. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He let out a broken groan, holding you tighter, burying his face against your neck. His weight pressed you deep into the mattress, his chest rising and falling against yours in uneven bursts. You stroked his hair absently as he stayed inside you, the damp ends sticking to your fingers, soothing him with gentle touches.
Little by little, his breathing evened out, the frantic edge fading until the two of you were just a tangle of limbs and sweat, cocooned in the heavy quiet that always followed the storm. The haze of arousal began to thin, leaving you raw, dazed, but not entirely unsteady. Your fingers kept combing through his hair, softer now, more thoughtful, until they slowed to a halt.
“Joel?” you murmured into the dark.
He answered with a low hum, the sound muffled, half asleep, content.
the concept of copying someone else's fic WORD FOR WORD and making it out as if its your own?? just disgusting tbh. this type of plageurism needs attention to it, as much as I dont wanna give this person a reblog.
don't give this weirdo the credit that @millermouth deserves, and give all your likes, reblogs etc to the og - Buck Cherry
gosh, he’s so on edge, so tense. he knows something is up because why is it just Edwin there alone. why is nobody here working to get a cure? they should’ve done to fort knox like he said— but everyone just had to listen to rick.
it’s even worse when they’re eating dinner. everyone is acting like it’s all fine, even you. sitting there all sweetly with his hand in yours like you both can’t tell there’s something wrong here. it’s got him on edge, ready for the inevitable end of their peaceful evening.
he’s wine drunk, and the warm shower makes everything a little hazy. especially when he remembers your just a door down, taking your own peaceful shower.
he can’t help himself from leaving his stall in just a towel, the bottle of wine still in hand. he slides into yours, sneaky. he nearly groans at the sight of you, slick with water and suds as they glide down your back. you’re gonna kill him.
he doesn’t even hesitate before he touches you. he’s groping your sides, grabbing plush flesh. you yelp, and all he does is shush you. his face is pressed into the side of yours, his hands are sliding up to grope your tits underneath the hot spray of a normal shower.
“shh, angel, let me have this,” i whispers into your ear. he’s got one hand on your tits, tweaking a nipple while the other goes back down your stomach, between your legs to tease that sweet little clit. you whimper, whining as he works you up just enough so that you’re wet enough for him.
he’s not holding back now, he can’t he’s tense and he needs to let it out, he needs his sweet angel.
he practically shoves you against the shower wall. face smushed against cool tile as he holds the base of his cock to rub his tip against your soft folds. it earns a hiss from him and a soft sound from you. he pushes in with ease, hands grab the soft fat of your hips to pull you back onto his cock.
he doesn’t give you time to adjust either, immediately fucking you so deep and hard. you’re whining that it’s too much, but all he does is wrap a bicep around your throat and whispers for you to just take it.
“c’mon, angel, i know you can take it.” he grunts. “fuck, sweetheart, pussy’s so good…” he huffs, breath heavy against your ear.
you’re no better, either. mouth agape and hands on the tile as you take his cock. you’re brain is practically melting out of your head at how good he feels inside of you. breathy moans are fucked out of you.
his hand trails between your thighs, swirling lazy circles in time with his thrusts. it makes you squeal a little louder, before the other hand goes over your mouth. “shhh, sweet girl…” he croons, smirking against the side of your head. “can’t let anyone hear how pretty you sound. cmon, sweet girl, give it to me.”
he makes you cum, thighs trembling and body stilled beneath his grip. your eyes squeeze shut as you feel hot spirts of his seed paint your insides. he’ll thrust shallowly for a moment, shoulders relaxed now. he plants a kiss to the side of your head, your body leans back into him.
he’s so blissed out he forgot why he was so tense in the first place.
Hey, how do you think frank and the reader would react to him unexpectedly and accidentally popping a boner at the wrong time? 🤭🤭
Maybe in public, but somewhere it can be a little embarrassing..
arghh this thought keeps me up at night and what a wonderful way to start the new year
speaking of, maybe youre out with him for new years celebrations, going to your regular bar all dressed up for the occasion. Franks feeling like hes gonna pass out everytime he looks down at you on his arm, the way the black material of your dress hugs your curves, the swell of your breasts accentuated and just begging to be touched. hes a militant man, he knows popping a boner right now in a crowded bar is not the vibe. all he has to is wait for the ball to drop at midnight then he can get you home and that damn dress torn off. but the second the countdown ends and you and your shared friend group exclaim "happy new year!" you wrap your arms around your boyfriends neck tugging him into a kiss, slightly tugging on the small brown locks on the back of his head, slyly moaning into his mouth as you push your tongue down his throat and subconsciously rubbing against him, hes well and truly fucked. the feel of your body pushed into him sends him over the edge as you feel his thick member throb through his jeans on your stomach.
"happy new year frankie" you whisper as you pull away, and Frank is left flabbergasted as you return to your previous conversation before the most mind-blowing kiss of his life. his cheeks turn pink as he adjusts himself in his jeans, sitting back on his stool and pulling you into his lap as you yelp at the intrusion of his rock hard cock on your ass.
"youre gonna pay for that later, babydoll." he grumbles into your hair, trying to keep composure because he knows damn well if you were to get up from his lap the whole bar would see a darkening spot on the front of his crotch from your impact. you can't help but smile and clench your thighs together as you fantasise of what's to come, knowing youre the person that makes The Punisher himself sport a raging hard on in public filling you with confidence you never knew possible.
(but also there's the not so distant au where he can't help himself but drag you into the bathroom and fuck you so unbelievably hard as he groans in your ear about how crazy you make him and how he can't help himself or wait till you both get home to make you cum on his cock, ugh hes just perfect to me)
was gonna make this a few imagines for different situations but I got too into this new years thing and now I feel like I need to run laps around my bedroom to cool off, if you want more stuff like that lmk, my resolution this year is to be more creative and write more because lord knows I haven't been these past few months LMAO
but happy new year all!!! big fat sloppy kisses to all of you mwah mwah mwah
Summary: Joel saves you from a creep at the bar. You repay him with how you see fit.
Word Count: 10.9k
Warnings: 18+. MDNI. P in V sex. Assplay. Age gap. Reader is in her 20s, Joel’s in his late 40s/50s. Reader is a teacher. Size difference. Slight dom/sub undertones. Dirty talk. Squirting. Panty sniffing. Choking. No Outbreak.
Banner: by @cursed-carmine
Authors Note: it has been a million and one years since I’ve written and i have never written for Joel before so be kind ! I would also love to practice writing drabbles bc this initially was supposed to be a drabble but I lost control lol. so send me and gnarly imagines you have about frank castle and joel miller (and fuck it even Arthur Morgan) and we’ll have a ball <3
ao3 link [coming soon]
Tequila has never been your friend.
The ritual of licking the grainy salt, shooting the shitty well tequila, immediately following with a soggy lime wedge usually led to a terrible burn in your belly and immediate regret— because once that tequila worked its magic, it usually led you and your burnt out group of teacher friends to order another round.
And then another, because fuck it you guys, we work with kids for a living! At least three of us here had a chair thrown at us this week!
And by the time the third round of that dark, shitty well tequila gets ordered, your brain is already becoming mush and you really don’t mind that your group is being the loudest in the small dive bar. In fact, you really don’t mind— especially when it catches the attention of the regulars who love to buy a group of pretty young girls their next round. A free drink is a free drink, and typically the men that hit on you and your girls know there ain’t a chance in hell any of you would give in to them. Sure, there are some that give it their all— “c’mon, my wife don’t got it any more”— or “give this ol’ man a chance, baby” — but typically with a bat of your lashes and the excuse of having a nonexistent boyfriend, they let up.
But that isn’t the case tonight.
Mike, you think is his name, can’t be younger than 50. He has a belly rounder than you’d ever seen and a nose as red as Rudolph’s. Surely, a sign of his drinking habits throughout the years. He’s bought the latest rounds of drinks after approaching your table, words already slurred and breath so horrifying you’re afraid that if he lit up a cigarette, his breath would catch fire.
But a free drink is a free drink, and your girls weren’t ready to tell him to kick rocks just yet.
You, however, were ready to tell him to fuck off.
It had been a long week. Between the usual troublemakers in your class and a surprise observation from your admin, your free time was being consumed by conference prep. Hours after school were being spent making copies, scheduling with parents, making sure the kids desks were neat… it was stressful.
And to top it all off, the fucker took it upon himself to plop his ass right next to you.
You know the type. He was probably on his third divorce, and spent a little too much time at the bar during his free time. It disgusts you to even think that this guy is probably thinking about what it would take to get you home.
With an arm slung around the back of your seat in the booth, he’s asking alllll about what it’s like to be a teacher these days. And much to your annoyance, your friends have begun not so secretly taking pictures—no doubt making it into the shared album by the morning.
“Now sweetheart,” Mike (or maybe Matt? You couldn’t keep it straight.) slurs, and your nose crinkles at the smell of the cheap beer on his breath. “M’tellin’ you. If had a teacher like you growin’ up—‘
God, there it was. Guys always think that line works, as if hearing it for the millionth time would finally land them on your roster.
“—Would’ve paid real close attention in class.”
Gag.
Your smile grows tight as you squirm towards the edge of the vinyl booth. “Alright!” You exclaim loudly. “With that note, m’gonna go get a Diet Coke. Somethin’ to wash the tequila down.”
“Baby I can go with ya—” Mike groans as he moves towards you, but you smile as sweetly as you can and cut him off before he can inch any closer.
“Jess, I’m sure Mike would love to hear about how that kid told you to fuck off last week.”
Mike snorts. “Names not Mike. S’Matt.”
“Matt, sorry.” You aren’t sorry. You’re already halfway to the bar as you say that.
Jess, who is the main instigator of the night out, is a social butterfly who isn’t scared of a damn thing. She can handle a few questions from Matt.
The Rusty Spur was usually packed tighter than a can of sardines, but tonight is bad. To your right is one bachelorette group cornered towards the end of the bar, sticking out like a sore thumb in their pink cowboy hats, multiple groups of guys dressed in business casual; shirtsleeves rolled up and collars unbuttoned—and to your left, at least a dozen frat boys hogging the pool tables, the scent of their cheap cologne making your lip curl in distaste.
And to your front, the line looks to be a million people deep. With a groan, you stretch to your tiptoes and attempt to look over the shoulders of the people in front of you. God, you just needed some Diet Coke to get rid of the taste of tequila out of your mouth and to clear your head. And to close out your tab, you suppose—your iPad and shower were singing their siren song to you right about now.
Given that you were currently more than a few drinks deep and growing more and more irritated by the lengthy line of tall frat boys, you rise to your tippy toes once again and tilt yourself to the left, attempting to get a look to see if any progress is being made to get to the bar.
God dammit, everyone is so tall!
Leaning juuuuuust a bit further left, another tall body rams itself into your side; and suddenly your center of gravity is just…gone. Your wedges fail you—you knew wedges were the wrong choice—and your body is falling faster than you can process.
“SHIT!”
Not only is your head pounding, but now your tailbone is pounding—and soaked in god knows what kind of liquid. With reddened cheeks, and tears of embarrassment forming in your eyes, you look up to see what asshole shoved into you; only to meet the eyes of fucking Mike.
Before you can push yourself off of the bar floor and tell him exactly where he can shove it, you feel a pair of hands grab onto your shoulders, gently lifting you up and onto your feet
“Hey, easy,” a voice says in your ear. Low, unbothered, with a slight drawl to his tone. Not slurred at all—unlike Mike who had been breathing down your neck for the last hour.
Slightly disoriented, you blink slowly; craning your neck to get a good look at the stranger, and your eyes lock on someone who is entirely unlike the other guys here. Not even close.
This boy… no… man… is tall. Broad, biceps being hugged perfectly by his t-shirt. Deep set wrinkles frame his eyes, but their deep chocolate shade is enough to momentarily make your tongue forget how to even form legible words. You’re pretty sure if you even tried to talk, nothing would come out. As if his eyes weren’t enough of a distraction, the scent of the bar was quickly replaced with a distinct aroma of wood pine and spearmint. It’s clear by the calluses on his palms and the slightly paint-stained shirt that read MILLER CONSTRUCTION, whoever he is, is a man.
If you hadn’t known any better, you’d think that your damn jaw was slack, drool pooling all around the two of you.
He’s still holding onto your elbow, unsure whether you’ll fall over again if he lets go of you. You’re sure you must look like a mess, but the stranger has an unreadable expression as he finally steps back, releasing his grip on your arm.
“You alright miss?” He reaches beside him to the bar, grabbing a napkin and politely handing it to you.
Texan, you think. Of fucking course.
“Mostly,” You grumble, accepting the napkin to wipe your hands. “This jackass won’t leave me and my friends alone. And now he just…”
You gesture to him, and the stranger rolls his eyes and turns his attention to Mike, who seems blissfully unaware that he just body slammed you to the ground. The stranger, whose expression remains unreadable, glances over at the perpetrator, visibly eyeing him up and down. If you had to guess, the stranger was thinking of a way to get this man kicked out of the bar.
“Matt.”
Mike turns suddenly, beer spilling over the sides of his pint glass—adding to the mess you had just landed on. His face of stupor quickly turns to a toothless grin as he recognizes the stranger who just pulled you up from the mess.
“Joel!” He instantly steps towards Joel, both arms wrapping around Joel's shoulders. From the way Joel tenses up as Mike slaps his back with one hand, it’s clear that Joel does not like him. “S’been a few weeks since ya been out, buddy!”
Joel gently, but with a firm movement pries his arms off his shoulders and takes a step back. “Has been, friend. You knocked this lady over.”
He says it evenly. With authority. He says it in a way that shows you that his moral compass wouldn’t allow this to happen on his watch, whether you were a stranger or not.
“Pssssh,” Matt breathes, waving a hand. “This….” He gestures to you, a look of disgust blooming in his eye, “bitch had it comin. Been buying her and her slutty friends drinks. Won’t even gimme a damn feel.”
As if things hadn’t gotten enough out of hand when you landed in dive bar liquids on a dirty hardwood floor, you’re now frozen in disbelief as this complete degenerate decides to insult you. And to a complete stranger—Joel—now involved.
If you weren’t red as a tomato before, you’re sure that now you’re going as red as a bad sunburn. If the fall hadn’t embarrassed you enough, now this fucker is really going for the gold.
That moral compass of his leads Joel to the most obvious next step. You watch half in horror and half in awe, as he takes two decisive steps forwards and grabs Matt by the collar, yanking him towards the door. Matt nearly topples over his own boots as Joel grabs him, a grunt escaping his lips. The pair brush past you as Joel easily pushes Matt towards the door.
Maybe it’s the tequila—but watching Joel move around a huge dude like Mike like it’s nothing—it’s really fucking hot. You’re moving with them before you even realize you’re walking.
“Time to go home, Matt.” Joel says evenly, giving him no other option but to follow. “We ain’t dealin’ with your shit for the rest of the night.”
Matt clearly isn’t happy as Joel escorts him out. “The FUCK, Miller?!”
Getting closer and closer to the door, the bouncer at the door sighs and stands when he notices the disruption. Clearly it’s not Matt's first rodeo with getting kicked out of a bar.
“Fuckin’ disrespectful is what you are,” Joel says flatly, shoving him towards the bouncer. “Matt’s at it again. Pushed the poor lady.”
“Shit man, one more time and you’re gettin’ 86’d from the Spur,” the bouncer groans, grabbing Matt by the arm. “Swear to god.”
The cool night air hits your face as a second bouncer swings the door open, following the pair outside to ensure that it’s handled. As the door swings back shut, your lungs deflate with a breath you didn’t notice you had been holding.
“Such a damn idiot,” Joel murmurs to himself, finally turning to you. His eyes dart down and up at you quickly; no doubt thinking about what a wreck you probably look like at the moment. “You okay?”
“Better,’” You reply, hiking your bag over your shoulder. “I—I—thank you. You didn’t have to do that. Joel, right?”
He nods, holding his hand out for you to shake. Those calluses on his palms once again meet your skin, sending a momentary spark down your spine.
“Yeah, Joel. And m’happy to. Matt’s been pullin’ shit like this for years. Ain’t funny nor cute.” He pulls his hand away, looking you over once again. The way he does it doesn’t feel like he’s checking you out; more like he’s looking to see if you’re hurt. “M’sorry about your skirt. I wouldn’t wanna know what’s been spilled on these floors.”
Your hands swipe the back pockets of your skirt; face turning to a wince when you feel the damp spot on your ass.
“It’s a good thing I own a washer and dryer, I guess.”
He huffs out a chuckle, the lines in his face deepening as he does so. You weren’t one to typically be enamored with someone older, but Joel is so… effortless. Soft, yet tough.
You introduce yourself, heart stopping for a moment as he repeats your name. Why does it sound so much better coming from him?
“I, uh, can I get you a beer?” You ask, thumb pointing to the bar. “You really didn’t have to—“
“—I’m okay, promise,” Joel interrupts, lip pulling into a small smile. “Like I said, Matt has been doin’ shit like that for a long time. Needs to learn his lesson.”
Just like Joel wouldn’t bend his moral compass, even for strangers, you weren’t going to back down now. Especially when the stranger who jumped in to defend you was hot.
“I don’t think m’gonna take no for an answer tonight.” You’re already taking out your card; feet moving you back towards the bar—the scene of the crime. “You had a Coors banquet, yeah?”
You’re half-expecting him to double down on his refusal and return to his seat at the bar, but to your surprise—he doesn’t.
“I did.” Joel replies, clearly amused by your forwardness. He follows you to the line, hands in his pockets as he does. Respectful. God, that’s such a turn on.
With the line beginning to thin out, you shift on your feet and look up at him. How did Joel know that asshole anyways? Asking him some questions wouldn’t hurt, especially since there’s still a line.
“How do you know Mike anyways?” You ask, tilting your head out of curiosity.
“Re-did his kitchen a while back for him and his wife. Was a pain in the ass then, still a pain in the ass now.”
“Wife, huh?” An amused laugh passes through your lips at the revelation. “Didn’t see a ring, and he definitely didn’t mention a wife.”
Stepping forward in tandem with you as the line moves, you note how he stands just close enough to hear you, but far enough to let you take the lead.
Joel shrugs nonchalantly. “And that doesn’t shock me either. Yourself and your friends are pretty. Sucks that he had to go and be an asshole about it, though.”
Pretty.
Joel thinks you’re pretty.
“Most guys are.” Another step forward to the bar. Not too far, now. Your inner monologue tells you to keep the conversation going, dammit! “So you do… residential construction?”
“Mostly residential, but we’ll take a few commercial gigs if it fits. My brother and I own the company together,” he explains easily. You’re just thankful that this stranger has either not noticed your flushed face, or is too nice to say anything about it. “It’s a good gig. What do you do?
Another step. One more person in front of you.
Keep it going.
Fiddling with your card in your hand, you answer, “I’m a teacher. Elementary.”
“That makes sense.” His brows raise with a smile, and he steps forward with you. “Where at?”
“I don’t tell people at bars,” You reply quickly, but mentally hitting yourself at the delivery. “I mean—I didn’t—“
“—No, I get it,” Joel laughs, raising his hands in mock defense. “You don’t know me, I don’t know you. M’sure you’ve had this conversation enough times to learn what to say, and what not to say. I don’t take any offense.”
You raise a brow as if you don’t believe him, and Joel’s small smile turns to a grin as he leans down a little, doubling down on his statement. Like he knew you needed the reassurance that he wasn’t offended by your evasiveness.
“Promise.”
There’s that wood pine and spearmint smell again, taking over your senses. Is this what pheromones are? If so, they’re working overtime to make sure you feel his presence.
The group in front of you at the bar leaves happily with their drinks, and you’re thankful for the quick respite to regain your bearings as you order Joel his Coors and your own Diet Coke. And to ensure that you don’t drink further and make even more of a fool of yourself, you close out your tab.
Sliding the receipt and pen towards the bartender, you turn to Joel who surprisingly is still here with you in line, nursing the cold beer. Surely that means he’s not done with you just yet—because simply, you were too taken with him to be done yet, either.
With a quick glance over your shoulder, your group has already had their attention shift to the pool table; where Jess was currently getting a lesson from a kid with a backwards hat and no doubt a zyn in his lower lip.
They’d be fine without you for a few minutes,.
“M’gonna get some air—“ You say casually, twirling your straw against the ice in your glass. Keep it cool.
“Maybe I should come with, ‘f you don’t mind,” Joel responds coolly. “Need a cigarette after that.”
Biting back a small smile, you lead the way through the crowd towards the back enterance—taking your phone out as you do, you tap Jess’s contact.
Going outside for some air, brb
It takes her less than a minute to answer.
Atta girl, don’t worry about us. We’re nearby
be safe <3
Tucking your phone into your purse, you hold the door open behind you for Joel; sighing as you feel the night air cool off your body from the bar. Breathing in a breath of air, you turn to see Joel claim a standing table, setting his beer down and digging in his back pocket for what he needs.
”Ah, there we go,” He exclaims softly, lighter emerging from his pocket. “I know these are bad for me but—Matt’s a real ass.”
Leaning against the table he’s chosen, you don’t even notice the small smile you’re giving him as he strikes up the lighter, cigarette between his lips.
”What’re you smiling about?” He asks, but not in a teasing way—it’s playful, making you flustered all the while.
”I just…I haven’t…” You pause and think for a moment. Why were you smiling? You could blame the tequila. You could blame your friends for dragging you out. Or, you could admit to yourself that Joel…this stranger, who is probably older than your dad, is—doing it for you.
After all, he had called you pretty.
Surely that meant he’d want to feel… whatever this was out with you.
”I’m just floored, I guess. That you helped me. Lotta people these days wouldn’t have even said a word.”
Joel lets the smoke spill from his lips smoothly as he listens to you. He’s no stranger to helping others—his parents raised him right—and normally, he would have just let you buy him a drink as a thank you and he would have returned to his seat after the exchange. No harm, no foul.
But Mike really was an ass. Shoving a pretty young thing like you, then to top it all off, mouthing off about being a bitch—he felt bad for you. But he noticed right away the twinkle in your eye when he helped you up. It wasn’t just thankfulness. It was something else.
Joel was 50. Back in his 20s, he knew how to talk to women. It felt like second nature—do a late shift at the auto shop, hit the bars with his buddies after. But as Joel had grown into fatherhood and owning a business, his priorities shifted and he didn’t go out as much.
Didn’t date as much.
And definitely didn’t check out women that could be his daughter.
Your lips closed around the straw and his eyes dart to the movement, watching how the gloss stains the rim of it. Part of him feels…dirty, noticing the plumpness of your lips.
The other part of him wonders what it would feel like elsewhere.
“I guess I’m floored, too.” Joel remarks, watching your reaction to his response. Joel isn’t a creep. He knows what this could look like to you if you weren’t into it—he just wants to test the waters and gauge your interest. Your brow furrows.
”Why?”
Bringing the cigarette back to his lips, his eyes don’t leave yours as he thinks carefully about his answer.
”Guess m’floored that your boyfriend didn’t intervene before I could.”
In that moment, you feel something pass between the two of you. Curiosity mixed with lust, maybe. Joel's eyes are still locked with yours as the smoke clears—so you can really look at him and he can really look at you.
It feels as if he’s staring straight into your soul.
”I don’t have a boyfriend.” It’s the truth, and he knows it too. You aren’t dumb. You know why he’s asking. Your eyes flicker down to his left hand, and a feeling of relief and glee spreads throughout you when you notice he doesn’t have a ring on his finger.
God. What have you come to? Checking for a man’s ring. And getting excited when he doesn’t have one? He’s old.
You reach out wordlessly to him. He chuckles and passes the cigarette to you and watches you intently as you inhale softly, flicking ash to the ground as you exhale.
“I’m shocked,” He answers finally, breaking the silence. “Pretty, young, a great career…” A pause, as you hand back his cigarette. You don’t miss the way his eyes flick to your mouth. “you’re a catch.”
If this wasn’t flirting, you had to be the dumbest girl on the planet.
Before you can think of a response to Joel, both of your attention goes to the door; where Jess and your group come bursting through, the pool table boys en suite. Jess is practically hanging off backwards hat boy, and the rest are no doubt ordering the uber back to their respective apartments.
As if the two of you were in sync, you both turn at the same time to look at each other; as if trying to convey that neither of you were ready for the night to end. And truth be told…you weren’t.
Neither was Joel.
Jess pries herself off of the guy when she finally spots you, mischievous grin on her face as she looks at the scene before her.
“Hey—you good?” She says brightly. You’re thankful for Jess. She has a way of checking in that doesn’t come off as rude. “We’re all gettin’ ready to leave—but m’going home with…” Her voice trails as she looks back at the guy she just walked out with, and Joel stifles a giggle as she attempts to recall his name. You smack her arm playfully and she laughs.
”Well I guess it doesn’t matter. I uh—“ She smiles with a laugh, looking at Joel, and then back at you. “—I don’t mean to interrupt things. But Sammy needs a ride home. And I’m assuming you do too?”
“Yeah,” you answer, shaking your head; attempting to come back from reality. “I can uh-order an uber for Sammy and I—“
Joel watches as you fumble with your words, and he decides that if the night isn’t going to end here…he’ll just come to your rescue.
Again.
He has a feeling you won’t complain.
“If everyone’s okay with it, I can drive 'em home.” Joel offers with a shrug, flicking the cigarette to the ground. Jess eyes him with that fierce, older sister look she loves to give. To that, Joel pulls out his wallet and slips his ID out, handing it to her without hesitation. As if saying to Jess, test me. “Go ahead. Take a picture.”
Jess’s mouth hangs open momentarily, before shutting just as quickly as it came. She yanks her phone out and snaps a photo, handing it back to him.
”Alright Joel. If my girls don’t report right back to me in the morning—“ She starts, and you giggle as you cut in.
”—You’ll kill him yourself. We got it, Jess.” Gesturing to her toy for the evening, you add, “get back to your boy. We got Sammy. Promise.”
Jess hugs you tight, eyeing Joel over your shoulder. He’s desperately trying not to laugh, and even you can tell that, and you’re not even looking at him.
“Okay…” She says as she pulls back, taking one last look at the two of you. “Be safe.”
You all know she’s not talking about the drive home.
Joel is wondering what he’s gotten himself into when Sammy gets in the car.
Sammy, a kindergarten teacher, as she slurred several times—was upset that she saw her ex at the bar with another girl. You, being the kind friend that you are, opt to sit in the back with her for the ten minute drive to her house, holding her hair back and wiping the tears off her cheeks; occasionally looking at the rear view mirror.
What draws you in about him is that he seems almost impossible to read. You can’t tell if he’s amused, unimpressed, or just focusing on the road. Either way, your eyes always seem to find those brown eyes of his whenever you look for them.
Pulling into Sammy’s driveway, Joel steps out of the truck and immediately goes to Sammy’s side of the car; helping you get Sammy on her feet.
“I just—ugh!” She whines, completely unaware that it’s taking two people to get her to the front door. “He’s such a fucking—jerk! I gave him EVERYTHING!”
“I know,” You reply empathetically, grunting under the weight. “But he’s dumb and you’re so much hotter, Sam. Where’re your keys?”
She pulls away from the two of you, swaying unevenly as she digs around in her purse. Looking back at Joel, you smile sympathetically and say “I’ll get here inside—won’t be more than five minutes. I promise.”
He nods, holding back a small smile. Poor girl, he thinks to himself as he walks back to the truck. Reminds me of my friends back in the day.
Sammy is nearly inconsolable when you finally unlock her door and get her in—between gentle words of advice and picking out pajamas, you’re itching to get back to Joel.
“Can you pleeeease call me in the morning?” Sammy sobs, pulling the sheets around her.
“Of course!” You promise, finally catching your breath as your hands go to your hips. All your mind is saying at the moment is JoelJoelJoelJoel. “I put water by your bed and ibuprofen next to it. Get some sleep, ok?”
Blubbering out, Sammy weakly sits up to add, ”But he’s such—“
“—LOVE YOU!”
Locking her front door, you take a moment to breathe. Your back meets the door and your eyes flutter shut. Your skirt currently smells like shitty beer, your makeup is more than likely completely rubbed off, and you have an unbelievably attractive man waiting for you by his truck.
You can do this.
One foot in front of the other.
Wedges clacking against the pavement, you curve around to the truck where Joel’s waiting—back leaning against the passenger side door, hands in his pocket.
“Is she normally that—much of a handful?” He asks, not moving from his spot by the door.
”Sometimes,” you chuckle. “Can’t really blame a girl. He was an asshole, after all.”
“No you can’t.” He lets out a low laugh and shrugs in agreement. “You live around here?”
”Yeah, just down the block. Not too far now.”
”Good,” He answers, slowly pulling himself off the truck. Your eyes don’t leave his as he steps towards you, his hand ever so carefully reaching for yours; thumb swiping against the skin of your knuckles. “Let’s get you home.”
Game on.
You’ve never been more thankful that you live close by to Sammy than you are at this exact moment.
All it takes is exactly five minutes and Joel’s pulling into your driveway—one hand on the wheel, his other in yours; toying with your fingers the entire way, enjoying the low hum of The Strokes.
Normally, you would have attempted to fill the silence with meaningless conversation; talking about anything and everything to calm your nerves about the potential of what was to come—but there is something easy about the silence with Joel. You don’t feel the need to prove yourself, or pull out any…stops.
You’re just… you.
Not a caricature of a fetishized teacher, not a perverted version of a woman a frat guy always dreamed of. It’s refreshing and almost freeing.
Joel kills the engine of the truck as he pulls in, the warmth of his hand leaving yours to do so—and momentarily, you catch yourself wanting to be selfish and reach back for him, chasing that safe and warm feeling he’s been unknowingly feeding you, since he lifted you up from the floor.
He doesn’t say anything as he exits his side, making his way towards you. You feel as if you can’t breathe as he opens up your door for you—frozen with lust or fascination, you’re not really quite sure just yet—a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he offers you his hand. All while not saying anything, yet conveying that he knows what you’re wanting, no, needing from him.
Your hand finds his and he helps you down, fingers lacing together seamlessly as you take the lead to your front door; the heavy steps of his boots following.
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.
You finally manage to make yourself break the silence as you climb the stairs to your door. He still hasn’t let go of your hand.
”S’me.” You hold up your keys, the sound of them jangling softly through the silence that’s been building between the two of you.
Joel doesn’t miss the way you haven’t even attempted to unlock the door. Just like at the bar, he isn’t ready to walk away from this. The flickering porch light is practically illuminating your face; lips still partially glossed from earlier, eyes twinkling with something he can’t quite place—desire? Curiosity?
Either way, Joel remains planted on the porch, thumb rubbing gently against your skin. The gears in his head are turning, and he thinks carefully before he finally speaks; those deep, brown eyes not leaving yours for a second.
“I uh, don’t do this—“ He gestures between the two of you, and you feel the heat flush your cheeks. “—Often.”
”I don’t either,” Your words come out more breathless than you intended them too, but you don’t care; not now.
He grimaces slightly, shaking his head.
”I trust that. But you—“ His hand leaves yours, but they move to brush down your bare arms, stopping at your elbows; electricity flowing in your skin as he does so. “—you are…you’re…”
“I’m…what?” You will your voice not to shake, but your feeble attempts don’t translate. Adrenaline seems to be pumping through you, your senses on overdrive as he’s still holding on to your elbows. His eyes still seem to be searching yours for something.
”Young.”
A beat of silence passes as you process his internal warfare—you hadn’t put much consideration to your respective ages; you, by definition, are young in comparison to him.
But that doesn’t mean that what he’s doing is bad.
By now your pulse is thrumming, and you force yourself to step forward—braving to be the one that makes the space between you smaller. You hear the way Joel’s breath hitches as you do so; your hands sliding up and over his forearms to his biceps.
”Joel…”
Now how was he supposed to walk away from this? Saying his name in that gentle voice of yours. How could he, when he felt the constriction of his jeans growing by the second?
“I—I don’t want you to go.”
Fuck.
Your hands keep travelling, the palms of your hands sliding to cup his cheeks in your hand. Even in wedges you could feel yourself leaning up on your tiptoes to try to be on his level; to make him really look at you. The rough scratch of his beard on your palms makes your breath quiver as his eyes don’t move away from yours.
”In fact,” you begin to say, letting your chest ever so gently press against his. “I want you to come inside.”
The audible breath that he lets out at your words tells you that he’s battling with his own self about your age; one half being the responsible part of himself, where he knows you’re better off with someone your own age, someone who could keep up with that libido every young person has.
The other half of him? The other half of him could only focus on how close your mouth was to his and how you could most definitely feel the hardness of his cock against your tummy.
You could tell that that half of him was close to winning—it just needs an extra nudge.
The hands that currently were cupping his cheeks brought them forward, ever so gently pressing his lips to his. It’s as if time stops, and the world around you stills as you register that he actually is kissing you back.
It lasts all but two seconds as you pull back a hair of a centimeter away, nose brushing against his as you gauge his reaction. All that can be heard is the gentle sounds of your breaths, and the hum of the porch light.
Joel’s eyes are still shut. He doesn’t say anything. Maybe you wildly misread his body language.
Just as thoughts of doubt begin to settle in and your body attempts to pull itself away from him—those big hands that pulled you off of the bar floor made its way to your waist and gave your body a gentle shove—your back meeting with the front door of your house. You would be embarrassed by the erotic gasp you made, but it’s really hard to care when a man like Joel is looking at you like he already knows how he’s going to take you.
”M’an old man,” His voice grits out, breath fanning against your face. “I ain’t exactly gentle—not when it comes to a pretty thing like you.”
“I don’t need you to be gentle,” You reply breathlessly, fingers digging into his shoulders. “I just want you.”
A beat passes as Joel searches your face. For what? You’re not entirely too sure— could be a second guess on your end, or searching for hesitation—any excuse he can give himself to walk away.
Another beat passes, and his grip on you tightens. Like the decision is final.
Your hesitation doesn’t come. And that’s enough for Joel.
His mouth is on yours before you can even think, that muscle in his mouth sliding eagerly against yours as his knee slides between your thighs; finding the part of you that causes your body to lurch in pleasure as he presses himself against your panties. A moan attempts to release itself, but it’s quickly swallowed as his hands slide around your hips to grab at your ass below your skirt. His palms are large enough to hold the cheeks of your ass whole, and the thought of that alone is enough to thoroughly dampen the cotton of your panties.
”Fuck,” The words barely come out as a gasp as you feebly attempt to dig your keys out of your jacket, mind becoming numb as Joel kneads the flesh in his palms. “Can’t find my keys—“
Joel moves before you can even finish your sentence.
Wordlessly, he quickly pulls himself from your body, knee falling from its position between your legs as his hands grip your waist and spin your body towards the door. God, were you really out of breath? The man has only groped you and you feel as if you’ve been edged for hours. His movements are quick and rough as he shoves his hand in your purse and quickly finds the keys, unlocking the door and pressing your body through the doorway. The wedges on your feet nearly cause you to become unbalanced as you spin back to look at the old man, and Joel is slamming the door shut, already making his way to you.
As if he was a predator going in for the kill.
“You’re fast,” you say—to him or yourself? You’re not too sure. An almost disbelieving smirk is plastered on your face as you take a step back, heart beating as he strides to breath the distance between the two of you. “I like that—“
Your words are swallowed by his mouth again, the stubble rubbing pleasantly against your skin as he groans into the kiss. Your hands wind themselves in his salt and pepper hair as his knees bend, lifting you with ease and encouraging your legs to wrap around his waist. An mmph escapes your throat as his teeth graze your lower lip, his biceps twitching as your nails dig into them.
“Bedroom?” He asks, his teeth dragging down your bottom lip. The look in his eye tells you that the man needs an answer now or he’ll take you on whatever flat surface is near—and won’t stop until you’ve both gotten your fill.
“Down the hall and to the left.” Your words come out more desperate than you’d have liked, but it’s hard to remain neutral when a man like Joel’s cock is hard against your core.
The heavy clump of his boots echo down the hallway as he strides in the direction you gave him, and luckily for you, you know for a fact you’re stocked on condoms.
With a swift kick of your door, Joel drops you on the bed without missing a beat of hesitation, watching you as you prop yourself up on your elbows; looking up at him through those long lashes of yours, as if saying, come on, ol’ man.
Tongue darting out to lick his lower lip, Joel takes a moment to really look at you.
That little skirt that caught his eye at the bar is now currently hiked up and under your ass, and Joel can catch a faint glimpse at the pink patch of fabric hiding between your thighs. Your breasts are rising up and down at a quick pace, matching your breath—as if you were attempting to predict what his next move might be. God, the fact that he can render you breathless shouldn’t turn him on… but it does. Oh, it does.
“Jesus, girl,” He mutters, taking a quiet step towards the edge of the bed. “You have no fuckin’ clue what you’re doin’ to me.”
Your thighs clench at his words, watching the way he sinks to his knees in front of you. His fingertips graze the skin of your calves and travel up past your knees, causing your stomach to tie itself in knots out of anticipation.
“You should show me,” the words come out as barely an exhale, but you don’t care. His fingertips cause a shiver to travel through your body as they reach your hips; pointer fingers digging into the band of your panties—pulling them downwards, ever so slightly. “Touch me, Joel, please.”
Instead of replying to your plea, Joel opts to press his lips against the crook of your knee, basking in the whimper you give him as he tugs the fabric down slowly. Joel might be an impatient man, but when it comes to giving, he could take hours if he so pleased. Letting his lips travel up and over your knee, your teeth dig into your lower lip as he carefully licks a line up the expanse of your inner thigh—stopping where your panties were stretched around your thighs.
“Lift up for me, baby.”
Really, it’s sick how quick you obey his command. Hips lifting, you nearly burst when he easily catches the fabric between his teeth and pulls.
When he tugs them down your legs and off your body, your eyes widen in awe at how he pulls them to his face, eyes fluttering shut as he brings them to his nose and inhales. Pulling them away from his face, he wads them in a ball and pockets them—as if it were a trophy.
Your hand runs through the soft curls of his hair as he does so, tilting his face up to look at you attempt to find the words capable of describing your arousal—but nothing comes.
You don’t need to say anything.
He knows what you want.
Joel leans forward, his right hand following the trail of his lips as his left slides up and over the arch of your body to grope one of your breasts firmly; allowing his lips to close around the bundle of nerves at your center.
He lets out a hum against your core, soaking up the way you let out a strangled gasp from low in your throat. Joel feels fucking high as he catches your pebbled nipple between his fingers, pinching ever so slightly as the tip of his tongue traces against your clit.
Sweeter than sin, he thinks to himself, finally allowing himself to pull his gaze away from you.
Flattening his tongue on your clit, his name falls from your lips like a prayer as he laps at you—letting the scruff of his facial hair scratch at the most sensitive parts of you.
”Joel,” You gasp sharply, back arching against his touch. His hand on your breast flattens and moves quickly to your lower stomach, pressing down—like he’s telling you to stop your squirming. “Fingers, please, God-“
He gives you a gruff mhmmm before sucking gently on your clit, letting his index and pointer fingers rub over the wet slick of your lips—ever so lightly letting them dip into you.
”Yeah?” He responds lowly to your moan of desire. “You wanna feel me inside of you, don’t you?”
“Please! Joel—please,” your words are a desperate plea. “I want it. Please.”
He sinks his digits in juuust enough to breach you, and it’s just enough to numb your mind. Joel’s lips curl into a pleased smirk as he keeps them there, memorizing the way your head tilts back and your pulse ripples through your neck.
”I want you to ask me real nice n’ pretty, baby,” He asks, the Texan drawl making it all the more erotic. “C’mon, ask.”
You’ve already asked. Joel is well aware of your desperate pleas, but a deep part of his ego is fed when you beg for him.
Tightening your grip on his hair, you give a feeble attempt to even your breath as you reply, “I need to cum, Joel. Please.”
And that’s good enough for him.
His digits sink fully into your sex as he envelops your sensitive clit, causing your already numb mind to completely shatter. The knot in your stomach that has been tied since the moment he kissed you has been pulled entirely too tight, body shaking and arching as his fingers move deftly against your walls. The soft squelch of your cunt around his digits are more than enough to make his dick fucking hurt in his jeans, and he knows that once you cum like this—he’s going to bury himself in you.
He’ll make sure you won’t forget it.
He’ll make sure you don’t forget him.
The tension in your body is too much, with every sensitive part of you being dominated by Joel. Your cunt, your body, your mind feels euphoric as you feel his fingers grow slicker with each thrust—and that knot that’s been forming snaps.
Joel groans in pleasure as he feels your walls tighten and tighten, and a hoarse laugh escapes his throat as your arousal drips off his chin and his fingers— a sign that he’s done his job. A sign that he’s done his job well.
Licking a line up your stomach, his rough hands are quick to yank your top off your body, mattress dipping under his heavy weight as his mouth finds yours. Joel groans into your mouth as you taste yourself on him, your shaking hands working to take his belt off. When the metal buckle hits the ground, Joel pulls back to yank his worn shirt off his body.
You can’t remember the last time you actually felt yourself salivating over a man in your bed—but it’s hard not to when a man like him is over you. You knew at the bar that he wasn’t like your normal type—no. He’s solid muscle, yet soft in the middle with a healthy line of hair trailing down to his jeans.
Brown eyes not leaving yours, Joel yanks his jeans down along with his briefs—watching your eyes trail from his to his cock.
”Holy shit,” you breathe softly, watching him stroke himself. “S’not gonna fit.”
Joel watches as your face cringes, realizing you hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But you did, much to his amusement.
”We’ll make it fit,” He assures you, pulling you closer to him by your waist. You let out a breathless laugh as he guides the thick head of his cock between your folds. “You got a condom?”
“Yeah,” you reply, already reaching for your drawer. “Just gimme a sec—“
Your words are cut off by a sharp inhale, feeling his tip press in, ever so slightly. Bracing himself against the headboard, a smug look is plastered all over his face as he watches your movements slow—already overwhelmed by a small part of him.
”C’mon, sweetheart,” He taunts, his hips pulling away from you—god, the man was a tease. “Get that condom.”
“M’workin’ on it,” You reply with a breathless laugh. Grabbing the little tin packet, you rip it open with shaking hands as he mouths at your neck. “S’hard when I got you teasin’ me.”
”I ain’t doin’ such a thing.” He answers, teeth grazing your pulse as you grip him in your hand. Rolling the condom on him, you feel your stomach flutter as you realize that to fully grip him—you needed two fucking hands to fully accommodate his girth.
It’s a good thing he worked you open with his fingers, and it’s even better that you have an unopened bottle of lube for emergencies.
With the condom fully on, Joel cups your cheek, thumb running over your plush lower lip. Eyes trailing over your face, it’s a stark contrast to his earlier, rushed movements. It’s as if he’s memorizing you and this moment—and deep inside of you, you hope that maybe…just maybe, this didn’t have to be a one time thing.
As if he can see the gears in your head turning, Joel leans forward just enough to graze his lips against yours, watching as your eyes flutter shut.
“You tell me if anythin’ hurts, sweetheart. You got that?” His words melt through you, and all you can muster up in a nod. You trust him.
And with those words, he doesn’t let you adjust—he sinks his cock into your needing cunt.
All nine inches of him.
If you thought his mouth was erotic, it’s nothing compared to what he had hiding in his jeans. Echoing his sentiment before he came inside of your house, Joel Miller isn’t gentle, no. Especially not when he’s got you under him; one orgasm deep already.
He wastes no time driving himself into you, every moan and strangled gasp that you let out encouraging him to make you fucking take it. With every thrust there’s a spot deep inside of you being hit, a place that makes you well aware that you’re gonna feel him the next morning.
”Yeah?” He grits out, pulling your legs over his shoulders; effectively folding you in half. “You like that, baby?”
”Yes!” You gasp, the new position making you somehow even more sensitive. “Joel-yes!”
Joel moves his hand to close around your throat, and it’s not enough to fully choke you, but it’s more of a reminder that he’s in charge—and that you’re gonna do what he says.
“Look at you, takin’ it like a fuckin’ champ,” he praises, reveling in your half lidded eyes. “N’here you were, worried it wouldn’t fit.”
The blatant teasing makes your stomach jump with a strangled laugh, and he lets out a hot moan at the feeling of you tightening. Joel knows that he’s got the stamina—but with the way you feel? He might not make it as long as he’d like.
And he’d be damned if he didn’t get to enjoy every angle of you.
“Turn the fuck over.” He grunts, but he’s already doing it for you as his hands find your hips and he manhandles you to your knees. Hands finding the flesh of your ass, you let out a squeal as he gives a sharp smack, leaving a handprint on the curve of the skin there.
What you expect is Joel to push his length into you again. What you don’t expect?
You don’t expect him to spread your asscheeks, leaning down to lick over your slick folds again. With your cheek smushed against the satin of your pillowcase, you bite back a moan as his tongue swirls around your clit; his hands sliding down the expanse of your back.
“Could eat this pussy for hours,” He says, catching his breath. Joel kisses the flesh of you ass as he lets his fingers rub against your folds, listening as you mutter a mess of a response. Leaning back down, he flattens his tongue against your lips one last time, before sitting back on his knees—pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail.
Neck arching back, it feels brand new as he pushes his dick in you, fucking you like he’s a man starved. The pain of your hair being pulled is welcome, and all it does is make your spend drip down the apex of your thighs as he commands you. Gripping the headboard in front of you with one hand, your other hand has a mind of it’s own as your digits move to rub at your self— which only turns him on even more.
The hair in his hand travels to your throat, tilting your head back so you’re forced to look at him.
”What a nasty fuckin girl,” He pants, his mouth ghosting yours. “You gonna cum like that? Gonna cum on my cock?”
”Mmph, you’re—you’re huge, Joel!” You reply desperately, your movements quickening as you feel another orgasm building. “Can feel you everywhere.”
”Everywhere?” His words echo yours as an idea comes to him—one that he’s sure a pretty thing like you wouldn’t object to.
Your breathless mhm makes him release his grip on your throat, watching as your face drops to the sheets—and he makes his move.
Your whole body shivers as his hands spread your cheeks again, and a glob of his warm spit falls between the crack of your ass. Fisting the sheets in your hands, you know that if you said stop—he would. But something deep within you knows that you don’t want him to stop. Even further—you’re welcoming it.
Sliding his cock back into you, he barely gives you time to adjust to his size once more before the pad of his thumb dips between your cheeks, sliding against the tight muscle as he continues fucking into you.
His thumb coats itself in the warm spit he left moments before, massaging the rim of your ass as he looks for any sign of discomfort. Looking over your shoulder, all he can see is your jaw slack in pleasure, eyelids fluttering shut as your body involuntarily presses backward to him—as if saying I want it.
And oh, you do.
Joel slows his hips, seating his cock inside of you to the fucking hilt— the head of his cock kissing that spot deep in you. You know he’s trying to ease the inevitable stretch, and holy, does it relax your body. All you can think about is how fucking huge he is and how this will live in your spank bank forever—
Your mind goes up in flames when his thumb breaches the rim of your ass, thoughts coming to a complete and utter stall as he doesn’t stop until his thumb is properly hooked in your ass.
Looking at the sight of you below him, Joel knows that he’s only a few fuckin’ pumps away from finishing.
A thin layer of sweat coats the both of you, and he can’t quite peel his gaze from where the two of you are connected—your cunt hugs him just fuckin’ perfectly, and the damn needy thing is practically crying for him.
Your spend has already dampened the sheets below you, and drips down the apex of your thighs as his free hand squeezes the flesh of your ass—and you tighten at the feeling of him everywhere.
”You ok?” His voice is strained now, and you know that he has to be close. His thumb stays firmly inside of you, his cock pulsing in anticipation.
“Yes,” You nod furiously against the sheets, not even caring that your precious satin pillowcases are covered in makeup. It’s hard to care about much of anything when a man like Joel is splitting you open. “S’good-feels amazing.”
”M’almost there, baby,” Joel presses his chest to your back, lips finding your shoulder blade. “Makin’ me feel like a damn teenager.”
“Me too,” you reply, turning your cheek to try and chase his lips. “Keep goin’, please.”
Pulling himself away from your skin, Joel catches his lower lip between his teeth as he settles on his knees—giving your ass one last squeeze of encouragement before pounding back into you.
It’s as if his thumb inside of you lights your skin on fire. The sex was already fucking amazing just due to the size of him, but now? With his thick thumb seated inside of you?
You feel full.
The quick and sharp sounds of your flesh slapping against each other, and short breathy moans is enough cause your cunt to tighten one last time—effectively soaking your sheets as he talks you through it.
”Oh,” He growls, feeling his thighs dampen. That certainly has never happened before—and he feels as if it’s a badge of honor. “Look at you, girl. Fuckin’ comin’ all over me. Dirty little thing likes havin’ her holes filled.”
His words barely register in your brain as you attempt to ground yourself on your sheets. He’s still ruthlessly pounding into you still, but pulls his thumb out of you to fist your hair in fist once more.
“Where do you want it?” Joel's words come out as a hiss, but it’s all he can manage now. The sight of you squirting on him was his one way ticket to finishing. “Tell me you where you fuckin want it, baby.”
”My tits,” The words spill out of your mouth faster than you can process it. “Cum on my tits—please—“
With one last brutal thrust, you feel your body be man handled to your chest as Joel—eyes dark with lust—climbs your body, condom getting tossed to the side. It’s a blur as you bat his hands away from his cock, taking him in your own fist. Bracing himself against your headboard, he lets out a deep groan as he spurts those thick, white ropes across the expanse of your breasts.
His breathing his ragged as his eyes flutter shut; reveling in the orgasm that just rocked his fucking world. He knows that he’s definitely going to wake up with his back thrown out the next morning, but he can’t find it in him to care as he collapses beside you, finally turning his head to look over at you.
What a fucking sight you are.
Makeup messy, hair in knotted curls with his cum painted on you, Joel laughs softly to himself.
“What?” You say with a shy laugh, chest still rising and falling fast.
“M’a lucky guy.” Joel says it as if it’s obvious. The small but powerful compliment turns your cheeks even more red than they already are.
“Ditto.” You reply, hiding your face in your hands as you bite back a smile.
Sitting with a groan, Joel looks back at you over his shoulder as he pulls on his jeans.
“Lemme get you a washcloth. Where’s your bathroom?”
Maybe it’s his age. Maybe it’s the guys you’re used to dating. But in your years of hookups and relationships, it’s few and far between to have aftercare—and it makes those butterflies flop in your stomach as you direct him to where it is.
When Joel returns, you clean yourself up as he locates his discarded clothes from earlier. God—the two of you had made a mess of the room. You’d have to add wash sheets to your to-do list after he’d leave.
Tossing the damp cloth in your hamper, you grab your old robe off the back of your door and tie it loosely around your body as he slides on his worn-in work boots. For you—small talk as a guy leaves your house was always the dreaded part of a hookup. The silence was awkward, and there were always half assed lies about for sure callin’ ya tomorrow.
Spoiler—they never did.
But the silence with Joel doesn’t feel awkward. It feels comfortable, almost. You don’t miss the way he gives you a genuine smile as he stands, leaning down to kiss your temple
”Walk me to the door?” He asks gently, his hand sliding down the satin of your robe. His brown eyes that were filled with lust not even ten minutes ago were now softer, more gentle.
”Of course.” You answer, leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
You take the lead as you walk him down the hallway and to the front door, tucking your hair behind your ear as you reach your destination. Tugging on his flannel, Joel clears his throat as he looks down at you. He’s not quite sure what you’re thinking, but he feels like you’re a strong woman—and that no matter what he says, or where he leaves this—you won’t object.
He can’t tell if that intrigues him, or if it scares the hell out of him.
“I uh—never was really good at this type of thing,” Joel finally says, gesturing between the two of you.
”What, sex?” You quip, a teasing smile pulling at the corner of your mouth. “Cause I have a pretty solid statement against that.”
”No,” his words come out as a laugh. “I mean—talkin’ to women. Keeping relationships. All that stuff.”
Joel notices the visible confusion in your expression, and groans at himself—only proving his point to himself. He never was good at words.
”What I’m tryin’ to say is…m’a pretty busy guy. I got a kid. Own my own business.”
Kid. Figures. He’s definitely the age to have one.
”I can’t promise a lot but… I uh, wouldn’t be opposed to seeing you again.”
His hands find his jean pockets as he finishes his explanation, toying with his truck keys in his pockets as he braces himself for whatever you might say—could be a rejection. Could be a laugh. Whatever it will be—Joel braces himself for it.
To his shock, none of his made-up scenarios happens. In fact, your captivating smile never leaves your face.
”I’m not looking for a promise either, Joel,” You say, hugging yourself. “Here—give me your phone. If you ever need company, just give me a text. No hard feelings if not.”
He obliges your request, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and handing it over. It doesn’t take you long to type in the digits and hand it back to him that beautiful smile still on your face.
“Don’t be a stranger, Joel.”
Leaning down to kiss your temple one last time, Joel pulls away and replies,
”I’ll see you around, sweetheart.”
Three Weeks Later
You don’t hear from Joel after that night.
And honestly? You had been too preoccupied to sit and cry about the fact that the best fuck you’ve ever had never texted you.
You were deep into report card season, candy filled holidays, and planning upcoming parent-teacher conferences. You were lucky if you left work two hours after contract time—you knew if you brought home any work it wouldn’t be done.
The great thing about teaching? Getting to celebrate and talk to parents about the growth their children have made so far, and how they can be supported at home. It was a feeling you loved—you loved seeing parents light up at their students work, and you loved hearing about what your student gets up to outside of school.
Especially when they’re students like Sarah Miller.
Sarah is nothing below an outstanding student, and her bubbly personality makes her a great friend to others in the classroom. If you could have a class full of Sarah Millers, your life would be perfect.
And her Mom? She’s amazing.
Always bringing in treats for the class on holidays and volunteering when needed, her mom is a powerhouse. Which is exactly why you’re slightly disappointed when the office puts her call through to your classroom—ten minutes before her time slot with Sarah.
”Hello!” Her chipper voices sings from the other side of the line.
“I am so sorry—but I can’t make it in today with Sarah,” She explains, apologetic as all hell. “My boyfriend just got rear ended in the town over, needs a lift.”
”No worries at all!” You reply, fingers flipping through Sarah’s work portfolio. “Do we need to reschedule?”
”Not at all, actually! Sarah’s with her dad today, and he has no problem taking my place today. I just wanted to give you a heads up!”
Huh, you think to yourself. You always had assumed her boyfriend was Sarah’s biological dad, but maybe you missed the detail. Sarah, while an amazing student, is a chatterbox. She loves to chat your ear off when you have any spare second, so maybe the detail got lost in the myriad of stories she tells.
”That’s perfectly fine,” You answer, jotting on a sticky note to make extra copies for mom. “I will send a copy of her folder with her next week!”
Hanging up the phone, you walk to your meeting space to straighten the stacks of work as you wait patiently for Sarah and her dad to arrive. She’s the last conference of the day, and because of her high grades and outstanding work—there wouldn’t be much to report.
As thoughts of what your Friday evening might look like after Sarah’s conference, the little girl sprints through the door with an excited squeal of your name—enveloping you in a tight hug that she always gives you at the end of the day.
”Hey kiddo!” You squeeze her back with a bright smile, pulling her back to steady her.
“You’re with Dad today?”
”Yes!” She exclaims excitedly. “He’s lookin’ at the art we made last week in the hallway!”
”Oh really?” You answer, putting your hands on your hips. “Well, I’m sure your dad will be even more impressed when he sees some of your latest multiplication quizzes.”
Sarah giggles in excitement as you turn your back to her, grabbing her work portfolio off the table. Just as you’re about to look back at Sarah, a voice you’ve been dreaming about for three weeks shatters your thoughts when he says,
”This is quite a classroom you got, baby girl.”
Your body goes cold as you turn to look at him. Joel, who has his hands shoved in his pockets, and that same MILLER CONSTRUCTION shirt he had on that night you met at the bar—this time, a heavy carhartt jacket on his shoulders, boots replaced with Romeo’s.
The look on his face as your eyes meet is one met with first, shock—then being shaken back to reality as Sarah tugs on his wrist to pull him closer to where her work is.
”Dad—this is my teacher! The one who always does art on fridays!”
You’re a professional, you scold yourself, and Sarah’s smart! Don’t look fuckin’ scared!
”You must be Mr. Miller,” you say coolly, attempting to regain your dignity. Reaching out to offer your hand, you ignore the way his palm lights a fire in your veins as he shakes it firmly. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Joel lets his hand linger for a moment in yours, letting the shock wear off as his lip curls into a smile.
”It’s nice to meet you as well, Miss,” He answers gently. “Sarah’s told me quite a bit about you throughout the last few months.”
”Well—I can’t wait to share how much growth Sarah has made,” you manage to reply, letting your hands drop from one another. “Shall we get started?”
”Let’s do it,” Joel gestures to the table. “And I uh—have a few questions to ask you at the end, if that’s alright.”
Returning the small smile on Joel’s lips, you have a feeling this won’t be the last time you see him.
In fact, you have a feeling this school year is about to get a whole lot more interesting.
