"She's got her makeup done, and her high heels on
She's got her hair up to God, she's gonna get what she wants
Her nails are heartbreak red 'cause she's a bad motherfucker"
Introduction:
In honour of Ethel Cain's new album I started my first ever fanfiction. Mind you I'm not an experienced writer and English isn't my first language. I got the Idea for this Series after reading HEARTBREAK RED by @sweetonsin. All credits for the idea go to them. I was so in love with the story and felt the need to expand it. Please go and read the original first!!This story is more influenced by the story of Ethel Cain's “Willoughby Tucker, I'll Always Love You” but it also contains some elements from “Preacher’s Daughter” (duh) I also want to give credits to @oceandolores who wrote the fic 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 that literally changed my life. You will also find some themes from that fic in here since it's inspired by the same album and profoundly inspired me to start writing. In case you haven't read it: GO READ IT RIGHT THIS SECOND
Summary: You live on the outskirts of a small Texan town with your abusive Brother, in the trailer your parents left behind. Your mom left 13 years ago because she chose the drugs over you. Sending your dad into alcoholism and abusive behaviour towards you and your Brother Jacob. Until he finally drank himself to death 9 years ago. Since then your brother took over the job of abusing you. You numb all the pain and trauma with alcohol, pills and getting fucked by any guy who will look your way. That is until you meet Joel Miller. Your dads former best friend, who lost his own daughter a few years back in an accident. He shows you what it means to be cared for. But your forming relationship goes through many rough patches with both his and your rough past and traumas…
The first two chapters are written to get to know readers backstory, Joel will apear more in chapter 3 and onwards!
Tags: 18+, MDNI, dbf!Joel, Slowburn, Angst, Smut (at some point), Age Gap (Reader is 20, Joel is in his 40s), soft Joel, No outbreak, Sarah is dead, Reader and Joel have LOTS of Trauma, Readers Parents are dead, Deadbeat Brother, some scenes with Tommy
TWs: (updated as the story continues):
Adult content! MDNI!!
Description of: Domestic abuse; Rape; substance abuse, parental neglect, Alcoholism, Drug abuse, Mentions of suicide, emotional manipulation, Victimblaming, Bullying, slutshaming,
Characters:
Readers last name is Collins
Vera and Joseph Collins (Readers parents)
Jacob (Readers brother)
Isaac (brothers friend)
Bradley (ex school mate)
Christopher (Bradley best friend)
Holly (Bradley's girlfriend)
Janie (readers former best friend)
Joel Miller (rawr)
Tommy Miller
Sarah is mentioned
Dividers by: @uzmacchiato @eroticlamb and @nicodefresas
Photos from Pinterest
Chapter One: She really gets around town
Chapter Two: Miss Holiday Inn (pt.1) & She goes to church straight from the clubs (pt.2)
Chapter Three: A House in Nebraska
Chapter Four: Where we found each other on a dirty mattress
pairing: dad's best friend!titus danforth x female reader
summary: you lose a game you didn't even realize you were playing.
warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), arranged marriage, dubcon, unspecified age gap, referenced devil worship, smut, piv sex, brief painful sex, wedding night sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming, breeding kink, dirty talk, possessive sex, possessive behavior, marriage kink, pet names, stockholm syndrome, happy-ish ending?
word count: 2.4k
a/n: i've been struggling to write/finish anything since i posted my chef jack abbot fic, but then the first line of this fic popped into my head and i knew i had to write it. i did not expect to write for titus before pope but i just haven't found the right inspiration yet i guess! this isn't really fleshed out to my normal standards but it's a fun, smutty little read and i hope y'all enjoy it!!
You never thought you'd marry Titus Danforth.
For one, he was your father's best friend.
For another, he was so much older than you.
For a third, you'd already rejected his proposal.
But most of all, you never thought you'd marry Titus Danforth because he was the man responsible for damning your family to hell.
Your father had met Titus when you were in college, and the two had become fast friends. By the time you'd graduated, your father had pledged his undying loyalty—and that of your family—to Mr. Le Bail and his High Council.
In the months and years that followed, you came to learn more about the council as a network of rich and powerful people who helped each other out. It was during this time when you met Titus and his twin sister Ursula.
They were both polite, but when Titus looked at you, there was something covetous and hungry in his eyes; it made you feel like a prey animal being stalked by a predator.
Still, you remained cordial with the Danforths because they were close with your father.
That is, until Titus proposed to you, and you discovered the truth about who, or rather what, Mr. Le Bail was. Then, you ran.
You cut ties from your entire family, changed your name, and moved to some backwater town in the middle of nowhere. For a long time, you lived in fear, thinking your family or one of the Danforths—or Mr. Le Bail himself—were going to show up at your door.
But eventually, your fear settled down, you became complacent, and you set down some roots. Not too many—you didn't date and you never got too close to any of your friends, but you made a life for yourself. It was a half-life, but it was yours.
Until it wasn't.
Until the day that Titus Danforth appeared on your doorstep and you learned you'd never escaped after all. The High Council had known where you were all along, but they'd been delayed in coming to fetch you because your father had assured them you would return one day.
But their patience had grown thin and you knew too much to shirk your duties to Mr. Le Bail. As a daughter of a council member, you were expected to marry and reproduce, to create progeny to continue worshipping Mr. Le Bail and do his bidding in the world.
It was only your father's assurances that you would submit to your duties that saved your life. It was decided that you would marry Titus Danforth, the only member of the High Council who had not yet taken a wife.
You were dragged, kicking and screaming, to the Danforth estate for your wedding. You refused to see your father or any member of your family, so you were stuffed unceremoniously into your pristine white wedding gown by the Danforths’ attendants.
The wedding itself was a small affair, only attended by the closest members of the High Council, and your family. Your father walked you down the aisle to keep up pretenses but as he handed you off to Titus, you turned to him, caught his eye through your thin, white veil, and hissed your parting words to the man who'd given you life.
"I'll never forgive you for this."
Titus smirked at your father as he took your hand in his, looking for all the world like a man who'd won a game no one else knew they were playing. He led you the final few steps up to the altar, ducking his head slightly to speak in your ear.
"I always knew I'd be the one to get you."
It was then that you realized the depth of Titus's deception. After you’d rejected his proposal, he'd conspired for years to make sure you still ended up marrying him. And you'd played right into his hand. You'd given him everything he needed—leverage over your father, a way to steal you from your family, and worst of all, he'd gotten Mr. Le Bail's blessing to do it.
You spent the signing of the book and the wedding ceremony cursing yourself for being so naive, barely paying attention to the lawyer’s words about devotion and duty. You were so deep into your self-recrimination, you barely noticed when Titus turned to you and began lifting your veil. It took all your effort to maintain control of your face and give your soon-to-be husband a look of disdain.
It didn't seem to bother Titus in the least. That covetous, hungry look was plain as day on his face as he stared at your mouth. He barely waited for the lawyer to give him permission before he was grabbing your face and pulling you toward him.
Titus's mouth crashed against yours, and your traitorous body reacted instantly—your belly swooping and a hot, pulsing throb beginning between your thighs. You tried to gasp for air only for Titus to kiss you harder, his tongue invading your mouth and staking his claim so vehemently, it made your knees week.
It was bad enough how good his mouth felt on yours, but the sounds he made, like he was a starving man eating his first meal in years, had lust blooming disloyally in your body.
Your new husband devoured you voraciously, licking into your mouth and stealing the breath from your lungs until you were dizzy and dazed, wobbling so badly on your feet that when he finally pulled away, you collapsed against his chest.
Titus's arms wrapped around your waist, crushing you to him like a child might hold a toy he worried someone might steal from him. His head lowered until his mouth brushed the shell of your ear, making you shiver in his tight hold.
"And now, you're all mine."
Those words echoed in your head as you went through the motions for the rest of the ceremony and reception. While you shook hands and accepted the congratulations of your family and the High Council, all you could hear was the feral possessiveness in Titus's voice.
It shocked you how much you didn't hate it.
You only returned to yourself when the door to Titus's suite at the estate clicked shut, the lock sliding into place with a resounding thud, like the period on the end of a sentence. It marked the end of your old life—and the beginning of your new one.
Titus was on you before you could even turn around or get your bearings. His hands grabbed your hips and spun you to him, his lips claiming yours even more ferociously than they did at the wedding ceremony. He walked you backward until your legs hit the bed, tearing the bodice of your dress so he could reach inside and palm your tits.
Desire warred with disgust in your body, though you didn't fight your husband as he pushed you down onto the bed and climbed on top of you. Titus's eyes glittered with a darkness that had your heart beating faster, your pulse pounding between your thighs when his expression turned greedy and he took his time looking his fill.
You were splayed on the bed beneath him, your tits out, chest heaving from all the breath he'd stolen during his kisses. But that wasn't enough for your new husband. He growled his frustration, got down from the bed and began ripping the skirt of your dress to shreds, until you were bared entirely for him from the waist down.
All of a sudden, you realized the error in your judgement when you'd gotten dressed. Along with the wedding gown, a set of lacy lingerie had been set out for you, and you'd chosen to forgo wearing it. But that meant that when Titus tore through your dress, all that was left was you.
At least you didn't seem to disappoint your new husband.
Titus's hazel eyes blazed bright and hungry as his gaze raked ravenously over your body, taking in the curves of your hips, the plushness of your thighs and line of your legs. His hands settled on your knees, and with surprising gentleness, he eased your thighs open for him, a low, feral growl rumbling in his chest when he laid his eyes upon the delicate petals of your sex.
"This is mine," Titus snarled, his eyes flicking up to yours as if he expected you to protest. His hand cupped your pussy, his palm cool against your heated core, his wedding ring hard and unyielding against your soft, naked flesh. "All of you belongs to me now, but this, especially, is mine."
All you could do was nod mutely, but that didn't seem to be good enough for your new husband, because his face contorted into a furious glare. It was obscene how hot he looked when he was angry, his eyes sharp and narrow as a blade.
"Did you hear me, wife?"
You nodded more vigorously, rushing to say, "Yes—yes, husband. It's yours, I'm yours.” The words babbled out of you so easily, it felt like a betrayal as much as a submission to your new husband.
You'd never thought, all those years ago when you first met him, that you would marry Titus Danforth. Nor did you ever think you'd submit so easily to him as his wife. But that was exactly what you did on your wedding night.
It took very little effort to allow Titus to climb on top of you, to take his cock out when he ordered you, to line up the tip of his thick shaft with your entrance. It took embarrassingly little effort to spread your thighs wide around Titus's broad body and accept his cock into your cunt.
Your new husband pushed deep into your pussy with one thrust, stretching you so quickly that it stung, even as it felt deliriously good to be filled. He claimed your body as wholly as he'd claimed your mouth, wringing a cry from your lips that he swallowed down greedily.
Every part of you—your pleasure, your pain—it all belonged to him.
Without giving you time to adjust, Titus set a savage pace, fucking you into his bed with your wedding dress in tatters around you. He was still mostly dressed, an ascot tied around his neck, his jacket buttoned tight and his pants only undone enough to free his cock. It was as if all that mattered to him had been getting inside you, claiming you, and once he'd started, he couldn't stop.
You held on tight to your new husband as he fucked you, his mouth breaking away from yours only to whisper filthy things in your ear—things about how he was going to use your body in every way he wanted. He was going to bend you over his father's desk, claim you in his sister's bed, set you free in the woods around the estate so he could chase you down and ravage you on the forest floor.
And every time he'd fuck you, he promised, he'd cum deep inside your cunt, right against your cervix, until he knocked you up. He was going to fill you with his seed until it took, and you were going to give him an heir.
But not just the one. Oh no. That wasn’t enough.
On your wedding night, while Titus fucked you for the first time, your new husband vowed that he would keep you pregnant until you gave him a whole horde of children—a whole new generation of Danforths who would serve Mr. Le Bail and carry on the family legacy.
And the worst part was, you'd always wanted a big family.
Your heart squeezed with yearning at the thought of having so many children to love and dote on. It no longer mattered that those children's father would be a man who'd manipulated you into marrying him. All that mattered was that Titus wanted them to, and that he promised to be a good father to them—better than his had ever been.
"Cum on my cock, sweet wife. Let your husband fill you up, let me knock you up. Make me a daddy and I'll give you the world, pretty girl. I'll be such a good dad, such a good husband, just give me an heir."
Titus slipped his hand between your bodies, pressing down on your lower belly and making you cry out as you felt his cock pound into your cunt more acutely. He felt thicker and bigger than before. With more rasping, filthy commands, his thumb found your clit and rubbed, rubbed, rubbed until you saw stars.
The whirlwind of your pleasure built in your body until it unleashed, sending you spiraling through a torrent of euphoria as you came. Your cunt clenched tight around Titus's cock and he grunted, fucking you through your release as he chased his own, finding it a few moments later.
True to his word, Titus spilled deep in your pussy, your inner muscles milking him dry as your body conspired with your new husband to give him the child both of you so desperately wanted.
Once he was wrung out, Titus collapsed on top of you. His weight was a delicious blanket, and your mind was delightfully blank after such an obliterating orgasm. That was the only reason you could think of for why your hands found Titus's hair and your fingers began carding through his silver curls.
You barely knew what you were doing until he gave a pleased rumble. His cheek was pillowed on your breast and he shifted, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking gently, sending little sparks of desire down between your thighs.
"You'll see," he mumbled, his eyes slowly sliding closed, his softening cock still buried in your body. "It's not so bad to be mine."
You held your husband close, taking shelter in his warmth as the contentment from your release abated and you were left with the cold, hard truth of your life. For better or worse, you were married to Titus Danforth, and you had pledged your soul to Mr. Le Bail. The life you'd wanted was gone.
You never thought you'd marry Titus Danforth, but here you were. His wife. The only thing you could do was make the best of it. So that was what you'd endeavor to do.
And it turned out, your husband hadn't been lying—it wasn't so bad belonging to him.
thank you for reading!! reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡♡♡
implicit cnc/free use, pope being the little freak he is (i apologize for the english mistakes i wrote this in 30 minutes on my phone curled up in blankets)
also a moment for him all in black like… he’s so husband
needy husband!pope that comes behind you while you’re cooking or doing the dishes and humps his clothed cock against your ass, kissing your neck and groping your tits, while whispering shakily “please baby just a quickie, please i need your pussy so bad” into your ear.
needy husband!pope that loves interrupting your shower or bath by getting in with you, having wet hot sex and being clingy, and then softly looking at you with his puppy eyes and asking “can you please help me wash my back” with pinkish cheeks as if he didn’t just fuck your brains out five minutes ago.
needy husband!pope that NEEDS to sleep with some part of him touching you, and if you move to pee or get some water, he wakes up immediately thinking something bad happened to you, so when you come back he has to sleep with his face crushed into your neck breathing your smell, dropping his weight on you so you won’t move again.
needy husband!pope that fingers you while you’re on his lap with his mouth glued to your ear talking dirty, “yeah, you like that?” “you’re so tight can’t barely take two fingers bunny” “such a pretty pussy, so wet for me”, when he realizes you got super aroused the first time, he wants to do it every time you two are on the couch watching tv, his hands find their way inside your panties, playing with your pussy for some time before he decides to do something about it.
needy husband!pope that jerks off to your ovulation underwear that’s in the laundry basket, because he swears that your smell changes completely and he’s a criminal first, and a panty thief second. so when you’re out for more than one night he resorts to smelling your underwear and jerking off to them, and he would never say but he allows himself to moan loud and clear during those moments, and maybe he will send you a picture if he’s confident enough.
needy husband!pope that loves random fucking during the day, doing the laundry? he will bend you over and slap your ass during it. doing your makeup? he will drop to his knees and eat it front the back like he’s starved. watching tv together? he will have you on his lap bouncing on his cock.
needy husband!pope that absolutely adores watching you do yoga outside because he loves to see you taking care of yourself, but also loves how your ass looks in those yoga see through pants and thin top that shows your hard nipples. more than once your garden yoga turned into garden fucking.
needy husband!pope that has a praise kink and needs reassurance in daily life, his face gets all soft and flushed when you say “yessss baby you did it” about something so simple and mundane as changing a lamp. makes him feel loved, needed and wanted, he will never admit it but he loves when you say he’s your pretty boy in a overly sweet voice.
needy husband!pope that needs just as much of aftercare as you do, he likes to cuddle and breathe your air, he’s not really a talker after sex but he loves hearing you, your day, your interests, everything you want to say. he needs back rubs, and in particular hard nights, he might just hide in your neck and sleep curled up in you.
photos and gif are from pinterest, they are not made by me!!
Pairing: high school football coach Joel Miller x f! Cheerleader! Reader
Word count: 3.1k
Summary: Coach Joel has to deal with cheerleader reader at the homecoming dance!
Warnings: SMUT! PWP, Unethical pairing, reader is 18, dub com, fingering, dirty talk, minor butt stuff, PIV, intoxication, so on and so forth. No editing, no proofreading, unbetad, probably a mess but it is rather nasty!
A word from the author: didn't know I was finishing this today! Cool. Hope you enjoy the second installment of this story.
Masterlist
Part 1
“How’d I get roped into this horseshit? Ruin my whole goddamn Friday night,” Joel mumbled to himself and shifted his weight from foot to foot. He stood against the wall, just behind the refreshments table that had been set up at the far end of the gymnasium. Yellow and blue balloons and streamers hung from the walls and a disco ball had been tied up over the middle of the basketball court, covering the room in swirling flecks of glittery light. A banner had been painted and tacked up under the scoreboard that read “Lions Homecoming 2025” in sloppy, dripping, block letters.
For his part, Coach Miller stood, arms folded sternly across his chest, muscles of his forearms flexing while he kept an eye on the punch bowl, making sure no wiseass kids tried to spike it. He set his face in a scowl and scanned the crowd, making himself look vigilant, even if he was dreaming of the moment he could climb into bed.
Some of the other chaperones dressed up, especially the women. He didn’t mind that part, a little extra skin on display from that firecracker art teacher with the tattoos. He let his mind drift to what she’d look like stripped out of that dress and on her knees sucking cock. Wondered where she might be hiding more ink.
The eleventh grade math teacher with the great ass, the student teacher who was upstairs in History or English or something. He forgot her name, but committed her tits to memory. He’d tap into that particular memory bank later. For now, he had to make sure the seniors didn’t get too out of control at their Homecoming dance.
For most of the evening it wasn’t too bad. You expect to break up a cat fight or two and confiscate some cigarettes. You might catch some kids trying to sneak into the bathroom to fondle each other, but overall, it was quiet. Teenagers danced awkwardly to shitty music while the AV club dj’d. All Joel had to do was make sure they knew he was watching and wait for the lights to come on at 11.
At 9:45 Joel was nodding along while the boys tennis coach yammered on about his new stretching regimen and munching on dry cookies over a blue and yellow cocktail napkin when the double doors swung open and you stumbled into the swirling lights of the dance. You were flanked by two other girls, cheerleaders, he thought. You wore corsages on your wrists and smelled like that godawful fruity spray all the girls have these days. You looked like you belonged on a red carpet. You looked like a fucking slut.
He couldn’t help but notice. Of course a girl like you would show up in a skintight number with two skinny little straps that did fuck all, tits pushed up to drive every man and boy here crazy, slit all the way up your thigh with a garter peeking out, and some stripper heels you could barely walk in. Little slut. You teetered in, smiling wide and swaying your hips with every step.
Joel watched you dance. With your friends, with boys. Some that he knew from the football team and some he didn’t. You twirled and swirled and some of your moves should have gotten the attention of a chaperone, but by that time they’d all started mingling together and forgot about making sure nobody was out of line. There you were, though. Practically humping half the football team right on the dance floor. Their hands on your hips, your ass against the front of their poorly fitting rented suit pants.
After that stunt you pulled last fall, Joel’s not surprised. He got angrier the longer he watched you whoring around. Surely someone would notice and come break up the orgy of teenage hormones soon. When two more grating, bass-heavy songs had played and no one had stepped in, Coach Miller had enough. It was clear he was the only one taking things seriously and he was going to have to handle this situation himself. He wadded up his napkin in his fist and squeezed it tight, letting it fall to the floor.
You felt him before you saw him. The charge in the sweat-damp air changed and you knew only a fraction of a moment who was behind you before his hand was around your bicep and you were being spun around. The crowd you’d been in the center of had scattered, and you were face to face once more with Coach Miller.
Your brain was sluggish, and it took a moment to understand who he was and what he might want. When you had it figured out in your mind, you smiled at him, your grin plumped your cheeks and the glitter around your eyes caught in the light. “Mister Miller!” You squealed. “You never called me! I’ve been waiting, I thought you forgot about me,” you feigned a pout and wobbled closer to him. You tried to steady yourself against his chest, but he grabbed your wrists, jerking them away.
“What’s the matter with you?” Joel sneered, looking you over quickly. Your flirting smile, long eyelashes that drooped over your eyes, the glitter that he can now see was also dusted across your chest and between your tits. He thought of your nipples, of your dress falling just a bit so he could see them again, sparkly and sweet.
“No, what’s the matter with you, Joel? I thought you’d like the video we made but you didn’t even text me back.”
That’s when he heard it. The slur in your words. He gawked at you for a confounded second. “You’re drunk!” He spat the words at you and frowned.
Before you could defend yourself he was dragging you away from the dance floor. Hustling past a group of teachers absorbed in their own conversation, nursing plastic cups of punch, he announced that he “had one that needs to call her parents and someone better keep an eye on the refreshments.” He was waved away, no one the least bit concerned about the juvenile delinquent falling out of her dress, or any of her counterparts still writhing away on the makeshift dance floor thirty feet away. Joel was going to have to handle you himself.
He knew he shouldn’t be alone with you. Not after what happened the last time you were together. He just had to make it to retirement without a horned up slut ruining his life. He’d played fast and loose, but it was time to give it a rest. There’d still be pussy once his name wasn’t on the line, he told himself. No, he couldn’t take you to his office again, even if his cock stirred at the sight of you in your dress. There was no principal or counselor to turn you over to this late. How was he supposed to handle this? He wasn’t sure. His mind raced as he tugged you through the hall by your wrist, music long faded, only the odd classroom light still on.
Joel seemed to remember there being a telephone at the librarian’s desk, and he decided he could call your parents from there. He’d explain that you’d been drinking and needed to be picked up and that on Monday there would be consequences. It was a good plan and Joel was pleased with his quick thinking. If he hadn’t intervened there’s no telling what you might have gotten into. Drinking and driving, maybe. Maybe some boy would be fingering you in the backseat of the car he borrowed from his parents for the night. Maybe you’d have another name to write in your diary. Big loopy gel pen letters spelling “Kevin” with a heart dotting the i. Coach Miller was doing you a favor. You’d recognize that one day.
Not now, though. Now you were wiggling in his grasp, whining for Joel to slow down. “Come on, Mister Miller. I’m not drunk. I’m just having fun. Can’t I dance with my friends? Are you just jealous? I bet that’s it.” Your voice slipped from whiny and petulant into a deeper, sultry pitch that slowed Joel’s steps enough for you to notice. “I knew it. Do you watch our video when you jerk off, coach?”
With a quickness that surprised even him, and a metallic rattle, Joel had you pushed up against the wall of lockers. They were cold against your bare back, contrasting nicely with the heat of Joel’s hand on your shoulder. While he held you with his left hand his right was curled into a fist with his thick, blunt index finger pointed at your face. It was close enough to lick, and you were too buzzed to have the good sense not to push him just a little further.
You wrapped your glossed lips around the tip of his fat finger and flicked your tongue over it. It was too much. Before you could do any more he pulled his hand away and slapped your cheek. It wasn’t hard. It didn’t really hurt. There was a little heat and sting, but it was nothing compared to the way your cunt throbbed for him. His lips crashed into yours. He kissed you hard, swallowing your pitiful cries. He made you feel small and powerless.
Alone in the hallway, Joel towered menacingly over you. Trapped between the lockers and the solid wall of man, you were giddy. Thrilled with how you’d gotten him alone again, with how you could feel the bulging shape of his hardening cock where it was pressed against you.
He could have fucked you senseless right here. Shove you against that wall and hike up your dress and pound into you as hard as he wanted until you were dripping cum down to your knees. He wanted to see your makeup smeared and your dress ruined. His cock pulsed with the need to split you in two, really teach you a lesson.
But not here. No, his sanity prevailed and he straighten himself, softening back into a stern paternal stance while you brushed your hands over your dress. Once collected,
He took your wrist in his hand again and pulled you back the way you’d come, back toward the crowded gym.
Slick seeped into your panties as you let him take you where he wanted to go, pushing you, pulling you, asserting himself over you, his dominance made you feel drunker than the tequila did.
Joel was careful passing the double doors again. He slowed and let go of your hand, and when he was sure the coast was clear from anyone who might question why he was still dragging you around, he pulled you to a windowless door at the end of the hall and quickly unlocked it with a key from his jangling key ring.
Inside the room there was a rack holding basketballs, a stack of folding chairs, orange plastic cones, all kinds of things stuffed onto shelves. In the back was a stack of yellow and blue mats, the kind that the boys would wrestle on. With another twist of his keys, the lock slid back into place with a heavy clunk. Joel took care to cover his tracks. He hastily rolled a few gym towels and shoved them against the bottom of the door to block the light from inside, and hopefully any incriminating sounds as well.
Satisfied that he’d taken enough precautions, Joel shoved you back toward the mats. Anger was rising up in his belly again, licking up like flames that might consume him if not extinguished in time.
“What do you think you’re doing? Huh?” He groped your tits roughly, scrunching the taffy pink fabric of your dress before pulling it down to bare your chest. “Do you know how much trouble you could get me in? I could lose my job, my family, I could go to fucking jail! That what you want?” He underscored each possibility with a pinch of your nipples.
They were just like he remembered, mouthwatering little nipples with their playboy-perfect points. He sucked them hard, flicking his tongue over them while you squirmed against the wall.
"No, Mister Miller," you whined. "I just...
I just..."
"You don't know what the fuck your want you're too young and you're dumb." He would just have to show you then, wouldn't he?
He kissed you again, pushing his tongue past your lips to taste you while his hands found their way under your skirt. Every inch of your skin was soft and smooth, warm and perfumed. He felt the ruffle of lace around your thigh and wondered when the fuck girls started wearing garters to dances. Was that so some little pimple-faced boy could pull it off later and keep it like a trophy after giving you a couple pumps?
Further up your thighs he found what he was after. A wisp of fabric that barely covered your snatch. It was easily pushed aside, giving way to Joel’s thick fingers.
Your face contorted at the roughness of his knuckles against your soft pussy. He dragged them up and down your seam, teasing the wetness out, covering his fingers in it. Had he ever felt a pussy get so wet? He brought his knuckles to hip lips and tasted you, then went back for more. Two fingers filled you at once. “Look what you’re making me do. Bet you planned this whole thing. Just can’t get enough cock, can you?”
You hummed and tilted your hips into his hand, bleary eyes watching the way he sank his fingers into you. “Nobody else can do it like you, Coach.”
Joel laughed at that. Eighteen and already ruined for any other man.
Turning his wrist, scissoring his fingers, he could feel the limits of your soft little pussy being rewritten. Might hurt a little, but it was for your own good.
Satisfied that he’d done his due diligence in opening you up, he pulled and pushed you a til you until you were bent at the waist, face down on the mats. Your shoes barely reached the floor, without them your feet would be dangling uselessly. With them you were able to arch your back, daring Joel to fuck you again.
In one thrust he was inside you, buried to the hilt, pushing against your cervix. It was just what he needed. He knew if he fucked you once he’d fuck you again. One taste wasn’t ever going to be enough. Joel loved young little sluts and he didn’t care about the danger. He liked the danger.
Harder and harder he pounded your pussy, your sweet little moans became needy panting. His heavy cock bore through you as he matched his rhythm to the bass of the song playing just yards away.
While your head spun, Joel was in full control. You were disconnected from time or space, tied down by his firm grip on your hips and his turgid member spearing through you. He could tell by the glazed over look in your eyes.
He touched his thumb to your asshole, pressing but not breaching. Your cunt seized around him, like he knew it would. "Gonna have this next time," he promised, pushing against the puckered flesh. "You save this for me. Nobody else."
The song switched to something with a slower tempo, signaling that the dance was winding down. Out in the gym couples were dancing slow, awkwardly shuffling to the romantic song. Here in the closet, Joel sped up.
"Turn over. Come on, we gotta be quick." You blinked and nodded, doing as he said. You rolled onto your back and pushed your tits together while Mister Miller shoved your knees up. "Rub your clit. You know how to do that? You make yourself come so much watchin' that tape. Do it for me. Come all on this cock."
God, you were wet. Nobody ever talked to you like this. Boys your age were quiet when they fucked you. Afraid to even moan, they definitely never talked so dirty.
You dipped your fingertips down into the sticky mess of your cunt, pretty acrylics clicking together as you found your favorite angle to rub yourself off. Joel fucked you fast and hard, biting his lip, ready to shoot his load deep. He felt you start to clench in rhythm and ground down deep and firm against you. Your legs jerked as your came, spasming, flailing, not even realizing that at the same time Joel was spilling inside you.
With heaving chests you stared at each other. The orgasm had a sobering effect.
"Pull your panties up. I'm going to let you slide this time, but you better watch it. This close to graduation you can't be getting in trouble. You get fixed up and you get back out there and you cool it. Understand?" Emptying his balls had cleared his mind enough to return to responsibility adult mode. Decidedly less fun.
"Alright coach. Uh. Sorry. Yeah. Okay."
He fixed you with a stern look. "And keep that cum inside."
He's so devastating. He put himself back together quickly, wiping his softened dick on a gym towel and tucking it away before sneaking your garter into his pocket and ducking out of the closet without another word. Yu righted your dress, arranged your tits, pulled up your straps, and pulled your wet panties back up. They were totally soaked and uncomfortably cold against your bare skin. Your legs were like jello. You slipped your heels off and carried them, Bambi walking back into the gym.
Thankfully, your return went unnoticed. Everyone had made their way back to the middle of the gym, and stood facing the small stage at the far end. A spotlight shone down on the student council president as she gave a speech. You watched from your spot at the back as she opened an envelope. The Homecoming King. She called him to the stage and put a plastic crown on his head. The quarter back. He was handsome and popular and everyone knew he was going away on a football scholarship in the fall. More than a few years were shed in the girl's bathroom over it.
Homecoming Queen was announced next, you couldn't hear well from back here. Everyone looked around, hands clapping, people yelling, and then, louder, your name.
You stood in front of the school with a crown on your head, a bouquet of roses in your arms, and Joel Miller's cum dripping down your thighs.
He touched his thumb to your asshole, pressing but not breaching. Your cunt seized around him, like he knew it would. "Gonna have this next time," he promised, pushing against the puckered flesh. "You save this for me. Nobody else."
please please, pretty please, Bat, i need to read this 🥵🥵🥵
[SUMMARY: After a rough argument, you make Joel beg for forgiveness.]
Smut
It was late at night, Joel still hadn’t returned after the argument you had earlier. You stood in the kitchen slowly sipping a tea you made to help you sleep. The yelling, the sound of the door slamming so hard it made you jump replayed in your mind. Joel was protective, sometimes too over protective. The second he found out you patrolled an area he hadn’t secured first himself, something in him snapped.
~~
“Joel, Kelly and I secured the area. We were fine, we made it back, what’s there to be mad about?” There was plenty for him to be pissed about, first being that he didn’t trust Kelly and you knew that.
“And what if you didn’t?” He responded angrily across the room from you.
“Well we did” you stood before him with your arms crossed.
“You know damn well I don’t like you patrolling any areas I haven’t gone over first. God knows what the hell was out there-“
“Kelly and I had it handled.”
“Without back up, without any man there to help you-“
“Well luckily I know damn well how to take care of myself” you fought back.
“You got lucky” he muttered under his breath.
“Who the hell approved of this?”
“Your brother” you could see the anger rise in him. He paced back and forth hands on his hips.
“Look-“ you sighed “I know you don’t like how much of a risk taker Kelly can be and-“
“She’s careless” he cut you off as he walked towards the kitchen counter beside you.
“Joel-“
“You know better than that-“
“Stop talking to me like I’m a damn kid” you snapped. He swallowed hard standing in place.
“Your judgement ain’t what it used to be, baby” he spoke calmly.
“My judgement is just fine. I’ve done what I had to do just fine before I met you, I’ve made my way out of many places when I was alone. I survived for a long time alone-“
“Well you ain’t alone now!” The words came out louder than he meant them to. He turned his head immediately, like he regretted it the second it left his mouth. He hated arguing with you, hell he never yelled at you this way before. The thought of anything happening to you pushed him over the edge.
“I will not take you screaming at me like that”
You spoke calmly but he was far from calm, his chest rising and falling rather quickly as he dug his hands into his pockets.
“Then maybe follow the damn agreement and don’t go anywhere new if it hasn’t been cleared.”
“What the hell is with you? What you don’t think I’m capable of taking care of myself-“
“No as a matter of fact. I don’t.” He cut you off rather quickly, he could tell he offended you.
“Oh really?” He wouldnt look at you.
“So that’s how you think of me?” You stepped towards him but he turned towards the door.
“I’m done talkin’ about this” he walked out like nothing, the door slammed so loudly you flinched.
~~
You’d been sitting on the couch for what felt like hours, a blanket pulled over your lap, a cup of tea long gone cold in your hands. You hadn’t moved much. If you stayed still enough, maybe the knot in your chest wouldn’t tighten every time you thought about the way he’d looked at you before he left.
Like you were something fragile. Like you didn’t know what you were doing.
The front door slowly opened.
Your grip on the mug tightened, but you didn’t turn.
“…You’re still up.”
Joel’s voice was quieter than usual. Careful.
He didn’t come back wanting to fight, you could hear it in his voice.
You didn’t answer.
You could feel his eyes on you, searching, waitinf..hoping you’d look at him, say something, anything to make this easier.
You didn’t.
A soft exhale left him. Regret, heavy and tired.
“I didn’t mean-“ he started, then stopped, like the words tangled before they could get out right. “Earlier…Ishouldn’t have-“
You stood.
Your movement cutting him off without a word. The blanket slipped from your lap, the mug left forgotten on the table as you walked past him.
He turned slightly as you passed, his body instinctively angling toward you.
“Baby-“
Nothing.
You kept walking.
The bedroom door opened, then shut behind you just as softly. No harsh slam…somehow that made it worse.
Joel stood there for a second, jaw tightening, frustration breaking through the guilt,but it didn’t last. He dragged a hand over his face, exhaling sharp through his nose before following after you.
The door pushed open again.
You were already on the other side of the room, pulling off your sweater about to lay on your side of the bed.
“C’mon,” he said, a little more edge in his voice now. “Don’t do that.” You could hear the strain in it.
You didn’t look at him. That silence pressed in again, heavier this time.
Joel stepped further into the room, the floorboards creaking under his weight. “You just ain’t gonna talk to me now?”
Still nothing.
Your back to him. Your shoulders tense.
His frustration slipped out in a quiet huff, but it faltered almost immediately, replaced by something uncertain.
He wasn’t used to this, not from you.
Joel stood restless, hands settling on his hips before dropping again. “I’m tryin’ to talk to you.”
That made you pause just for a second but you still didn’t turn around.
“I heard you,” you said finally, voice quiet. “You said enough earlier.”
The words hit harder than if you’d yelled.
Joel swallowed, his throat working as he tried to find his footing again. “That’s not-“ He stopped, shaking his head. “That ain’t fair.”
You let out a soft, humorless breath.
“Fair?” You turned then, finally looking at him..and there it was. The hurt. The anger you’d been holding in all night, sitting just beneath the surface. “You yell at me like I don’t know how to take care of myself then walked out for the whole evening and you wanna talk about fair?”
His expression changed immediately.
“I didn’t mean it like that-“
“But you said it.” You didn’t yell, but it cut clean anyway. “You said it like I’m some kind of liability. Like I can’t handle things on my own.”
“That’s not what I think,” he said quickly, stepping closer without really meaning to. “You know that.”
“Look, I don’t wanna talk anymore. I just wanna go to bed” you slipped under the covers and turned your back to him. He watched as you reached over to your lamp and shut it off before lying down with a sigh.
Joel knew he fucked up. One thing you were always very proud of was how independent you’d always been.
How far you’d come.
You had every right to feel insulted after everything you had overcome on your own.
It wasn’t easy and he knew that. Joel silently turned away and left you in the room, hoping that maybe by morning you’d wanna talk to him.
A little while later Joel came to bed, you still hadn’t moved from the position you were in. He figured you were asleep but you lay there staring at the wall as he silently lay beside you. You could feel him looking over at you. He took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling and that’s when he began to feel it. Laying next to you would easily do it to him, hell the thought of you was enough to get him going. He moved slightly against the mattress, jaw clenched, like he could will it away just by pretending it wasn’t there. It didn’t work.
Joel was rock hard, his grey sweats making it very visible.
His gaze slid toward you instead, tracing the outline of you in the dim light, the curve of your shoulder, the way the blanket dipped at your waist. Something in his chest pulled tight, a mix of want and restraint that sat heavy behind his ribs.
For a second, he almost reached for you. His hand moved against the mattress, fingers flexing like they had a mind of their own, then stilled. He swallowed it down, every bit of it, forcing himself to stay where he was when suddenly you yanked the covers off you.
You couldn’t sleep, you didn’t look his way, you sat up and quickly walked out the room, Joel adjusted his pants incase you looked his way before sitting up on his elbow slightly confused.
Maybe he should’ve just stayed in the room, should’ve just waited till it passed but instead he found himself walking down the hall to find you in the kitchen. You were hunched over on the counter and took a deep breath, hands holding onto either side of the counter when you suddenly felt a soft touch on your waist. You jumped at the feel of Joel delicately placing his hands on your waist till you turned to him and roughly pushed his hands off.
“You’ve got some nerve-“ he abruptly pulled your body against his and that’s when you felt it. His swollen urge pressed against your pelvis. He looked you dead in the eye, his cock throbbing against you, yearning to be in you. In that moment as angry as you were with him, you felt something you couldn’t deny. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, or the way he pressed his body against yours. You felt the same need for him.
The need for him to fill you.
“Aren’t you clever” you whispered sarcastically. He still held you tightly against him, his eyes drifting between your eyes and lips.
“How long are you gonna stay mad at me, darlin’?” You could hear the desperation in his voice, he needed you right now.
“Hmmm…I don’t know” You spoke softly, his body tense against yours.
“What more do you need me to do?”
A smile slowly appeared on your lips, your hand creeping up to his face caressing his facial hair. His eyes closing savoring your touch.
“Are you really sorry?” You whispered, his eyes quickly opened, darkened. He nodded.
“More than you know” he breathed heavily.
“Well then…show me how sorry you really are”
He nodded slowly, gently carried you onto the counter. His large hands grabbing your face, his hunger showing for you as he kissed you deeply. You moaned into him as he began to pull your pants down and threw them aside. He could feel the warmth between your thighs as you wrapped your legs around him. His hard on practically dragging his pants down, he pressed himself against you, but you wanted to feel more. Pulling at his waist band you pushed his pants down as far as you could until you felt his warm throbbing cock brush against your inner thigh. You moaned with excitement as he pulled his shirt over his head, you pulled him close feeling him reach between your bodies. You could feel the tip of him at your entrance, aching to enter you. Kissing your neck he slid in you slowly making you gasp, Joel felt your body melt against him. Both of his hands brushing up the back of your neck grabbing a chunk full of your hair as he kissed you, his tongue swirled against yours as you whimpered against him. Each slow deep thrust he tugged at your hair a little harder. Joel hated arguing with you but one thing he loved was making up, each time more intense than the last.
He released your hair allowing you to lean back on your elbows, the sight of his cock glistening with each thrust the more wet you became.
“Fuck, baby-“ he choked out,he pulled you closer against him placing your legs on his shoulders. The angle only making him feel deeper, hitting every nerve to set your body off the edge. You threw your head back as a wave of pleasure hit your body intensely, his hips rocking against you faster. Sweat building up on his forehead, his curls now damp against his skin, his eyes focused on you watching as pleasure exploded within you. God he loved watching you get lost in the pleasure, the sight only making him go harder. You screamed in relief, almost collapsing onto your back until he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you against him. You panted with your arms around him, he smirked, his rhythm slowing down.
“Can you feel how sorry I am now?” His whispered breathlessly.
Your lips parted but you couldn’t speak, your eyes hazy and unfocused. He loved that look on you. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, then slowly traced them down the side of your face until he reached your lips still thrusting his hips.
“Take me to the bed” you whispered.
He did just as you asked, carrying you to the room still inside you, slowly your body building up the strength to take over. He could feel you grabbing onto him tighter, pulling yourself up on him as you kissed him eagerly.
“Baby-“ he moaned roughly in between kisses. You had him right where you wanted him, he threw himself back on the bed as you pushed him flat on his back. His eyes memorized by the sight of your body on top of him, he never got tired of the view. He pulled your shirt down enough for your breasts to poke out of your top, just enough to watch them bounce with each movement you made.
“Just like that, baby…” his hands brushing up your thighs grabbing onto your waist as you rode him. You moaned touching yourself, squeezing your breasts knowing how much he loved when you did that.
“Do you feel it now?” He asked looking down watching himself disappear in you with each bounce, you could tell he was close to climax by the way his hands tightened on you, the way his breathing deepened. You slowly leaned forward and caressed his face.
“I don’t know…” you whispered as you continued to ride him, face to face. Your body pressed against his as you rode him making his body tense up.
“I’m gonna need you to say it again” you whispered, he nodded quickly, eyes desperate.
“I’m sorry” he whispered, his words jumped with his breath.
“Mmmm-“ you kissed his neck.
“Say it again, like you mean it” you rode him faster hearing his breathing quicken.
“Baby-just forgive me please- I’m gonna cum-“ he choked out.
“I know” you pushed yourself up and rode him harder.
“Say it” you demanded, his body beginning to twitch.
“I’m s-sorry-“ he looked down squeezing your waist.
“What was that?” You teased.
“Baby, please-“ he begged, a low desperate whimper.
“Say it”
“I’m sorry-fuck I’m sorry-“ he cried out, he tried to hold himself but his body gave in just like you wanted it to.
“Fuck-“ he squeezed his eyes shut releasing himself in you, digging his fingers into your skin, he tried to slow you down but he couldn’t. His body going weak as you continued to ride him, he couldn’t make out any words, just deep groans of desperation. Each stroke on his cock sending shocking waves throughout his body.
“Want me to stop?” You raised a brow. He whimpered as you slowed down, his hips quivering beneath you.
“Baby-ba-“ he pleaded, his voice desperate and rough. All he could do was hold you.
You bit your bottom lip with a smile, still you moved slowly taking every last drop of him. Words escaping his lips that you couldn’t make out.
His breath uneven, as if the strength had drained out of him all at once. His hand lingered on your waist just as you stopped moving, but his hold on you wasn’t firm anymore, more like he needed the contact to steady himself than anything else.
You didn’t move right away. You just watched him, calm and in control of the space between you, while he slowly came back to himself. His eyes were half-lidded, unfocused for a moment, like he was still trying to catch up to his own body.
A faint, breathy laugh left him, though it didn’t carry much energy. He exhaled through his nose, clearly overwhelmed in a way he didn’t have the words for. You slowly got off of him, feeling him slip out of you, you lay back beside him. His hand gently reaching for your thigh beside him, giving you a light squeeze.
“Thats what I get for pissin’ you off?” He somehow managed to finally say. You turned towards him with a smile.
“Mhm” you kissed his cheek gently and pushed yourself off the bed. His eyes following you to the door, not ready to get himself up yet.
“I’m gonna go shower”
He closed his eyes and nodded.
“Gonna need a bit, baby”
“Take your time” you smiled walking off into the restroom.
~~
In the kitchen grabbing a quick snack you heard Joel making his way down the stairs. His hair wet combed back after coming out of the shower, he stopped at the doorway and looked at you for a moment. You stood against the counter only wearing his shirt.
“So-“ he smirked walking towards you.
“The hell was that about?” He stopped before you, watching as you looked away slightly blushing with a smile.
“No no no, don’t get shy on me now” he pulled you against him playfully.
“Not after how you had me up there, that was your plan all along huh?” He whispered against you.
“Maybe” you raised your brows with a chuckle, he leaned in and kissed you.
“I meant what I said though, I am sorry” you could hear the sincerity in his voice.
“I know” you nodded, kissed him then led him back up the stairs.
blurb - Time is cruel and quick, indicating just how much of it has passed. One of those indicators is how you've fallen back into your old life too easily. However, what won't let you go is the thought of Joel, and everything you lost, both past and present. Joel, on the other hand, has to take care of his brother while he steps into a new stage: fatherhood.
warnings - Bullying (physical and verbal), depressive thoughts/life, self-worth issues, mommy issues, romantic issues, labor contractions, fear of fatherhood, fear of death, and fear of losing a child.
Word Count: 17.2 k
October 17th, 1974
“Do you take this girl to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do!” Tommy grinned, missing his two front teeth, which made his words slur.
“And do you, take Tommy Miller to be your lawfully wedded husband—”
“Yes, yes!” You jumped up and down slightly, squeezing your best friend's hand tighter. “Of course I do.”
Laughs from his mama echoed throughout the living room, while your daddy grumbled near the couch. She patted his shoulder, whispering something that made him let out a shocked noise. Strange.
What was stranger, however, was how Miller's house had been decorated in white. You had spent weeks letting Auntie Lo show you all the different shades of white she had—things you couldn’t even say, like ivory or seashell.
Either way, you and Tommy picked out what you wanted. He loved red, so you let him have a couple of red flowers—roses from his mama’s garden bed—littered around all the furniture. On the makeshift aisle, petals lay, trailing to you and Tommy. Your dress was a new one you made for your daddy to buy for you, and Tommy’s suit was new as well.
Both of you had to dress your best after all, it was your wedding.
Why did you want to marry Tommy? No one had answers to it. No matter how much questioning from your daddy when you were heading back home yesterday, and no matter how much bribing this morning, they couldn’t get the reason.
Really, the reason why was simply. After spending all day playing outside, you and Tommy had been inside this very living room, drinking lemonade and flipping through the family albums Auntie Lo had left out on the coffee table.
Tommy had noticed his parents' wedding pictures first, of Uncle Ray and Auntie Lo in black and white in front of a church. She was beaming, a white fabric framing her face. Uncle Ray was also smiling, and if you looked closely, you could see tears.
You had taken another sip of your lemonade before turning to Tommy, who had started looking at his baby pictures, “Tommy, why did Uncle Ray and Auntie Lo fall in love?”
“I dunno.”
“But they're your parents.”
“So? I dunno. They’re old people. Old, old, old.” He flipped to another page. He gasped and pointed at a picture, “Look! We’re naked!”
You looked down at the picture, seeing you and Tommy as babies. Both of you were sitting in the same sink, a towel was wrapped around you both, but your hair was still wet.
Refusing to get distracted, you had grabbed his stubby wrist to get his attention, “I wanna know though. Why did they wear those fancy clothes?”
“‘Cause they were gettin’ married.”
Your little mouth opened into an ‘o’ shape. “Married…”
“Mama said she married Daddy ‘cause she loved him, and he loved her.”
You blinked at that. You loved a lot of people, too, but you weren’t married to any of them. If being married was how you showed your love, wouldn’t you be married to many people? You wanted people to know you loved them. Of course you did.
You looked back at Tommy, who had started to make little noises while playing with his hands, completely forgetting the albums before him. Tommy was the funniest friend you had—well, the only one really—and you loved him so much your head wanted to explode.
Then, the smartest idea you had ever thought of lit up your brain:
“Tommy, we should get married!”
And it was as easy as that.
Creating a quick wedding was the hardest thing your little body had ever done. You had found three plastic rings from one of your toys, one of them too big for Tommy or your fingers, so you just pocketed it just in case. You spent yesterday and today picking everything out. It had to be perfect.
Now, Uncle Ray stood between you and Tommy, holding those very rings in his palm. Neither you nor Tommy could contain the excitement, with your dress bouncing with how hard you were rocking back and forth, while Tommy showed off his crooked teeth.
Your daddy and Auntie Lo sat as the guests. Your daddy had walked you down the aisle and given you to Tommy with a mutter, but no objections. Auntie Lo was taking the pictures
Joel wasn’t there because he was at school. He was in first grade, the big kid class. Your daddy said you would go next year, to something called… kindergarten. You still needed help saying it. Tommy and you would go together, and you couldn’t wait.
Uncle Ray gave a rare smile when Tommy took your ring and put it on your right ring finger. You did the same with his right hand, and together, your plastic rings gleamed in the sunlight. Everyone cheered for you both, and in a moment that made your heart feel like it was going to burst, you hugged Tommy tight.
You buried your face deep into his neck, smelling the soap he used and his daddy’s perfume.
“I love you, Toms.”
“I love you too, Cubes.”
Over his shoulder, you saw all three grown-ups staring down at you both, a wide mix of laughter and tears. Your Uncle Ray was the only one who had his normal expression.
“I don’t know why we’re all cryin’. It’s a make believe weddin’.
“I’ll cry when my baby girl leaves me at the altar,” Your daddy shoved Uncle Ray’s shoulder playfully, “You’re just heartless.”
“I have boys, ain’t nothin’ to cry ‘bout ‘cept more room.”
“‘Gain, heartless. Don’t worry, I’ll cry for ‘em.” Your daddy turned his best friend’s wife, who was still wiping her tears, “Me and Lorraine will. All loud and messy and—”
“Oh, stop it you two!” Her voice cracked with emotion. She blew her nose again harder into her tissue, and even lowered her head toward her lap, “I can’t even think ‘bout their weddin’ without gettin’ emotional. I’ll die right here.”
Collective groans from both men echoed. Raymond was the first to speak up, “You ain’t dyin’ Lo.”
“You don’t know that! Dyin’ of a full heart is a thin’!”
“I think it’s a broken heart, not—”
“Don’t you dare correct me Miller!”
“‘Course, ‘course…”
You look over to Tommy, who had gone back to poking his tongue through the gap in his teeth. You huffed, “Is this how we’re gonna fight now that we’re married?”
Tommy shrugged, ‘I don’t know, Mama and Daddy always fight like this. Then they don’t talk. Then they make up and laugh.”
Your little hand tapped your lip in thought, watching Raymond walk to sit right beside Lorraine. She shook her head, but opened her face, flushed. Raymond kissed her cheek, to which she gasped. Then, he kissed her lips.
You gagged, “We do that too?”
“Do what?”
“What—Tommy! Stop doing that with your tongue!”
“Sorry! Do what?” He said, now paying attention.
“Kissing. Your Daddy just kissed your Mama.”
Suddenly, Tommy looked very shocked and disgusted at once. His head whipped over to the couple, who had begun to leave soft pecks on each other's lips. Even your own daddy rolled his eyes and left for the kitchen.
“Oh, I don’t like that…” Your best friend began.
“Me too…”
“But… when I asked my Mama…” Tommy was the one tapping his chin now, “She said that’s how she and Daddy say ‘I love you.’ And I love you.”
“I love you too, Tommy…”
You both paused, then Tommy’s face lit up with an idea:
“I know! I know! We can be married and not kiss like that.”
You gasped. He was right, wasn’t he? That’s what grown-ups who were married did. Raymond and Lorraine kissed, and even your own Mama and Daddy kissed when she was around. It seemed like all they did was kiss.
You didn’t want to kiss Tommy like that! That was so, so weird. Instead, you turned back to him, hands clasped together.
“I can kiss your cheek! It’s our I love you!”
Tommy beamed like the sun itself, “I like that.”
So, you leaned it, and in an uncoordinated mess, managed to press your mouth near the chubbiest part of his cheek. Tommy giggled the whole time, saying you were tickling him and to stop. You didn’t, only pecking there until you let him push you off.
You let him do the same, kissing your cheeks with his arms around your shoulders. You liked this much more than actually kissing Tommy.
“Are they—oh, Clyde, get back in here! Look how cute they’re bein’.” You heard Tommy’s mama gush.
Your daddy poked his head out from behind the kitchen wall, eyes widening at the sight. You heard him quickly step toward you and Tommy, and his big hands pushed Tommy’s face away.
“‘Nough you pufferfish!” He called out, brows furrowed. “Just got married and you’re already doin’ this public affection smotherin’.”
Tommy frowned back at your daddy, but a grin crossed his face, “But she’s my wife.”
“It’s play-pretend, boy. Ain’t nobody marryin’ anyone this early.”
“But we did.” You pulled Tommy tighter against your body, your cheek pressed to his, “And I love him, Daddy!”
“Now, Sugar Cubes—”
“I do too, sir! I love your daughter!”
From the couch, Raymond and Lorraine threw themselves into a fit of laughter, with his head flung back as his shoulders shook while she wrapped her arms around herself to stop the shaking. Your daddy just blinked a couple of times, eyes moving back and forth between you, Tommy, and his best friends.
Before you can even add anything, you feel your body being lifted up into the air, strong arms carrying you up and onto the crook of your daddy’s strong forearm. Tommy squealed alongside you as he joined you on your daddy’s other arm.
Then, in quick motion, your daddy started turning and spinning, making everything blur. You held on tight, your dress trailing behind you in the air. “Daddy! You’re making me dizzy!”
He laughed, “Ain’t that the point? Y’all be too dizzy to see straight, much less walkin’ ‘round here smoochin’!”
“Uncle Clyde! My—my head hurts!” Tommy yelled out, but his giggles threaded through his words the whole time.
By the time your daddy stopped, your whole head was spinning. It was worse when he put you and Tommy onto solid ground, you teetering and barely able to walk. Even with your arms outstretched to balance yourself, it didn’t help.
As Tommy wobbled over to his parents, you stayed next to your daddy. His face turned and twisted, but you still smiled up at him. “I-it’s okay, you can visit me and Tommy’s house. We’ll have a room for you.”
Your daddy shivered. He reached back down to pick you up, kissing your cheek, “Long time ‘til then.”
“It’ll be my favorite color, just like I told you.”
“Hm, and who’s gonna paint it?”
“Tommy!” You leaned in close, whispering in his ear, “Why do you think I married him?”
Booming in laughter, your daddy squeezed you so tight your lungs felt like they were gonna pop out of your ears, “Smart girl, y’are!”
“I am!” You laughed with him. “I am Daddy!”
On the couch, your Auntie Lo cradled Tommy in her arms, who was playing with his ring, “Well then, who wants a reception? I made cake.”
You squinted, “Re… keption…”
“Reception baby girl,” Uncle Ray said, grunting as he stood. He took you from your daddy’s arms, taking you to the kitchen, “It’s when you celebrate the new couple.”
“There’s cake?”
“Oh, there’s cake, food, dancin’. Whole lotta other stuff. Speeches too.” He stopped right before the fridge, opening it, and from the cool air, pulled out a white cake.
You gasped at it, reaching for a lick. Uncle Ray held it out of your grasp, “Where’s your speech?”
“Gotta remind me ‘fore hand. What am I gonna say now?”
“You love me?” You tried.
Uncle Ray paused, glancing at you. He smiled again—he was smiling so much today—and watched your face. Then, he kissed your hair, “That’s a given baby girl. I love you too much for my words to say.”
You kissed his scratchy beard back, “I love you too, Uncle Ray.”
With that, both of you traveled to the dining room, where everyone else was waiting. Uncle Ray sat you next to Tommy. He served everyone a slice of cake, making sure you got the bigger piece. You ate it happily, the sugar melting on your tongue. Auntie Lo’s cakes were always the best.
Tommy ate his piece too fast, getting cream all over his mouth. You frowned when you looked over and saw that sight, taking your napkin and wiping it for him.
“You eat so much, Tommy.” You sigh, already tired.
He giggled, “Mama said I’m a growin’ boy.”
“Hm… sometimes, mamas lie to make kids feel better.”
Tommy’s fork stopped before he could take another bite, and he looked heartbroken. “You’re a liar. Mamas don’t lie.”
“They do Tommy.”
“No, they don’t! Don’t call my Mama a liar!”
“I did not!”
“Did too!”
Your daddy chuckled, seemingly gleeful, “Marital troubles? Already?”
Auntie Lo, sitting right next to him, swatted at his arm, fork still in hand. “Prayin’ on their downfall, and they’ve been together for only ten minutes.”
“I’m just pointin’ out what I’m seein’!” He defended himself.
“You gotta get used to it. The fightin’, the lovin’...” She swooned, placing her chin on her hand, watching you and Tommy eat, “They’re gonna be a good couple.”
“They’re babies. I thought we did this whole thin’ to… to boost imagination or some crap like that.” Your daddy growled, stabbing his slice of cake.
“Think of it as practice. Practice walkin’ her down the aisle, sendin’ ‘em off… it’s what’s comin’. Might as well prepare now.”
“I just got my daughter. She’s only four. I ain’t gotta worry ‘bout sendin’ her off ‘til she’s…” Your daddy glanced over you once, then twice, “...fifty. Yeah, that’s a good age, right Ray?”
“I’m not gettin’ into your whole ‘daddy and daughter’ dynamic.” Your daddy’s best friend deadpanned, “Lord gave me two sons ‘cause he knew I’d go crazy hoverin’ over a girl.”
“You already do with my daughter.”
“Well, there you go. Now, know I’d be a million times worse with my own.”
“Animals, you men are…” Auntie Lo rolled her eyes. On the other side of your daddy, she glanced at her husband, who had gone back to enjoying his slice of cake, “Now, when’s Joel comin’ home? School ended forty-five minutes ago, and I want him to have some cake ‘fore Tommy eats it all.”
“Mama!”
“It’s ‘cause you're a growin’ boy, Tommy.”
You giggle and drop your tone low so no one but Tommy could hear, “She’s lying. She’s saying you're a big boy.”
“Probably out playin’ with other kids his age.” Uncle Ray said before Tommy could squeal with frustration. “It’s good for him. Let him get some sun.”
“My son ain’t a sunflower.”
“Never said that.” He murmured with his mouth full of cake.
“Can’t a mama be concerned?” Auntie Lo exclaimed, waving her fork around, “He’s always on time comin’ home. Always wants to help me with the dishes as soon as he walks in. Now, we had a whole weddin’ and he ain’t even here! Ain’t you a bit worried? Clyde?”
“No, ‘cause Joel can handle himself.” Your daddy chimed in. He licked his fork clean. “You got a strong boy in your hands and he’s capable of anythin’. I know him.”
Uncle Ray spoke up, “He probably ain’t ever gonna tell you this—and it’ll break your heart—but he definitely hates doin’ those damn dishes. I know when my mama asked, I’d drag my feet the whole time. He proably havin’ fun and glad he’s not your servant.”
You had never seen Auntie Lo’s face pinch like that. She placed a hand on her chest, “How dare you! My son loves doin’ the dishes with me.”
“Sure, and I love your tuna…”
“What was that Miller? You talkin’ ‘bout my cookin’?”
“I said I love you. Think you’re gettin’ older, baby. Hearin’s out of whack.”
“How dare—!”
“Alright! Alright!” Your daddy lifted his thick forearms to stop Tommy’s mama, who had stood up, chair legs screeching against the wooden floor, “Let’s not set bad examples on the new couple, right?”
That seemed to get Auntie Lo to huff. She glanced over you and Tommy, then pointed to the living room, “You two can go. Play sweet, yes?”
You and Tommy shared a look, clearly communicating without a word. You shared little glances and expressions
You frowned. Your mama’s mad.
Tommy shrugged, then looked at his daddy, then the plate of cake before him. She always gets mad when Daddy says somethin’ ‘bout her food.
Oh… alright. You blinked, then craned your head to look over the table and see the living room. TV?
Tommy didn’t need to answer, just sliding off his chair and stumbling to the living room. You made a choked noise, about to call him a cheater, but you realized he probably would beat you by the time you got the words out.
Instead, you followed him, leaving the grownups to talk about food and Joel. Tommy was already plopped on the couch, holding the remote with both hands. He had flicked it on by the time you got up and over to him, lying yourself over his body.
Tommy held you tight as Sesame Street came onto the screen, the Cookie Monster speaking in garbled words. You felt Tommy’s hand pat your head, silently absorbed. No one yelled at either of you to shut the TV off, so you were more than happy.
Unfortunately, Tommy didn’t let you listen peacefully. His tapping became harder and harder until he was calling your name and trying to get your attention.
You groaned, then, looking up at him, chin on his chest, “Tommy, what?”
Tommy’s brows furrowed in thought, “Do y’think we’ll get married?”
“Married? We just did—”
“When we’re grownups,” Tommy questioned. His head tilted when he looked at you, “Mama was talkin’ ‘bout our weddin’... and I don’t want that.”
You hum, “I don’t either. I married you ‘cause you’re my friend, not husband.”
“And you’re not my wife. I haven’t met her yet!”
“But… I’m your best friend, right?” Your bottom lip jutted out, a sudden wave of sadness creeping over you. Would Tommy leave you once he had a wife? Would you not be his best friend because girls and boys could only be wife and husband? “I want you to be my best friend forever and ever!”
“You are! You will be!” Tommy’s mouth had mimicked yours, unshed tears in his eyes. He wiped them away with his chubby fist. “When I’m married, you’ll be my bestest friend ever. We’ll still play soldiers in my room, and dress up in yours.”
“Will your mama be mad if we don’t get married?”
“Mama gets mad when Daddy leaves his socks on the floor. She’ll be too busy to care.” Tommy smiled, wide and toothy. “And… and I think we’re way cooler as friends.”
You smiled too. If Tommy said everything would be alright, then it would have to be. All you knew was playing with Tommy, outside and inside. Everywhere you went, everyone knew you and Tommy came in one. You liked that a lot.
You touched your ring, “Then… then this is a friend ring.”
Tommy nodded hard, “Best friend ring.” Then—as far as his arms could wrap around your head—he hugged you tight. You could stay like that forever, trapped in his arms.
Sesame Street went on episode after episode. You had started mixing up what was happening: what the puppets were saying, what they were acting. All you had was Tommy and you and the sounds of your daddy and Uncle Ray talking. Water from the kitchen made itself known, a familiar noise.
It was only when the air suddenly smelled more like the outside, and the front door creaked open, did you stir. Tommy was the first to poke his head away from the TV. His face brightened instantly.
“Joel!”
He bounced up and off the couch, forcing your body to sit upright. Tommy disappeared, while you struggled to reach the floor with your foot. When you did, you made your way to the brothers, the open door letting in all sunlight and tweeting of birds.
Joel’s hair was longer than normal—he hadn’t gotten his usual haircut this month—so it covered his face a bit more. And, he was taller than you and Tommy, a good amount too.
Tommy shook his brother, “Joel! Look at this!” He flashed his ring, “We got married! See, see!”
“That’s… that’s good…” His voice was soft, almost reserved.
You stepped forward, eyebrows pinched together. “You missed our wedding. I thought… I thought you come back earlier than—”
“I’m sorry.”
You blinked, “What?”
“I didn’t mean to… to miss it,” His voice was strangely wobbly. When you looked up at him more, you saw grass stains on his arms, and you saw leaves littering his hair. Even his clothes were roughed up, the neck stretched and loose.
His backpack was missing. The green thing that was way too big for his body, that made him so easy to spot while he walked down the street, was gone. Worst of all, his knee was skinned, the flesh raw and red. Tears filled his eyes, and his bottom lip wobbled.
He avoided your eyes, hand covering his face, making it clear to you that he did. But before
This wasn’t right.
Panic filled you, and you took Joel’s hand in yours “Joel? What happened? Why are you hurt?”
“Hurt, who’s hurt?”
Joel’s head snapped up, and so did yours and Tommy’s. Auntie Lo’s heels clicked and took her to stand in the entryway, hands covered in soapy, yellow gloves. But she instantly latched onto Joel’s face, his whole body, before her own words came tumbling out.
“Joel? Joel, where’s your backpack baby—and your hair… did you tumble ‘round?” She brought her covered hand to her mouth when her eyes flickered down, “Lord, your knee!”
In that moment, Joel’s wet eyes couldn’t contain themselves. He rushed past you and Tommy, soft wails leaving him. Auntie Lo caught him instantly and, with a strength you didn’t know she had, picked up six-year-old Joel and placed him on her hip.
“Oh, baby, what happened?! Why’re you cryin’ like this?”
“M-mama, I lost the backpack!” Joel buried his face into her neck, holding her tight.
“It’s just a backpack, baby, I can live without it.” Then, Auntie Lo’s went quiet and low. “But what’s this with your knee? When did you—”
“I’m sorry… I thought I could walk a different way home but—but they wouldn’t stop followin’ me! But they wouldn’t!” Stubby and fat tears fell over his cheeks, “I’m sorry Mama, so—”
“They…?”
Now, you had never seen Auntie Lo mad. Uncle Ray was the one who got red in the face when things got under his skin, like when Tommy didn’t listen to anything he said, or when he worked late. Your daddy also got mad quickly. At the TV when his favorite team lost, or when he stubbed his toe. He’d jump around and curse, then limp away.
But, she didn’t look mad.
No, Joel and Tommy’s mama looked terrifying.
Without another word, she took Joel away, carrying him and leaving only water droplets behind. She disappeared around the corner to the dining room, and you and Tommy followed, feet pattering against the creaky wood.
Uncle Ray and your daddy sat at the dining table, laughing at something. They looked up when she came into view, and stopped completely when their eyes landed on Joel. Uncle Ray shot up first, rounding the table and coming to Auntie Lo’s side. His hand pushed Joel’s hair off his face.
“Lorraine, why’s Joel like this? Joel?” He tried to get his eldest to look at him, but nothing worked. Tommy sniffled beside you, clearly upset. It hurt you to see Tommy like this, but it hurt worse seeing Joel so sad.
“Tell him, Joel.” Auntie Lo insisted. When Joel shook his head, her voice came back stronger, “You tell your daddy what happened.”
“Mama, I don’t wanna say it!”
“Tell me what son?” Uncle Ray suddenly had a more panicked look on his face, “Someone hurt you? Someone bein’ mean to you? Someone—”
Joel’s voice came out soft and weak, “I tried to be big and stron’, but I couldn’t.”
“Please, Joel, tell me what happened—”
“I was comin’ back home.” He finally cracked, the tears steadily tracking down his face, “A-and then the big boys followed me. They called me names, so I tried to go down another street, but they knew where I lived. T-they took my backpack, Daddy. They pushed me. It hurts, it hurts so much…”
Uncle Ray didn’t wait. He took Joel from Auntie Lo and put him in his arms. He cradled the back of Joel’s head, bouncing him like he was a baby again. “Names son, gimme names.”
“I’ll get in more trouble.”
“No.” Your daddy was suddenly by Uncle Ray’s side, hand on Joel’s back. “You’re safe, boy, ain’t nobody gonna hurt you anymore. Okay? I’ll kill ‘em ‘fore they do. Now, you tell me who did this to you so I can make sure it don’t happen ‘gain.”
“You promise.”
“Uncle Clyde promises with all his heart.”
Joel hesitated, but he managed to open his mouth, “T-travis Hall, and his friends. They’re the older boys.”
That was all Auntie Lo needed. She stormed off, not bothering to stop for anything. Not even Tommy’s soft cries steered her to the still-open front door. Uncle Ray noticed, his head whipping around to his wife.
Before he could get the words out, your daddy took Joel from his arms, letting Uncle Ray chase after Auntie Lo. He almost tripped over you, trying to reach her.
His hand clamped around her wrist before she could reach the bowl that had the jingling keys. “Lo, think ‘fore you do anythin’—”
“Think?! You want me to think?!” She shouted back at him, “My son’s bein’ bullied! My son! Our son! Stealin’ his backpack, callin’ him thin’s, pushin’ him?! How can you tell me to think rationally when we shouldn’t be?!”
“I ain’t sayin’ let’s not do somethin’, but we got the kids here! Look at ‘em!” His eyes flickered down to you and Tommy, “They’re watchin’.”
“Miller, you cannot expect me to just sit here and wait for the next day to talk to someone ‘bout this.”
“Breath, baby, you’re gonna blow your vein out—”
“Let me!” Auntie Lo pushed at his chest, “They’re already mean to him ‘nough, but ‘course, we can’t do anythin’ ‘cause ‘kids’ll be kids.’ But this? They’re followin’ him home, attackin’ him?! I’mma—I’mma—the Lord above and all His angels couldn’t stop me from—from killin’ anyone who knew ‘bout this!”
“Don’t be talkin’ like that! Wishin’ death on someone ain’t like you—”
“Well, this is what happens when you touch my fuckin’ son!”
It was all too much. You hated every part of this. All this yelling, all this fighting. Tommy crying beside you didn’t help at all, his face pinched and red.
It was like a weight was on your chest. You hated fighting. You wanted to beg them to stop fighting, to be happy, and help Joel. But they weren’t.
It was like home.
It was like when you were upstairs, supposed to be asleep, but peaking down through the rails and hearing your daddy and mama fighting. About the late nights, the stinky-smelling cups, about the ‘bars.’
You wanted everyone to be quiet.
You whimpered, wiping your face, your ring digging into your skin. Your wedding didn’t feel happy like Auntie Lo told you it would be. It was terrible, horrible. You hated it. You hated weddings and grown-ups, and you hated all these loud noises.
You wanted to go home.
You wanted it to be quiet—
“Shut the hell up! Both of you!”
In an instant, all the noise that made your head spin stopped. It died in that moment when the shout behind you boomed out. When you turned, your daddy’s chest was heaving. He held Joel tighter to his chest, and his eyes were meaner than you had ever seen before.
Especially toward Uncle Ray and Auntie Lo.
“Both of you, look outside yourselves for two goddame seconds! The kids, look at ‘em! You got the young ones overwhelmed, and Joel is still hurt. Have a fuckin’ plan ‘fore you start throwin’ hate ‘round.”
“Clyde—”
“I won’t stand by it! Tell me to do somethin’, and I’ll do it. Gimme somethin’ to work with. But senseless shoutin’ ain’t doin’ nothin’ but stressin’ ‘em out. So, if you’re gonna fight, then do it outside so you can leave the kids with some quiet.”
No one had any response. Not Auntie Lo or Uncle Ray. Only their lips were pressed tight, and Auntie Lo had tears running down her face. Your daddy didn’t care, which was so strange. He always cared about his friends. He only called your name, telling you to come to him.
You did, taking Tommy’s hand as you led him to your daddy. His face was stricken with guilt, but he merely shook his head.
“Go to the bedroom, both of ya.” He nodded, his voice back to that soft tone, “C’mon, let's go.”
“But Uncle Clyde…” Tommy started, pulling at his pant leg, “...What ‘bout Mama and Daddy?”
Your daddy looked back at his friends, and from how short you were, you couldn’t see his face. But when he looked back down at Tommy and scooped him up into his other arm, he was that warm smile again.
“They’ll take care of everythin’. They’re gonna drive over to the school and create a ruckus there. Just lemme take care of you three, alright? Can I do that?”
“You can…” Tommy nodded, wrapping his arm around your daddy’s neck. They tangled with Joel’s, but if your daddy felt the weight, he didn’t speak.
Instead, he took the boys and you up the stairs. You struggled to keep up, using the wall to help carry you up the big stairs. You could only hear the front door slamming shut by the time your feet hit the top floor.
Your daddy placed Tommy beside you, and when he stood straight up, he fixed Joel on his hip, “You two, stay here for a bit, okay? I’mma get Joel to clean up in the bathroom.”
“But—I wanna be with Joel.” Your best friend started, but your daddy shook his head.
“I’mma talk to him, alright? You two can… can sit in your room. Yeah. Yeah, I’ll come get you guys soon after.”
“Yes, Daddy.” You said for both you and Tommy.
Your daddy smiled at that, then turned and took Joel to the bathroom, and clicked the door shut, leaving you and Tommy all alone. Tommy sniffled, and you turned to him. Fresh tears were about to fall, but you used your fingers to wipe them away.
“Do you wanna hug?” You asked.
Tommy nodded, and he held you tight. Both of you rocked for a moment, but found your ground. You breathed in everything Tommy, just as you did every time you hugged him. But this time, you made sure to soak up all his sadness, like a sponge.
When you pulled apart, Tommy took your hand and led you down the hallway to his room.
It was dark and gloomy, and the curtains were pulled over the windows. All his dinosaur stuff was packed close to the wall, the room freshly cleaned. You could see the lines on the carpet below your feet. His room was as familiar as your own. You knew where every book, toy, and stolen item was.
Tommy didn’t try to open it, only flopping onto his bed. You joined him, nuzzling into the sheets alongside him. You closed your eyes, getting comfortable, before opening them. Tommy was already looking up at you.
“What?” You asked again. Tommy looked away.
“I didn’t know people were mean to Joel.”
“I didn’t too.”
“Why would people do that? It’s not nice.”
“I don’t know. Your mama says bein’ mean to others means Santa’ll steal your gifts. Do they not care about their gifts?”
“I don’t think they do.” Tommy flipped over so that he was on his back and facing the fan above, “‘Cause… ‘cause bein’ mean isn’t good, and Santa hates mean people.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, the elves make a list and tell him. That’s what Mama told me.”
“Your mama’s so smart.” Neither of you spoke for one, two seconds before you did again, “I’ve never seen her so mad.”
“Me too. She used bad words too. She never does that. She says bad words are, ‘of the Devil.’”
“Who’s the Devil?”
“I dunno, but I guess it really likes bad words.”
“Then, your mama must be so, so mad, cause she listened to the Devil.”
“She scared me when she said that.” Tommy shivered, “The Devil must’ve gotten scared, too, ‘cause Mama never says bad words.”
“I know, you told me.”
“Oh… I did…”
Silence once more. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. You couldn’t call for your daddy or find anything to play with. The TV’s chatter floated up the stairs, but you were too lazy to go back downstairs and watch anything. Even talking to Tommy seemed like a lot.
So, you reached into your dress’s pockets—you loved this dress—and pulled out your other ring. You played with the green thing, slipping it off and on your own fingers. It was way too big for you; it was even loose on your thumb.
For some reason, the green reminded you of Joel.
Joel.
You didn’t like how he looked when he came inside the house. You wanted to be happy with him and tell him all about your wedding, and how you and Tommy were best friends married, not wife and husband. How was it cool and very possible.
But you couldn’t. That look on his face was the worst thing you had seen. You wished you had hugged him instead of just standing there. Joel didn’t like you that much; he only really was around because he was Tommy’s brother. But that didn’t mean you had to ignore him.
You hoped that you could tell him that—
“Hello? You two in here?”
You popped your head up, and your daddy’s head came in through the crack in the door. He smiled soft, and you swore, there was wet tracks running down his face.
“We’re here. Being good.”
He chuckled, “I’m sure. Say, you want anythin’ to eat? I’m ‘bout to heat some milk for Joel, do you—”
“I want milk!” Tommy shot up, sliding off his bed and toddling to your daddy’s, “I can help Uncle Clyde.”
“Well, that’s great. Sugar Cubes, you want somethin’?”
You were about to nod. You were very hungry. But the feel of the bigger ring in your hand stopped you. You looked back down at it. Even with no light, it glittered in your face, calling to you.
Suddenly, you weren’t hungry at all.
You shook your head, “No Daddy.”
“Not even a sandwich?”
“No! I mean, no thank you. I’m very full.”
He furrowed his brows, trying to understand what you were doing, but he couldn’t find it. Tommy was already squeezing past him to get out into the hallway. All your daddy could do was sigh, then accept it.
“Fine, but if we make some amzin’ sandwiches, you ain’t stealin’ a bit from me!” He said while turning away. You sat alone on the bed, watching Tommy and your Daddy disappear. You didn’t move an inch until you were sure the steps on the stairs had completely disappeared.
Then, you moved.
Quickly, you made your way back down the hallway, back to the very bathroom Joel had disappeared to. The light was on, and there was the sound of water splashing.
Without thinking too hard, you knocked on the door. The water noises died instantly.
“Uncle Clyde?” Joel’s voice floated through.
“It’s not my daddy. It’s me!” You smiled even though Joel couldn’t see you. “I wanted to visit.”
“Oh. Um… I’m in the bathtub.”
“Is it a warm one?” You asked, bouncing on your toes, “I love warm baths too. Me and Tommy take them all the time. But I don’t like it when he splashes me.”
“It’s warm.”
“Mhm, I like that.” You barely paused before you continued, “Can I come inside? I wanna see you.”
“Um… I dunno. Your daddy went to get milk for me. What if he comes back and sees you inside with your dress on? It might get wet.”
“We have a fancy dryer. It dries stuff super fast. So, I’ll have Daddy put it in if it does.” You countered, “Please, Joel? Just for… for ten—no, five minutes! Just five.”
Joel didn’t say anything again for a bit. It went on for so long, you thought about knocking again to see if he had fallen asleep, but he had beaten you to it. The sound of something moving across metal rang out, before his words came out again.
“You can come in now.” Was all he said.
You took that and squeaked, trying to reach the knob. It jolted, and opened for you. The bathroom was bathed in a yellow light, and the smell of soap covered you completely. Joel and Tommy’s bathroom hadn’t changed since you last went inside, when you got caught in the rain and Auntie Lo cleaned you and Tommy squeaky clean.
The bathtub has been covered by the blue curtain pulled tight that hid Joel completely. Yet, you could see his shadows moving on the other side.
You stepped inside, and took a seat on the little stepstool beside the tub, “Did you like my dress?”
“It was alright.”
“Alright.”
“...you looked nice.”
You beamed even though he couldn’t see your face, “Then, you would really liked my wedding.”
“Did you have fun?”
“So much fun,” You kicked your legs, “But Tommy wanted you to be his… his best man. Your daddy was telling us about how my daddy was his best man, so Tommy wanted you. Then your mama told us you had school so it wouldn’t work.”
“I would’ve liked to been there.”
You squeezed your hands together, the extra ring and your own digging into your palm. “I missed you Joel. And… and I’m sorry you got hurt. Those boys weren’t being nice.”
Joel didn’t say anything back, so you continued.
“When you cried, I felt so bad. My heart started squeezing and I didn’t like that. I hate it when you cry because you never cry!”
“I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m sorry.”
“No! I would cry too if someone took my stuff.” You placed your hand on the cool white of the tub, where the curtain didn’t hide it. Your face got hot when you thought about Joel’s missing backpack, “Don’t worry, I’ll find it! When your parents come back, then I’ll go to Travis’ house and steal it back! myself”
The shadows behind the curtains moved, and from behind them, the side of Joel’s head popped out. You could only see his wet, brown hair, his eyes surrounded by a light red. “Don’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“‘Cause… ‘cause Travis is a big kid and so are his friends. You’re younger than me too, so it isn’t your job.”
“My job?”
Joel shook his head, looking away, “It isn’t your job to protect me. I can be a big boy too.”
“But I protect Tommy. I saved him from a bird once! Remember the big one, and I chased it away with a stick while it took his chips? I got the chips back too!” You press your lips together tight, “So I can help you!”
“Those are all your friends. And Tommy’s your husband now. You protect him ‘cause you love him.”
“Yeah, he is, but he’s a best friend husband. We love each other but not the kissy kind.”
There was a pause before Joel spoke again, “Then how do you love me? Like a best friend?”
You tilted your head, “No, you aren’t my best friend.”
“Am I your friend?”
“No… not really.”
“Oh,” Joel’s voice was slightly more disappointed, and he turned away from the curtain, but your hand reached through the sliver and clamped onto his wet arm. The water was warm, you could tell from here. Heat surrounded your little hand, but nothing was hotter than Joel’s skin.
What was Joel to you?
Well, Joel was the older kid who followed you and Tommy around. Joel to you was always quiet and looking around, but you knew he was always thinking. You liked that he was quiet. Your daddy was never quiet. Your mama was never quiet. Tommy was never quiet. Maybe that’s why you didn’t love Tommy like that.
Maybe that’s why Joel was so different.
You smiled wide at the thought and the new idea that had sprung into your head.
“If you’re not my best friend, or even my friend, then you can be my husband!”
When you thought about it, your daddy always said that when he told bad jokes, it was usually pin-drop silent. Or, a couple of awkward laughs. But he didn’t care. Your daddy was the type of man to take all his chances to make others laugh.
You wanted Joel to laugh, too. If he laughed, then he would feel all better.
Instead, the screech of the loops of the curtain pulled toward the right, showing a pink and panicked Joel. You squeaked, covering your eyes. But his voice was loud.
“But you’re married!”
You shook your head, whole body moving with you, “It’s best friend married!”
“You have a ring!”
“I can take it off.”
“You’re—” But Joel didn’t finish his sentence. He merely sank deeper into the water, his mouth covered and bubbles rising as he sighed.
“I’m what?”
Joel rose slightly from the water so he could speak, “You don’t even have a ring for me.”
You beamed, removing your hands from your face. Then, you slipped off your ring. Tommy wouldn’t mind too much. You held out both rings, “I do! I’m prepared.”
Joel blinked, then glanced down at them. He pointed to the smaller one. “I’m ‘posed to give it to you?”
“That’s a proposal.”
“Is that a new word?”
“Yeah, your mama taught it to me.”
He took it from you, careful not to let it slip into the water. He looked over it very carefully, then swallowed. His face had gotten a bit pinker.
“Don’t you wanna wait a bit more? I-I can get out and put on some good clothes.”
“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” You shrugged. You held out your left hand, wiggling your fingers at him. His eyes traced them before sliding up to you.
He turned to you, water sloshing around. Joel was still chest level in the water, but his arms were over the edge. You could see him pausing and thinking before taking your offered hand.
“Will… will you marry me?”
You grinned, “I will, Joel Miller.”
The plastic went on as smoothly as it did before, only catching on the knuckle. Your heart thudded so fast, like a bird. You weren’t this happy when Tommy did this for you. This was so much different, and it made you feel a million times happier.
You stared down at your left hand, head light and floaty. Then, you looked back up at him, and took his ring.
“Will you marry me?”
“I… I will.”
And with that, you took his left hand and slipped it on the finger next to his pinky. His went on so easily, so willingly. You heard Joel’s breath stop, then start again. And when you let go, he wouldn’t stop staring.
You and him sat in the quiet for a bit. Neither of you dared say anything that might ruin the moment. It was only when he looked up at you, and his eyes were shiny.
“Will you protect me now?” Was all he asked.
You slipped off the stool, coming to stand next to the tub. You took his slippery face in your hands. Then, before those tears fell—tears that you knew would make you cry—you brushed them away.
“I’mma steal a hundred backpacks for you, Joel.” You promised, “No one is ever gonna hurt you again. I’mma protect you, because you’re my husband.”
“Really? I’m your husband?”
“The bestest husband ever.”
He laughed at that. The first laugh you heard all day from him. It was light like the bells of a church. You liked it a lot, and hoped he would never stop smiling.
“Then,” Joel tilted his head into your palm, “If you’re gonna protect me, I’mma protect you more. No one is ever gonna hurt you, not ever. And, I’mma steal a thousand backpacks for you.”
You frowned, “You know I can’t count that high yet. Not fair.”
“It’s okay. When you catch up, then we’ll take a thousand backpacks each.”
A smile sprouted on your lips. “I like that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” You leaned in, and unlike Tommy, you kissed Joel’s wet nose, “Let’s steal things together.”
Just then, the creak of the door tore your eyes from Joel, yet it wasn’t enough to take your hands off him. It was the choked gasp and the clatter of something against the counter that made your hands slip.
When you turned, you saw your daddy, and his face was flushed. A sandwich and a glass of milk sat next to the sink, while his hand clenched his shirt, where his heart was.
“What’s goin’ on in here?” Your daddy stammered, “Sugar Cubes! Joel’s takin’ a bath.”
“I know, Daddy.” You moved your hands to loop around Joel’s neck, pulling him tight for a hug. “But he was gonna get wrinkly if I let him sit so long.”
“So?! Baby, he’s—just c’mere. Your dress’ll get all wet.” He flicked his fingers, telling you to come closer.
“I can’t; he’s my husband.”
“Husband?!”
“Yeah, my husband.”
“But I thought… I thought you got married to Tommy?!”
You shook your head. You were gonna teach your daddy something so clever, “Daddy, me and Tommy are best friends married. You can do that, really. So, that means, me and Joel are married. See?” You lifted your left hand and took Joel’s hand in yours. Together, you showed off both, making sure he saw.
Another weird sound left your daddy: “That’s… that’s somethin’ baby girl.”
Joel muttered beside you, “Sorry, Uncle Clyde… I didn’t mean to let her in, I just… I just got lonely, that’s all.”
Your daddy’s eyes softened, lips tightening and loosening. It was like he was pausing in real time, like when the TV would stop working. He just clapped his hands together, slightly awkward, but he kept his smile.
“Alright, alright, you guys can be… be married. Just… just do your Daddy a favor, yeah Sugar Cubes?”
“I can do you a favor.”
“Don’t tell your Uncle Ray ‘bout this—both of you.”
“Why? Uncle Ray should know.” You frowned.
“No! I mean, no, he doesn’t gotta know. It’s… better that way.”
“Why?” It was Joel’s turn to speak up.
“Not that it’s any of your business, son, but I gotta lotta money on the line. Keep it between us three, and eat your damn sandwich.”
❛ ━━━━･❪ 🎕 ❫ ･━━━━ ❜
“Could I pour you some more wine, ma’am?”
You smiled, placing your hand on your chin and staring up at the waiter. “Yes, please.”
You watched as the blood-red liquid splashed through your glass. You traced the waterline rise more and more until you nodded. The sounds of soft jazz surrounded you, accompanied by the scraping of utensils against porcelain.
The waiter drew back, a small quirk of his lip in a professional manner. “Could I take your order now? Or are you waiting for someone?”
Shaking your head, you swirled your wine glass, “Just me.” You looked over the menu one more time before ordering. He nodded, took your menu, and turned on his heel.
All that did was leave you alone by the window of the large restaurant. Your coat hung over the edge of the chair, thick and lined with fur. You had spotted it while walking to work, the mannequin’s shoulder covered with brown.
The amount of money you made in November was enough to pay for the rest of the year for your parents' medical bills. Even if it was only two months, it was like a weight being lifted from your shoulders. Through Michelle, you got a nice apartment in a high rise—and apartment building she owned, of course.
When you thought about it, a month in New York didn’t seem real. December in New York was worse. That meant, that you had been living, breathing, and working here.
That meant, over a month without Joel.
Purposefully, you took the stem of your glass, swirled, and took two big sips of your wine. You shouldn’t be thinking about him. You had come out tonight to not think about anything.
It was one of the rare days that you had nothing to do. Every contract, proposal, and deal had been taken care of by your team and at work. There was nothing for you to mull over by yourself in the lonely apartment high above the city that was now your home.
So, you dressed up nice—long, flowy shirt with a skirt and fleece tights—and dragged yourself into a michelle star restaurant. A reservation, you didn’t need. Having Emma merely saying your name was enough for a table in their best spot reserved for you.
Looking out the window, you took the city in. From this angle, you could see the ever-winking lights from the city that never slept. Even with the traffic down on the streets, it was all blocked by the ceiling tall windows.
What drew you most, was the snow.
Snow, that fell so softly from the sky. Snow always came early in December, like now. It would get worse during January, February, even March, but now, it gracefully flew, leaving the first marks onto the world once more. Really, it was a double-edged sword. Either freeze your fingers off, or see all the buildings cover. Either realize that the snow came from the dirty water, or remain ignorant.
But you loved it regardless. Snow and you meshed very seamlessly. The first time it called your name, was your finals during your first semester of college.
Hours, locked at your desk. And of course, even though NYU got millions on millions of dollars, they couldn’t keep their heaters running. It was the worst, when all the heaters broke in your dorm and you were stuck there.
You were going crazy. All these concepts that you swore you got, were suddenly slipping away like your breath. Tears of frustration had budded in your eyes, and no matter how hard you wiped them away, they came back.
So, you had dumped your books on your desk, got your stuff, rushed out into the snow, and ran down the streets of New York City.
You ran with tears streaming down your face, feeling more stupid than you had your entire life. You wanted to be anywhere but that fucking university. You wanted to be free.
There was no way you could have this now, but you had found a good-sized building and took the fire escape up to the top. The bars had frozen your fingers worse, even though you pulled your sleeves the best you could over your hands. You probably even slipped once or twice.
When you reached the top, the wind was stronger than before, the snow more violent. Here, it whipped at your hair and pulled at your scarf.
You simply sobbed on the roof, unable to comprehend how you went from such a good, quick learner to someone who had to fight tooth and nail just to get something in your head.
Snow had fallen all over you and frozen your tears. It forced your brain to halt and think for a goddamn second. You went from crying to sniffling to staring over the glittering lights, and the little people down below reaching for the snow.
You mimicked their motions, palm up and letting a couple of flakes lie against your warm skin. They melted almost instantly, but they stay imprinted on your mind.
A snowflake’s job was so simple. Form, fall, and melt. All they had to do was be pretty and exist. Why couldn’t you do the same?
Though, what was the point of microanalyzing a fucking snowflake? You and a snowflake were two completely different things, and there was no reason to compare the two. But it was much better than letting your finals consume and take you over.
You had spent the next two hours on the roof, only coming back down when you knew that you had calmed down and could focus.
Then, you got the highest score out of your entire class. You had set the curve.
You took another sip of your wine, your hair brushing against your skin. It was easy to slip into your past and everything that came with it. You could talk for hours about your shitty childhood, how it wasn’t really shitty because if the person who was doing the most damage was not even there, did it really count?
You could talk about how you had such a fucked up view on relationships. You could talk about how much you had lost in life and how much you had gained at the cost of it all.
Everything you had was at the cost of something soft in you. And you had just gotten back with Joel. The late nights sleeping in together? You would’ve never dared to do that here. The soft kisses in public? Any form of public affection was a weapon in the hands of the media.
Living life on the edge, suddenly getting a taste, then being pulled away, was the worst.
Your food came out, warm against your skin. You thanked the server, who made their grand display of it all. When you placed your napkin on your lap, alone once more when the server left, you ate in silence.
Cut after cut, you tried to savor the food and understand the chef’s mind. Food for people of this skill becomes less of a taste and more of an art form. Smaller portions meant more control over how every detail is displayed. You liked that sort of stuff. You could appreciate passion.
But you also loved the messy, family-sized food with secret spices that filled you past your limit. Those were where memories reside best. Places like this weren’t that.
The sound of chatter toward the interior of the restaurant caught your attention. When you turned, you saw a family. Well off, for sure. A father, mother, and daughter. The little girl couldn’t be more than ten. She kicked her legs, chewing her food while reading.
It wasn’t her that drew you in. It was, rather, the couple.
They held hands and subconsciously leaned in closer. Maybe they couldn’t tell, but you could. The way he tilted her head toward hers, the way she always faced him when she had something to say.
Never once in your life had you gotten an example of that.
If this were your life, it would be two at that table. It would be that girl reading alone, content with having nothing, while her daddy tried to make her laugh. And it would work, though, only long enough to distract them from the hole that was once a woman.
You tore your eyes away. It wasn’t good thinking about your mom. You shouldn’t. You pay her bills, you talked to her twice, that should be enough to move on, but it isn’t.
To forgive her, it wasn’t.
Because forgiving her would mean making up thirty-four years of love. Thirty-four years of showing up. Thirty-four years of conversation.
And it would never happen.
You shouldn’t expect much. High expectations ruin anyone. Let her go, let this woman go because she never had much of an impact anyway.
You looked back and felt sick. The mother had turned to her daughter and stroked her cheek. And like habit—because of course, it was habit—the daughter booped her mother’s nose, reaching up and not caring if she would ruin her makeup. The mother only laughed and hugged her daughter.
That life should’ve been yours.
You gripped your fork tighter.
That life would never be yours.
Your server passed by, intent on serving another table, but you stopped him in time, “I’m sorry, could I have the check please?”
He looked over your plate of barely eaten food, “Did something not suit your tastes, ma’am?”
You shook your head, “No, everything was wonderful. Please give my compliments to the chef. I’m just… tired tonight, is all.”
“Of course. It was an honor having you dine with us. I know the chef was excited to have you try his food; it’s been something he’s looked forward to his whole career.”
“To have me eat his food?”
The server nodded, “Why, of course. You doing anything is a sensation.” You couldn’t reply, eyes drifting off past him. The server noticed and counted, “I’ll have the check given to you shortly.”
“Thank you…” You whispered, but they weren’t heard because he had left. You cleared your throat, finding your purse and fiddling with everything inside like you were looking for something.
The check came back, you paid, waited for your card, and when you got it back, you stood, slipped into your coat, and left. All the staff looked at you and slightly nodded in respect. When you passed, some whispered to each other, and others had grins so wide it must have hurt.
You felt like a fish in a bowl. You had always been that closely examined. But being out of practice, it just felt itchy.
The night of New York City took you over once you stepped outside. Snow fell harder now, pushing flakes over your body. Sensible people around you walked with umbrellas. They walked in pairs, in groups, laughing the night away in each other’s safety.
Alone and unprotected, you walked to your new apartment building.
You would rather be by yourself in the comfort of four walls than out here for everyone to see.
Lucky for you, the walk was short enough that you found yourself finding the red canopy that hung over the entrance. The building was old, but one of those renovated ones that held modern insides. You got underneath the cover and opened the door.
Golden light and warmth flooded your entire system, and you made your way not to the two elevators that lined the wall opposite the front desk. But rather, the lone elevator that went to the top. To your penthouse.
No music played as you entered, only the soft ding as you pressed P and twisted your key. It was only then that the doors closed, and you started ascending the floors. You kept your eyes trained on the corner, willing yourself to be small. When your elevator got to the floor, it was irritating to see.
The two-story windows greeted you, including all the open space. The living room was sunken into the ground, with steps leading to the kitchen. But none of that matters compared to the massive, circular staircase that led upstairs to the foyer that wrapped around the room, leading to your bedroom.
Beautiful, yes, but lifeless to live in.
You threw your coat over the back of the couch and kicked off your heels. You didn’t bother looking where they went. You took the stairs up and to your bedroom, to your bathroom, where you stripped bare and forced yourself to take a hot, scalding shower.
You washed your hair, rubbed your skin raw, trying to purge yourself of all these thoughts. These bouts of seasonal depression needed to go away. That’s the one thing you hated about snow in New York, more than anything. It was how raw it opened you up and spit you out.
Maybe this was some stupid kind of sexual frustration. That had to be it. Maybe you hadn’t touched yourself enough that your body hated you, and was playing mind games in revenge.
You scoffed. Really? Was masturbation the way to let it all out? That was so, so stupid.
That’s what you said, until you had finished showering, put on a green robe, taken care of your skincare, taken yourself to your dresser, pulled out your vibrator, and lay in bed.
It was pink and ridiculous. Slightly curved, and you weren’t even sure how it worked. You threw the box out before you could see. You bought it two weeks ago and never used it because it felt too shameful.
But now, with your body warm, and the bed even warmer, the sheets called for you, promising to be soft against your skin, but not as soft as the robe. The only cold part was your vibrator in your palm.
Swallowing, you parted your lips, your fingers slipping in easily. You wet them, tongue swirling, before bringing your hand down between your legs. You hissed at the contact, at the feel of your slick already glossing over your slit.
You prepped yourself, your two fingers slipping through your folds. It was already too much, but not just the feeling, but your heart.
But you tried to stamp it away, pushing a finger through. A soft moan left your mouth, echoing through the dark room. You pumped yourself, feeling your walls clamp tight.
You tried to keep your mind shut, your eyes closed too. You kept your focus on the pleasure building between your thighs and how you kept on losing it. You would catch it, and when you tried stroking that spot, it was like it disappeared.
With a flick of a button, the vibrator whirred to life in your other hand. It was light and easy, so you clicked again and again till it started buzzing your hand completely. A gasp left you when you pressed it against your swollen clit.
That tightness built and coiled tighter than before, burning your skin alive. Your head threw back into the sheets, and your hand that had just been filling you up—which had become useless compared to your vibrator—tore at your robe. You pushed your breast up, and your thumb found your nipple.
But nothing was working. No petting, no touching, no filling, and no vibration compared to…
It wasn’t him. It wasn’t his hands, thick and long, that took over your body and moved you with the utmost care. It wasn’t his voice, murmuring in your ear how pretty you looked, how beautiful you were. It wasn’t his eyes. Those goddamn eyes, that spoke more about his thoughts than any words could.
None of this was him.
You pulled the vibrator back, gasping for a breath you couldn’t catch. Pushing yourself up, you propped your body up on your elbows, staring down at your body.
And a terrifying, horrible, hair-raising thought crossed your mind.
What would Joel Miller do to you?
If this room were his, with it’s darken wood and that lazy fan above, how would he lay you down? If this bed was his, the white sheets that you slept in so comfortably in, how would he take care of you?
What would Joel Miller do to you?
Your lip trembled, trying to curse him, but your body didn’t care. Even without him, you were reacting like he was. Like he was standing at the edge of the bed, watching you in his color while all you wanted was him.
You hated it. These two feelings were tearing you apart. The hate you felt for him lying, for feeling like a fool in trying when really, you never truly knew everything. But there was this other feeling of having your mind so tuned in on everything that was him.
You wanted nothing more than to get rid of Joel, but you wanted to keep him a part of you forever.
Your body pushed itself up against the headboard, cool against your skin. Your shoulder was bare, the robe slipping off to expose yourself.
Staring into the dark, you thought of him telling you what to do. You wanted nothing more than to have someone take the weight of a million choices off your shoulders. That’s what Joel did best. He fucked, ate, and loved you without making it a choice for you to figure out.
Your legs parted on their own once more, but this time it was for him. Or rather, this version of Joel in your head. You could feel him over you, his bare body against you, purring in your ear how good you felt. How much he loved seeing you like this.
A whimper fell from your lips as you touched yourself. “Joel…”
Oh, how’d he go so shy when you called his name like that? He’d go all pink and hide his face, before putting it between your legs and taking care of you.
He’d go for your clit first. He’d lick and suck hard on that bundle until he was out of breath. You pushed your fingers in tight circles there, mimicking him the best you could.
‘So pretty…” He would’ve murmured against your wet cunt, ‘You gonna come on my face? You gonna use me?’
“Yeah—fuck—yeah, I’mma… I’mma…”
‘Cat got ya tongue?’
You threw your head over the headboard, tilting your hips up, “F-fuck you.”
‘Promise?’
You imagined slipping your fingers through his hair and pulling him away from your cunt, his eyes needingly searching your face. He would’ve relished the sting. Your fingers dipped and filled you, and you soundless called his name again.
He would’ve loved that, gotten a kick out of your mouth failing to tell him off. ‘Do better than that. Tell me what’cha want.’
“Should’ve never… never taught you how to dirty talk.” You muttered to no one.
‘Aw, but’cha did. Now, you either speak up, or I stop.’
You couldn’t bear this stop. You clicked off the vibrator and promptly tossed it off the bed. You heard it roll once, twice, before becoming noiseless in the dark. “I want you.”
‘I know that, sweetheart, but I need you to be—”
“Fuck me.”
Joel would’ve climbed up your body and listened to your command. He would’ve taken you right then and there, that cock of his bullying its way inside of you without any resistance. Your legs wrapped around his hips, your nails digging into his ass to spur him faster.
Both your hands moved, one on your clit, the other trying to replicate him the best you could. You bit your lip so hard you swore you could taste the blood.
His arms would’ve held you tight, circled over your neck as he fucked you. Groaning in your ear and whispering all the best possible filth, ‘Good girl, good fuckin’ girl. Fuckin’ love the way you act like a brat, but when you get my cock, you become so willin’.’
“You still love me?” You asked, so vulnerable.
But this Joel didn’t respond.
Suddenly, there were no thoughts inside your head that would conjure up the idea of him ever saying those words to you again.
You shook your head, a sob leaving your chest, “Say you love me, please, Joel.”
But, there was nothing.
Then, you realized: there was no Joel. There wasn’t anyone near you. It was just you alone in this room speaking to a man you told to get help. You told him to stop chasing you, to let you be alone. You practically told him to stop loving you.
And Joel—the man who always listened to you and did what you asked—had stopped loving you.
Joel Miller had given up on you, and that’s what you wanted, but not needed.
With a cry, your climax took you over, blinding you completely. But it blinded you to the tears that streamed down your face. Your body locked up, holding you with your back arched and your toes curled. And when you slowly let yourself fall apart, you cried.
You cried for yourself, for the way you were back in the depressing hole you had dug for yourself for thirteen years. You cried for the woman—no, child—you once were, how hard you pushed her, how hard you made sure she was alone because trusting someone after the park was too hurtful.
You curled up into a ball on your pillow, hiding your face. You cried for your heart, and how you let yourself trust and be blind. You cried for your body, and how you had given so much to Joel that you couldn’t think of a reality where it wasn’t him. You cried for the relationship you buried with your own hands. The relationship that you loved with every part of your being, and had come to cherish more than anything.
And you cried for Joel. This man you had come to hate, to love, to hate, then love more than anything. A man who, despite everything, had become your everything.
A man who was no longer yours.
You wiped your face, angry at letting yourself cry. You never cried for him when you left before, so why were you now? You lifted yourself, slamming your hand down on the pillow.
Over and over, you hit your pillow like it was going to do something different. Like it was going to make you any different.
You tried to tell yourself not to want him.
You tried to get rid of him
But that was more painful than keeping him.
“W-what have you done to me?!” You screamed, slamming the pillow down, “I used to be so strong! Nothing affected me! I was fine being alone. I let myself be alone for thirteen fucking years. No friends, no boyfriends, no nothing! I chose that life. B-but now, I can’t go barely over a month without thinking about you! Fuck you, Miller! Fuck you!
“You probably moved on, you probably took my advice and made yourself better. Good for fucking you! But what about me? I’m the one who got hurt. I’m the one who had to learn about more crap from fucking Kaia! I’m the one who still cares for you and wants you.
“And the worst part is: I get it! I fucking understand why you lie. And it hurts because I get it, and I’m mad I do! See what you’ve done to me?! See what you’ve—”
You threw your face into the pillow, shrieking. The sound died muffled against it, and it was probably for the better. You couldn’t bear seeing your snotty, flushed face crying over a man.
Pathetic, really.
Somehow, you pushed yourself up, sniffling and whipping at any remnants of your breakdown. It barely helped, but you managed to stumble out of bed. Your thighs ached, trembling while you trekked out of the bedroom.
You made it out of the foyer and took the stairs carefully, sniffling every step of the way. By the time you reached your kitchen, you had gone back to crying, this time silently. You filled up a glass of water, put three ice cubes in it, and tried to mimic the outside and freeze your tears.
A sharp throb pierced your head. You should’ve even be crying this hard, you were sure you had just given yourself a headache if you cried anymore. You pushed yourself to your medication cabinet, pulling it open, and gave yourself an ibuprofen. You swallowed, sighing, and placed both hands onto the counter to steady yourself.
You breathed in the best you could, and out. In and out. In and—
From your coffee table, the sharp buzz, buzz, buzz of your phone broke your self-pity party. You lifted your head, seeing it slightly shift every now and then at the force.
Without a word, you left your kitchen, entering the dark of your living room. You fixed your robe onto your shoulder. You didn’t even check the name, just flicking it open.
You cleared your throat, “Hello, this is—”
“Thank the Lord you picked up!”
You blinked, sinking into the couch. You gripped the fabric, “Tommy? What’re you—” You pulled back the phone, making sure you were seeing this right. It was Tommy’s ID, “—calling me for? Is everything alright? It’s almost midnight back home—”
“I can’t believe this is even happenin’ right now—I never thought it possible. I mean, I did, I was the one who put this baby into her. So I can’t really be too shocked—” The bang of something on his side echoed to yours, “—but also, I’m a complete fool. Seriously, when you come back, take away every plate of shrimp alfredo pasta from me and burn ‘em all and—”
“Okay, you're rambling. You need to breathe before you talk my ear off,” His panicked tone didn’t ease your anxiety. You croaked, your voice still weak, “Is the baby alright? Is she alright?”
“I’m ‘bout to have a panic attack here, I swear to God—”
“Spill it out, Miller!”
“She’s in labor!”
You choked now. Even though you had swallowed all your water, you felt it all bubbling up.
“Excuse me?!”
“Yeah, you heard me. My fuckin’ wife's in labor and I’m stuck on the toilet shittin’ my ass off!”
❛ ━━━━･❪ 🎕 ❫ ･━━━━ ❜
2003 had been a year for Joel.
Where does he start? Well, the girl he lost came back. Then, they had had the most confusing, loving, and painful relationships he’d ever been in. A relationship that he lost soon after.
Then, his terrible ex came back into his life. Kaia coming back was not on his bingo card—a phrase Sarah introduced him to—or in his plans. The only upside was that he got close with his daughters in ways that he had never been before. He learned how strong she was and how much of a person she’d become on her own.
Comparatively, the late fall and early winter were probably one of the worst times of his life. He was forced to reconcile with his traumas he’d never thought possible. He had started therapy. Fucking therapy. The man Joel was last year would shiver.
He told his folks about his attempt. Now, he had weekly calls from either one of them. Really, they were both there; Joel could hear them breathing through the phone. They weren’t that sneaky.
He was appreciative of their care, but it took the second call for him to remind them that he hadn’t had thoughts about suicide in almost a decade, that he was on medication. They seemed to take it well and moved to twice-a-month two-hour phone calls. Or visits, when they got the chance. It was the best he was going to get.
2003 had been a fucking year for Joel.
That’s a lot for one man to have to go through in just three hundred sixty-five days. Too much, in fact. But there were some good things to pop up.
For one, Joel had started taking care of himself more. He had nothing better to do. Before, he’d stick his ass in an office chair and look over contracts for hours. The bare minimum was being at the sites and working.
Now, he dragged himself every morning for a walk. At least thirty minutes around the neighborhood while the sun rose, the Earth waking up with him. He had grown to like it, even though December had brought a slight chill against his skin.
He had also quit smoking. Not just the cold turkey shit he’d done with you. No, he had bought the patches, he had talked to Dr. Harris about his addiction—because yes, after many hours on the internet, he learned smoking could increase levels of anxiety—and now popped gum into his mouth when he felt a craving.
Withdrawal had been horrible. He was irritable for three days straight, snapping worse at work than he ever did. He’d even started strangling his remote when it died.
But when it had passed… Lord, it felt like a new person. When was the last time his lungs filled up this full? He didn’t get dizzy in the mornings when he didn’t smoke. It was wonderful and breathtaking and everything he had never experienced before.
The biggest, wildest change that Joel Miller had gone through, though, was parking himself in the seat of a barber shop.
Being broke for a couple of years, the luxury of a good haircut had fallen through the cracks. He had scissors, a mirror, a comb, a razor, shaving cream, and a vision. Anything that would keep the hair out of his eyes.
So now, on this freezing day of December, Joel stood nervously in the shop, right boot thudding against the tile.
He specifically asked this guy, Snippy Holmes—yes, that was really the name of this guy he found through the newspaper clippings—if he could have a late evening appointment. No one wanted to see a thirty-six-year-old man struggle not to puke on the floor.
It was a new situation, and Joel didn’t like that. A new field he had to explore. Though he wasn’t sure if he should be happy or nervous, he had this kid Snippy on his side.
This guy was young. At least only twenty-one, with black tattoos that reached from his neck to his wrist. And his hair was an artificial red, something Sarah would love.
“Dude, what’cha sweating for?” Snippy had asked while he washed Joel’s hair, “You got a date or something? I got a package for that, and all my clients love it.”
“I’m good, kid, thanks.”
“Oh ho, I see. You already got a Misses at home. Now I really gotta make ya look good.”
Another reminder of you, ever present. Joel huffed, adjusting himself in his seat. No matter how many runs he went on, no matter how many sessions of therapy he went through, nothing got rid of you. It was impossible because he didn’t want to.
Joel still loved you, and that didn’t change. Even though you told him to practically fuck off and get help—an exaggeration, but still—he kept his heart for only you.
That was the way it was always gonna be.
“Ain’t nothin’ like that.” Joel felt water trickle over his temple.
“So, she’s mad at you?”
Joel didn’t expect to even answer. Maybe it was how good the heat and message felt, but he said something anyway, “Sure, she is.”
“Oh shit, what’cha do?”
“Broke her heart.”
“Dude, I’ve been there,” Snippy rambled, “One time, I forgot my anniversary—high school sweethearts, me and my girlfriend—and boy was she mad. Ignored me for two weeks straight! Wouldn’t even cuddle, and I love cuddling.”
“What did you do to fix it?”
“What do you think? Used that package I was tellin’ you about, bought her every single possible thing she wanted at the moment, took her out for dinner, and gave her the best makeup sex possible. After, of course, a deep and meaningful conversation on how I fucked up and what’ll do to be better.”
“I’m guessin’ you ain’t forgettin’ ‘nother anniversary ‘gain?”
“Ha! And lose my head? No thanks. Anyway, you wanna hear the package?”
“Why not.”
“It’s called, ‘Pretty please forgive me and lemme eat out that puss—’”
“I think I’m good, kid, thanks,” And just like that, he grumbled, squeezing his eyes tighter. He didn’t want to hear the rest of that phrase.
“Alright, alright. I get it. Vulgar talk ain’t your sorta thing. Gotcha. You’re all prim and proper,” Snippy adopted a British accent for that last part. “But I can still get you looking good for your girl, with or without the package. How about that?”
If Snippy could magically fix his entire relationship with this haircut, Joel might just hand over his banking information, right then and there.
When the kid dropped Joel into the chair in front of the mirror, the harsh light exposed every grey hair he’d been sporting. Joel tried not to think too hard about it while his barber got to work.
Unfortunately, Joel never realized that haircuts involved a whole interview.
“Now, tell me, how old are you, dude?” Snippy stuck out his tongue while he cleaned up Joel’s front pieces. “I’m guessing… forty?”
“Close. Thirty-six.”
“Ah. Well, you gotta lotta grey for a man that young.”
“Thanks.”
“And a bald spot.”
“What?!” Joel almost snatched the hand-held mirror from Snippy’s tray, but he stopped when the kid laughed.
“Dude, I’m fucking with you. Banter, I call it. Most of my clients are either my friends or people my age, so they get the humor.”
“I ain’t that old,” Joel grumbled again, this time keeping still so his sides could be trimmed.
“Whatever you wanna say.”
The rest of Joel’s appointment went as smoothly as it could. Snippy made comments and engaged in conversation, while Joel listened. It wasn’t as bad as he thought. His own brain had been tricking him.
Snippy had finished with his fingers brushing through Joel’s hair, shaking off any leftover strands. “Got rid of a lotta dead ends for ya. If you wanna maintain, I’d say some in… twice a month? Once, if you want that more shaggy look.”
“Come only to you, right?” Joel said distantly. But he couldn’t stop marveling at it. The kid had done well. Too good.
Joel looked healthy; he looked happy. His beard was perfectly lined up, and his curls all went the way they were meant to. Even his cowlick had been enhanced, not hidden like he had tried so many times.
“Sure, if ya wanna. Loyalty works, but I get it if you don’t wanna keep coming back. I ain’t possessive.”
Joel shook his head, already reaching down into his pocket for his wallet, “I don’t think I’d be able to go somewhere else.”
“Ain’t you sweet?” Snippy grinned. He picked up his equipment, heading to his backroom. “I’mma be right back. I appreciate it, dude.”
Before Joel could say anything back, the kid had disappeared. He shook his head, silently laughing to himself while he pulled out three twenties.
Joel shoved his wallet back into his back pocket, ready to pay—when the sharp buzz, buzz, buzz of his phone made itself known.
He cursed under his breath, fishing out his phone now, careful not to drop the money. He saw the name—Tommy—and frowned. It was at least ten-thirty. What did he want?
When he pressed ACCEPT and placed the phone to his ear, he was greeted by the most shrill, angry, and violent scream known to man.
“You drive any slower, Tommy Miller, and I will personally drag your heart out of your ass!”
Joel yanked his phone away from his ear, wincing. He only dared bring it back when he heard his name being called.
“Joel?! Joel?! Tell me you’re on the other side, please brother!”
“Tommy?” Joel asked, “Tommy, what the hell am I hearin’—”
“Labor! You’re hearing the cries of labor, baby!” Suddenly, he was hearing his mama’s voice from a bit further away.
“Mama?! What’re you doin’ there—and labor?! Maria’s in labor?! She ain’t due for ‘nother—”
“Week. But maybe it’s the stress and everythin’ that kick-started the labor,” The rough gruff of Joel and Tommy’s dad let itself be known, “Though probably for the best. I betcha this kid's gonna be at least eight pounds.”
“Hang on, hang on!” Joel waved his hand around like anyone could see, trying to bring order to the other side of the line, “I want one person speakin’ at a time, I can’t think straight.”
“We’re headin’ to the hospital!” Tommy cried out. “Her water broke forty-five minutes ago, and I thought we’d have more time, but for some reason, she’s goin’ real quick into her contractions!”
“Oh fuck! Tommy!” Maria shouted.
“I know baby, I know! We’re almost there, almost there.”
“Alright, alright, gimme a name. Gimme a name and I’ll meet you guys there. Do y’need somethin’? I can go by the store and pick up snacks or—”
“Brother, I’mma be honest. I just need you here ‘cause you’re the only normal one here—sorry Mama, sorry Dad—and I need your experience?”
“My experience was thirteen years ago, how could I—”
“Please stop askin’ questions and get here! My stomach is crampin’, and I feel light-headed!”
Joel cursed out loud this time, shooting up from the chair. He unclipped the cape and set it down, “Fine, fine! Just don’t crash. Watch the roads, and get there in one piece. Text me the name of the hospital too!”
The line clicked off, and just in time, Snippy came out, dusting his hands off. Joel rushed to him, but the kid didn’t seem to notice.
“Dude, you’re such a chill client, so I gotta hand over these coupons and free stuff—”
“Kid, you did amazin’,” Joel started, taking Snippy’s hand and shoving all the money into his palm. He quickly turned and jogged out of the shop, but not before throwing more words over his shoulder, “But I gotta head ou! I ‘pericate all this, I do!”
“Wait, this is sixty bucks! Your haircut was only twenty—”
“Tips! Keep ‘em!”
And with that, Joel ran to his truck, which he parked nervously well away from the shop. When he reached it, he slipped into the driver's seat, started the truck, and pulled out.
Another buzz of his phone pulled him away from the road. He quickly read the text Tommy had given him, memorized, and moved to call someone else.
Pick up, pick up. Do not be cooking anything stupid and just pick up—
“Dad?” Sarah’s voice was soft, almost sleepy. Joel had let her go to a sleepover over at Jesses’ with Ellie and Dina, and it seemed like she was heading for bed, “What do you want?”
“Baby girl, Maria’s in labor.”
There was a pause for so long, Joel thought to lost connection. He turned right on the road, about to speak—
“Oh my god! I’m going to have another fucking cousin! Today!”
“Language!”
“Sorry! But Dad,” He heard shuffling of sheets, ‘I-I thought she wasn’t due until—”
“Don’t know why, but all I know is that baby’s comin’ now. She was screamin’ in that car. I’m sure she’s a good way through.”
“You have to pick me up. You have to take me.”
“I think it’s best I let you stay at Jesses’ ‘til tomorrow mornin’. Tommy said he really needed me there, and I’m sure I’m gonna be makin’ lots of trips between houses and the hospital.”
“Not fair! Then why’d you even call me? That’s what I’m gonna to be thinking about all night.” Sarah whined.
“‘Cause I know you’ve been excited, and you deserve to know. But I’ll brin’ you tomorrow. Then, you’ll see Maria and Tommy and maybe even the baby. That sound fine?”
He could feel Sarah’s mind thinking. So far away, and he knew his daughter’s tells. Sarah eventually sighed, “Fine, fine. Just call me with any updates. Pictures, paragraphs, anything. Promise?”
“On my heart,” Joel pulled into the parking lot, spotting Tommy’s truck and an empty spot beside it, ‘I have to head out now. You stay safe and get good sleep.”
“I will, if you tell Maria I love her, and I’m thinking about her and the baby.”
“I’ll pass it along.” Joel turned off the engine, unbuckling himself and hopping out, “I love you, baby girl.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
Light rain—that froze his skin—had started to fall from the sky. Joel tried his best to shield himself, all while rushing to the hospital doors. It was crowded, with row after row of people in chairs waiting. The line to the front desk was already four people long.
By the time he got to talk to the receptionist, his heart was already thudding hard, “Hi. Um, my sister-in-law—my brother’s wife—is in labor. Do y’know where I could find y’all’s maternity wing?”
She smiled kindly at him, “Sure! Can I please get your name, date of birth, and ID?”
Joel nodded while pulling out his wallet and handing over his ID, “Joel Miller. I’m thirty-six, and was born September twenty-sixth, nineteen-sixty-seven.”
The woman clicked at her keyboard, scanned his ID, and handed it back with a wristband. “Just make sure to wear that band at all times while your sister-in-law’s with us. It’ll make it easier for you to go in and out. Take the elevator to the third floor, and a right til you find room 318.”
Joel thanked her and made his way to the elevator. Inside, he snapped the band on and listened to crappy elevator music until he got to the third floor.
There, it was all cartoon animals and bright colors. Completely different than the busy waiting room. He listened to instructions and took a right, passing by nurses and pregnant women with their husbands, walking the hallways together.
Finally, he found room 318. It was tucked at the very end, near the large windows that showed the outside world. There, he found his mama and dad, waiting in chairs outside the room. The door to 318 was shut.
“Mama,” Joel breathed out. She instantly jumped up and rushed to him.
His mama held him tight, “I’m so glad you got here quickly! We’ve only been here six minutes, and they’ve already got us our room, and I’m sure you saw how long that line was, and—”
“Don’t talk his ear off, Lo,” Joel’s dad stepped up behind his mama, and clapped his shoulder, “Hey son. New haircut?”
Joel nodded, “Like it?”
“You look so healthy, baby,” His mama carded her finger through his hair, “I’m glad you got it.”
“Thank you, Mama.” Joel looked over at 318, “Is she in there?”
“Oh, she is.” His mama clasped her hands together. “She wanted her privacy, and only Tommy for the labor. Your daddy and I decided to set up camp here, and anyone else who comes along can sit right here with us.”
“No Kevin?”
“Too fussy. It’s late, so Tommy asked one of his work friends to watch him ‘til he decided to pick him up.”
“I can go get him.” Joel offered, but his mama shook his head.
“While I love you offerin’ baby… I think your brother might need you more now than ever.”
“Nerves?”
“Worse,” His dad chimed in, “He’s got the rumbles. Been complainin’ ‘bout his stomach since the moment Maria said her water broke. I just don’t know if he’s gonna shit out or throw up his worries.
“I can check up on him. Where’s he at?” Joel looked back down the hallway, seeing and hearing for any man screaming at the top of his lungs.
“Bathroom, right ‘round the corner,” His dad pointed out. “Go get him. At this rate, Maria’s gonna pop out this baby without him, and he’ll never stop moppin’ ‘round if that happens. Imagine every family dinner if that happens?”
Joel shuddered at the thought. Not wanting to be a victim of his brother’s endless complaints, Joel listened to his folks and walked over to the bathroom.
Here, they spilt into two sections. Joel found the men’s and opened the door. It was empty and fairly large. Six metal stalls sat row by row, and were completely cleaned. The bathroom door shut with a light bang.
Joel could hear Tommy’s voice echoing throughout the entire bathroom now, just as panicked as before.
“...I mean, I did, I was the one who put this baby into her. So I can’t really be too shocked—but also, I’m a complete fool. Seriously, when you come back, take away every plate of shrimp alfredo pasta from me and burn ‘em all and—”
Joel strided closer to the stall, finding Tommy’s boots beneath the stall farthest from the door.
“She’s in labor!”
He froze in front of the stall, hand hovering to knock.
“Yeah, you heard me. My fuckin’ wife's in labor and I’m stuck on the toilet shittin’ my ass off!”
Knock, knock, knock!
“Fuck!” From the stall, the clatter of something plastic hitting the floor echoed out. Tommy cursed more, “What the—who’s there?!”
“Me, dumbass.” Joel fought the urge to laugh, “I’m here. You called me in such a rush, but it seems like—”
The toilet flushed, and too quickly, the stall door swung open. Joel was greeted by a flushed, teary-eyed Tommy who had his phone clutched so tightly in his hand his knuckles turned white. He opened his arms to hug Joel, “You don’t understand just how much I need you right now—”
Joel lifted a hand before Tommy could come any closer, “I’m more than happy to help. But please, wash your hands first.”
Tommy nodded, just listening to whatever came to him, “Fine, lemme—just hold my phone for me.”
Joel took it gingerly, wincing. He’d make sure he washed his hands, too, before they left. As his brother washed his hands, he muttered words he couldn’t comprehend. Joel looked down at the screen of the phone.
Who could his brother be calling at a time like—
Joel choked on air and nearly drowned. Your name, blazed over the screen, was linked to a call.
You were right here with him.
You were right next to Joel.
Joel whipped his hand up, seeing Tommy was now splashing his fae with water. He shouldn’t be doing this—this wasn’t even his phone—but he couldn’t help it. He would be a fool to let this up.
Like a thief, he lifted the phone to his ear, the noises louder and louder until—
“Tommy?! Tommy, are you okay?! You just—just disappeared on me! Answer before I get on a plane and fly over to Austin!”
Joel let out a shudder. Your voice was angry and worried. So complex and full in his ear, with only a slight distortion of the sound. But none of that mattered.
It was like you were standing right by him, mad at him for simply existing. Yes, he’d love for you to be mad at him. Not like before, for punishment, but for the fact that you’d be right next to him.
Right by his side.
“What do you need? Diapers, wipes?! Clothes—wait, you don’t even know the gender—but I’m sure the gender-neutral clothes outweigh the gendered ones. I can ship everything over and get it to you in two days. No, one! I know people who could help me with this…”
Your voice threaded through his entire being. You were still caring, still the same soul that left him. His thumb stroked the grooves of Tommy’s phone.
Would it be selfish, to never respond, to let you ramble forever and pour out everything? You would stay on the line for Tommy; there was no doubt about it. But for Joel… would you?
“...answer me Tommy! You can’t just leave me on hold! Did you lose your phone? Gimme something to work with so I don’t lose my mind here. Tell me about Maria, tell me anything, but this—”
“Sweetheart, it’s me.”
Your ramble stopped quick, almost painfully quick. Too fast for his liking. He gripped Tommy’s phone tighter in his hand and shut his eyes before continuing.
“Maria’s fine. She’s in a room, 318. And… and everyone’s here. My mama and dad, and Tommy’s hyperventilatin’ in the bathroom,” He tried for humor, he really did, but when you didn’t laugh, he cleared his throat, “Will you… come down to Austin?”
There was a long pause before you spoke. Your first words directed to him in over a month.
“I don’t know. I’d have to get off work, and figure everything out with Michelle.” He could hear your breath tremble, “Could you pass the phone to Tommy, please?”
He hated how you treated him like an awkward stranger, “Wait, c’mon, I could have some of your answers. Talk to me.”
“Please, Joel. Please give the phone to—”
“What’re you doin’?” Tommy—because now was the time to pop up—looked over at Joel with his phone. His eyes widened, and he shot for his phone, but Joel sidestepped, holding his hand out again to keep distance. “Gimme my phone back!”
“Wait a damn second! Sweetheart, you gotta know: but—Tommy needs you here! So come back so you can see your niece or nephew and so that I—”
But Joel never got to say what he wanted. He never got to say that he needed you by his side, that he wanted to cradle this newborn Miller in his arms with you. He never got to say that he wanted to talk and maybe figure shit out; he never got to say any of that because Tommy ripped the phone from his hand.
“Tommy!” Joel yelled, trying to get you back, but Tommy had already started speaking fast words to you and cutting the call. Cutting you off. Joel’s throat closed painfully tight, “What’re you doin’?! If I’d talked to her for a bit longer, then maybe I’d—”
“I don’t have the time or energy for your relationship. I’m sorry, but I don’t. I’m gonna be a daddy ‘gain, and the only thin’ you can think ‘bout is her! Even she’s not consumed by this like you. I have my wife in labor. So forgive me if your romance ain’t at the top of my list!” Tommy shook his head, “My priority is my wife. She looked so scared, so hurt, and I didn’t know what to say or do other than drivin’ her to people who could actually do somethin’! S-so keep your love life out of his hospital and—”
Joel rushed to Tommy and hugged his little brother tight. He patted his curls and held him up when he crumbled and started crying on Joel’s shoulders.
He did it again. He got blinded by his need for you. Joel closed his eyes and held his brother tight, rocking him near him.
If he wanted to get to you, he needed to go outside the family. It was too painful to do it with anyone else involved. Look what happened to your daddy and Joel, and how that turned out.
Joel wouldn’t do that again, to anyone.
“You’re gonna be fine Toms, you’ve got this.”
“I-I don’t know anythin’! What is somethin’ happens to her or the baby, and they make me choose?”
“That’s the worst-case scenario. You’ve got a great team of professionals here who’ll do everythin’ in their power to help you, Maria, and the baby. You got mama, you got dad. You got me.”
Tommy pulled back, sniffling, “How’d you do it? You were… you were so stron’ when Sarah was born. You didn’t show a lick of fear the entire time. How is that possible?”
Joel couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head, “Scared? Brother, I was terrified. I entered fight-or-flight mode and only thought 'bout Sarah in that moment. I didn’t have the luxury of havin’ someone on my side. I was by myself. You ain’t like that. You got a unit, you got a team. You have Maria. And I think that’s the best support in the world.”
“Y-y’think I have that?”
“Think it? I know you do.” Joel opened his eyes, hugged Tommy tight once more, then pulled back. Joel smiled as best he could, “Now, where’re you still doin’ here, when the most important woman in your life is ‘bout givin’ birth? Get outta here and go be her husband.”
Those words, giving him a duty, seemed to spur Tommy enough. He nodded and made sure to clean himself up. He whipped his eyes, cleared his throat. Joel helped him with his shirt, trying to make sure he didn’t look too disheveled.
Joel sent Tommy on his way, lumbering to the door. He rolled up his sleeves, ready to wash his hands, when Tommy spoke.
“I-I didn’t mean it. I care ‘bout your love life, Joel, I swear. You and she are some of the most important people in my life, and your happiness—both of you—matters to me.”
Water rushed over Joel’s hands, cold and clinical. “You’re fine, Tommy. Hurry, go on.”
“I’m serious, I’m sorry.”
“I know you are. I know it’s just…”
“Just what? Tell me.”
Honesty. That’s what Joel had to do to be better, “I want you to know I love her.”
“I know you love her—”
“No.” Joel turned to his brother, “I want you to know I love her. There isn’t a universe where I’m not her’s. Where I don’t end up without her ring on my finger. I-I’ve deprived myself of love for too long to let her go like that. I want her to know that. And I’ll do whatever it takes to show her, that I’m not the man I was.”
Tommy stared at Joel, and to his shock, Tommy smiled. Not mean, or anything of the sort. It was content, satisfied, and happy.
“Then that’s how life for you is, brother.”
He left without another word, leaving Joel the space to sigh and curse his stupidity even more. In the silence alone, Joel had nothing to do but wash his hands, just as he promised. He pumped soap into his hands and scrubbed.
It was like two steps forward and one step back whenever it came to you. He would never win if he tried to chase after you like this.
Wait, was he chasing you?
Not the aimless yearning he subjected himself to. No, was he going to run on his two feet to you? He’d never done that, as shameful as that was to admit.
Joel looked at himself in the mirror.
Was he going to try and fight for you? Was he going to put himself out there like that?
His heart picked up pace, thudding in his ear. He shut off the water, but didn’t move.
Could he? Put himself through that pain, the possibility that this was it, that there was no—
No, Joel himself had spoken it out loud that he’d be your husband.
Joel Miller had promised that.
And this version of Joel Miller did not break any promises.
EWWW this chapter is so so late. I did well in my finals though!! Hooray!!
Summary: If you’d known that half a sandwich behind a dumpster was gonna be the start of… whatever the hell this turned into, you’d’ve probably stayed home that day. He wasn’t lookin’ for trouble—hell, he talks to everybody, that’s just how Joel is. But every damn time he saw you sittin’ there, quiet as a ghost, lookin’ like you’d rather be anywhere else, he couldn’t help it. ’Cause life’s funny like that. It throws people at you when you least expect it—usually when you’re already havin’ a goddamn terrible week.
Warnings: +18, smut, fluff, angst, sleazy!joel, fuckbuddy!joel, unspecified age gap, protected sex, oral f!receiving, slight size kink, unhinged dirty talk, fingering, making out, talks about divorce, friends with benefits, talk about child loss, no outbreak
A/N: OMG FINALLY. I've rewritten this chapter like fifty times trying to make it something I don't hate, and I think I finally like this version. It's long, itms messy, it's smutty, and it goes way deeper into readers backstory than I had originally planned. Joels backstory is still lurking in the background, but trust me it's coming in the next chapters. Enjoy pookies!!! <333
Before Strawberry Creampie. Before Sit on it. There was...Half a Sandwich.
And you remembered it like it was yesterday...
You sat in the back of your office, clutching a halfly eaten salad like it was the last chore on a long, long fucking list of things you no longer had the energy to finish. The plastic fork felt flimsy in your hand, the lettuce wilted, the dressing too sour—everything just tasted like too much obligation.
A window with dull concrete around and dry bushes stared back at you, a perfect reflection of the life you were dragging behind you.
Empty apartment, tangled sheets with an unmade bed, mind drifting through fog with no direction or desire.
No one to share this pathetic lunch with, no one to come home to, no soft words to chase away the ache of isolation.
You chewed mechanically, staring at the same patch of wall you stared at yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. The world kept moving around you; cars passing, coworkers laughing, life happening—but only you had felt stuck, suspended in a moment you just couldn’t climb out of.
"Oi, Jerry! Tell that fucker to hurry up!"
And of course, it was once again him, interrupting your thoughts.
Joel Miller, the delivery guy who rolled in every Tuesday with stacks of office supplies, had been part of the background noise in your life long before he became your fuck buddy.
You couldn't ignore him if you tried to anyways; he owned every room he entered with that brash, take-no-shit swagger.
Pushing late forties, hair slicked back with whatever cheap gel he had, a solid gut from beers that he wore like a trophy, not giving a damn.
He smelled like cigarettes and gas stations, a scent that clung to the office air and sparked whispers amongs your coworkers—not out of dread, but that eye-rolling tolerance for the loudmouth who never knew when or how to shut up.
Joel was all noise, no substance: complaining about bullshit traffic, picking fights over nothing just to hear his own voice win, his gaze sliding over everyone—guys, gals, whoever sparked a glance.
Heck, he sees ass, he looking. He finds a face pretty, he flirtin' no matter the gender.
But with you back then? He kept it clean, no sleazy lines or winks, even if his eyes hung a beat too long. He'd spot you, acknowledge, then bounce, like some unspoken rule held him back.
What flipped the switch that day? Maybe that bare finger where your ring used to sit, or the way your stares locked, or just dumb luck kicking in.
Maybe even fate.
"Well, hello beautiful—thought I was the only fool smart enough to sneak off from all that hustle out front." You can still remember the exact words. "What's a pretty thing like you doin' hidin' with your lunch on a day like this? You work inside, right? Must be nice. I'm out here breakin' my back while you're in there enjoyin' the air-conditionin'."
His words were annoying, your fuse already short from the weight of your own misery.
"You're real chatty, huh?" He asked, laughing deep and unbothered, pressing on: "Most people say hi back. Or at least blink. You're like talkin' to a statue."
You stabbed at your greens, sighing loudly.
"That's alright. I talk enough for both of us."
He flashed a grin, propping his clipboard like a throne, eyes lighting with that devilish spark. "If I'd known there was someone this cute hidin' back here, I'd've started takin' my breaks here weeks ago."
You didn't lift your head at that point.
"Ah, playin' hard to get. Classic." He teased. "Name's Joel. And you are?"
Head down, fork scraping plastic, you shot back cold: "Not interested."
He let out a low whistle, more entertained than stung. "That's an interestin' name, sweetheart." Chuckle rolling out thick. "Bet it's real hard to fit on a driver's license."
Annoyance flickered hot, mixed with the dull throb of your solitude—you wanted him gone, but he stuck, a loud intrusion in your quiet hell, dragging the outside world into your numb bubble.
"Alright, miss not-interested. Try not to miss me too much." He called out, and finally left with that.
-
"Lord almighty, I swear this job's tryin' to put me in an early grave," he announced to absolutely no one, wiping sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand. "Ain't even noon and I already wanna go home, crack a beer, and pretend today never happened."
The second week, he didn't just stand in front of you and yapped about everything and nothing—no.
He sat down right next to you.
He dropped onto the concrete with a grunt so dramatic it almost echoed off the wall.
And you didn't look up. You just prayed that he will get up and leave.
But of course, he didn't.
"First thing this mornin', some jackass parked his truck sideways in the loadin' zone. Sideways. Like he spun the god damn wheel, said 'Jesus take the wheel,' and Jesus said 'nah.'"
You stabbed your salad.
"And them warehouse men today? Useless. Every last one of 'em. 'Joel, can you lift this?' 'Joel, can you sign that?' 'Joel, can you fix the forklift?' 'Joel, can you suck my dick?'" You almost chocked on your salad, looking at him in disgust. He chuckled. "Nah, just kiddin'—I'll yap 'bout my route instead."
At some point Joels vulgar language became the standard. At some point. But unfortunately not that day.
"Drove through three counties this mornin', dodgin' puddles bigger than ponds. Tell ya what, darlin', days like this make a fella appreciate findin' a pretty face to break the monotony. You just sit pretty; I've got stories for days."
You inhaled slowly through your nose and closed your eyes for a second, and that was enough for him to make another dumb joke.
"Oh, look at that—she's alive," he said, chuckling.
You glared at him, only earning a grin from him.
"But...you're real good at this, y'know."
"At what?" you muttered.
"Listenin'," he said, smug. "Most folks interrupt me halfway through my first rant. But you? You just sit there takin' it like a champ."
Then he winked obnoxious.
"Guess you're built different, sugar."
You stabbed at your salad again, trying to ignore the twist in your stomach after that pet name. Joel finally pushed himself to his feet, scratching at his belly as he dug a pack of Marlboros out of his pocket.
"Alright, not-intrested. Same time next week."
-
By the third week, you hated to admit it—even to yourself—but you could remember a flicker of anticipation that waited for his presence. A tiny, unexpected part of you sparked with oh, he'll probably show up again.
Because how many days had you been sitting alone on this concrete, telling your coworkers it was "nothing," that the divorce was just a "mutual decision"?
How much you hated their whispers and the way their eyes kept drifting to your bare finger—all of them inventing their own version of your own story, none of them stopping to think, even for a god damn second, 'maybe we should just leave her alone'.
"Lord above, if this mornin' gets any worse, I'm throwin' myself in front of a forklift."
You didn't look up, because you knew exactly what was about to happen.
He plopped down besides you with a grunt, holding a lunch bag and groaning: "Shoot, sugar, you're quieter than a church mouse on sunday, again. but that's fine—means I get to unload without interruption."
So you sat there, clutching on a sad little muesli bar, not even having the slightest energy to open it and listening to his ramblings.
You were exhausted. Exhausted from waking up each day and pretending that everything is okey. Exhausted about battling thoughts on going sick for the day, or even leaving work.
"Warehouse's a damn zoo," he muttered, digging inside his launch. "Boss got me waitin' around 'cause some idiot mislabeled the shipment. Again. I swear, I'm surrounded by fuckin' morons."
He pulled out a sandwich; thick, messy, wrapped in crinkled foil and was about to take a bite when he finally glanced sideways.
His chewing stopped.
He stared at your muesli bar.
Then at you.
Then back at the bar.
"…What in God's name is that."
You blinked. "Lunch."
He snorted. "That ain't lunch, hon. That's a god damn cry for help."
You rolled your eyes at him, ignoring his glance.
Then, without warning, he tore his sandwich clean in half—one loud, irritated rip and shoved the bigger piece toward you.
You recoiled. "No."
"Take it."
"I said no."
He grabbed your wrist then, not rough, just stubborn, and slapped the sandwich half into your palm.
"Gonna starve yourself to death with that lil' piece of shit," he grumbled, already unwrapping his remaining half. "Ain't lettin' you pass out on my watch. I ain't fillin' out paperwork for that."
You stared at the sandwich in your hand. It was warm, heavy, smelling like cheap deli meat and something spicy.
Your throat tightened.
Your husband used to make you sandwiches.
Every morning. Even on the days you didn't speak. Even when the marriage was already cracking down the middle.
You swallowed hard.
Joel didn't notice because of course, he was already back to complaining.
"And another thing...traffic was a damn nightmare..."
You didn't know then how much he'd matter.
-
You couldn't exactly remember why you ended up in a bar that night.
You hated alcohol. The taste. The warmth in your throat.
But it was one of those evenings where the past clawed its way back, uninvited, wrapping around your thoughts like fog and making your heart ache. And as much as you tried to drown it with liquor, a Coke zero did the job better that night.
His hand used to fit perfectly in yours, pulling you through days that blurred into moments of happiness and quiet joys; lazy Sundays with coffee steaming in the kitchen, his laughter rumbling low as he teased you about burning the toast again, the way he looked at you as if you were the only one in his life.
And now?
It was all gone, evaporated like morning mist under the harsh sun, leaving you lost in this unfamiliar city, this bar that hummed with the low murmur of conversations you didn't want to join.
Who did you blame?
Him, for letting the spark die out in a series of unspoken silences?
Yourself, for not fighting harder, for not seeing the cracks sooner?
Had you changed too much, bent too far for his expectations, until you were a shape you no longer recognized?
The questions swirled in your mind, unanswered, as you stared into the bubbles of your drink, the ice melting slowly.
And there you saw him again.
Joel.
He was perched on his stool like he owned that place, nursing a pint of beer that sloshed slightly as he scratched at his big belly, the fabric of his faded flannel shirt straining against the motion.
You sighed, and rolled your eyes painfully.
His gaze lingered too long on a woman's ass as she leaned over the pool table.
Years later you would hear whispers about him, from the regulars who nursed their own sorrows at the bar; how he was a fixture here, always chasing the next warm body, stumbling home with someone on his arm, the scent of whiskey heavy on his breath.
They even said he had a daughter once, lost her young to some tragedy that hung over him like a shadow, but in that night, you didn't know about any of that.
That night, you just wished this god forsaken dim light would swallow him whole before he noticed you.
But as if the universe conspired against your solitude, Joel caught your eye across the room.
His lips curled into a smug smirk, the one you already know all too well.
He shifted on his stool, the wood creaking under his weight, and without a second hesitation, he pushed off and headed your way, his boots thudding softly against the floorboards.
"Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice thick with that southern twang.
He stopped just close enough that you caught the faint whiff of his cologne—cheap and musky, mixed with the sharpness of the beer.
"Didn't expect to see my lunch buddy here, lookin' all lonesome and pretty under these sorry lights. What brings a fine thing like you to a dive like this on a night that's beggin' for trouble?"
You rolled your eyes again.
"Still playin' hard to get, hm?" Joel persisted, leaning one elbow on the counter besides you.
He chuckled low, a rumble that vibrated through his chest, and took a step closer.
"Darlin', you know you can't fool ol' Joel. I see that fire in your eyes, even if you're tryin' to hide it behind that soda. Come on now, what's a man gotta do to get a smile outta you tonight?"
"Joel, please," you said, your voice flat, edged with the irritation. "Ain't in the mood."
He didn't take the hint—never did. Instead, he grinned wider.
"Oh lord almighty," he drawled, dragging out the words exaggerated. "The statue can talk, eh?"
He set his beer down right next to your soda with a clunk, and slid onto the stool besides you, his knee bumping yours under the counter—accidental, or so he'd claim.
The foam from his last sip still clung to the edge of his mustache, a white froth that made him look even more unkempt, more insistent.
"You look like you could use somethin' stronger than that coke, sweetheart. What's got you all twisted up? Some fool broke your heart, or this city just grindin' you down? C'mon now ol' Joel's got an ear and a shoulder, 'specially for a gal who looks like she needs a little…distraction."
"None of your business, Joel. Go bother someone else."
But Joel just leaned in closer, unbothered, his breath warm and beery against your ear as he launched into another rambling.
"Aw, don't be like that, Honey. I'm just tryin' to help a lady in distress. Let me buy you somethin' stronger…or we could slip outta here, find somewhere quiet where a southern gentleman can take care of you proper."
He took a long pull from his beer then, the liquid going down his throat, and when he set it back down, a fresh bit of foam clung to his mustache, dangling there for a second before he swiped it away with the back of his hand, smearing it across his stubbled chin.
You felt the weight of Joel's words settling over you like the bar's humid air.
"Look, I ain't tryin' to go where I'm not wanted. Just sayin' you look like someone life's been gnawin' on. I've been there. Lost a marriage once. Hurts like cheap whiskey goin' down."
His flannel sleeve rode up slightly, revealing a faded tattoo on his forearm, a blurry horse that spoke of younger, wilder days, and you couldn't help but wonder, fleetingly, what stories it hid or if it hid anything at all.
The blunt honesty surprised you, slipping past your annoyance and stirring a thin thread of curiosity.
"Yeah, well," you muttered, your voice barely rising above the hum of the room. "Doesn't mean I need your pity party or whatever this is."
But the words lacked their earlier bite, softened by the way his story mirrored fragments of your own unraveling.
Joel chuckled, his mustache twitching as he scratched at his jaw, stubble rasping against his nails.
"Pity? Hell nah, darlin', that ain't my style. See, after my own shit fell apart, I figured out the best way to forget is with a little company that don't ask too many questions, just shows up warm and willin', lets ya lose yourself in the moment till the sun comes up and chases the shadows away."
You swallowed hard, the tightness in your throat eased just a touch as his words wormed their way in, distracting from the echo of your ex husband's words.
"Company that doesn't ask questions," you echoed softly, the phrase tasting foreign on your tongue, your gaze dropping to the melting ice in your soda.
There was uncertainty in your tone, but a flicker of interest sparking, even if you didn't want to admit it.
"Exactly right," Joel drawled. "No drama—just see where the night takes us, you and me, darlin'. If you say stop, I stop. I promise, by the time we're done, them troubles'll be nothin' but echoes."
His implication clear as day, without shame and respect. The kind of blunt talk that should have repulsed you outright.
And it did, in part; disgust curled in your stomach, at the sleaziness of it all, this old man yapping nonsense like it was gospel.
Yet beneath it all, as your world of careful plans and shattered stability cracked wider, a strange pull tugged at you—an attraction born from desperation, the want of something to numb your thoughts.
"You're disgusting," you shot back, the words tumbling out sharper than intended, your cheeks flushing.
Joel didn't flinch; instead, his lips quirked into that infuriating smile.
"And you're beautiful, honey." he replied, his drawl softening.
The compliment landed unexpectedly, stirring warmth in your chest you hadn't felt in ages.
Overcome by the rush of it all; you acted on impulse, leaning forwards to press your lips to his in a kiss that was quick and fleeting, tasting the bitterness of beer and the rough scratch of his beard against your skin. It was a moment of raw need, but as quickly as it happened, you pulled back, confusion flooding your features, heart pounding.
Joel's eyes widened for a split second, surprise flashing across his weathered face, before that smirk returned, smug and knowing.
"Well now, ain't that a surprise," he drawled, voice thick with teasing triumph. "Looks like all that neediness was just bubblin' under the surface, waitin' for a little nudge."
You froze, the vulnerability crashing over you in waves, embarrassed.
Joel's expression shifted then, the smirk softening just a tad bit.
"Easy there, honey," he murmured, drawl low and coaxing. "No need to bolt like a spooked filly. I get it—world's been rough, leavin' ya all tangled up inside. But how 'bout we take this outta here, head to my van? It's got space, privacy, and I can help chase them tormentin' thoughts right outta your pretty head, least till mornin' comes callin'."
He nodded towards the door.
You breathed deeply, steadying the whirlwind within.
What the hell was wrong with you?
Your eyes met his, searching in those crinkled depths for something real amid the sleaze, and after a long moment, you nodded, accepting the uncertain path ahead.
Joel grinned, wide, sliding off of his stool with a grunt. He fished a crumpled wad of bills from his pocket, tossing them onto the counter, the bartender nodding absently as change clinked back.
Then he stood, extending his hand towarsd you beckoning you into the night, the beginning of something tangled and unexpected.
-
His van was...if you'd put it nicely...very compact.
Boxy, and worn down to its bones. The paint had faded into a chalky blue, chipped along the edges like old nail polish. Rust bloomed around the walls in stubborn freckles, and the back door had a dent big enough to suggest a story he'd never bother telling. A tiny row of potted plants sat on a narrow wooden shelf outside the window, their green leaves pressed against the glass like they were desperate for some water.
Joel's hand settled on your waist as he guided you forwards, fingers splayed just enough to steer you through the puddles without a word.
Who were you in that moment?
The woman who'd once ironed her husband's shirts on Sunday mornings, planned grocery lists with precision, traded her drafting table for PTA meetings and minivan keys?
And now this—trailing after a stranger's touch into the night, not knowing how it'd end.
"Y'know, darlin'," he drawled, "this ain't exactly the Ritz, but it'll do for keepin' the wolves at bay. Got a little garden out back of the park where I park most nights. Pretty flowers on summer and stuff. Ain't much of a flower guy though." He chuckled at his own nonsense.
You tried to school your features, to keep that flicker of disgust from showing: the way the van's interior peeked through the grimy windows, cluttered with stuff and a tangle of extension cords, a far cry from the crisp lines of your old house with its polished counters and linen curtains.
It almost repulsed you, that glimpse of transience, the life pieced together from scraps and stubborn will, but you bit back the words, swallowing them away.
Joel noticed it anyway; his hand tightened fractionally on your waist before loosening. He cleared his throat, the sleaze turning into something almost shy, almost like shame as he fumbled for his keys.
"Yeah... I know it ain't the best place," he admitted, the drawl softening, "Folks look at it and see a mess. But hell, it gets me through the day, y'know? Keeps the roof—such as it is—over my head and the road under my wheels. No mortgage chasin' me down, no fancy lawn to mow into submission. Just me and this old stubborn ass."
He shot you a sidelong glance, eyes crinkling with a forced grin, trying to lighten your mood with that rambling charm of his.
The door slid open with a metallic groan, releasing a puff of warmth laced with the faint, musty scent of unwashed blankets and motor oil.
And inside—much to your surprise—it was actually cozy and put‑together.
Sure, there were empty cans and bottles scattered around, and it clearly hadn't been cleaned in a long time. But somehow, it still felt warm.
There was a narrow space lined with built‑in cabinets, a real bed raised against the back wall with a worn quilt folded neatly on top and a compact kitchen with a proper stove and a tiny sink squeezed beneath a window. Soft fairy lights hung along the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the wood.
"C'mon, darlin', don't stand there catchin' your death," he said. "You can lay down on the bed if ya want—ain't no palace, but it's clean enough, or as clean as a man livin' solo gets. I'll crank up the heat."
He fiddled with the controls until the vent rattled awake, warm air stirring inside the van.
Uncertainty started to coil in your gut, as you sat down his mattress—a tangle of doubt and fleeting desire, the perfect wife you'd been fracturing further with each passing second.
Joel sank down besides you with a grunt.
"Look, I ain't gonna rush ya," he murmured, "We can just sit here, listen to the rain play its tune on the roof, talk 'bout nothin' if that's what you need. Or...whatever feels right. Your call, beautiful—no pressure from this side of the van."
His words washed over you, annoying in their length and sleaziness, yet oddly soothing, smoothing the jagged edges of your thoughts.
You nodded, barely, your fingers twisting in the hem of your shirt.
This wasn't you—climbing into a van with a stranger, a loudmouthed guy who lived like this, all nomadic and unapologetic.
But his promise echoed in your mind, that he'd fuck all your problems away, and part of you, buried deep, wanted to believe it.
Before your brain could catch up, you leaned in, smashing your lips against his in a rush of impulse again. Joel's smirked against you, that smug curve pulling him back just enough to break the kiss. His rough hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing your jaw.
"Well now, ain't you just warmin' up quicker than a skillet on the stove, eh?" he murmured, eyes sparkling like he'd won some unspoken bet.
You ducked your gaze, staring at the frayed edge of the blanket, your pulse racing under his touch.
"How long's it been since somebody touched this beautiful body of yours, huh?" He asked, one hand sliding down to trace the curve of your shoulder. "I mean, look at you—curves like a backroad at midnight, all soft and invitin'. Bet it's been a spell, baby, leavin' you all pent up and achin' without even knowin' it."
Too long.
It had been too damn long since anyone had looked at you like that, let alone touched you with intent.
You squirmed under his touch, that directness was disrespectful, disgusting in its bluntness, the way he talked to you like you were a prize he'd earned.
But god, the arousal twisted deeper, heat pooling between your thighs, making your breath hitch.
He didn't wait for words; his lips found your neck, pressing open mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin, stubble scraping in a way that sent shivers racing down your spine. He nibbled at your earlobe, teeth grazing just enough to earn a soft gasp from you, his free hand roaming over the swell of your breast, thumb circling through your shirt until your nipple hardened under the attention.
"Hey now," he whispered, "this still alright with you, sugar? I ain't pushin' if you ain't ready—though damn if you don't taste like trouble I been cravin'."
You nodded, words already failing as your body betrayed your caution, arching slightly into his touch.
Joel's grin widened, pleased, before he captured your mouth again, deeper this time, tongue sliding against yours in a slow, claiming dance.
He shifted, guiding you back onto the mattress with a gentle push, his weight settling over you. That big belly of his pressed down, soft and heavy against your stomach, pinning you.
He broke the kiss with a chuckle. "If you can't breathe under all this, darlin', just holler—though I reckon you'd rather I smother you a lil' more, keep you pinned like the pretty thing you are."
You rolled your eyes and pulled him back down.
Your kisses grew hungrier as Joel's hand wandered lower, tracing the dip of your waist, the curve of your hip, before dipping between your legs. His fingers brushed the edge of your panties, and you startled, thighs clenching instinctively, a jolt of uncertainty spiking through the haze of desire.
"Whoa there, easy now," Joel soothed, not pulling away but pausing, palm resting on your thigh. "Ain't no need to jump like a cat on a hot tin roof, beautiful. I got you—gonna take it slow as molasses in January, make sure every touch feels like heaven. Been doin' this dance longer than you think, and I promise, by the time I'm through, you'll be beggin' for more of this big ol' belly pressin' down on ya."
His words tumbled out, long and filthy, uttering nonsense half of you didn't even understand. But it distracted you from that uncertainty and replaced it with a fresh wave of want.
He slipped his hand under the waistband of your panties, fingers finding your slick folds.
You were soaked already, embarrassingly so, and he groaned low in his throat as he traced your clit in slow, deliberate circles.
"Goddamn, honey," he muttered, "you're drippin' like a summer storm out there."
He slid one thick finger inside you, then two, curling them just right to hit that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. The stretch was big, his movements steady and unhurried, pumping in and out with a rhythm.
You moaned, the sound escaping raw and needy, your hips bucking up to meet his hand.
"Listen to you, moanin' like a siren callin' me home," Joel teased, thumb pressing firmer on your clit as he worked you deeper. "Sounds filthy as hell, sugar—got me harder than a fence post just hearin' it. Keep makin' those pretty noises; I could listen to 'em all damn night while I finger this sweet pussy of yours."
"Shut up," you gasped, half-annoyed, half-breathless, but the words unfortunately lacked any bite, dissolving into another whimper as he quickened his pace, the wet sounds of his fingers filling the van.
The coil in your belly tightened quicky, pleasure building quick, the months without touch, the sleepless nights, every stroke of his fingers pushed you closer.
And when the orgasm hit, it crashed over you in waves—your walls fluttered around his fingers, body arching off the mattress as you cried out, the release washing away all the insecurities in a flood of bliss.
"That's it, beautiful, come for me," Joel praised. "I got you, honey, ride it out...yeah, just like that."
As you calmed, Joel shifted slightly, his free hand drifting down to his lap, fumbling with the zipper of his jeans.
He pulled out his cock then; thick, heavy, already hard and swelling under his grip as he gave it a slow stroke.
Your eyes widened, locking onto the sight—veined and girthy, curving upward with a heft you'd never encountered, the head flushed and glistening faintly in the low light.
It was bigger than anything you known.
He chuckled, low and smug. "Like what ya see there, beautiful? Ol' Joel's packin' a bit more than most fellas, ain't he? Been told it makes a gal's eyes pop just like yours are doin' now—wide as saucers, wonderin' how it'll all fit. Don't worry, sugar; this big boy's got a mind of its own, but it'll treat ya right if ya let it."
"I want it." You whispered before you could even stop yourself.
What was wrong with you?
Joel's smirk widened, knowing, as he kept stroking, his thumb circling the tip to spread the bead of pre-cum.
"Oh, I know ya do, baby. Finally breakin' down for me, huh? Good girl—ain't no shame in cravin' what ya need. This pussy's beggin' for it already, I can tell."
You sighed, the annoyance flaring even as arousal pooled low in your belly, but there was a smile tugging at your lips.
He paused then. "Condom?"
You nodded quickly—you hadn't been on birth control since the divorce.
Joel rummaged in a drawer besides the bed, pulling out a foil packet with a grin, tearing it open and rolling the latex down his length with practiced ease, the material stretching over his size.
He smirked at you the whole time, eyes gleaming. "I'll promise ya some lovin' and care, baby. All these thoughts will be gone—poof, like smoke in the wind. Gonna fuck 'em right outta ya, leave ya floatin' on a cloud of nothin' but good feels."
You rolled your eyes, a mix of exasperation and excitement bubbling up as you didn't know what the hell you were doing, but in that moment, it felt right enough.
He shrugged off his shirt fully now, revealing the full expanse of his belly, soft and heavy, before nudging your legs apart and settling between them, his weight dipping the mattress further.
"Look at this pretty pussy, all pink and swollen from comin' on my fingers," he murmured. "Shinin' like a damn pearl in the moonlight filterin' through that window there."
He pushed in then, the blunt head breaching you inch by agonizing inch, your walls fluttering around the intrusion. It burned at first, a delicious ache as he filled you, his girth forcing you open.
You winced, discomfort flickering across your face, and he paused, one hand stroking your thigh, the other braced besides your head.
"Easy now, honey, breathe through it," he cooed, though his tone was laced with triumph. "I know it's big, but you're takin' it like a real champ."
"Shut up, oh my god," you hissed, embarrassment washing over you, but the words broke into a moan as he bottomed out.
Joel grinned, sweat beading on his brow, and shifted his weight onto you completely, pinning you beneath his bulk as he began to thrust—slow at first, deep rolls of his hips that dragged his cock along your inner walls.
"That's it, beautiful, feel me fuckin' ya deep, chasin' away every damn worry in that head of yours."
His pace quickened, thrusts turning rougher, the bed cracking in time with the slap of skin on skin, his belly rubbing against you with each drive.
He kept yapping, filthy stream of consciousness pouring out between grunts, his drawl turning breathless but no less annoying unfortunately.
"Fuck, darlin', this tight hole's milkin' me good—gonna fill this rubber up with my cum soon, mark ya as mine even if it's just for tonight. You love it, don't ya? Takin' every inch like a pro, moanin' for more."
The words blurred into sensation, your body responding despite the sleaze, hips rising to meet his as pleasure rebuilt, coiling tighter.
You clenched around him, cries spilling from your lips as it crested, waves of ecstasy crashing through you, your nails raking his back.
Joel followed soon after, groaning loud and guttural, his thrusts stuttering as he came, hips grinding hard against you while he filled the latex with hot spurts.
He collapsed then, breathing ragged.
After a moment, he pulled out carefully, disposing of the condom with a quick tie and tossed into a nearby trash can. He cleaned himself up with a towel from the floor, wiping away the sweat and stickiness, before turning back to you.
You laid there all breathless, chest heaving, skin flushed and damp, the emotional high crashing into a wave of shame that made you curl inward.
You rolled your eyes at his gaze and turned away, burying your head into the pillow, the scent of him overwhelming as regret whispered in your ear:
What had you done, giving in like this?
Joel noticed immediately, his voice softening as he reached out, hand resting on your shoulder.
"Hey...did I hurt ya? What happened, honey? You were all lit up like fireworks a minute ago, and now you're hidin' like a scared kitten."
You mumbled something into the pillow, the words muffled. He pulled you back gently, wrapping you in his arms again, that unexpected tenderness cutting through the post-climax haze like a balm.
You didn't cry, but you let out a big sigh, looking at a corner of the van.
The empty apartment, the signed papers, the life unraveling like frayed thread. It all came crashing down on you.
What had you done to deserve this?
You muttered against his shirt, voice muffled and broken, "I got divorced."
The words hung there, exposed, the rain seeming to pause in sympathy.
Joel pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb stroking your cheek with surprising care, though his grin crept in, sleazy but laced with a sweetness that caught you off guard.
His eyes softened, just a fraction, and he murmured, "Oh, baby."
"God dammit, that mother fucker was sure as hell a dumbass to let you go like that," he said. "I mean, look at ya—pretty as a peach in July, all soft curves and fire in them eyes. He'd have to be blind and stupid to toss away a woman like you."
You couldn't help it—a laugh bubbled up.
His words were filthy in their bluntness, annoying in their endless sprawl, but they lightened the mood, pulling you from the edge.
So, you two stayed like that for a while, wrapped in his arms, the van's heater humming as the rain drummed on, his hand stroking your back in lazy circles until your breaths evened out.
-
The next day, he slipped his phone number into your palm while you were still asleep, pressed a quick kiss into your hair, muttered something about needing to get moving before his boss 'chewed him out like a dog with a bone,' and then left the van quietly so you could keep sleeping.
And when you came home again, disgust started to coil in your gut, sharp and unrelenting.
Was this who you were now?
Divorced once, the ink barely dry on those papers, and already fucking strangers in the back of a van just to numb the ache?
The shame washed over you in waves, hot and suffocating, but tangled in that was something far worse—the admission that it had felt good.
Too good.
Joel chased away those shadows in your mind, his kisses, sleazy as they were, had landed soft, pulling you under until the pain dulled to a distant hum. The way he pleasured you, something you haven't felt in years.
You didn't cry.
You never let yourself. Crying felt like a crack in the armor, and you couldn't afford to fall apart—not now, not ever. Not even as you got fired the next day.
Your boss's voice droned through the office like white noise—too many sick days, too little output, pack your things and leave.
You only nodded numbly, the words sliding off of you like rain on glass, and drove home in silence, the radio off, the engine's hum your only companion in that moment.
And there you sat in your apartment:
Divorced. Fucked by a random man in his rusty van. And now, fired.
Where was the perfect wife from years ago, the one with the husband who kissed her goodnight in their beautiful house, the one with plans and stability woven into every corner?
Still, no tears came.
You could remember how hard it had been, those days stretching like no end in near, each one heavier than the last, the weight of unraveling pressing down until breathing felt like a chore.
And in that moment all your eyes could see Joel's number on the coffee table, staring up at you like a dare.
You thought about it for two full days, fingers hovering over your phone in the quiet hours, the what ifs swirling in your head.
What would happen if you called?
He would say some sleazy, stupid shit. Tease you in that obnoxious tone until you rolled your eyes. And then? He would ask to fuck.
You felt so fucking stupid even considering it—chasing distraction from a man who probably saw you as just another notch—but god, he numbed the pain, turned the sharp edges soft, if only for a night.
"Now, who the hell is this callin' me up? I swear to the good Lord above, if this is one of them scam artists tryin' to fleece old folks outta their hard earned cash, you're barkin' up the wrong damn tree, buddy—ain't got nothin' but cigarettes in my pockets and a van that leaks worse than a sieve."
You swore you didn't want to call.
But a soft smile tugged at your lips despite the knot in your throat, the sound of him so vividly alive in that sterile quiet of your space.
"Joel," you said softly.
There was a beat of silence, then a low chuckle, lazy and smug. "Well, I'll be damned, if it ain't my favorite troublemaker callin' me up outta the blue. Here I was, sweatin' bullets thinkin' I'd scared you off for good with all my big talk and bigger belly." He said. "Hell, I been thinkin' 'bout you non-stop, beautiful, wonderin' if you'd come to your senses and give ol' Joel a ring. What's the word? You need a laugh? A ride? Somethin' more...interestin'?"
He talked and talked, words tumbling out in that endless, annoying stream, painting pictures with his charm.
Suddenly, the words spilled from you, unbidden.
"I got fired."
"Lord have mercy," Joel growled, the playfulness dipping into something almost genuine. "Fired? Shit, darlin', that's a raw deal if I ever heard one. You holdin' up alright? Tell me what happened, or hell, don't—ain't gotta spill it all if you don't want. But listen here, you sound like you could use a pick-me-up, and I know just the thing. You need me to swing by and scoop you up?"
He'd been thinking about that one thing again, the heat of bodies and the escape it promised,
but in the ache echoing through your chest, maybe that's exactly what you needed—a distraction.
So you whispered into the phone, "Yes."
-
"Goddamn, darlin'," he drawled, voice muffled against your wetness. "You taste like honey straight from the hive—sweet and sticky, makin' a man forget his own damn name. Let it go now, yeah? Tell ol' Joel what's eatin' at you 'bout that job. What'd they do to my girl, huh?"
It ached once inside your stomach when he said 'my girl' but it was quickly overshadowed by his tongue diving over your clit.
Joel's broad shoulders were wedged between your thighs, his calloused hands gripping the soft flesh there, thumbs pressing into your skin that sent shivers up your spine.
Tongue flat and broad, he licked a slow, deliberate stripe up your pussy, savoring the slick folds with a groan that vibrated through your core.
No words were said from the drive over—just his knowing grin as he manoeuvred his truck in front of his van.
And what happened next, didn't surprise you.
"C'mon, tell ol' joel what's bothering you."
You exhaled a shaky breath, fingers threading into his salt-and-pepoer hair, the strands coarse under your palms as the first waves of pleasure loosened the knots in your chest.
"The...the endless meetings," you murmured, hips twitching upwards into his face, the words fracturing on a gasp as he hummed approval, the vibration sending sparks along your nerves. "Talking in circles, nothing ever changing..."
He didn't stop, couldn't—tongue thrusting shallowly now, lips sealing around your clit to suck with rhythmic pulls that made your thighs quiver against his ears.
"That's it, beautiful, keep talkin'. What else? Gimme the dirt—bet they had you runnin' ragged like a dog chasin' its tail."
His free hand slid up your belly, palm warm and heavy, thumb brushing the underside of your breast in lazy strokes, grounding you even as he unraveled you.
"Boss...always breathing down my neck," you continued. "Criticising everything, like I was invisible until I screwed up. And the hours—god, the hours bleeding into nothing."
Joel growled low, the sound feral and approving, doubling his efforts: tongue flicking rapidly over your clit while two thick fingers eased into you, curling to stroke that sweet spot inside you.
Confessions started spilling freer now: "Colleagues whispering, promotions going to the loudest liars, feeling like I was drowning in paperwork that meant jack shit"—until the dam broke.
Orgasm crashed over you like a sudden storm, thighs clamping around his head as you came on his face, pulsing waves of release soaking his beard and lips.
You cried out, back bowing off of the mattress.
Joel pulled back slowly, chin glistening, eyes triumphant. "Fuck me, beautiful, that was a sight—comin' apart like Fourth of July, all fireworks and no holdin' back." He drawled.
He stood up then, the mattress dipping under his weight and rummaged in a nearby drawer, pulling out a towel, and dabbed gently at your thighs, cleaning your release with care, his touch lingering just enough to tease without pushing.
You sat up slowly, limbs heavy with afterglow, watching him through half lidded eyes; his belly strained against his shirt, the faint sheen of sweat on his brow catching the dim light filtering through the curtains. He caught your gaze and grinned, tossing the towel aside.
"Well, hell, I'm gonna miss ya as my lunch buddy now that you're footloose and free."
You smirked, a playful spark cutting through the haze, even as surprise flickered at your own words tumbling out.
"You got my number now."
Why did it sound like that?
Like you two were something official...
"Yeah," he drawled simply. "Gimme a sec—gonna wash up."
He walked towards the tiny bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving you alone with the hush.
Your eyes wandered and wandered then, tracing the faded photos pinned to a corkboard above the sink—mementos amid the chaos of tools and takeout wrappers.
One caught your eye: a faded snapshot of a blonde girl, no more than eight, gap-toothed smile besides a younger Joel, his arm slung around her shoulders, both squinting into the sun at what looked like a county fair.
"Is that your daughter?" you asked when he emerged, towel slung over his shoulder, voice light and curious, no weight behind it—you didn't know him and you didn't want to push it.
Joel froze mid-step, the easy smirk fading, his face hardening into lines etched deep by time and loss.
The air thickened, a sudden stretch of silence between you.
"Yeah," he said finally, voice low. "Lost her a long time ago."
You went silent then, nodding once, gaze dropping to the rumpled sheets.
This was the only time you ever heard about Joel's daughter. The rest was whispers and rumours from the bar. Even today, Joel never wanted to talk about it. And you didn't push him.
Joel cleared his throat after a beat and headed toward the narrow kitchen at the front.
"Hell, this bastard's hungry now—mouth's all worked up, but I ain't got nothin' but some sad ass lookin' tomatoes, a hunk of cheese that's probably seen better days, and fuckin' bread that's more hole than loaf." His sleaze returned, trying to lighten the mood.
You rose quietly, padding after him on bare feet, and leaned against the counter's edge. "Let me make you something. I don't need more than that."
He stared at you for a beat, something unguarded flickering in his eyes before he shoved it down. But you caught the way his features grew soft.
-
By the third time it happened, you stopped pretending it was an accident.
Joel had spent the days between calling you nonstop to complain about anything he could think of— payments, deliveries, the guys in the warehouse—just rambling into your ear until you fell asleep from sheer boredom.
You remember being deep in your job search—hours of scrolling through listings that blurred together into rejection and possibility—when your thoughts started to distract you again.
The phone buzzed on the coffee table, jolting you from the haze, Joel's name lighting up the screen like an uninvited spark.
"Honey, you ain't gonna believe the bullshit I dealt with today—had this asshole at the site yappin' about permits like he owns the damn place, breathin' down my neck while I'm tryin' to weld a frame that won't hold up to a stiff breeze. Swear to God, if I had to listen to one more word 'bout codes and inspections, I'd have shoved that clipboard where the sun don't shine. Anyway, enough of my griping—how's that fancy job hunt goin'?"
Bla bla bla and more bla.
You rolled your eyes.
But there was a pause then, his breath catching just a fraction, the bravado softening into something almost shy.
"Listen, uh... you wanna come over tonight? Or I could swing by and pick ya up? Ain't pushin', just...thought maybe we could unwind, y'know?"
You sighed, the sound heavy in the quiet room, the promise you'd made to yourself after the last time—no more distractions, no more surrendering to the pull of his rough warmth—cracked under the strain of solitude.
"Yeah," you said finally, voice steadier than you felt. "Pick me up."
So...you landed in his van again.
His lips met yours with a hunger tempered by familiarity.
You melted into it, hands finding his neck, fingers tangling into his strands as the kiss deepened—tongues brushing in lazy exploration, breaths mingling hot and ragged in the small space.
You pressed closer, the scratch of his beard against your skin a grounding rasp, the make-out stretching slowly, bodies shifting on the bed until you were half in his lap.
Breathless, Joel pulled back first, forehead resting against yours, his eyes searching yours.
"I was thinkin'...we could make this somehow official. Nothin' serious, mind you—just fuckin' around and stuff when we need it, y'know? Keep the loneliness at bay without all the messy strings." He grinned, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in it.
You laughed, the sound light and disbelieving, echoing softly in the van's cocoon.
"Are you serious? You want me to be your fuck buddy?"
The term hung absurd in the air, but it pulled a chuckle from him too, his eyes crinkling further.
"Yeah... why not? If we're gonna keep doin' this, we might as well call it what it is. Ain't promisin' the world, but hell, I could be your go-to when the night's too damn quiet."
You looked at him then, really looked—the way he held his gaze steady despite the sleaze, while you remembered the care in his hands after that first unraveling, how he wiped away the evidence of your surrender with a tenderness no one else had offered. The way his presence drowned out that hollow ache, letting you forget the spin of your life for stolen hours.
How were you able to numb those thoughts otherwise?
How could you deal with this loneliness eating you from the inside?
"Yeah," you said, the word simple and sure, sealing the pact with another kiss.
You remember that you were left wondering, even then, if this was just how Joel was—if he took care of everyone like that, if he softened for anyone who crossed his path. You told yourself not to read into it, not to mistake kindness for anything else. You assumed he was like this with all the people he let close.
You didn't know he'd cut them all off the same week he met you. All women, all men he hooked up with.
You didn't know you were the exception.
You didn't know he'd never been gentle for anyone else.
And you...you saw or still see him as temporary.
A placeholder.
Someone you'll leave behind once you finally get your life back.
You downloaded a dating app that same evening you agreed to the arrangement with Joel.
Two people agreeing to keep things simple, and only one of them caring too much.
-> If you'd like to be tagged for this series, please let me know!!!
i'm sooooo bad at past tense stuff so i hope this isn't super confusing and just somewhat understandable. I also hope this met yall's expectations on how Joel and reader met. This is how i always had it in my mind and well...it'll get angsty🤭🤭
